A Fun Day on the Road

I don't normally use thisspace to promote personal matters, but yesterday deserves mention, if for noother reason than to thank those who helped in my moment of need.
The day began to unravel atthe not particularly early time of 08:45, when I left home to collect Kate, mydaughter, from her university in Preston; a journey of some 114 miles. Iexpected to meet a bit of bad weather on the way, as I had to cross the spineof England, the Pennines, and those wonders of modern inaccuracy, the weatherforecasters, had predicted snow for somewhere in these odd islands of ours. But the car was wellprepared for emergencies, since I've often travelled in adverse weatherconditions.Following a long, slowcircuit of York, caused by millions on the hunt Xmas gifts, the first hint thatsomething might not be quite right was a brief flash of red from the dashboardas I entered Knaresborough, some 50 or so miles from home. I couldn't decide whetheror not I'd imagined it. A pause for a natural break in a car park (well,actually, I made use a public convenience), a sandwich and a check of the mapto remind me how to get to the university residence block, made all appear fine.So, intrepid traveller that I am, off I went again. Another 12 miles oftrouble free motoring found me descending the steepish hill overlooking picturesqueFewston Reservoir. Here, I was flashed again. This time more substantially. Adefinite warning and one not to be taken lightly, since ahead rose the isolatedand rather high Greenhow Hill; not a place to be driving a dickey car inwinter. Fortunately, the red light took up permanent residence at this pointand, as I was conveniently passing a curve of the old road that had been turnedinto a lay-by, I swiftly turned into it. For a few moments, I sat in thestationary car watching the light and listening to the radio click on and offin a slightly sinister fashion, whilst the clock display changed by the second,suggesting I was in some sort of Dr Who time-warp. Not a mechanic, Inevertheless recognised that this was not a good sign. The car was clearlyobjecting to something and it might not be a good idea to force it furtherwithout some of the attention it seemed to desire.I insure my car withDirect Line (a good company that provides comprehensive cover for reasonablepremiums - and has the advantage of allowing my daughter, as a named driver, tobuild up her own no-claims bonus) and they are involved with the breakdown service,Green Flag, which I'd joined as a result. So, I called the emergency number andwas connected with a man who clearly knew the geography of the region where Iwas located. So much more reassuring than the usual Asian call centre, wherethey try to help but haven't a clue whether Driffield is a town or some sort ofobscure agricultural reference.The man organised a pickup and told me it would be with me within the hour. I sent a text message (yes,despite my advanced years, I can thumb the keys with the best of them) to Kateto let her know I'd be delayed. Quick as a flash, she was on the phone to makesure I'd still be able to rescue her from threatening isolation on campus.Alas, I was unable to provide such reassurance at this point.I had my camera with me,so took a little stroll and a few pictures, before retiring to the now cold carto await mechanical help. The recovery vehicle arrived just before certain delicateparts of my anatomy became permanently detached from my person. He swiftlydiagnosed the problem as a dead alternator. It seemed I had alternatives; a towback home (leaving Kate isolated), a tow to Preston (leaving the pair of usisolated with a buggered car), or he could phone a friend and arrange a fix. Ithought the latter the most attractive and he made said call. We travelled toGargrave, a small town not far from Settle, where I once lived, and more orless on the way to my final destination. The guy who runs ADLMotors on the small industrial estate on Eshton Road was out on a job. But hischarming receptionist took control, handed me a key to a loan car (whichhappened to be the same model as my own) and said they'd have the car fixed formy return. No fuss, no unnecessary questions. Off I went. Snow filled the sky andcoated the road with slush as I approached Preston, where I made 798 hillstarts as I joined a queue of traffic trying to enter the town; though Godalone knows what would make the place so popular. Fortunately, my memory hadn'tdeserted me completely and I made only one false turning, into a university carpark - the wrong one, but soon found the right one. Another text and Kate wasthere like magic in minutes.Packing, sorting andtransportation from room to car achieved, we set off back to Gargrave. Thistime, the traffic seemed determined to join us on the way out of Preston. Icould understand their desire to leave the place but wished they'd chosen a bettertime to become fans of my leadership. Though, to be fair, I was more a followerthan a leader at this time.Eventually, we left behindthe hordes and found ourselves on a less crowded road until we found thecompletely deserted track that led to Gargrave. Arriving only minutes after thespare part had been delivered, we left the borrowed car, full of Kate'sbelongings (mostly the gift of dirty washing for her mother to cure), and wentin search of food for Kate, since she'd had no lunch and it was now around16:30.The local Co-op (Good withfood), provided us with a couple of warm snacks and some flavoured water. Ialso picked up a copy of The Silence of the Lambs, by Thomas Harris, for a quidfrom a charity bin; a nice touch of serendipity.Back at the garage, ourcar was ready to collect. We transferred the goods from borrowed to owned car,paid the bill, and set off for home, eternally grateful to the lovely folk fromthe breakdown service and the garage, who'd all been so charming and helpful.All went swimmingly, withme driving, until we reached a roundabout just outside Knaresborough. Here, theA59 leads to York and every motorist in the country had decided to travel thatroute with us. I sneaked in behind a Mini that was clinging to the tale of afairly new Audi, and many more trailed behind us. It soon became evident thatthe driver of the Audi was either drunk, dim-witted or demented. Here he was,driving a car with the power to eat up tarmac at over 100 miles an hour butdetermined never to exceed 30 mph. The A59 isn't a road with many places toovertake, especially when the oncoming traffic is a more or less unbrokenchain. Eventually, the Mini pulled off onto a side road and I was stuck behindthe dithering Audi. A brief break in the oncoming traffic gave hope and Igrasped it, overtaking and driving about seven miles at the permitted speedlimit of 60 mph. Some 3 miles from York, wehit the end of the queue approaching the city. That was fun. It took us over anhour to travel up to and round the ring road. And such wonderful scenery onshow under the black night sky, to keep us occupied. (for those who don't knowthe area, York sits on a flat, featureless plain and the ring road is banal andboring).At last, we reached thebridge to take us from the A64, up and over to join the A166, which eventuallyreaches the seaside resort town of Bridlington. A short way along this stretch,I pulled into a lay-by next to a petrol station and Kate assumed the drivingseat. She took us, fast and safe, the last miles home, so we arrived in time tounpack the car just before the evening meal was ready. Good timing by Valerie,my adorable wife, and a great end to a somewhat wearing day. But it was worth theeffort to get Kate home for the holidays.