Fog, Sheep, and Left-Handed Driving
When I went to Wales last May, I never imagined I would be spending so much more time in the UK. In fact, when Robert first asked me to come to London, I dumbly responded, "I've already been to the UK this year. Twice seems excessive."
It's safe to say that I hadn't yet understood the magnitude of his invitation. I'm glad he talked me around.
Now, I'm in the position of trying to convince others to come to London. And if there's one thing that consistently draws my parents around the globe, it's a well-organized multi-day orienteering meet. More convincing yet, the Welsh six-day is a good jumping-off point to get to the World Masters orienteering championships in Finland this year.
I'm not in great racing shape (though physical therapy for my pregnancy-induced pelvic issues is helping a lot), but Eileen and I didn't make it to the Brecon Beacons in our month of Welsh hiking last year. So I'm joining them and some family friends for a couple of weeks of country air and as much hiking as I can reasonably manage.
The adventure starts right away. Since there are some amazing point to point hikes where we're going and I'm not in good shape to commit to them, I volunteer at the counter to be a rental car driver. The price for a second driver is per-day ridiculous, so all of a sudden I'm the sole driver for our manual-shift rental.
I used to drive stick every day... in high school. I feel confident about it still, but I can't remember the last time the skill was actually put into practice. And this is my first time driving on the left side of the road. Actually, other than a couple of minutes in a Chilean truck, I'm not sure I've driven outside of North America at all.
I open the wrong door to get in the driver's side, then spend enough time getting familiar with the controls in the unmoving car that both Rick and Eileen are audibly developing second thoughts. But slow and careful is definitely the right approach. When I do finally start the car, it's smooth, and we've already figured out the trick for reaching the reverse gear.
Driving on the left is fine; the most challenging habit is remembering to center the car around your left shoulder rather than your right when finding lane position. The tricky part is more the street design: cobbled lanes that host two-way traffic when only one car fits. Whichever of you has more space is meant to pull over (to the left, whoops) and let the other car drive by.
I do all right. We drive to Bristol. I stall out in a multi-lane roundabout, but keep my cool. There are a couple of incidents that escalate to honking, which is understandable. I parallel park in one of these ridiculous skinny lanes, doing my best to imagine the boundaries of my rental vehicle.
In Wales, we drive a mountain road as the fog rolls in. I've generally been driving slowly enough to annoy locals but fast enough to keep my parents on edge: a speed that feels reasonably safe from the driver's seat. But the fog gets thick enough that I wonder if we'll have to stop entirely and wait it out.
Sheep appear in the white at the margins of the road. At one point, a sheep and lamb cross in front of the car. We wait. We go on. The fog lifts, a little.
Over the days, the rhythm gets better. The roundabouts are every mile or so for most of an hour, but Rick and I develop rapport. He tells me how far around to go, pointing out the exit road.
"This one," I confirm, steering towards one.
You can't just go around and around; with the multi-lane roundabouts, you have to keep shifting toward the middle or you'll be shot out an exit.
When Rick falls asleep navigating, Eileen can usually pull up directions pretty quickly in the back seat.
I'm still not sure how to read a dashed white line. It appears to sometimes mean "here is another lane for you" and sometimes "this is where oncoming traffic goes." But I don't have to go explore it.
In the meanwhile I've picked up on local habits for skirting into the other lane to get around parked cars, and how to properly signal in a traffic circle.
I don't love driving, but this works. My shoulders relax as time passes. I can get us through towns and highways all the way to the daily orienteering meet sites.
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