Overlooking what's around you is criminal

I've had the pleasure of travelling to some to-die-for locations around the world, including San Francisco, Cancun, Las Vegas, Los Angeles, Innsbruck, to name but a few. I can't sit here and list a load of destinations. It would bore me and why would you care. But what I can say is these locations are miles away from where I was at any given time.

I had the pleasure of taking the Quattro out from Derbyshire in the summer of 2020. I could not believe my eyes. It was like being in another land. The same can be said for Church Stretton in Shropshire, England. I recall working for the BBC at the time. I was travelling to Ludlow to interview Bodders, the Lib Dem Councillor for an actuality. I turned to my left at the lights. What was I looking at New Zealand?! I tell you now, it wasn’t Shropshire. A quick look at the sat nav revealed, indeed, it was Shropshire. Okay, we’re still on for the interview. I haven’t teleported. The high reaching steep grades of the area were breathtaking. Little sheep could be seen on the hills. It was quaint, it was picturesque and the weather was pleasant, blue skies, a fresh breeze and plenty of sunshine.

You'd be forgiven for thinking you were in New Zealand when wondering Church Stretton, Shropshire, England

A couple of years later, it was a Friday night, travelling through Derbyshire, I had finished news shift for the Mirror. I was on the way to see the other half. I’d stay there of a weekend. The destination was North Wales. The route was taking me through the heart of Derbyshire’s Peak District. It promised aweinspiring landscapes and sparsely populated roads. Queue the accelerator. I was now in the thick of unfamiliar terrain. I was coming through a province. It was in an urbanised valley. They were a million and one terrace houses, all lit up on the hill. The sun was slowly setting in the sky. The colours were violet, white and pink. Lights were turning on, one by one.

I pulled into a local four court to purchase a few tins. It was a Friday night, afterall. I got back into the car and programmes the sat-nav. It’s the one on the phone. Aren’t sat-navs, which aren’t on your phone, a thing of the past now? I haven’t seen one in years. I think it would irritate me if I saw a driver using a TomTom. I’d be like, what’s wrong with your phone? I’m taken aback at how sophisticated and useful technology is, now. GoogleMaps is one of the best navigation programmes I have used in my life. It’s up there with Garmin Aviation as far as I’m concerned.

An eerie looking Peak District, which was driven through without a sat-nav

We pulled away. I meandered through and down the spiralling roads through quaint ye old English towns and back again. Up we went, leaving the urbanisations and toward the rural offering of the Peaks. We were five miles in, making good speed, bums lifting off seats when travelling across raised patches of tarmac. I made sure to scan my instruments.

I’ve come from a very good family. When I turned thirteen, family paid for my to have a flying lesson at our local business airport. I remember the pilot teaching me to scan the instruments to build up a visual picture of the plane, never looking at one instrument for very long, taking in the attitude indicator, the altitude indicator, speedometer and the instruments. I did the same, now, considering I was rubber necking.

The views were too good and I didn’t want to pull over to look at them. I was looking to my rear left while making fifty-five. It was a sixty, the roads were allowing and there was no traffic at all, so it was all safe. The sun was going down. It was stunning. That is, until the phone, sent through a warning message to say the battery was so low that if not plugged into a charging socket, it would, inevitably, turn off. Shit. I was still in unfamiliar territory. I decided to scan outward on the map to gain an overall view of the direction I would have to take. I knew, it was inevitable, with no shops around, the phone was going to turn off, and I was fucked. It was in the heart of the peak district. I’d have no way of calling anyone if I were to breakdown, either. The phone, died.

I was now, solely, reliant on looking at the stars and the roads and trying my very best to travel west, northwest. Crickey, it was like being a sailor, lost at sea. It was a compass job, lad. I decided not to panic, but I was feeling tense. I’d finished a heavy newsweek, and all I wanted to do was to get to my partner’s house and get pissed, quite frankly. I was now beginning to fret.

Yes! The first road sign. It read Stoke-On-Trent. Phew, wiping away the anxiety, I realised, I went to university in north Staffordshire. I would know the roads. From there, I can carry over to Shropshire north, where I covered the patch, there, for the BBC. Then I could pick up the roads from Shrewsbury to Llangollen. It was looking optimistic.

Over the dual carriageways, passing JCB, the Potteries and over. We went through Shawbury, where I remember covering a couple of property development items. Now, I was fine.

JCB plant in Stoke-On-Trent, which became a landmark of relief when the sat-nav, died

An hour later, I arrived at my partner’s. I parked the car on the driveway next to the other cars. I went in through the sidedoor, sighed and went straight for the lager. Several bottles, later and a story or two to tell, everything was cosy.

The point of the story is, had I not had driven through the unfamiliar terrain and took to the motorways, I would have missed such stunning scenery. The same can be said for destinations. We are so quick to pick far flung destinations, yet overlook what’s there. My advice, after such a memorable trip is to get out and have a look round the area you are in. Maybe there’s a restaurant you don’t know about on a road you’ve never been down before, yet it’s adjacent to the route you take into the office everyday. Perhaps, there’s this cute backstreet café, you’ll find by taking an unusual turning.

I love Derbyshire. It is one of the most picturesque regions in England. I thank my noggin for its navigation aid and for the beer which followed.