This week on Nomad Photographer, I’d like to introduce a new series about my adventures that resulted in embarrassment, tears, unneeded stress, or even physical pain. This is the first in MisAdventures, with unfortunately more than a few to follow.
In my travels, I generally bounce from one high to another, meeting people from all walks of life and visiting natural wonders I’ve only dreamt of. But sometimes — rarely, thankfully — things don’t go quite as planned.
First off, a little bit backstory. A couple of weeks ago, I had elected to explore the far north counties of Northern Ireland. After a bit of research, I had found that all the sites I was interested in visiting would be quite difficult to reach via public transportation. While the country does have an extensive bus system, many of the routes only operate once a day. I had had a fantastic experience renting a car in Ireland the week prior and so decided to do the same out of Belfast in the north.
Quick disclaimer: if any Sixt representatives are reading this, spoiler alert, the car was returned with nary a scratch!
I booked a basic package through Sixt car rentals for £14 a day for the three days I planned to explore the coast as I had had a great experience renting with them in Ireland the week prior. As I had done there, I was sure to include my Sixt Platinum membership number in my booking for a free car class upgrade.
You see, I found out a couple of weeks ago that one of my credit cards includes the added benefit of providing free executive-level status to Sixt, National, and Avis. All you have to do is call up MasterCard and they send you an easy-to-fill-out online form. Within minutes, I was a Sixt Platinum member – something that would have taken months and many completed rental contracts to achieve normally.
When I arrived at the rental counter in Belfast, I presented my platinum number and credit card and the agent let me know they had reserved a shiny new Toyota Yaris for me. I asked about the upgrade and they let me know that while no free upgrade was available (they were all rented out), I could pay an extra £4 a day to rent a BMW 520d. I of course jumped at the opportunity to ride in style and quickly signed the contract.
Upon pulling out of the lot, I was already quite used to driving on the left from my experience a week ago, but I was still thrown by the size of the 520d. They are full sized sedans and run nearly 20% larger than the vehicle I had in Ireland.
Now if you’ve never been to Ireland or pretty much any rural location in the British Isles, you may not know that they don’t believe in wide streets. In America, roads are built big enough that two Ford super-duty pickup trucks can pass each other and still have space leftover, but not so across the pond. There were times that I held my breath just navigating my car along a road, even with no other cars in sight!
The first day passed and besides getting some really strange looks at my hostel when I rolled up in a 5-series Beamer, the rental period had started uneventfully. On my second day in County Antrim, I decided to drive along the coast seeing several locations where my favorite tv show, Game of Thrones, was filmed. I had read about an area called Ballycastle that was featured in the series as the fictional location of The Iron Islands. Following Google Maps directions I headed out down a narrow (but normal for Irish standards) paved road to the coast. The road was steep at times, but manageable and I didn’t run into any other traffic.
I got out a few times at various outlooks and took photos, all the while heading closer to the coast and the lush, green valley below. As the road narrowed and the tarmac ended in a small pulloff, I slowed the car to a halt and got out to survey the view around the next bend. The photo at the beginning of this article was taken at this point. The road beyond was hard-pack gravel, one lane, but clearly passable even in a normal car and looked well trodden. It appeared to hug the coast and then head back inland. After weighing my options, I balanced a “why the hell not” attitude with a passing “I’m going to regret this,” and got back in the vehicle.
As I rolled around the corner, I thought, “alright I got this, it’s way easier than it looks.” The road hardly felt different in the transition to gravel. Then as I went on, it started to narrow. And narrow. And narrow some more. I slowed down and tilted the passenger, and now ocean-side, mirror downward so I could see the encroaching cliff edge. As my heart rate elevated, I moved the car as close as I dared to the uphill side of the mountain, itself now a near vertical wall. By that point I was cursing my decision and decided at the next possible moment, I would turn the car around and get back to safer ground. If I could find a turnaround, that is. There was no way in hell, I’d be able to back the car out of this.
Finally, mercifully, the road widened, the uphill wall softened and the cliff edge dropping into the Atlantic moved a few feet off to my left and the gravel ended in a buttery smooth tarmac.
And then I saw it, a foreboding fence and cow gate. At this point I had traveled maybe a half mile beyond the pulloff and the road had reached a terminus at the gate. Beyond the fence, the road returned to gravel and disappeared around a far hill.
At this point, I figured this was my best chance of turning around and slowly pulled the car forward to the edge of the cow gate. I reversed the car into the soft shoulder and then pulled forward again, turning as I went. One more reverse and pull forward, and then something happened. As I prepared to reverse for the last time, I felt the car lurch forward, surprisingly, as I was currently in reverse. I slammed my foot on the brake pedal and pulled the parking brake. The drifting stopped and I slowly stepped out of the car to see what the hell happened.
As I crossed to the front of the vehicle, I saw one wheel had slipped off the new tarmac, a small two inch drop to the ground. “Whew,” I thought, “it felt way worse than that.” Back in the car I went, this time determined to pull the wheel back up onto the road and head out on my way. But of course, that’s not how it happened.
As soon as I rotated the steering wheel, the weight of the massive beast shifted farther forward, and I felt the car skid across pavement, even while I pressed both feet into the brake in an “oh shit” last ditch maneuver. I had my first head-on view of the sparkling Atlantic some 30 feet below, and I figured that was it. Images of me jumping out at the last possible second, as the car plunged nose-first into the water below, flashed in my head. And yet once again, the drift stopped, and I sat motionless except for the fierce shake that had developed in my hands.
After a string of expletives, I gained the courage to slowly step out of the car and survey the damage. Once again passing around to the front of the car, I immediately saw my error. What I had mistaken before for soft ground just off the road was, in actuality, very tall grass and overgrowth. The level of the dirt below was more than three feet down from the road itself. As I stood in this thicket, my sternum was even with the bottom of the bumper right in front of me. In a near panic, I headed beyond the cow gate, hoping that I’d run into someone that could help save my BMW from near-certain doom.
In a cruel turn of events, some mere 300 feet beyond the gate, obscured by a hill, I found a wide turnaround at the end of the road. I also spied a park service pickup truck and two employees working on a water pump in the field beyond. I walked up and explained that I had gotten my vehicle stuck, just a quarter mile back and wondered if they could help me free it. Chuckling and saying “not to worry, I’m hardly the first,” they followed me back to my car. And yet when they saw it, the smile faded from their faces. Explaining that there was no way to use their truck winch to pull me free, they proposed that I work the pedals, one of them push on the trunk to provide traction, and the other would push from the front.
With the lightest touch, I gave the Beamer a bit of gas, as one of my saviors rocked the car forward and back in an effort to provide backward momentum and hopefully grip for the tires. As the car threatened to once again slide forward, I freaked out and hit the brakes again. “No, no, no,” they explained. “You have to give it constant gas or there was no way we’ll break free.” We tried for what felt like an eternity. Back and forth we’d rock, only to go nowhere as the engine growled.
At the edge of despair, we gave it one more shot. One friend on the rear bumper pressed with all his might, the other leaned his shoulder into the front. And as smoothly as I could muster, I pressed my foot into the accelerator. As the wheels began to spin, rubber finally caught asphalt, and the vehicle bounced backward. This time the car came to rest on flat ground and I sank into the seat, still shaking from the adrenaline coursing through me, but this time knowing I’d be driving out in one piece.
October 23, 2015
Logan,
Your mom and I had some Scottish Highlands adventures, but they were nothing like your Ireland adventure. Your storytelling had my heart in my throat!
Dad