On Driving and Envelopes
Ages ago, I wrote a piece that I thought I would clean up and post. In fact, I was so OCD about this that I decided that until I posted this piece, I wouldn't post any further. Well, I'm afraid that my priority list did not allow any more of a cleanup than a quick spell-check. So, without further ado, here goes.
Yesterday, I posted a small segment that most of you most likely skipped over. In it, I described being neatly beaten, in an informal manner, by a BMW 5-series. Further, I promised a follow-up "rant" on it and associated subjects.
That was not the only memorable event to transpire yesterday. A second, more jarring incident occurred when I decided to take a drive during lunchtime. The incident involved my pulling alongside a number of emergency vehicles. By sheer coincidence I stopped at exactly the correct time and place to see, across the divider, into the car that had borne the brunt of the collision.
What I saw was deeply shocking. A late-1990s blue Toyota Corolla had been badly rammed into by someone behind them. The car had then clearly impacted the car in front, causing minor damage to the hood. As I pulled alongside, I had a clear view into the driver's side door, which was open, and had a stretcher pulled alongside it.
Within lay the driver, slumped over the crumpled airbag. He lay still, his arms hanging limp and unmoving, face buried in the airbag. His blue shirt had no visible blood, and his sleeve buttons were still buckled. There was no breathing.
The violence I describe above does not convey how peaceful the scene was. An almost eerie stillness prevailed. Emergency crews went about their work, gesturing in a nonchalant manner, in no rush whatsoever. Clearly, death had come quickly, and the eerie after-the-fact stillness served to highlight the violence of the few seconds during which a driver went from sitting idly by a stop light, possibly enjoying some music, to dead.
The experience helped reinforce what I already know and understand about my favorite pastime: that every time I take one of my "leisure drives," I take a considerable risk. I know and embrace this fact every time I get behind the wheel of my car. Yet, despite the understanding (and, sometimes, the visceral reminder) of this fact, I drive well over two thousand miles per month.
However, any activity has associated risks. What matters, in driving as much as in project management, is what one is doing to address those risks. The primary strategy of mitigating risks taken by driving is, simply, to be a better driver. I have chosen to pursue this by attempting to buy cars that force me to become a better driver. This, then, leads us to consider the next facet of the discussion: the understanding of a "driving envelope" and a "performance envelope" and the congruence of the two.
For the purposes of this discussion, I will define a "driving envelope" as the range of skills of a driver, limited by reaction time, experience, and so forth. Similarly, the "performance envelope," is the range of performance of a car, limited by the design of the car, the situation the car is used in, and so forth.
Risks taken by driving are most pronounced, in my opinion, when the driver's driving envelope is below the car's performance envelope. If one were to put me in a Corvette C6 Z06, I would most likely be dead by now (there was this incident in the North GA mountains, you see...) Similarly, taking a Lotus Elise on I-285 can be a great deal of fun, if you are Nigel Mansel.
On the other end of the spectrum, the Toyota Corolla can be safely piloted by brain-dead monkeys. The car is not a performance car; it is, in fact, designed for reliability. Like my Elantra, the Corolla can be taken to the edge of her envelope simply, and communicates it readily: not through dangerous squealing of tires, not via deadly understeer at crucial moments, but by simply saying "no." Effectively, the car is designed to have a low performance envelope, leading to greater confidence, reliability, and so forth.
The genius of Porsche (and, to some extent, BMW) is that they inspire confidence. Driving the Boxster was easy. It simply did what I wanted it to do, and never asked why. The Evo works the same way: a simple flick of the wrist and the world is coming at you through your passenger window. One-fingered power-slide? No problem.
However, if one's driving envelope isn't quite congruent with the car's, then one will confidently plow the Boxster into a guardrail, confidently ignoring oversteer. Similarly, a driver may confidently chuckle in the Evo as the world zips by through the passenger window; but one will have trouble ignoring the part of the world with the tree in it: specifically, the tree that is now (confidently) lodged in the passenger seat of said Evo.
If, on the other hand, you managed to get the Elantra to go sideways long enough to slam into a tree, or oversteer it into a guardrail, then I would be surprised, and very curious as to how you managed it.
We arrive, then, at the next step: the car that punishes small mistakes, not waiting (as with the Evo and Boxster) for the driver to make the big ones. This was - and is - possibly the most important of criteria that I look for in a car. I want the car to be precise, unforgiving, and have handling and responsiveness as sharp as a razor: that way, I learn to drive better. I learn to concentrate for hours at a time. I learn to not make mistakes, because even small ones are punished immediately.
That way, when time comes for me to take my Porsche Cayman S out in the North Georgia Mountains, I won't confidently plow into a guardrail, and trees will stay out of my passenger seat.
However, all the training in the world will not matter when I'm stopped at a red light and an eighteen-wheeler plows into the back of my car, snapping my neck like a twig, slumping me over my steering column. Risks exist, and we can only do so much. If I am to enter the Long Sleep with an airbag for a pillow, then so be it. I will, however, do my damndest to make sure it's not my fault.
