Right Through The Windscreen As Hamish example essay topic

Between Dreams and Nightmares When Hamish McSpam was in high school three years ago, he was inspired by the story of a Scottish high school dropout who made a fortune by repairing old computers and selling them to college and university students. The story of that Scottish lad had led Hamish McSpam into conceiving his very own philosophy: What is the point of wasting time in school, learning things that will not be useful in life, while one can earn a living by doing something that one enjoys? Such a question might be contentious to others, but to Hamish it would always be rhetorical. "I have my own ways. I shall do things in my own way", Hamish told his parents and teachers about his decision to quit school.

He was so well known for his stubbornness that nobody bothered to argue with him. Within two days of job seeking, Hamish became an apprentice at Uncle Graham's garage for cars and trucks. Over a month's period, Hamish's hard work and determination impressed Uncle Graham, and so he gave Hamish a full-time job as a mechanic. Two years later, Hamish managed to earn himself a British driving licence. So Uncle Graham assigned him to another job - picking up and delivering second-hand car parts within the northern region of Scotland. There was no regular schedule.

Hamish would be away from Aberdeen for two, three, or sometimes four days; delivering used car parts to small garages and workshops in Aberdeenshire and Inverness. Every month, Hamish would update his savings account, checking whether he had saved a sufficient amount of money to open his own garage. Hamish wished to fulfil his childhood dreams of owning a garage and modifying cars for weekend races. He found out that he was still short of lb 10,000 - about eight or ten months' worth of wages and tips. It was just past 3 o'clock in a summer afternoon. There was not a cloud in sight, and the sun was shining right through the windscreen as Hamish drove the white Ford Transit on route A 944 from Alford to Aberdeen.

The CD player was playing Master of Puppets by Metallica. Hamish was doing a steady 50 miles per hour, right within the national U.K. speed limit for goods-carrying vehicles. He had been away from Aberdeen for three days. His limited amount of sleep and rest caused the sight of fields and trees to slowly morph into a sight of cheering crowd, carrying banners and flags. Hamish felt the Ford Transit eventually transforming into a beefed-up Nissan Skyline GTR, complete with race-day specifications such as 17-inch alloy wheels mounted on low-profile sports tyres, Brembo cross-drilled brake discs, Koni height-adjustable shock absorbers, K&N high-performance air filter, et cetera. The list goes on, seemingly endless.

Hamish was trailing a Dodge Viper GTS, waiting for the right moment to overtake that traditional American supercar. Seconds later, as both cars were negotiating a slight rightwards bend, there was an adequate room for Hamish to overtake the Viper. The heavy metal song in his car seemed to be growing louder and louder, as though it was burning Hamish's passion for racing. Without the slightest hesitation, Hamish kicked the clutch in a split-second to shift down to gear three. The blow-off valve gave out a sharp and explosive hissing sound as it released excessive turbo-induced engine pressure. Hamish floored the accelerator and the tachometer needle was pointing at 8,500 revolutions per minute - a redline for most standard road cars.

The speedometer needle was rapidly climbing from 80 mph to 120 mph. The atmosphere was overflowing with a furious roar from the engine, very similar to Hamish's raging desire for speed. As he began to pass the Viper, he said aloud, "American legend, ay? Let me smoke you with this Japanese legacy!

Banzai!! !" And so he did smoke the American beast with his Japanese monster. He gradually shifted to gear four, gear five, and gear six, as his Skyline GTR dashed along the open stretch of road, like a bullet fired from a revolver. The 6-speed touring car gearbox with close-ratio gearing showed its prowess.

The two tanks of pressurised Nitrous Oxide were still full. Hamish did not feel the need to use them yet. They might be useful during an emergency need for speed. An old lady seemed to have appeared out of nowhere, crossing the road just about 20 metres ahead of Hamish.

Out of instinct, or perhaps panic, Hamish took his right foot off the gas and slammed on the brake pedal. Suddenly, the brakes were far from being as responsive as those Brembo brakes. The steering wheel felt rather vague, typical of the ones on bulky, load-carrying vans. Only then Hamish realised that he was driving a Ford Transit, not a beefed-up Nissan Skyline GTR. His right foot was now squeezing the brake pedal, a hundred times as hard as one would squeeze a lemon.

The screeching of the tyres was unmistakably audible from within the van, and yet the van seemed to be gliding down the road, instead of slowing down. As he got closer and closer to the old lady, Hamish thought of swerving sharply to the roadside to avoid knocking her down. However, the 50-metre cliff by the roadside put Hamish in a horrifying dilemma. Would he be able to brake in time? Would he knock the lady down and regret the tragedy his whole life? Or would he drive off the cliff and leave all his childhood dreams behind?