There was a time when any travel involved engaging in a delicate, tactile negotiation with the material world. To step into a motor car (or climb aboard a railway carriage or board a steamer) was not merely about changing your location but a chance to operate a complex mechanical instrument.
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Car drivers listened to the rising baritone of the engine, felt the precise vibration of the engine revs and – with a smooth, practised movement – slotted the gearstick into place. It was a sensory dialogue – a minor act of humanity and engineering combined to delightfully punctuate any journey. I have adored changing gears in some cars, like a characterful old Alfa, a cheeky MR2 or a gun-bolt precision of a Porsche 911.
