On the two-day solo drive from the UK to Florence I noticed my mind wandering.
Yes, some attention was focused on getting the car up to speed. And keeping it there. Easy to do with modern technology. The car performed. My navigation app sang out directions. Usually along the lines of ‘keep going straight for another 64 miles.’
I say the car behaved. It did. But I hadn’t fully forgotten a serious breakdown back in December. (Blocked fuel injectors.. for those who care about such things.) That recent trauma meant I pounced on every strange noise, knock, hum or vibration. Probably imaginary. You tell yourself that. Or ‘pull yourself together’… and move on.
Plenty of lovely scenery to move on to. I shan’t forget the Aosta Valley as I dropped down from the Alps onto the flat lands of Piedmont. It was exhilarating. And a relief to be on the move again after queuing two hours on the hairpin bends approaching the Mont Blanc tunnel. But this was a road to turn off the music and focus.
I also found myself thinking of those who had passed this way before. Nelson and other sailors, rushing to meet their ships in Portsmouth with orders from the Admiralty. South of Paris I thought of the Maid of Orleans – Joan of Arc – heading there to rescue the city from the British forces.
In the Alps I wondered if Hannibal of Carthage led his elephants this way to defeat the Romans. Turns out they probably passed further south. And on the flat arrow-straight road between Milan and Modena I thought of Enzo Ferrari driving home from breaking with Alfa Romeo to start his own Scuderia.
There were less intellectual moments. The railway line runs alongside the Autostrada in central Italy… and I caught myself shouting ‘Go on then you smug, high-speed bastards’ as a Frecciarossa sped past. Ridiculous for a man of my age to flick a V-sign at a train.
Luckily, most of the journey passed in a calmer state. I like covering routes others have done before me. Satisfyingly following in their footsteps – or wheel tracks. Occasionally closer to home… when I thought about Mum and Dad taking the ferry to stay with friends in Brittany back in the early 90’s. Some of their favourite holidays.
I imagined describing this adventure to Dad. He would have enjoyed hearing about it. I would have loved telling him.
Andrew Greenhalgh 