It had been a fifteen mile battle so far, but now it looked like the non-hazardous product lorry would at last get its rear axel past the front of the lorry mounted by the not so mobile home. Where there had once been a clear road there was now a considerable tail back. Then just as the battle appeared to be won disaster struck in the form of a one in seven hill. Fifty cars plus, and a 1.2 Nova, resigned themselves to their fate. The delay in passing would have been shorter lived if it were not for the fact that once passed, the lorry porting the mobile home gained some momentum on a downhill run and proceeded to indicate to pull back out around his race chum. Many of the drivers would have made him wait, but the 1.2 Nova did not have the steam to close up the gap on the car in front of him and was cut up … we waited in line. It would be another four miles before I got my chance to express my heartfelt thanks for the opportunity the lorry driver had afforded me to admire the gentle curves of the dual carriageway that cut through the once tranquil countryside. The thank you was executed with a hand manoeuvre that would have made Eric Clapton look positively lethargic. Looking on the bright side, the steady fifty-six miles an hour run over the last twenty miles was good for fuel economy, and secured my Green Party membership for just over twenty minutes.
I have been known to cover some miles in my car, not due to the joy of driving, but through necessity. The one thing I can pretty much guarantee these days, is that it will only take a short while before my patience leaves my mortal coil quicker than a rep hides his mobile phone when he sees a police patrol car. Ah, mobile phones. No sooner had I cleared the dual carriageway, onto the now three-lane motorway, the next obstacle confronted me. With the two inside lanes obviously down to fifty-six with the two lorries still at it like the last lap of the Monte Carlo Grand Prix, I was trapped behind a sixty thousand pounds, seven series BMW. Was the driver so light of money through his purchase and the cost of fuel he could no longer afford a hands free car kit, or maybe the lavish purchase was not as refined as we were had to be believed, and in fact, the internal cabin noise was just too much for one. Whatever the reason for his engaging conversation with his stock broker and complete lack of peripheral vision, it was having a very detrimental affect on the speed of his vehicle to the extent that both mobile home lorry and non-hazardous lorry had now passed him on the inside! As news of falling share prices startled him into life, it was then that I noticed that sixty thousand pounds did not include the optional extra of light bulbs for the indicators either, as he drifted aimlessly into the more familiar home of the BMW driver, the middle lane.
There were four miles to the road works. Well it said road works, when in fact what it actually meant was seven miles of cones with an enforced forty mile per hour speed limit to protect the workforce. A workforce that was about as rare as a bag of manure from a rocking horse. The sign indicating a finish date of ‘Winter 2003’ left me wondering if that meant January 2003 or December 2003 both, in my view, constituting as winter. Had anybody actually been working on the protected zone, then January would have seemed like a good bet, but the absence of anything looking like a workman, and the only thing protected being the wild life, left me feeling that even December 2004 was an unachievable goal. My speed remained constant until the car in front, despite dutifully abiding by the signed limit, jammed on his breaks as he approached the tell-tale white lines marking the presence of a Gatzo camera; thus ensuring a twenty mile per hour safety margin in his favour and a chain of brake lights flashing that would in due course lead to a row of stationary traffic.
Fog lights! I could see just about over the edge of the distant horizon as the sky was so clear. Clear, but now dark, thanks to the duelling lorries. There had been fog at one stage and visibility must have been down to all of couple of miles but, at the time I recall, this had not stopped the person in front of me testing a ‘new button’ on his dashboard. Obviously concerned for both his safety and mine he felt the need to warm me of his presence in the diminishing visibility, had you poked yourself in the eyes and squinted through the tears, that is. Also he apparently hadn’t noticed me when I first noticed him some four miles earlier consequently leading him to believe that he might appear out of nowhere to me after I had dabbed the tears away. In reality, the only thing I could not see now, was his brake lights when they came on. Of course this was all some way back now but, much like the man who had found the new button, the person now in front of me had found the button to turn them on and then, with the retention span of a goldfish, forgotten where the said button was so that he could turn them off again. As he caught up with a gaggle of like minded and forgetful friends, the trail of bright red lights piercing the night sky left me fearing I was about to be flattened by a landing 747.
Never mind, the six hour drive back from the North East was drawing to a close now, and I would soon be back home planning my next adventure.