Driving in the back of beyond recently all the elements were in their place for a cheap horror movie. It was great, like being in a Stephen King paragraph. Sung by Chris Rea.
It was late at night and the constellations were easily found in the cloudless, moonless sky. We were a long way from home and we were on the old road: no markings, no street lights and no road signs. As it wound round and rose and fell the car lights only found the trees at the edge of the woods encroaching at the verges, branches still leafless from the long winter, and occasionally when on the rise, the headlights showed us the branch tips ahead, overarching high above crossing the road and entangling with those of the trees from the other side. Behind us was the great blackness. The Smiths song How Soon Is Now? whined on the radio.
We were not sure even if we heading in the right direction let alone if on the right path.
Coming round another bend a pitch-staked home made sign shot into view black on white: Logs For Sale. Not long after, a single floored small farmhouse clung to the road side and a small lamp above the front door was on. At the back there were the logs, piled high.
Someone suggested we stop and ask the log merchant for help.
Yeah right! Just because he sells logs doesn’t alter the fact he has an axe.
To be fair the axe maniac probably thought he had a good business model: There are all these trees, there is no competition nearby - in fact there is no one at all for miles around, I don't have that many overheads and living in a place that is a little run down, it'll give it character for customers who potentially could be anyone in a car given they all have to pass me because there is no alternative route once they are on this long, narrow road. I'll put up a sign. And with this old rusty axe I am saving money on petrol for a chain saw. The axe is pretty much going to pay for itself. I am going to call it Lucy. What's that Lucy? No, I don't think we should do that, Lucy, that's bad.
Yep, sign or no sign, I can’t see him getting too much business to be honest.
We drove on, our speed renewed.
Being in the same position (in both the developed-environment and the circadian sense) as a solitary motorcyclist is a truly fantastic experience. I mentally compose huge lists of all the beautiful and complicated things I am definitely going to say to my loved ones (and not-so-loved ones) once I reach civilisation, only to forget them all as soon as I see the next corpse-shaped shadow in the pool of the Vulcan's headlamp. Shudder.
ReplyDeleteGlad you made it!