Avoid the A303

It is as if I have just driven through a portal to another world. Only five minutes ago the windscreen wipers were whipping away at the downpour in such a frenzy that it felt like they could have propelled the car into flight. No such luck. My grip is still so tight on the wheel I see that my knuckles are white. I can still feel the adrenalin flooding me from the inside all but ready to explode out of whatever escape route it can. The intensity of having to concentrate so acutely when driving in such heavy rain always makes me hold my breath until I’m nearly blue and passing out behind the wheel. Blink, focus, breathe, repeat.

Another blink and in an instant someone has turned the tap off and the heating up. Now I can hardly breathe for the potency of the heat. That sneaky sun has emerged from its hiding place all proud and beaming. Oh, hello summer solstice. Where did all the air go? The traffic starts to build sluggishly ahead of me. Wipers off, windows down, bigger breaths.

Traffic and weather. Weather and traffic. How dull, how mundane, how very English of me. I scoff at myself, at my own dreary thoughts, but at least it makes me smile. I feel my face soften ever so slightly and a gentle heartbeat in my ears. I do welcome the momentary distraction as to why I am even on this delightful stretch of the A303. I have driven this route many times before, back and forth, clocking up miles and losing hours.

Concentrate, it is time to merge. Merge in turn, politely and with an excessive amount of nods, smiles, sorry's, thanks, hand waves, thumbs up, appreciative and apologetic faces. Then there is the quick pulse of the hazard lights as an additional ‘thank-you’ to make up for the inconvenience caused to all other road users for being on the same road, at the same time trying to get past the same place on the same day. And we’re all at it. Sorry! Thank you! Smile. Wave. Sorry, again! Thanks! So we crawl along because here the road bottlenecks into a single carriageway as we approach Stonehenge.

We are all now wedged nose to nose, strangers forced into camaraderie under the burning sun, joining the single-file caravan of overheated and now static metal mules. We are all stuck. None of us is even capable of getting out of first gear anymore. It’s always painfully slow-moving here, but I cannot recall a time it has ever been this bad. The chugging stop and start of it all has now come to a complete stop. We have hit a standstill, folks. Confirmed by the big red alert flashing on my phone screen, nothing like a traffic update when you are already in the heart of it with no way out, no alternative route available. Brilliant. Please don’t let there be a breakdown ahead. This already feels like the longest day I have ever lived, and I have lived through some long days. Oh, hello summer solstice.

Those that have decent or even working AC’s keep their engines gently turning over, blasting themselves with fresh icy air behind closed windows, not a drop of sweat in sight. Deep breath, deeper sigh.

I stare at the very clean, very cool, and not at all sticky-looking 4x4 to my right. Alright for some. Green is not a good colour on me, I know this, yet I can often find myself dressed head to toe in a heavy emerald gown with matching haute couture luggage quicker than I can say fashion week. Before I have time to slip into something more comfortable, something a little kinder, I am trapped by my own monster, I feel my brow furrow and a paltry clench of my jaw. I am caught in my stare and quickly smile in apology. Beads of sweat start to gently make their way out from the hairline at the nape of my neck like little wet monsters emerging from the edge of a forest, reluctant at first but they quickly gain confidence. I bet she has a really dry neck, her over there in the bountiful car of cool comfort and joy. Running my fingers up through the back of my hair, I catch the loose damp strays of hair that have fallen and tuck them back into the small metal clip that is failing miserably at keeping them there. The strands instantly slip back out of the clip and get stuck on the salty river now flowing down the back of my neck like a dam broke. It is too hot for this inconvenience. I imagine myself and the hair clip in a small and badly lit interrogation room that has been decorated floor to ceiling in gaudy floral wallpaper. We are having a quarterly appraisal and review of its progress and performance.

Obviously, I will have to terminate the contract. Quite simply this cannot go on, you are no longer fit for purpose my friend. I smile compassionately and tilt my head so much it could easily be mistaken for haughtiness. But I would like to thank you for your years of service and promise to keep you as a lint collector, rolling around the bottom of my handbag for a while before I send you on to your final resting place that is the bits-n-bobs bowl on the windowsill. Wait, where did I put the bits-n-bobs bowl? Did I even pack it? Did I grab anything other than some important papers and the plants? My eyes flick to the rear-view mirror and the jungle scene that is buckled into the back seats.

’It’s ok guys, we’re going to be just fine’.

I say these words aloud, as much myself as to my leafy companions. It feels a little more convincing.

Over the bonnet, a gap appears. Quick! Engine on, clutch down, first gear, resume crawl. A breathtaking piece of classical music seeps out through the speakers. Called what and by whom I have no idea. It doesn’t matter, I get lost in it. I forgot I even had the radio on, the outside sounds of the day heaving and panting had drowned it out. A tiny brown bug roams across the inside of the windscreen. Twitching left, side stepping right, making jagged yet steady progress as it traverses at a far greater rate than I do. The string section lifts and peaks, the sound filling up my heart space. Those minute little legs, each less than an eyelash. Go on, little one, you can do it, keep going! Another swell from the orchestra. The moment takes me and I am taken over, by all of it. The heat, the music, the grand efforts of my newly appointed co-pilot, maybe even the energy of the stones that draw ever so slowly closer. I realise I am crying. Little balls of water seem to be flowing out all over me, sweat and tears, more sweat and more tears. I am drowned. I don’t wipe any of it away, it all needs to be released, as uncomfortable as it is.

