Double Jeopardy

Last Sunday, I had the opportunity to drive down some roads that I’d never been down before. And I’m not saying that metaphorically – this isn’t a post about making life-changing decisions, choosing paths and the ilk. On a journey from Aber to Cardiff, a journey I must have made over a hundred times in the past 15 years, I put my faith in Google and took the roads MUCH less travelled.

Even on the ‘good’ roads, the 93 miles between my front door and the final destination in the South Wales valleys takes about two and a half hours, regardless of whether you take the scenic coastal route, or the scenic mountainous route. Cardiff exists on the opposite point of a geographical diamond to Aberystwyth – so you can either go over the top (slightly shorter distance, but small roads) or underneath (slightly longer distance, but more of the trip is on the motorway). Sunday, I decided to see what would happen if I went straight down the middle. Well, straight-ish. Mountains, rivers and pesky villages prevent me going as the red kite flies – but you get the picture: I tried a new route.

The 16-year-old boy in me loves this new route. Having just acquired his license, he loves the twists and turns, the blind corners and the ‘Dukes of Hazzard’ style one-lane bridges that are built at such a width and slope (apparently) to launch you OVER the oncoming traffic that you wouldn’t have been able to see anyway. Driving parts of this route is like IRL Mario Karts – but instead of banana skins, you have roadkill. And instead of stars and oil slicks, you have roadkill. Sometimes instead of road, you have roadkill. Good times.

However, the 40-year-old father of 1 and ½ in me thinks that Google is doing its best to thin the population by sending people on this route. Prone, as I am, to relate my life to out-dated television programs, I like to think of the 'adventure' in terms of classic game shows. For me, a child of the 70s, the whole trip is filled with round after round of Let’s Make a Deal type choices.

Replace Monty Hall with the Grim Reaper, and instead of holidays, cars or booby prizes, think death, death or death. Will you meet your maker behind Door Number 1 (the pimped-out neon green 1.0 litre fiesta driven by a cider-fuelled young man filled with angst about his future as a gay Welsh farmer), Door Number 2 (the impossibly slow and undeniably deadly senile old farmer who drives like he owns the road because (let’s face it) at some point, he probably did), or Door Number 3 (the self-centred BMW/Audi/Range Rover driver who assumes that his cash-filled air bags will save him if he has the inconvenience of meeting you head-on)? Rest assured that on this route, you’ll meet all three – several times. Your job is to drive defensively enough to be able to avoid them (and the wildlife, the potholes and the weather) long enough to survive. Oh, and, of course, to give your would-be assasins THAT look when you pass, ensuring that they learn the valuable lesson that only your self-righteous disappointment can teach. If you live, you win. Not only that, but you get to do it all again during the bonus round: The Return Journey (which, incidentally, is just like the rest of the game except that it’s dark, you can’t read the signs and your legs are prone to unpredictable spasms).

I love the fact that there are parts of this tiny country that I still haven’t seen. And I love the fact that, in the 21st century, there are still ways to get from one decently-sized city to another on a road that requires you to ford a river, cross a cattle grid and pull over because there is not enough room for you AND a bicycle to pass safely at speed. And, to be fair, you see a lot more of that countryside when you slow down, look up, turn off the sat-nav and think more about how well you’re getting from A to B, rather than how fast. ANd best of all, at this speed: no whammies!!