It is sensible to have an up to date map if planning a journey, whether that much promised around the world trip or for just a bit of a jaunt into the countryside.
I have a bit of a track record for using an inappropriate map and in the past this has caused a few problems.
On a long distance cycle from Yorkshire to Rambouillet, which lies to the south west of Paris, France I acquired a Michelin series sheet which did indeed show the start and finish points. Unfortunately it also extended northwards to Iceland and with parts of the old Belgian Congo forming the bottom edge. My intended journey was therefore represented by about six inches of the map which as I appreciated when mid way between Dieppe and Rouen did not really give much detail as to which roads to take. It was more by chance than sound navigation that we eventually got to our destination before too much of our holiday had slipped by.
It is not just on two wheels that I have experienced difficulties where route maps are concerned.
After landing at Larnaca in Cyprus it should have been a fairly easy drive in the hire car to the resort of Ayia Napa for a family wedding. I had glanced at some map or other in my local library and was confident that I had memorised in which direction to go in order to arrive at the hotel within about an hour at the most. It appears that the resource on Cypriot roads in the reference section of the council library was a little bit old, in fact pre 20th July 1974 when in a little bit of a war a good proportion of the north of Cyprus was invaded by Turkey. I had omitted to verify the facts of the map and on a darkening summer night this explained why I was surrounded by empty and graffiti scavenged ruined buildings in the no-mans zone. I expected, any minute, to be surrounded by military types armed to the teeth , untidily arrested and to form a diplomatic incident rather than be at the back of a picturesque chapel celebrating the nuptials of my brother in law and his new wife.
You would think that these two experiences would have taught me a lesson where navigational aids are concerned. I have been able to laugh off the first as a typical Englishman abroad but the latter on yet more foreign ground could really have had quite serious implications not just for me but also my wife and son. I have not really progressed much at all.
Take today.
I set off with my now much older and larger son on bikes on one of our popular routes along the course of one of the many former railway lines that runs out of the city and terminates at the north sea coast.
It would be our third ride on that track already this year, always a challenge and enjoyable but I felt like a change for the return leg and not just a straight out and back run.
My trusted map, the only one I currently possess, was located from a storage box in the garage and consulted about a viable diversion from the normal to add a bit of interest and additional miles. It was an old Explorer Series from the ever dependable Ordnance Survey, beyond question as to accuracy and detail, at least for its revision date of the year 2000. I was not too phased that it did not cover all of the intended journey because I pride myself on having a pretty good knowledge of the highways, byways, cycle-paths, public footpaths and at a push, bridleways of my part of East Yorkshire.
The first 20 miles were familiar and predictable. I planned to leave the track at one of the old stranded platforms and crossing houses and set off cross country using narrow single carriageway B and C roads. At the Promenade just before the turnaround point the map was consulted. Unfortunately I missed the essential left turn as on the map it seemed to have more of a presence than actually on the ground. This was not apparent until passing through a village that should have been on the horizon to the north if we had been on the correct road. Ever relying on plan B another route was available and within twenty minutes we were back where we should have been, except that it was not where I had imagined and everything looked strange.
Out came the OS again. It was by now a bit worse for wear as the water bottle had leaked onto it. A slight recalculation was possible but involving negotiating roads and lanes that I had never been on before even though I have cycled in the area over the last 30 years. There was a footpath along a drain bank representing a good and time saving short cut avoiding the busy A road from the end of a farm track. It seemed a possibility and off we went. A farmstead blocked the way which was a bit rude and we were startled by the black flash of a large dog rocketing out of a roadside kennel. Fortunately the hound was secured on a chain which tightened and restrained it within a few inches of my ankles.
My son spotted a break in the seemingly impenetrable fencing surrounding the house and compound and the rush of adrenalin produced by the dog helped us to bounce across a ploughed field to reach the embankment for the deep drainage ditch. The so called footpath was little more than a faint, historic print left by the passage of a tractor or excavator on dredging duties. Thick and clumpy grass had spread rapidly over the shallow ruts also serving to conceal soft ground, mole hills and other obstacles. Progress was slow and we laboured on the lowest gearing available just to overcome the combined friction of foliage and clay.
In retrospect it may not have been an official footpath rather the impression of one where the ink on the map had blurred and run from the last 14 years of being saturated by various liquid refreshments and residues from pack-up lunches. That short stretch of about half a mile took a good thirty minutes of riding, walking, clambering over locked gates, avoiding obstructions and also the attentions of any farmers annoyed at a blatant trespass.
That feeling of hard and sound tarmac under our wheels was one I will always remember and may even prompt me to pop down to WH Smiths and update that one but now greatly mistrusted antiquity.
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