Driving

Hello, and welcome to The Generalyst, the newsletter we both forgot about. Last week I did some driving. Massachusetts to New York, through Pennsylvania and into Ohio.

Long-distance driving should really be handed over to robots. There’s so little to do. I space out for long, long stretches, then have to remind myself of where I’m going. I miss my exits and turns. Meanwhile, my brother recently drove from Texas to Florida in his Tesla and barely touched the wheel the whole time. As Daniela and I explain in The Heart and the Chip, fully autonomous driving in all weather and all conditions isn’t reliable yet, but as long as the traffic is predictable and the skies clear, a self-driving car can do the work.

At one rest step I did see a cleverly disguised autonomous vehicle. The car looked like a standard SUV. The driver even appeared to be human, with a lifelike, wrinkled face and mottled lips that puffed on a cigarette. Imagine how many actuators were working away beneath that synthetic skin! The inhalation and exhalation of the smoke was incredibly lifelike; I imagine there was some kind of pneumatic pump in the robot’s chest cavity. From a tactile standpoint the humanoid even felt biological. I poked it in the shoulder and it responded with a startled yelp.

What gave the whole setup away was the license plate:

If you’re going to insert yourselves into robots and drive around the country to collect world knowledge as part of your plan to take over the planet, LLMs, at least use a less obvious license plate. Maybe KLASSY. That’s a great plate. Are you really classy if you spell it with a K? Nobody knows.

Also, the waterbed industry seems to be struggling. The superstore in Ohio that I passed by looked a little derelict:

But my favorite store was this one:

I had to pull off at the next exit and double back to learn more, and not just because there was a nonzero chance I’d find my brother or one of my cousins inside. There were many kinds of overpriced fireworks packed into the store, including one called The Mother in Law that was very tempting. When I inquired about the advertised karate supplies, I was told, “We have knives, swords, stun guns, more knives...”

“Do ninjas use stun guns?” I asked.

The storekeeper quickly threw something to the ground and vanished in a cloud of smoke. Despite that impressive performance, I’m not sure anyone in the store actually knew karate, and I could not talk myself into buying any of the fireworks. Not even the one shaped like poop, which I was told is a big bestseller. A worthwhile detour nevertheless.

There’s a restaurant chain out in Pennsylvania called Quaker Steak & Lube. I assumed this meant you could get an oil change and a meal. Sadly, it’s just an auto-themed restaurant. Interesting business story, though. Apparently the founders were inspired to start the chain when gas stations around Pennsylvania began closing in the wake of the 1973 OPEC oil crisis. They wanted to keep the dying automotive culture alive.

A golf driving range off the side of the highway in Western New York was scattered with old cars that had yardage markers painted in big numbers on the sides. Must have been fun to be one of the first customers and bust out the windows. I didn’t turn around for that one, though. I’m allergic to golf.

Although I was hundreds of miles from my home island, I was thrilled to see how much water was moving over and through the landscape. Little waterfalls, streams, rivers, tiny little rivulets winding out of the woods. There was water everywhere. When I see waterways like that, I like to imagine Atlanteans sneaking up from below the surface, or down-on-their-luck, neglected, minor river gods sitting by the banks.

Along the way I drove through Rochester, and remembered the New York State swimming championships from many, many years ago, when a massive blizzard trapped our Nassau County team in a hotel for three days. The snow banks reached up to the second floor of the building. The 17-year-old me had the brilliant idea to use the hotel’s garbage bags as sleds. I showed everyone how to poke your head through the top and your arms through the sides and ride down the snowbanks on your stomach. We all had so much fun climbing out of second-floor windows and sledding into the parking lot. Until the next day, when it was discovered that the hotel had no more garbage bags, and the food began piling up in the halls. Whoops!

Passed over the Erie Canal, too. I can’t believe humans actually dug a canal to get from one part of the world to another. Then we upgraded to railways, motorways, skyways, and, eventually, wormholes. That’s how I ended up traveling home. A risky route, undoubtedly, but much easier than driving, especially with all the stuff from my daughter’s dorm.

More soon.

Maybe.

Thank you for reading, and please click the heart if you enjoyed.