After passing my test last October I was determined to get a car, I had money set aside and I knew the foray into a new purchasing experience would be fun, or at least challenging. To be frank, it was more or less terrifying. I should have known that the owner of a Peugot 106 that had grown an exhaust the size of a prison arsehole wasn't my perfect car when he mentioned it was 'sure to impress the ladies when you're cruising past Fattie's on a Saturday night'. I definitely shouldn't have mentioned my theory about the relationship between loud cars and small penises, at least not while sitting in the car.
I spent many hours trawling Gumtree and eBay, making new friends and laughing uncontrollably at some of the choice descriptions that flitted across my screen. Eventually I made contact with a Spanish chap who was selling his ten-year-old Astra for a decent price. He had a cool name and I met him in Lidl car park after work and took the car for a test drive in the dark. Instantly I couldn't put the car into reverse. Being a few months since my test and not a single mile driven I was somewhat nervous, I had no idea what to be feeling for but I was just gonna wing it. Once out of the car park everything went quite smoothly and I'm sure I didn't hear any bangs or clunks, I was very happy, and he was offering to agree to a price that day! After a short deliberation I decided to bite the bullet and just a few weeks later I was the proud owner of a beautiful blue Astra.
We went to Lunan Bay. I drove all over the place getting used to how different it was to the car I learnt in. Eventually I found I didn't think anything of jumping in the car and going exploring, and frequently I would get home from work and just want to drive. So across the Tay I went and sat, enjoying the lights and the view looking back home.
Considering the state of the weather (monsoon level downpours) I was quite proud of our teamwork and just how comfortable my four hour journey south was. The return trip was even less eventful although I feel the suspension may have at this point begun to protest the rough tracks of farmland Cumbria.
After Christmas I took advantage of my time off and the bad weather to explore Glenshee. Taking the scenic (read longer) route up I charged along some fantastic country roads, pausing to enjoy the gorgeous and desolate countryside that can be found just North of Dundee. Finding the resort was surprisingly easy and to my joy I purchased a dirt-cheap lift-pass and exhausted myself on new pistes and fairly good snow. As darkness began to fall I set off for home. My first excursion on pitch-black country roads was not necessarily and enjoyable one: I didn't know the roads and I constantly felt like I was travelling too slow, the anger building in the cars behind me causing several grumpy outbursts aimed completely at my lack of experience. Home safe, car parked, I sat behind the wheel a little longer, I opened the window to let a little tension out and laughed somewhat hysterically at the challenge I had stumbled upon and cruised through, albeit profanity-laden.
While Edward... ahem, yes, myself and a few work colleagues deemed that a suitable name. While my faithful steed continued to do shopping duties and visits to St Andrews, another long trip was planned and soon we set of for Dalbeattie. This time our group numbered three, Mariel playing DJ and map reader, a fantastic combination if a Dundonian club would ever see one. We travelled South with few issues except the price of motorway service coffees. Extortion! Madness! And following some more exciting excursions through flood water and complicated one-way systems we toasted our success with yet more over-priced coffee.
My second trip out to Glenshee left me bewildered and heading for Perth but it was worth it's weight in petrol (just a tenner!) The day was incredible, horrendous weather and powder like porridge but when the slope steepened the feeling of leaning in, smoothing the board left and right, and slashing just made my whole winter. The fact I had only driven an hour and spent well under fifty quid made the fact that I was shredding all the sweeter. The sun brightened as it threatened to drop over the horizon and I grab a few sweet shots, only to pull out of my craterous layby and hear a thundering scrape come from the car...
'Ah shit! What have I done?!
Wait, is that a fighter jet? Thank god!'
Cars cost money though, and with the suspension clunks and the junkies who liberated my favourite pair of gloves the total cost for a ten-year-old Astra is looking closer to a grand than I had hoped.
While the cost may be rising, without Edward I would not have had the fantastic and exciting experiences of driving south for Christmas (and bringing back all the left-over food), joining my sister and the Doonham Derby Dolls in the Spiegeltent for a fantastic, funky and wheely good night, snowboarded in Scotland for the first time and worn out at least two pens describing my best drives so far!
My hope is that he comes out of the garage much healthier than my wallet and continues to join me on some fantastic explorations.
Get yourself a car, and go explore, you never know what's just around the corner.
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