Anyone who has followed this blog will know that the hardest, the most stressful part of my first year (at least) in the UK was driving. The Scots don’t believe in straight lines, or wide lanes, so I white-knuckled my way through the Highlands, through the cities, and through the dark in my little Vauxhall Corsa.
Well yesterday I realised I’ve just exchanged one driving hell for another. The roads here are straight, they are wide, and the speed limits are lower. So that’s good. But a Class C RV rattles, and the engine strains, and the lines of sight are far less than that of a car, so that can be stressful. But yesterday, as I was heading to Miss Mayhew’s funeral near Windsor, the winds picked up. Well, fick.
My RV is a big, flat box. And the 401 is a big, wide highway, with vast fields on either side. So holding it steady as the winds pick up is a lot of work. You feel the wind hitting the right side of the motorhome, pushing it, so you’re pulling slightly right, to keep in your lane. Then suddenly the wind dies down for just a second, so the force you’ve been using to stay in place pulls you hard toward the shoulder. OMFG. I could not believe I was right back where I’d been four years ago, white-knuckle driving as I prayed to a god I don’t believe in (there are no atheists in foxholes, or on treacherous car trips, it seems).
So, I made the decision: I hadn’t seen Miss Mayhew in decades, I don’t know who I might have known at the funeral if anyone, and I knew none of her family – this was silly. Change of plan: get off the highway and back-road it to my next stop in Blenheim. Whew. Easy-peasy.
(But I am still dreading future high-wind drives.)