Sentences with phrase «nothing around the vehicle»

The dash alerts would go yellow to red instantly with nothing around the vehicle.

Not exact matches

On the road to developing autonomous technologies, perhaps nothing is more important than the vehicle being able to see the world around it.

Many different configurations of vehicle designs, mission plans and strategic tactics have been tossed around and debated, but as of 2011, nothing has been finalized.

The controls work perfectly with all the vehicles and nothing is more enjoyable than cruising around the town, listening to the myriad of different radio stations available to the player.

But shake Lords of Dogtown and nothing rattles around inside: it's an empty vehicle for bad boys on skateboards biding time in eternal summers until a movie deal comes wheeling down the pipe.

At times you look at this film and it's nothing more than a vehicle for DuVall to be DuVall on screen; he's running around with a gun, questioning God (then thanking him moments later), and chasing women half his age.

As someone who is too young to have been around for the first round of muscle car wars, I sometimes forget that these beasts started out as rather crude vehicles that were nothing more than an excuse to buy an enormous engine that made an otherwise less than stellar car exciting.

A few details have floated around out there and even concepts of the next three - pointed star vehicle have been released, but nothing too substantial, until now.

The automotive media has been universal in its praise of the Kizashi for its on - road dynamic and around - town comfort, and a full year in a long - term test vehicle has done nothing to dispel that impression among kbb.com staff.

There's nothing like scootering — riding a diver propulsion vehicle (DPV)-- over coral reefs or around majestic pinnacles.

But it's not just walking around doing nothing, playing as one of your favorite heroes with their unique abilities, you'll be able to hop in and ride various vehicles from cars to trucks, that can also fly, to even fire - breathing machine - gunning cyborg dinosaurs!

, you are lying on the floor of your place looking up, a small draft runs through the room, between the door and the window, and all things seem perfectly still, wind only disturbs concrete in imperceptible ways, or it may take millions of years to be noticed and, as the air runs through the space, all your plants move and all is animated and all is alive somehow, and here are the thoughts of all men in all ages and lands, they are not original with me, and that wind upon your plants is the common air that bathes the globe, and we have no ambitions of universalism, and I'm glad we don't, but the particles of air bring traces of pollen and are charged with electricity, desert sand, maybe sea water, and these particles were somewhere else before they were dragged here, and their route will not end by the door of this house, and if we tell each other stories, one can imagine that they might have been bathed by this same air, regrouped and recombined, recharged as a vehicle for sound, swirling as it moves, bringing the sound of a drum, like that Kabuki story where a fox recognizes the voice of its parents as a girl plays a drum made out of their skin, or any other event, and yet I always felt your work never tells stories, I tend to think that narrative implies a past tense, even if that past was just five seconds ago, one second ago was already the past, and human memory is irrelevant in geological time, plants and fish know not what tomorrow will bring, neither rocks nor metal do, but we all live here now, and we all need visions and we all need dreams, and as long as your metal sculptures vibrate they are always in the Present, and their past is a material truth alien to narrative, but well, maybe narrative does not imply a past tense at all and they are writing their own story while they gently move and breathe, and maybe nothing was really still before the wind came in, passing through the window as if through an irrational portal to make those plants dance, but everything was already moving and breathing in near complete silence, and if you're focused enough you can feel the pulse of a concrete wall and you can feel the tectonic movements of the earth, and you can hear the magma flowing under our feet and our bones crackling like a wild fire, and you can see the light of fireflies reflected in polished metal, and there is nothing magical about that, it is just the way things are, and sometimes we have to raise our voice because the music is too loud and let your clothes move to a powerful bass, sound waves and bright lights, powerful like the sun, blinding us if we stare for too long, but isn't it the biggest sign of love, like singing to a corn field, and all acts of kindness that are not pitiful nor utilitarian, that are truly horizontal as everything around us is impregnated with the deadliest violence, vertical and systemic, poisonous, and sometimes you just want to feel the sun burning your skin and look for life in all things declared dead, a kind of vitality that operates like corrosion, strong as the wind near the sea, transforming all things,

Think of a situation wherein you are stuck on the road due to the breakdown of your vehicle and you find nothing around that place.