And hey, maybe some other kid will pull up alongside, and, seeing me, think to himself: I need to make sure I'm a good driver, so I can minimize the chance of that happening to me. It’s a funny old world. We do the best we can.
Yesterday, I posted a small segment that most of you most likely skipped over. In it, I described being neatly beaten, in an informal manner, by a BMW 5-series. Further, I promised a follow-up "rant" on it and associated subjects.
That was not the only memorable event to transpire yesterday. A second, more jarring incident occurred when I decided to take a drive during lunchtime. The incident involved my pulling alongside a number of emergency vehicles. By sheer coincidence I stopped at exactly the correct time and place to see, across the divider, into the car that had borne the brunt of the collision.
What I saw was deeply shocking. A late-1990s blue Toyota Corolla had been badly rammed into by someone behind them. The car had then clearly impacted the car in front, causing minor damage to the hood. As I pulled alongside, I had a clear view into the driver's side door, which was open, and had a stretcher pulled alongside it.
Within lay the driver, slumped over the crumpled airbag. He lay still, his arms hanging limp and unmoving, face buried in the airbag. His blue shirt had no visible blood, and his sleeve buttons were still buckled. There was no breathing.
The violence I describe above does not convey how peaceful the scene was. An almost eerie stillness prevailed. Emergency crews went about their work, gesturing in a nonchalant manner, in no rush whatsoever. Clearly, death had come quickly, and the eerie after-the-fact stillness served to highlight the violence of the few seconds during which a driver went from sitting idly by a stop light, possibly enjoying some music, to dead.
The experience helped reinforce what I already know and understand about my favorite pastime: that every time I take one of my "leisure drives," I take a considerable risk. I know and embrace this fact every time I get behind the wheel of my car. Yet, despite the understanding (and, sometimes, the visceral reminder) of this fact, I drive well over two thousand miles per month.
However, any activity has associated risks. What matters, in driving as much as in project management, is what one is doing to address those risks. The primary strategy of mitigating risks taken by driving is, simply, to be a better driver. I have chosen to pursue this by attempting to buy cars that force me to become a better driver. This, then, leads us to consider the next facet of the discussion: the understanding of a "driving envelope" and a "performance envelope" and the congruence of the two.
For the purposes of this discussion, I will define a "driving envelope" as the range of skills of a driver, limited by reaction time, experience, and so forth. Similarly, the "performance envelope," is the range of performance of a car, limited by the design of the car, the situation the car is used in, and so forth.
Risks taken by driving are most pronounced, in my opinion, when the driver's driving envelope is below the car's performance envelope. If one were to put me in a Corvette C6 Z06, I would most likely be dead by now (there was this incident in the North GA mountains, you see...) Similarly, taking a Lotus Elise on I-285 can be a great deal of fun, if you are Nigel Mansel.
On the other end of the spectrum, the Toyota Corolla can be safely piloted by brain-dead monkeys. The car is not a performance car; it is, in fact, designed for reliability. Like my Elantra, the Corolla can be taken to the edge of her envelope simply, and communicates it readily: not through dangerous squealing of tires, not via deadly understeer at crucial moments, but by simply saying "no." Effectively, the car is designed to have a low performance envelope, leading to greater confidence, reliability, and so forth.
The genius of Porsche (and, to some extent, BMW) is that they inspire confidence. Driving the Boxster was easy. It simply did what I wanted it to do, and never asked why. The Evo works the same way: a simple flick of the wrist and the world is coming at you through your passenger window. One-fingered power-slide? No problem.
However, if one's driving envelope isn't quite congruent with the car's, then one will confidently plow the Boxster into a guardrail, confidently ignoring oversteer. Similarly, a driver may confidently chuckle in the Evo as the world zips by through the passenger window; but one will have trouble ignoring the part of the world with the tree in it: specifically, the tree that is now (confidently) lodged in the passenger seat of said Evo.
If, on the other hand, you managed to get the Elantra to go sideways long enough to slam into a tree, or oversteer it into a guardrail, then I would be surprised, and very curious as to how you managed it.
We arrive, then, at the next step: the car that punishes small mistakes, not waiting (as with the Evo and Boxster) for the driver to make the big ones. This was - and is - possibly the most important of criteria that I look for in a car. I want the car to be precise, unforgiving, and have handling and responsiveness as sharp as a razor: that way, I learn to drive better. I learn to concentrate for hours at a time. I learn to not make mistakes, because even small ones are punished immediately.
That way, when time comes for me to take my Porsche Cayman S out in the North Georgia Mountains, I won't confidently plow into a guardrail, and trees will stay out of my passenger seat.
However, all the training in the world will not matter when I'm stopped at a red light and an eighteen-wheeler plows into the back of my car, snapping my neck like a twig, slumping me over my steering column. Risks exist, and we can only do so much. If I am to enter the Long Sleep with an airbag for a pillow, then so be it. I will, however, do my damndest to make sure it's not my fault.
And hey, maybe some other kid will pull up alongside, and, seeing me, think to himself: I need to make sure I'm a good driver, so I can minimize the chance of that happening to me. It’s a funny old world. We do the best we can.