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The Thundercat Diaries

Had an interesting experience, the other day – tired and ready to be home on a Friday evening after a tough week at work, the M40 was jam-packed and at a standstill. With a minor inward groan to myself, I boarded the Thundercat and pointed it towards Stratford but, almost inevitably given the mayhem on the motorway, traffic everywhere in the area was busy, even at half eight. Still, not to worry – as soon as we hit the straight stretches coming out of Banbury, the Cat and I gave it moderately large, hopping past the traffic when it was clear and safe to do so, pressing on but not doing anything daft.

We, I stress, did nothing daft. Cruising gently up to the back quarter of a dark estate car ambling along at 55, we waited until there was space and time and nicked out to go past. Except – except… All of a sudden, it was hard work. The Cat was pulling as hard as ever, but we weren’t wafting past like normal. Keeping an eye on the estate as we drew slowly past, and a more anxious eye on the road ahead for the threat of oncoming headlights, we eventually made enough space to pull back into the correct side of the road just in time for this charming road user to switch their full beams on, but a glance down at the speedo told the story – 85mph. Matey boy had buried the right foot as we came past, and they kept it there as we all barrelled merrily along.

Eighty five was faster than I really wanted to go, but I was reluctant to lift off and put myself anywhere near this lunatic. It took another handful of overtakes before they got stuck behind some slower traffic and I could get clear, heart all of a pitter-patter, and it made me think about what had actually happened back there. My overtake wasn’t dangerous, conditions were clear and I made the pass on a straight bit of road where visibility was good for what must have been the best part of a mile. And it can’t have been that I cut them up, because that car was flat out while I was still alongside. So I don’t think it was me.

Which means it must have been them, and I can’t get my head around that. They’d been cruising along at a decent enough pace – if I’d been in the car or in any less of a hurry to get home, I’d have just followed them al the way, but I DID want to press on. Was there anything so offensive about that to warrant them banging 30mph onto their speed to sit right on my arse and put the beams on high? I’m sure there wasn’t any real malice in the action, but neither was it a comradely gesture of warmth and solidarity.

So we had our little moment and came to a parting of the ways. I’m fairly sure I’m going to carry on performing overtakes as safely and considerately as I can – the problem is, there’s nothing I can do to stop that person from driving like an idiot. 

Paul Harris