Many road trips start with eager conversations and lead to singing. This is true for solo journey’s too – the unquiet mind fills the silences without self-consciousness. Both solo and in company, hours pass easily with deeper thoughts surfacing to formulate into words.
We travelled over a thousand kilometres on our tour of the Southwest exploring woodland, beaches, farmland, coastal vistas, deep gorges, castles, prehistoric caverns, moorland. The rivers and tides flowed as they always do, this time under my observation with appreciation. Certain landscapes get ingrained into the psyche. Architectural styles of buildings, prevalence of vegetation and rolling landscapes form unspoken descriptions. Such is the gift of travel, memory and comparison.
Steep inclines and tight bends challenged our heavy long wheelbase vehicle. At times I noticed I had clenched my jaw and relaxed again when the seemingly imminent collision didn’t happen. The frustration of detours, lack of passing places and potential for fatal plunges off the roadside gave plenty to sigh gladly about when the ignition key was clicked to off at the end of the day. Despite tiredness, I didn’t always sleep soundly. Usual things ached differently in unfamiliar beds and the visual onslaught of new experience combined with deep reflection led to strange dreams.
“I counsel you by way of caution to forbear from crossing the moor in those dark hours when the powers of evil are exalted,” wrote Sir Arthur Conan Doyle in the Sherlock Holmes Adventure Hound of the Baskervilles. This sentiment played internally whilst crossing the moor with full moon breaking through patches of fog. Lost among tall hedges the expectation of a confrontation with a giant dog, Owlman or other outworldly beast did not seem so fantastic. Tight lanes gave way to vast open spaces. Twice we passed empty solitary vehicles with no one in the vicinity. Minor mysteries to speculate on forever. Finding our refuge was elusive. Stepping out into the void to ask directions at a remote dwelling armed with torch and two way radio (no cellphone coverage here) felt like a dozen movie tropes – leaving the spaceship to explore a planet, approaching the door of a haunted house. The occupant stepped out to meet me anxiously. Perhaps he was replaying film scripts in his mind too as he saw the bright lights and found they came from a large bearded man in black talking into his radio. I called out in a friendly fashion and didn’t ask to be taken to his leader. It turned out I was not far from my destination, so made a polite exit and drove off again into the darkness.
Daylight provided a great view from our moorland refuge. Nearing the end of our travels & with pressing appointments we did not get to explore the ancient history and wilderness of this remote fairytale of a village. Another time, this will be the base and not a passing waypoint.
When hours turn to days on the road, long silences follow. General chit chat gets exhausted and the monotonous white line leading home quietens all the tongues. “The monk in his cell does not exclusively reach enlightment,” I mused, a point almost too obvious to mention to myself even in passing thought. I’ve always known that the thrill is in the journey. Most often the destination unimportant.
See you down the road.
