The Festival of Slow
14 July 2012; 12:26
Well, as of today, our adventure is offcially underway. Yesterday we drove out of our campsite to see Stonehenge, but since it wasn’t free we didn’t stay. Instead we headed out, planning to change our brake pads as a form of entertainment on our way to the Festival. We took the road south through Salisbury and stopped by the ocean in Portsmouth.
Chase claimed to understand the basics of changing a set of brake pads, and, in fairness, he did admirably; except for the fact that we couldn’t get the calipers back on, everything went smoothly. Luckily, a kind burly gentleman showed us that we just weren’t strong enough to close the brake arm. I did the other side, which wasn’t as stuck, and we were off to Goodwood after only two and a half hours.
Driving has gone much better since the first couple of days, but Mills Field where our campsite and the opening party were was nearly impossible to find. My guess is that it was a test of our navigation skills in some sort of attempt to weed out the unworthy among us. Again, the kindness of strangers prevailed, and, after a few sets of directions, we found the way to our wanderlusting compatriots. It finally felt as though we were really doing it.
The rain held off until about ten, at which point the heavens lightened their load onto our littl Wal-Mart tent. Since I was sleeping by the door, I was immediately drenched. I slept until about 3:30 before I was too cold to keep on; after a short walk to the car and a bit of public exhibition, I was in dry pants and underwear and asleep in the passenger seat.
Fitful dreams and a bleak night put me in a foul mood for the morning. I hated my teammates, I hated the rally, and I hated myself. A few cups of coffee later, however, and I was only left disappointed with myself. To so easily slip into such an unpleasant state speaks, I think, to how spoiled I’ve become to an easy life of comfort. Hopefully, by the end of this adventure I’ll have managed to push past that and be better for it.
I’m cramped in the car as I try to type, so I’m counting on having a better opportunity to write somthing down once we get on the (relatively) comfortable ferry ride from Dover.