A Matter Of Routine

We drove up to KL yesterday. Generally the roads were clear and the driving easy. There were only two short hold-ups on the way, but the awful thing is that one definitely involved a fatality and I wouldn't be surprised if someone had been killed in the other.

The first hold-up came just before the rest place at Kulai, a tail-back from an accident just beyond the resting area. A motor-bike seemed to have been hit by a lorry. There were no emergency services around, but a blanket was covering something humped in the road. We assumed it was the body of the bike's rider. Then a lot further on, a few kilometres after we had stopped at the ARAB café for a much needed cuppa, we passed the scene of what looked like an accident that had just occurred. A lorry seemed to have toppled over and shunted around, blocking the fast lane. In retrospect I wonder if the driver was okay - the lorry looked strangely deserted, but possibly the door had jammed shut. Further on down the road we found ourselves worrying as to whether any speeding traffic in the outside lane might collide with the lorry. I suppose the right thing to do would have been to get out and investigate, but you just don't think of that when you're making your way, tending to assume that someone must be dealing with the situation.

It's intensely selfish, but it couldn't be otherwise. It's difficult to imagine anything more mundane than driving as a matter of routine along the North-South Highway, yet for some that journey becomes one involving the most significant and terrible extremes of all.