Three Men On Tour: 32

I clung to the dashboard as we careered down the narrow country road. Birds scattered at our approach and, at one point, I was sure I saw the white tail of a deer scrambling for cover in the undergrowth as we screeched around another blind bend.

“How are we doing for time?“ yelled Harry. He ground the gears into second while simultaneously depressing both clutch and accelerator.

“I think we’ve still got fifteen minutes till it starts,“ yelled George from the back while luggage rained down on him from all sides. “I’m sure we’ll get there in plenty of time.“

In response, Harry gunned the engine and accelerated along a gentle curving S of a road with a few deft flicks of the steering wheel. The engine screamed its protests.

“Are you sure we shouldn’t be in third?“ I asked. Harry shot me a look reserved for an idiot.

“It accelerates better in a lower gear,“ he explained. “Everybody knows that.“

“Um, Harry,“ said George from the back. Harry turned round to glare at him.

“What now?“

“Were you going to slow down for the hill?“

“What?“ snapped Harry, turning round to see the rapidly approaching crest of a hump in the road.

“Please follow the highlighted route for 500 yards,“ said the Sat-Nav soothingly and the car left the ground. I felt my heart drop through my stomach and several seconds of weightlessness before we landed with a thump on the other side and carried on as if nothing had happened.

“I meant to do that,“ said Harry. His knuckles were white on the steering wheel.

“In 100 yards turn left,“ said the Sat-Nav. Harry glanced at the tree covered lane branching sharply off from our path.

“Alright,“ he said. “Maybe I’ll slow down for this one.“

The fifteen minutes to Langford passed quickly. Possibly it was the adrenaline. It seemed like only moments before the chequered flag appeared on the Sat-Nav and we began our final approach.

“I can see it,“ yelled George, as we emerged from another avenue of trees into a lane between cornfields. Across the yellow stalks, I could see the tip of a helter skelter and a vast array of tents. Harry gave a loud cheer. George and I sighed in relief.

“Recalculating,“ said the Sat-Nav. Harry stared at it.

“But…but…it’s just over there,“ he stammered.

“Recalculating,“ repeated the Sat-Nav. “Please drive to highlighted route.“

“I’m on the bloody highlighted route,“ insisted Harry. “The only other route is a cornfield.“

“Calm down, Harry,“ I told him. “It’s only a Sat-Nav. Look, the Fayre’s just over there. If we take the next right, how far wrong can it be?“

Harry forced himself to breathe slowly. “You’re right, you’re right,“ he admitted. We don’t need a Sat-Nav. We are superior beings. We have eyes.“

Triumphantly, he slipped the car into fourth gear and we drove along looking for a right turn. The Fayre drifted past on our right before being obscured by trees. Just as we were about to give up, George spotted a turn half hidden behind a particularly leafy oak.

“There,“ he cried.

“Quick you’re going to miss it.“

“Don’t panic,“ said Harry, as he shifted down to third. “I’ve got this.“

“Satellites acquired,“ said the Sat-Nav. “Carry on for 400 yards and take the next left.“ Harry was already turning. A brief moment of panic appeared in his eyes as he considered his alternatives.

“Sod it,“ he said and turned right.

“Recalculating,“ said the Sat-Nav.

We drove for a few hundred yards more before emerging from the trees. Fields lay on both sides now, golden headed corn to our right and the deep scent of rapeseed to our left. The Fayre was nowhere to be seen.

“I’m going to look for somewhere to turn around,“ said Harry. “If we can get back on track, maybe we can pick up the signal.“

George and I nodded mutely as the hourglass on the Sat-Nav spun.

“Wait,“ said George suddenly, “I think I can see it.“

“Acquiring satellites,“ said the Sat-Nav.

“Well,“ said Harry crossly, “am I turning round or not?“

“Continue straight on for 2.3 miles and then turn left,“ said the Sat-Nav.

“There,“ said George insistently, “I can see the top of the maypole. Turn right now.“

Harry looked from the road to the Sat-Nav and back again. Then he jerked the wheel sharply right. I found myself pressed up against the glass as we took the corner on two wheels.

“Recalculating,“ said the Sat-Nav.

“This maypole better be there,“ snarled Harry, “because if it doesn’t I’m going to stick it right up…“

“Wait, I see it too,“ I yelled. As we cleared the hedge, we found ourselves looking across the fields to the collection of tents and cars outlined by the sun against the ragged clouds behind. This time we all cheered.

“Right where to now?“ asked Harry as we sped along the road, overtaking the Fayre, looking for some kind of entrance.

“Surely there’s a right turn somewhere,“ I insisted. Sure enough, the Sat-Nav confirmed it.

“Turn right in 300 yards.“

We cheered again.

“Okay, keep an eye out, keep an eye out…“

“Recalculating,“ said the Sat-Nav.

“Did we miss it?“ asked George. “How did we miss it?“

“There’s no way we missed it,“ insisted Harry. “How could we miss it? We’re on a straight road.“

The Sat-Nav smugly redrew its pink trail. It looked the same as before.

“Right, that’s it. I’m turning round,“ said Harry. Without warning, he hit the brakes. We lurched forward as the car screeched to a stop. We lurched sideways as Harry span the car in a tight circle, tree branches slapping against the windows as we veered on and off the tarmac. Then Harry gunned the accelerator and we shot off down the road. We turned left. Through the alley of trees. We turned left again. Past rapeseed and cornfields. Sunlight dappled like a strobe as we accelerated under leafy tree cover before emerging in cornfields again. The Fayre was still on our right.

“Please drive to highlighted route,“ said the Sat-Nav.

Without a word, Harry spun the wheel and drove straight into the cornfield. I felt every twang of the suspension as we dropped off the tarmac, then we hit ruts of earth baked dry in the spring heat, and my teeth rattled in my skull as cornstalks bounced away from the windscreen.

“Recalculating,“ said the Sat-Nav. “Recalculating, recalculating, recalculating.“

“Aaarrrgghhh,“ screamed Harry at the top of his voice, his eyes fixed straight ahead on the gaily streaming colours of the Fayre we could barely see through the scattering crops.

“Recalculating,“ repeated the Sat-Nav. “Recalculating, recalculating.“

“I think Harry’s gone mad,“ I gargled through my shaking jaw.

“Mad,“ gargled Harry back, “I’m bloody furious.“

“Are you sure we should be going this way?“ asked George. He leant forward between the seats, trying to see the route suggested on the Sat-Nav.

“Of course I shouldn’t be going this way,“ yelled Harry. “It’s a bloody field. Do you have a better idea? What’s the worst that could happen?“

“Oh,“ said George, looking at the Sat-Nav. “Is that a river?“