Crashing a Swanky Gala
Serendipity took the wheel
I met Ian in the late 1970s. We were colleagues teaching at the same school. We became friends. We then became neighbours, living in a tiny, isolated, end-of-the-road community on Vancouver Island.
The road between our homes and the school where we worked was a desolate converted logging road filled with twists and turns, elevation changes, and narrow one-way bridges.
Ian was a car racing enthusiast. He owned a sporty low-slung vehicle which he drove, well… like a racing car. He was not reckless. He just enjoyed the mechanics of driving.
My dear friend was an avid fan of Formula 1 car racing, so in some ways, he emulated the behavior of professional drivers. I liked being a passenger in his car. I sensed how much he enjoyed the experience. He was a highly skilled driver.
Ian followed the Formula 1 racing season on television. It was part of his Sunday ritual. He was well versed on the race tracks, the drivers, the standings, and the tiny details that make one car superior to another.
Unfortunately, I could not share his passion for the sport. I have no interest in cars. Full stop. I think you have to grow up immersed in car culture in order to develop a passion for automobiles.
