Detours when driving in the city are often an irritation, but seldom take you far off your intended path. In the country detours are of a different ilk.
Yesterday, there was a car accident that forced the closure of the highway I normally drive homeward. Police directed traffic onto a country side road and drivers were left to their own inner compasses to make it to their journey’s end.
It was dusk, so fading light, very little signage and what there was was of no help to anyone unfamiliar with the area. It really was a case of praying that the car in front of you was heading to where you wanted to go! I think if I was prone to panic attacks I would have suffered one easily. I certainly felt anxious.
Every time a car turned off, I feared that maybe I was going the wrong way. Thirty minutes later I saw a sign for an area I thought might vaguely be nearing our Village. Luckily, it was.
So my usually forty minute drive home took more that seventy minutes. Small wonder I woke with a headache this morning!