Self-driving cars are the automotive world’s way of saying, “Humans, we’re not entirely sure we trust you with this steering wheel thing anymore.” These vehicles are a peculiar mix of paranoia and confidence, constantly peering at the road with cameras, sensors and radar like a nervous robot tourist. They rely on maps so detailed they could probably tell you the color of the flowers on the side of the road and GPS systems that insist they’re never lost, even when they are.
Their computerized brains are endlessly calculating, deciding when to stop, go or swerve, all while politely pretending not to notice the cyclist wobbling unpredictably nearby. Self-driving cars dream of a world where accidents are a thing of the past, though they still occasionally mistake a harmless bush for an angry pedestrian. For now, they carry a steering wheel like a security blanket, just in case a human needs to step in and explain what a roundabout is.
Their computerized brains are endlessly calculating, deciding when to stop, go or swerve, all while politely pretending not to notice the cyclist wobbling unpredictably nearby. Self-driving cars dream of a world where accidents are a thing of the past, though they still occasionally mistake a harmless bush for an angry pedestrian. For now, they carry a steering wheel like a security blanket, just in case a human needs to step in and explain what a roundabout is.
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