The dirty streaks on the once white Ford Fiesta unmoving ahead mirror those on my face. I focus my full attention on the sensation of the speeding tears, coursing down my cheeks, racing under my chin, clinging to life upside down and dripping onto my chest, crisping taught and shining silver. They have already become a dried memory from only moments before, their soft damp stolen by this intolerable heat.

Giving in to the discomfort, I wipe my cheeks and neck with clammy hands, making it all worse, I can feel the exhaust fumes clumping in grime on my skin. I look for a clean tissue but settle for the sleeve of a cardigan that lays lifeless on the passenger seat. The music fades and the pip of the forthcoming news bulletin pierces through the moment without a care for my tender soul.

We have inched along enough now to see people walking at the side of the road, walking faster than the traffic is moving. Every stereotype of a modern day druid has descended. They all seem so unassuming and happy, their dedication to all things Mother Earth is as clear as the crystals many of them have hanging from their necks. They are a slow moving but pulsing swarm of tie-dye with more knotted attempts at dreadlocks than you can shake a peace pipe at. How free they all look. Going with the flow, not a responsibility in sight, doing what they want, whenever they want being all easy breezy and happy, hugging trees and kissing stones like that’s all that matters. As I catch myself, again, treading water in a thick pea-green soup, I secretly long for them to be my people. Could they maybe have the answers to the questions I am still too scared to ask?

The car has started to feel very small, seriously, where has all the air gone? I can’t actually go on like this, I can’t breathe. My tongue clucks in the dry cave of my mouth and I look up and over the hill at the stones, at the potential for a life that is no longer what it was, at a life of possibility, a life to call my own again. Just, what if? I put the blinkers on, not a thank you, not a sorry, just on. I turn off the engine and take a deep breath, then another one just to be sure. I open the door. The ding-ding-ding starts to ding because the blinkers are on and the door is open. Maybe? Can I? Why the hell not? My right foot goes out onto the road. I stop, unable to move myself any further. There is a choking rub at my throat. What’s stopping me? My seat belt. I have got caught in my own bloody seat belt. Great start, idiot. Click, unplug, release. Untangled and standing free on the road with my hand still on the familiar metal of the door frame I feel the hum of engines and rumble of motorbike exhausts throb loudly in my ears.

There is a dense crowd forming further down the line, clearly a broken-down car. It seems to have been towing a horse box and is now struggling to get out of the way enough to allow everyone else to pass. Weaving in and out of the stationary cars, slowly at first, taking those uncertain first steps like I have just woken up, bleary-eyed and in a stranger’s house. Twitching left, side stepping right, I make jagged yet steady progress. Courage and fear are going head-to-head in a finale of strength and endurance.

In the blue corner, weighing in at too many carbs and not enough exercise iiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiis COURAGE! And in the red corner, weighing in at a lifetime of doubt and insecurity iiiiiiiiiiiiiiis FEAR!

The crowd goes wild.

The battle plays out through a pounding in my chest so hard it feels as though I may quite literally explode. As I continue to walk away from my car I imagine decorating the pristine silver paintwork of the 4x4 with my violently splattered blood. Noodles of brain matter and sections of my lower intestine glistening ruby red in the sunshine as they slide slowly down and splat onto the melting tarmac. The road is sticky from the heat, tacky and exhausted like the rest of us. It makes each step more noticeable, I feel the soles of my shoes peel away tentatively from the treacle-like surface with each far away sounding ding of a round won by courage. 

I can feel the energy of the stones calling/urging/pushing me forward, tag-teaming courage as I progress over a broken section of fence at the side of the road and make it onto the soft and welcoming field. The pull is so strong I couldn’t turn back now even if I wanted to. I am really thirsty though, maybe I should just pop back and grab some water. I turn back and look at my abandoned car, door wide open, the blink of the indicators more obvious now that the sun has started to set. No one has even seemed to notice that I have gone, can they not see the empty shell where I once was? How could I have left it all there like that, what was I thinking? Ding, a round to fear.

The blue corner will not be beaten though. Rising up, breathless and bruised, courage staggers onwards. Destined for triumph I remove my left shoe first and then my right. The cool soft grass gently kisses my feet and I can feel every delicate blade as it pokes through the gaps between my toes. Will I make it there before the sun finally fades? Will I get to witness what all the fuss is about? My pace quickens along with my breath. I am nearly there. The past, the important papers and those poor deserted plants seem so much less important now. Nearly all but forgotten with each courageous stride. Could it be this easy to leave it all behind? Energy rising, I step forward again and continue on. Yes. Ding-ding-ding.

There is an enormous commotion building back down on the road, at the heart of the jam. Horns are honking and voices shout in frustration and panic. The horse, midnight black with a flaming petrol mane, seems to no longer be in its box. Mayhem ensues within the dense crowd of helpful drivers and druids alike. The horse has broken free and is bolting across the field, heading directly to our mutual destination. Go on, mighty one, you can do it, keep going! I see what I assume to be the owner of the beast franticly racing behind in a futile attempt at capture. My face begins to ache as I smile so broadly that my cheeks press my eyes almost to a close. I am released. I am joy. I can taste the ecstasy in my tears. Oh, hello summer solstice.

With an alarming start, a sudden jolt of lightning strikes through my bones and I hear an unmistakably gruff but concerned voice directly at my side.

‘Are you alright, love?’

What? There is an ocean of tarmac in front of me.

‘Shit, sorry! I was miles away.’

Engine on, clutch down, first gear, resume crawl.