Driving south

The nature and extent of the change hits me almost as soon as I turn onto the M6.

It has always been the case that Preston is a limit-point as far as traffic is concerned: head north and the cars, vans and trucks melt away; head south and the opposite is the case. Within a short distance, one or two lanes of traffic quickly become a solid three – and, for a short stretch, just south of Preston – four. For as long as I can remember, academics, politicians and comedians have been debating where, exactly, the north begins; from a mobilities perspective, I would draw the line just here, 15 minutes south of Lancaster.

My journey to Cornwall on Friday, 20 March 2015 is my first trip south for the best part of four and a half years. It is also the day of a solar eclipse and – by coincidence – I was in Cornwall for the last one, sixteen years ago. Today I'm pleased that I caught a glimpse of the crescent-sun, shrouded in cloud, as I set out from Cockerham but the thick stream of traffic I now join is arguably the more jaw-dropping spectacle of the day. I am rolled into a flow that I am unable to extricate myself from until I'm within five miles of my destination. For 350 miles I am surrounded by other vehicles and road users and, to a greater or lesser extent, my mobility is dictated by theirs.

The stretch of motorway between Preston and my first stop, at Wolverhampton Services, has few ‘memory flags’ (Struther 1989: see note 32 to Chapter 1). The junction for the M61 to Manchester prompts a raw, but recent, flashback inasmuch as my best friend's mother died just before Christmas and my last journey to this point was for her funeral. Thereafter, there is little, past or present, to catch my attention and I reflect, instead, and with cautious satisfaction, upon the juncture in my life and career that this journey represents. (I am moving to a part-time contract in the autumn.) These ruminations are, however, brought to a sudden halt when I hit the first wave of heavy congestion.