Catching some zzzzz’s. 2/2/2005
It was late on Friday evening when we finished, and none of us wanted to spend another night in this god-forsaken town in the south of Belgium. We cleared up our toolkits, signed off on the worksheets, and had an impromptu meeting standing around the car. It was fairly cold in the carpark, and I made my colleague start the engine so that I could curl up on the bonnet and get some warmth. Serves me right for electing to check the flue scrubbers in the middle of an impending blizzard, climbing up a stack some 150 feet up in the air.
After some discussion as to whether we should head back to the little hotel where we’d been staying the past 2 weeks to see if they still had rooms for us, we decided that we would drive out to Calais, and catch the first morning ferry back to Dover. It was a drive of some 500 miles or so. Nothing to shout about really, except that this drive involved one border crossing and a wait of some hours in the bleak hours of the dawn waiting for the ferry at the terminal. But by this time, all of us were sick and tired of Belgian food, Belgian beer, Belgian chocolates, Belgians. If you’ve ever tried to get your ear around Flemish, you’d know what I mean. They all speak French, and English, but if you’re in the Walloon part of the country, be prepared to be completely ignored. I speak French fluently, which was one of the reasons why I was tasked to attend this job, since my colleagues, one engineer and 3 technicians, were English, and hopelessly mono-lingual.
We got into the car, my engineer colleague driving, and I collapsed into the front seat, moaning softly as my back creaked in about 30 different places. The three techs piled into the back seat to share body warmth. Considering the fact that the five of us had spent a day on site, none of us were smelling particularly fresh. You could say the car was rather odorous. Ripe even. But none of us cared. All we wanted to do was to just get the fuck out of Europe and back across the Channel, where they actually served potatoes that were fried, instead of boiled.
We headed down the highway at a good pace, in spite of the poor visibility. Most of the roads were clear, most people having headed home and staying in because the weather was closing in fast. The sound and motion of the car had a soprific effect on me. I was pretty much tired, and my chin was soon resting on my chest, lulled to sleep by the sounds of Lisa Stansfield playing on the CD. A chorus of snores, grunts and rattles were soon echoing through the car, while Matt pushed on, heading for our first fuel and coffee stop just before the border of France and Belgium.
I awoke with a start, my head jerking upright. I stared through the windshield. It was dark as Hades outside, with the headlamps illuminating specks of snow that signalled the beginning of a blizzard. The road was lightly covered with fog, and there were few other vehicles sharing the road with us. I glanced back into the rear of the car, and saw the three techs huddled together like babes in the woods, the car’s heater barely making a dent in the temperature which was rapidly heading for the zero mark.
I looked over at Matt to get a status report, and find out how far we had to go before stopping for fuel and I could take a spell at the wheel. And my spinchter clenched in sheer terror. Matt had his hands on the wheel, and was driving on straight as an arrow at a speed approaching 100 m.p.h. And his eyes were closed, and he was fast asleep.
My brain froze at the sheer incredulity of the situation. For a moment, I went blank, thinking that here I was in a metal box, hurtling down the road at some insane speed, just waiting to be turned into strawberry jam when we ploughed into the back of some random articulated truck. I considered what to do. I could try and wake him up, with the possibility of Matt jerking the wheel and sending us careening into the armco. I could try and control the wheel from my side of the car, with the possibility that Matt might be shocked into wrestling control back from me, sending us careening into the armco. I could make some sort of noise to get his attention, which might result in him turning to look in my direction, sending us careening into the armco.
I was desperately thinking of which option to choose, when Matt awoke with a start, and resumed driving. I heaved a sigh of relief, and rather casually asked Matt for a situation update, and other things. He replied normally, with no sign of having any recollection of being asleep at the wheel. I was wondering to myself how long we’d be going down the road, five of us in the car, at 100 m.p.h, and all of us asleep.
When we stopped for fuel and coffee, I remarked to Matt that I saw him asleep at the wheel, a fact which he denied vehemently. We got back behind the wheel, crossed the border and headed to Calais without further incident, but to this day, I still wonder about what may have happened.