Road Trip for One

One of the things that I missed most while I was in Korea was being able to drive. I love driving! I find it therapeutic to drive and just take in the world around you, sit back and put your foot to the floor for a little while. I also love to have the windows open with my hair down, the breeze making it dance around me, turning up the radio so high that I can't hear myself singing over it and just spending some time on the open road. Of course, these are the kinds of things that I can only do when I am driving on my own (or with a friend who enjoys the same pleasures - love you Robyn!!) and I can only really stand driving on my own for an hour or two at a time. After an hour, your throat tends to get sore and your hair whipping your face doesn't seem nearly as good as it did at the start, the wind has brought all sorts of leaves and dust into your car and you get a little over it. But hey, it's fun while it lasts!

This weekend, I had to make the drive from Cape Town to Grahamstown, and I had to do it all by myself. There was no way in hell I was looking forward to that - while my singing voice does have durability, there is no way it was going to let me belt out my favourite tunes for ten hours straight. There was also no way that this drive was going to be therapeutic, unless I looked on the bright side and saw it as anger therapy. Driving for ten hours on a road that constantly has work being done to it, that is traversed by trucks, lazy Sunday drivers and maniacal ones all at the same time meant that I had to be constantly alert, and waking up at 5am to start the trip at 6 was not a step in the right direction. It did, however, mean that I would be getting to Grahamstown by 4pm. At least, that was the plan.

Leaving Cape Town went smoothly enough. It was still pitch black outside when I waved goodbye to my parents and Michael, and my first glimpse of the sun only came after I had gone over Sir Lowry's Pass (left). Travelling along Sir Lowry is a bit of a hair-raiser at the best of times with it's cliff faces, hairpin bends and the constant temptation to take your eyes off the road and look at the pretty view of Cape Town. This time was even worse, as the wind picked up as I neared the pass and started trying to throw Bella off the edge at times, into rockfaces at others and, most often, into oncoming traffic. Thankfully, I managed to make it over without any problem, though I didn't even try to look at the view, and was treated to an amazing sunrise for my efforts. I couldn't decide which looked prettier - the oranges, blues and yellows that I could see without my sunglasses or the slight purple tint that the glasses provided everything with, turning the white clouds violet and the light around them spectacular shades that I will not even try to explain. My joy at the sunrise was not longlived, however, as the sun was soon blinding me - a problem since the hairpin turns that Sir Lowry's is infamous for do not stop at it's summit.

Having mastered the hairpin bends and being on the open road once more, my speeds slowly started rising from 70, to 100, to 120 and a little beyond (especially the downhills of the wave-like hills that the road travelled along.) And then came to a dead halt as I reached the first of the roadworks that spanned 29 kms (supposedly 29, although I am fairly certain that they went on a lot longer than that.) As I meandered my way from stop-and-go to stop-and-go, I listened to my music to help the time pass and flinched at the loose gravel that kept hitting my car. As I was flinching away in the right hand lane (going at 60km an hour btw - a perfectly respectable speed), I happened to pass a truck going a little slower, who happened to fling a particularly large piece of gravel straight at my windscreen. As I stared at the crack that it left (not the one in the picture, thankfully), I was thoroughly unimpressed, and was tempted to turn around and let him know, but decided that it was no ones fault, really. These things happen. By the time I got through the roadworks though, I was already getting pretty tired of my music selection, and the desire to sing along had passed me by completely.

By the time I reached Plett (left) I was tired and stiff, was over my music and my foot had started cramping from being in the same position for two and a half hours (I had already stopped once along the way for a stretch and to grab a drink). I stopped at the Engen and prepared for lunch with my two Plett friends, only to discover that they could only stop by for a minute or two to say Hi and Bye before going off to a lunch that they were in the middle of eating. A little disappointed, with four hours of travelling ahead of me and already being an hour and a half behind schedule, I decided to only have a quick snack, long enough to stretch out my foot, and get back on the road.

I left Plett expecting the worst - for five years the roadworks between Plett and Port Elizabeth have been unending: 40km speed limits with cops hiding in the bushes with cameras to enforce them, detours that involved more 40km limits and ten million speed bumps, more stop-and-goes (leading to traffic almost as bad as the picture on the right). As I drove along at my leisurely 120kms I wondered when the roadworks were going to start. I seemed to recall having to slow down a lot earlier than this. As I passed the notorious traffic cop spot and was still travelling at 120km, I realised that there were no more roadworks on this part of the road. I travelled through without any issue and arrived in PE an hour earlier than I had planned for. The Grahamstown road was also the same as ever, and I ended up driving into town only half an hour later than I had planned for.

As I drove into Grahamstown (left) I felt a little nostalgic. I stared at the students driving, cycling or walking around, trying to see if I recognised any of them, but it was to no availl. I am back in Grahamstown, but I am the only one. There are still a couple of people that I recognise - the guys and girls at Grant's work, the people at Grocott's Mail, the lecturers and a couple of the masters students, but for the most part, all the people that I love, and the reason why I had such a good time at Rhodes to begin with, have left and despite the new wave of students, Grahamstown seems hollow to me.

The only thing holding me down and keeping me pinned to the ground (and this is a good metaphor, though I can see how it would be a bad one - picture a balloon about to get lost in the abyss) is Grant, and coming home to him was the highlight of my day - it certainly made the 10 hour drive seem worthwhile.