As I fastened my seat belt, I lingered momentarily, wondering if I would enjoy my own company for the next two weeks. No human companion to blame for the missed turns and U-turns. It was just me, Google Maps, Spotify, and of course, the car for company. I began on a cautious note, knowing that I was embarking on a solo road trip in Scotland, my first in a foreign country.
As I stared at the open road, the signs called out with the meticulous precision of Battenberg cakes, the distinctly British delicacy that inspired the chequered markings on emergency vehicles. I try to avoid such vehicles coming for me. It’s not as if I am a terrible driver. Let’s just say that I have certain issues. This road trip was partly about facing my fears, one of them being my fear of speed.
Competitive as I am, I need to exercise an extraordinary degree of self-restraint to allow others to overtake me. However, when driving fast, my Darwinian instinct of self-preservation kicks in. Simple maths suggests that the probability of living is inversely proportional to the car’s acceleration.
Speeding up has different connotations for different people. I consider cars above 100 kmph perilously fast, which means that on expressways, I drive as Mr. Bean would — hunched over the steering wheel, with my eyes glued to the windscreen, mildly miffed by overtaking cars. On rare occasions, when I breach the 100 kmph speed, I feel like I am cruising at the speed of light.
New to the Scottish roads, I felt like a newly deployed Roomba that was already on a mission without having mapped its battleground. Once I entered the M90, the main artery connecting Edinburgh to Northern Scotland, I increasingly resembled Mr. Bean trying to keep up with the Joneses. If you saw a slow-moving car, and then you spotted another car that was even slower, chances are that I was in the driver’s seat of that car. Most drivers instinctively slow down when they spot a speed camera. I instinctively speed up for fear of being below the minimum speed limit.
I began playing the game that I played as a child with my father, when I was somehow led to believe that mentally converting kilometres into miles was fun during road trips. Under such tough conditions, the wise move was to exit the main motorway and let the Lewis Hamiltons and the Jackie Stewarts get on with their day. After all, a road trip is a great metaphor for life, and the long road is almost always the richer one. I was so much more relaxed once I started to meander along the scenic trails that went past lochs, cairns, stone circles, and the windswept beaches along the North Sea. I gained control of my experiences. I could stop and gaze into the unbroken expanse of the moors and glens, and still make it to the intended town by day’s end. This required a bit of planning and an early start.
Sadly, even on scenic routes, there was no getting away from the Lewis Hamiltons and the Jackie Stewarts. In the U.K., drivers are exceptionally skilled at zipping across single carriageways. The maximum legal speed is usually 96 kmph for cars on single carriageways, while in other countries, the same road would allow only speeds below 60 kmph.
Too many drivers go on road trips as though they are on a military mission to reach some place. If they are in a mood for a coffee, before they can slow down, they would have passed the nearest café, then a few more, and then the one that seemed particularly popular.
Even on narrow country roads, adrenaline and caffeine-pumped drivers chased after me, and while most of them patiently waited for their turn to overtake me, the odd tailgating driver tempted me to go on a go-slow protest, like the anti-fuel tax protesters. However, that would have helped no one. Roads in the U.K. are beautifully planned with laybys to give way. So, I let the world continue on its course, while I immersed myself in some breathtaking views, driving along the northern coast, into the Highlands, and eventually reaching Ayrshire, where a roundabout sculpture candidly asked, ‘Whit’s yer hurry?’
In the slow lane, I learnt to take interesting detours, stumbling upon hidden lochs and regenerated woodlands. Slow driving unlocks an array of possibilities all at once, governed by chance, much like particles existing in multiple probable quantum states. And yet my solo road trip was an exercise in staying alert, and mindful of the current state. While I cruised along, I smiled, thinking about the kindness of strangers, like the café owner, who upon my request, tried his best to capture my photograph, or the gentleman who gently reminded me to mention my table number when ordering food, or the little girl who offered to let me play with her stuffed toy dog.
The purpose of road trips is to enjoy the proverbial journey as much as the destination, if not more. Doing it at my own pace let me observe the life force. I did enjoy my own company. However, had I received a speeding ticket, it would have been divine retribution for failing to give way to the gods. They were surely zipping around the heavenly Scottish countryside.
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