On the Right Track
We saw plenty of evocative road sings as we drove though the north of Scotland. Warning triangles bearing the majestic silhouettes of stags in full gallop alerted us to the game that claimed the hills. Hazard signs in the form of giant exclamation points prepared us for the unexpected presence of sheep, otters, or, in some cases, red squirrels.
The sign that greeted us entering the road to Applecross, however, was more of a full-scale deterrent. It straddled several feet, its big white lettering informing us that THIS ROAD RISES TO A HEIGHT OF 2053 FT WITH GRADIENTS OF 1 IN 5 AND HAIRPIN BENDS and that it is IMPASSABLE IN WINTRY CONDITIONS. Then, with increased emphasis: NOT ADVISED FOR LEARNER DRIVERS.
Marisa, my copilot and best friend, reached for her phone and cued something up on Spotify. As I pressed down on the accelerator and headed up the rocky mass that separated us from the sea, I recognized the creepy strings at the start of the original James Bond theme song. I gripped the wheel a little tighter, set my jaw a little firmer.
Back home in London, I don’t drive. Not because I can’t, or because I don’t enjoy it. I don’t drive because in my city, you can get wherever you need to go on the underground, or even on your bicycle. Sometimes it’s quicker, frankly, to walk. And if I have to sit in a car, I would rather be in the back seat of a taxi, reading a book. But give me a bit of highway drama and a car that can handle it, and I’m in heaven. The pull of
