Driving in Britain Then & Now

15 May 2015 Comments 0 Comments

A friend headed for England who heard about their speed cameras asks how many he’ll encounter. Answer: a lot. Even out in the country, they snap away at you.

Having logged about 80,000 road miles in the UK since 1974, I’ve noticed this and other changes that turned driving from a joy to drudgery. Of course a lot has to do with the huge growth of cars on cramped roads, and maybe modern depredations of the State is a result rather than a cause. Headed into Dorchester one Saturday morning, I had to resort to an Ordnance Survey map to get in using one-track roads—all the arteries were packed and stuck.

I recently drove extensively in the West Country and the Scottish Highlands, and those yellow cameras (some dummies) were everywhere. They love to put them on the tourist routes. Thankfully the UK has only a few basic speed limits—30-50-60-70, maybe some 40s, not those incremental 5 mph changes that bring in so much revenue elsewhere. But an Oxfordshire friend told me he was nailed for 53 in a 50 by the ever-vigilant cameras of Big Brother.

Triumph Dolomite Sprint. Still remember the number plate: MVC301M. Where is it now? Probably a Toyota. (Photo: Wikimedia Commons.)

When I first visited in 1974, I drove a hot Triumph Dolomite Sprint from the British Leyland press pool, 800 miles from Cotswold storybook land to the Lake District and Scotland. On the way back I drove Carlisle to London, 300 miles, in four hours. The same limits existed, but fast cars went up to 90 on the motorways, lane discipline was superb, and if you looked like you knew what you were doing you were usually left alone. If not and they got you for DWI, the roof fell in, and rightly so.

It was like dying and going to heaven. We diced on backwoods A- and B-roads and on wider ones we even passed on curves (“because we don’t have anything else,” one Brit told me)—the oncoming driver and the passee politely moved over to create a lane and nobody got terribly excited).

All gone in the hyper-regulated age of the all-powerful State and the Me Generation. In 2009 I drove a fast six-speed VW Passat Diesel from Edinburgh to Skye and back and those bloomin’ yellow R2D2s were all over the place.

Wrynose Pass, Lake District. Phil Rigby's article is linked herein. — Wrynose Pass, Lake District. Phil Rigby’s article in The Guardian is linked in this post.

The only roads you can still have fun on over there are one-lane country tracks with “lay-bys” for passing, where, when an oncoming car approaches, you only argue about who has the hono(u)r of reversing. Hard Knott and Wrynose Passes in the Lake District are still wonders, though you need to be wary of sheep: here’s a video from a motorcycle. In flatter terrain where you can see ahead, you can go like clappers. No cameras. (I think!)

Addendum: click here for a slightly clearer video, but who will watch this for 20 minutes? That poor bloke had to follow a red van. I was nose-t0-tail with an MGBGT driven “with assurance,” and it was well that only sheep were coming the other way.