I hate turbulence. Or at least, I thought I did, back during two long flights on big passenger jets, where the winds were seeming to tear at the airplane. It was not hazardous of course, just uncomfortable. Even now, after ample turbulent flying in little airplanes, I still feel melancholy when planning the next flight. Yet, invariably the anticipation is worse than eventual reality.

The opposite is true for the jarring experience of driving around Toronto. I used to not notice all the roads with sunken manhole covers, wavy asphalt, barely filled cracks, until I started flying. Now that I’ve become aware of the need to warn passengers of predictable or possible bumpiness in the air, I’ve realized that the road to the airport is even worse. And a driver is nearly as powerless to reduce discomfort as a pilot, even though the former usually can see it coming.

Maybe it’s just a function of the distribution of impulses we feel. Road bumps come as very quick, sharp, small-amplitude jabs which can make one’s teech chatter. Air bumps tend to be slower, large-amplitude pushes. The more I get used to the latter, the more the former irritate me.