By which I mean the recovered experience of driving like a working class hero, something I’ve not done in decades, until today.

First you have to haul all the shit down to the kombi solo in the cold.

In between loads, you check the cold oil, the transmission fluid hot, and the other vehicular liquids in either state.

There was a quart of oil and a pint of power steering missing and needed all told.

I fixed that on our way out of town. It’s amazing how good diagnosing and fixing things can feel sometimes.

There was an overcrowded creamery with cheap cheese worth every low penny and not much more.

There were tense exchanges over underpowered networks struggling to get through as we left Kanab for the last leg.

Finally there was respite in Page for the night.

No religion no sex no TV.

A working class hero is something to be.