On the whole I enjoy driving and that’s a good thing as, over the years I’ve clocked up quite a few miles travelling to clubs, festivals and other venues. But it’s not all plain sailing.
The news this weekend has been dominated by the queues of traffic trying to get to the Channel Tunnel and Dover Port. Because of hold-ups on the French side—increased security etc—travellers are having to wait up to 16 hours in their cars and all the roads approaching Folkestone and Dover are blocked up. It reminded me of a story I tell occasionally:
You know how it sometimes happens, you get just past the point of no return, just on the motorway itself or too far down the slip road to change your mind, when you realise you should have gone another way!I could see immediately that the traffic was going slow and after a mile or two it stopped… and then started again… and stopped… and stayed stopped. Drivers turned off their engines. Some got out and stretched. It became clear that we weren’t going to be moving soon so little conversations started; and impromptu picnics on the hard shoulder. Families shared biscuits and sandwiches and flasks. And then there was the call of nature. People sidled off up the bank to find a bush…
To cut a long story short (and it was long, long story take my word for it!) we were there so long that a couple of old people died, a baby was born, a young couple met, fell in love, and found a vicar to marry them!
And then you heard it, from up ahead, the roar of engines and everyone rushed back to their cars, clambered in and sped off down the now-clear motorway. There was no sign of why it was stopped and I never did find out.
|This one did me for about 120,000 miles!|
That’s just a story but if, like me, you’ve spent 40 years doing one-night-stands in folk clubs around the country you know that that kind of thing happens.
There was a trip to the south coast which would normally have taken about 4 hours but because of the weather (rain) and traffic it took 7½. Then I had to park some way from the venue so arrived wet and bedraggled about an hour after the club had started. My greeting was “You’re on after this song!”
Coming home to Belper on one occasion I passed J20 on the M1 and hit a queue. From there to J21 is about 5 miles. It took 5 hours! Apparently the motorway was closed because of a factory fire and the fear of flying debris.
Once you start the stories just go on and on…
going home to Luton when we lived there, from somewhere near Bristol—hours of 40mph into the teeth of a blizzard. I knew if I stopped I wouldn’t be able to start again and, luckily, there was no other traffic to get in the way—when I eventually left the motorway and tried to slow I couldn’t! A big ball of ice had built up in the engine and was stopping the accelerator cable from moving! Luckily, it soon thawed.
Scottish folk singer Dick Gaughan has, I believe, described himself as a professional driver who is sometimes allowed to sing a few songs. It does feel like that when you drive 4 hours each way to do your 1 hour performance.
Travel has always been like that. It’s a joy, a great adventure, but is also dangerous.
It’s a great source of stories and always has been.
A couple of hundred years ago a man ventured out after a tremendous storm of rain and saw his friend’s head sticking up out of a pot hole. “Do you need a hand out?” he asked. “No, I’m alright, but it’s my horse I’m sorry for” he replied.
Dr Foster went to Gloucester
In a shower of rain,
He fell in a puddle right up to his middle,
And never went there again.
All those mishaps are, of course, balanced by some great joys. You discover amazing places which you would not normally come across and see glorious sights. You see the countryside in all its changing moods. I remember taking a detour through the Honister Pass while I was in the Lake district. The first time was amazing and I’ve done it several times since just for the joy of it... I stopped for an hour at around one in the morning on the hills in the Peak District to watch the Perseid meteor shower, natural fireworks… Quite recently I drove home accompanied by a huge, red moon down low on the horizon—magical.
I could go on and on… I haven’t mentioned the ‘characters’ you meet; getting lost; asking for directions; or even SatNav adventures!
As I write this I realise that the ‘bad’ bits which stick in my mind happened mainly on the way to a gig which is when you are worried and have time restraints. The ‘good’ bits are mainly on the way home when you are relaxed, can enjoy it and, hopefully, have the memory of a good gig to cheer you along.
Oh the farmer’s heart with joy is filled
When the crops are good and sound;
But that cannot match the sheer delight
Of the traveller, homeward bound….
(from ‘The traveller, homeward bound’ on my CD False Waters)
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