The Hills of Cobh

The hills of Cobh always make me catch my breath. And no, it’s not the beautiful scenery, nor my asthma – though both of these can cause a similar response. Nothing causes me a sharp inhalation like being at the bottom of a hill in Cobh in my little Nissan micra.

The hills of Cobh are practically perpendicular – it's no stretcher to call them cliffs. I think the Batmobile would tremble and shudder if it caught these slopes in its headlights. It may be able to drive up the walls of Gotham city’s skyscrapers, but a true test drive would be a spin around Cobh.
         When I find myself at the foot of one of them, I pause, blocking the flow of traffic, and look behind me hoping in vain no one is up my rear. But there is always someone staring back at me, disgruntled at my sudden stop. On the rare occasion that there is nothing, I find, against my will mind, that I must wait until someone is giving me the evil eye - I always work best under pressure. After the igniting glare from the driver behind, I quickly check that nothing is coming against me, put my car in first and my foot to the pedal and go as fast as I can in the hope that the momentum will get me to the top.
          Now and again, the unthinkable happens. A four wheel drive appears like a bull in my path and comes charging down the hills against me. Though my car is black, he seems to react to it like a red rag. I've no choice but to pull in and use my handbrake. Here's where things get even trickier. With the handbrake and the footbrake I can hold the car, but once I take my foot off the footbrake, I can feel it begin to slip. In those miliseconds where my foot hovers between the brake and accelerator my heart stops beating, and I expect the next second to bring the crashing sound of broken glass and bent metal. I don't have the strength to pull hard enough on the handbrake to stop the car rolling backwards - and when I do, I have trouble releasing it again. A glance in my rearview mirror and the eyes that look back at me are now filled with fear. They see that my car is slipping, but just as things could turn nasty, my foot makes contact with the accelorator, and I'm off in a roar that would make a boyracer jealous.
              The release of air from my lips when I get to the summit can cause a second panic, as it sounds like one of my tyres has exploded - but once I’ve realised that it was just my lungs and not my wheels that had been completely over inflated, I relax once more. Once over the top, I don't look behind me. The past is forgotten - the road brings adventures new.
          This fear of hills is practically a phobia. I know the root of its cause. I learnt to drive on corkscrew hill. But I think that's a post for tomorrow.