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M60: BAPTISM BY FIRE

  • Written by  Carla Zuill
  • 1 comment
M60: BAPTISM BY FIRE

So much has happened since my last post. I’ve had to leap outside of my comfort zone and start driving. And if you’ve ever been on the motorway out here, then you will know that FAST is an operative word.

I’d heard about the motorway before, but to experience it without fair warning…let’s just say I’m glad my bladder was empty the first day I ended up on M60!

Because this football journey with the boys has taken me all over the place, I was spending so much on taxi and bus fare, it only made sense to see what renting a car would be like.

The prices weren’t bad and were less than what it cost me with both fares combined each week so off I went. It’s been a huge help that we drive on the left in Bermuda if not I don’t know how I would have been able to do it.

So now I feel comfortable and my daughter is coming to see us for vacation, so I decide to keep the car and surprise her at the airport. Her flight arrived at 8.50 in the morning on a Sunday so I figured traffic wouldn’t be that bad.

Me and my girl GPS make it all the way to the airport. I park and go in to the information desk only to be told that I was at the wrong terminal. I was so afraid to be late I was willing to walk but they warned me that it would be fair distance and that it was best I drive.

I’m starting to panic ‘cause if you know me, I am pretty much late for everything that I don’t deem vital and my children complain about it ALL the time. I didn’t want her to think that I did not consider her arrival important enough.

Because I’m already in the airport, I figure I could leave my road dog (GPS) off and figure it out for myself.

I make my way in the direction of terminal three where I needed to be and then I ponder my next move as there are two exits close to each other. By now her flight has landed. While my gut said go right, I went left and guess where I end up….

BACK ON THE FLIPPING MOTORWAY!!

I was gutted (learning a little British vernacular! tee hee) as I had to drive all the way to the closest city to turn around and start all over.

By the time I pull up to the terminal I see her outside and I immediately start crying. Not just because I was happy to see her but I thought she would be upset that I was late.

When she comes to the car, she’s looking at me like I’m crazy and asked me what are the tears for. I tell her and she starts to laugh…she’d only been outside five minutes max.

“Relax lady,” she tells me.

Fast forward a few nights and we go to see my good friends who live about 25 minutes away. Getting there was no problem because it was daylight, but coming back in the dark was another story. And with the construction going on and all of those reflective cones I was no more good.

I keep asking my daughter, “How many more minutes before we are home?”

“Eleven.”

“At junction 12, take the exit,” says the GPS.

I don’t know what I did (or didn’t do) but the next thing you know I am in Warrington!

“Now we have 25 minutes before we are home,” she tells me.

Now, I’m starting to get anxiety and of course I want to cry. The boys are in the back sleeping and I want to pull over on the side of the road and call a cab (I didn’t even know where I was to tell them where to come!).

“Don’t give up Mommy, we got this,” she tries to assure me.

Until I take another wrong turn and the minutes before we reach home bumps up another 15 minutes! I just feel her giving me the side eye.

We finally make it home and what should have been a 25 minute journey turned into just under an hour.

I vow I am never driving again.

Until she wants to go back to Liverpool.

We went by train the first time so I was more than happy to press repeat, until she says: “Why would we do that when the car is outside?!”

Me: “Do you not recall the other night?”

So I hum and haul for two days trying to decide what to do and then I convince myself to face my fears and get on that dreaded motorway once more.

This time she held the GPS and ensured that I took the correct exits. When I started to get antsy about the speed she would assure me that all would be well. Talk about role reversal!

I was all proud of myself as our journey home was drawing to an end. I knew the rest of the way back and told her to turn off the GPS as we only had about a mile to go.

“No love,” she told me as she patronisingly patted my hand. “This bad boy ain’t going off until we are in front of the house.”

How rude lol!

I was so happy when we made it because the drive was symbolic of this solo journey I am embarked on in a country I am growing to love…anything is possible, despite missed turns and tears, as long as you believe.

1 comment

  • Gena Smith
    Gena Smith Tuesday, 18 April 2017 08:45 Comment Link

    I love that story Carla....just in,God and all will be well....well done to your daughter for being your support....tell the boys I said "hello".

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