Since my return from
far away lands almost a year ago, this travel blog has shrivelled to a
stagnant, literary mess, serving only to voice occasional sporting views and
other largely irrelevant opinions. And yet, it would seem that I once again
have the opportunity to describe some form of travel experience. Yesterday, I
embarked upon my greatest, personal, driving challenge, all the way from
Wimbledon, to Derby, Coventry and Birmingham. My chosen route may not be as
glamorous as previous expeditions through Germany’s Rhine Valley, Bolivia’s
breathtaking salt flats, or Siberia’s vast, harsh plains, to name but a few; it
has however been similarly enlightening and educational.
A mere 25 minutes into
our journey, Abigail and I encountered the dangers of London driving, as our
travel vehicle, the quaint Volkswagen Polo, was attacked by soaps, sprays and
brushes in Brent Cross. Despite our alarm, we stayed strong in the face of
adversity, or in this case, several Eastern European windscreen washer women. Shaken,
we soldiered on, shortly enjoying the delights of the M1. I love traffic. There
is nothing more satisfying than sitting in a slow moving, unexplained queue in
a stuffy car, with the stench of manure seeping through the temperamental air
conditioning unit. You can imagine my delight as wave after wave of traffic
continued to slap us in the face, with the audacity to proffer no explanation
as to its cause; no nonsensical lane reduction, not even the occasional burning
HGV.
Eventually, we arrived
at Derby’s rush hour traffic, the city’s “in bloom” campaign providing us with
great entertainment. Indeed, the monotony of midlands traffic was certainly
nullified by a few hedgerows decorated with flowers and repeatedly spelling out
the word “Derby”. In actual fact, I cheekily used the queues to work on my
German skills, which, alas, remain fairly limited. But having wriggled out of
the city centre, we were rewarded with smooth, undulating roads, devoid of
stray cars.
I dropped my charge at
her destination and continued winding my way through Derbyshire’s countryside,
now heading South, following signs to Lichfield. The road was enjoyable, the
scenery pleasant, but I was plagued with doubt as to the future of my chariot. The
petrol was depleting rapidly; it was as if the untouched, rolling fields were
mocking me as they continually refused to provide me with fuel to feed my
transportation. The A515 was one thing, but when the M6 Toll, M6 and M42 failed
as well, I began to worry. My spirits were lifted as I stuttered along the A45
to Coventry; I had spied the high roof of a petrol station. Imagine my despair
upon discovering that it was merely a car wash. An amiable gentleman informed
me that I could refuel two miles down the road. His estimation was dangerously
optimistic, but I did manage to survive for long enough.
The petrol fiasco had cost
me bags of time. I was now running late for my appointment at Coventry Rugby
Club. I was briefly thrown by the lack of signage and confusing one-way
systems. I still managed to see the bulk of the game, a friendly between
Coventry and Nuneaton. Coventry ran out comfortable winners, as was expected of
a side, two divisions Nuneaton’s senior. My friend, James, played well, with a
great assist for Coventry’s opening try. At the end, there was a feeling of
expectation; perhaps Coventry’s rugby side could bring sporting success to the
city after their football club’s relegation to League 1.
The final leg of my
journey was short and sweet as I retraced my tracks down the A45, sweeping
below the city and into South West Birmingham. I was treated to my first ever
Birmingham Balti by my hosts. My choice of chicken pakora and chicken dopiaza
were superb, but I was most impressed by the sheer size of the table naan
presented to us. I had reached the end of my journey for the day and was
eventually able to rest my head.
As I’m sure you’ve
gathered, my experiences were not ground-breaking; they were not exceptional,
and yet, they were new. The M1 may be a terrible road to drive on, but I needed
to find that out for myself first. I enjoyed my exploration that took me
through over 200 miles of Midlands countryside. I had ups and downs, traffic
then freedom, hopes and fears. It truly was an epic journey.
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