The Road Between

Not all roads can be measured in kilometres.

Earlier this year, I finally drove the Nürburgring.

The strange thing is, it had never been on my list.

Neither had driving across Western Europe before making the long journey back through England. A few years ago, if someone had suggested it, I would probably have asked, “Why would I do that?”

For much of my life, pleasure was always “next time.”

There was always another project, another responsibility, another reason to postpone it. Somewhere along the way, I realised that if I kept waiting for the right time, I might never go at all.

So I chose to go.

I asked my son if he wanted to come along.

He wasn’t sure.

I asked him more than once.

The decision had to be his.

So I stopped asking.

Eventually, he said yes.

Hull.

An overnight ferry to Rotterdam.

Germany.

Belgium.

France.

Le Shuttle.

Then the long drive north through England.

People ask about the Nürburgring.

The lap time.

The roads.

The car.

The truth is, I can’t remember my lap time.

What stayed with me was something else.

Two people.

One car.

Thousands of kilometres looking through the same windscreen.

Conversations that wouldn’t have happened otherwise.

Silences that didn’t need filling.

Whether the journey changed anything between us…

I don’t know.

I hope it did.

Only time will tell.

Sometimes all we can do is invite.

The rest is up to the other.