Tales from a Bruised Mind

It’s early. I’m up well before the sun gets close to peaking above the horizon line. Clothes on, shoes on, camera packed. I’ve been waiting for this day for quite some time.

In the car I get, firing the turbocharged four-cylinder sitting just ahead of me into life. Steam wafts from the central exhaust outlet. My Ford Focus ST begins to slowly warm. I buckle up and punch ‘Pokolbin, Hunter Valley’ into Waze, and just like that, I’m off and running.

The Sydney streets are eerily quiet. Households are dark, most, if not all are asleep. If I could pick a favourite time to be on the road, this would be it. My Spotify is quietly playing and I can feel the car around me. The Recaro seats feel like a giant bear hug. It’s a sporting type of car, but it also feels oddly comfortable.

As I go down the lonesome streets, I can feel the car reacting every millisecond through the steering wheel and through, well, my bum. Every little steering input, every gear change, every depress of the clutch, is so analogue and so special in this modern age.

Most cars are automatic in 2025, and to be honest, they lack a lot of involvement of cars gone by. They make the whole driving thing pretty easy. And while that might be good for some, for the diehards out there, those cars lack real soul.

While modern cars might be the typical up-beat pop, the older, more analogue driving experiences are pure jazz.

As I get out of Sydney city and onto the Pacific Highway, the sun is slowly waking up. There’s a distinct orange glow lighting up the now fading night sky. My headlights lead the way as I head north.

Drives like this might seem boring to many, but for me, they allow time for me to reflect, or to listen to a really good song, or just sit in complete silence. I have gone on many drives like this, and yes, all on my own. Some may say that’s strange, or even a bit weird. But there is more to IT than having a group of mates or a partner by your side.

It’s my idea of complete freedom.

Driving has been a sense of adventure for me since the minute I got my licence at 17 years old. That’s 10 years ago almost to the date. I remember putting on my red P plates and going out for a drive to a friend’s house. It felt like complete independence. I loved every second of it. It was like a drug; I felt completely hooked.

10 years on, driving does something to my brain that is hard to explain or to even try to put into words. I guess it’s like a dopamine hit, but one that lasts hours and hours. It’s magical. I don’t think anything else can replicate or match it. It’s unique in the way it makes me feel.

As I near the Hunter Valley, the air is noticeably crisper and cooler. I have the windows down now and the breeze is flowing across my face. I turn off to Roche Estate, and stop to take pictures of my new car. I’m grinning ear to ear.

How lucky am I to be able to do this? Not only that, but in a great country, too. I am fortunate to be able to drive and to hear the engine roar and have the feeling of the breeze through my hair. And, most importantly, feel that addictive dopamine hit every.single.time I get behind the wheel.

Nothing will ever match it. That’s what is truly good for me.

Zak