We spent three epic days spearing across the Martian red outback and into the lush, humid tropics. When not pausing for fuel, food or photography we were travelling faster than any other land-bound vehicle in all of Australia. The fact the Northern Territory government imposed an 80mph speed limit on the Stuart Highway the year after our visit is entirely coincidental.

Yet memorable moments don’t depend upon striking out to far-flung locations in exotic metal. When I passed my driving test every drive was a great one. Partly due to the sheer novelty of being able to go wherever I pleased, but mostly because getting my licence and buying my first car was the start of the most rewarding journey of all: the eternal quest to be a better driver.

Like most of us, during my formative years I conflated driving fast with driving well. I’d be lying if I said I didn’t enjoy those carefree and occasionally sweaty-palmed days, but I’d also be dishonest if I didn’t also confess that it has come as a great relief not to feel that youthful pressure to prove myself to myself. More than three decades on I have become a much better driver, yet, ironically, I rarely drive as quickly as I used to. There’s still something deeply enjoyable about exploring the capabilities of a high-performance car on a great road, but gaining the wisdom to pick those moments rather than forcing them has unlocked a level of pleasure the less mellow 20-something Meaden would struggle to believe.

It’s very easy to feel jaded and cynical about most things these days. Cars and driving are no exception. But so long as I still smile inside when I snick the perfect downshift or slice the sweetest and most satisfying line through a sequence of corners there’s still cause to be optimistic. After all, where else but behind the wheel of a car can we simultaneously lose and find ourselves?