You’re going on a cross-country trip. Airplane, train, bus, car, or bike?

Oh WP DP, I love the moment when I read what it is you have come up with for us to ponder.

A cross country trip in the UK. Lands End to John o’ Groats is the most famous, one end of the UK to the other. 603 miles, 970km as a straight line between two points. By car the shortest distance is calculated as 837 miles. A long way by our standards. Nothing if you come from vast sprawling countries.This isn’t a trip I’ve ever done, or likely to do. I’m not a huge fan of sea travel, but a trip right around the edge of the UK I think would be awesome.

I digress. Back to DP. By bike? Nah, not gonna happen. As far as I recall I’ve had two. Once when I was around 11 years old and at the weekends would cycle miles, alone, uphill, to get to the stables where I could horse ride. I loved it! Midnight, he was called. But that ended when the stepmother decided I would be better off at home bringing her and my dad breakfast in bed followed by cleaning the house. Sad, but true. Thanks dad for that. What happened to my blue and silver bike, I wonder? I also had an old fashioned racing green bike with a basket on the front when I lived in Kew Gardens, a suburb of London. No idea where that ended up, either.

Train? Tis has been a very long time since I took a train journey, and I took many. Travelling for work interviews ( another story) or down to Cornwall to see friends.

Airplane? What fine memories I have of those days! Often lucky enough to turn left on boarding. I thank NA for those days. But its not something I have in my vision at present. I do want to go and visit cherished friends, but now I have this old boy, it’s not going to be possible. His past life has left him far too traumatised to be with anyone else, safely. But the day, his day,  his last day will çome.

That leaves me with my car. I love the freedom it allows us. To stop and start, come and go at will, on a whim. The only way I can get said dog from A – B, without any hassle.

A journey this afternoon was horrible when I hit a dawdling pheasant. I wasn’t going that fast. But sadly he wasn’t fast enough. I looked back through my mirror and could see him floundering on the roadside. I turned round to go and see him. It didn’t look great. In the back of my car I had a soft single Indian print sheet, from the dog’s last adventure. I crossed the road and could ascertain quickly this beautiful bird was breathing, twitching. Had I hoped he was dead? A quick death. I scooped him up. Him? Yes, his magnificent colouring told me so.

Back in the driver’s seat of the car and swaddled in the sheet I held him to me. His breathing laboured. We sat and I waited. I like to think the warmth and the security helped him. I expected his breath to stop. I sat and we waited. Slowly he appeared to regain some strength. His eyes looked clear and alert and his breathing became more regular. When he shuffled about I didn’t want him to feel anxious in captivity so I  got out of the car and carried him deep into the hedgerow. As I put him down he seemed keen to get going but his tail appeared crooked and a wing held low. I felt I had made a mistake letting him go and clamoured through thick hedginging to get him back. When I finely broke through I was amazed to see his tail feathers had straightend and his wings in place. He toddled off, a bit dazed, but seemingly intact. I thanked the gods.

I was shaken up by this and happyI had a bottle of wine in my shopping bag. I couldn’t wait to get home and pour myself a nerve steadier. Which I did.

The last few days have been weird anyway… And then a pal asks how I am. I say ‘ pretty rubbish, actually ‘ or words to that effect. She goes on to tell me my oldest friend has been whisked from a small town to a city hospital with unknown issues. ……..Think he’s ok, for now

And there we are… You wake up. All seems good and then the shit hits the fan.