MOTORING
OF all holiday-makers at all times the motorist is naturally the luckiest, the best-equipped for that sometimes doubtful adventure. He has no transport worries. Not only can he forget that trains, time-tables and Record Rushes were ever invented but he can pick and choose his holiday- place as can nobody else except, in an infinitely smaller degree, the walker. If he doesn't like a place when he gets to it he can go on to another; if that does not please or— as is far more probable in August—he can't get a bed in it, he just goes on till he finds what he wants. Not even the owner of an ocean-going steam-yacht is so free. He, poor soul, is the slave of all kinds of foreign influences, from wind and tide to head stewards, navigators and guests unhappy in a cross sea. He is perhaps the solitary very rich man who cannot ever be quite sure of having what he wants when he wants it.
Let us pity him, but never the owner of a car of any size or age or degree of agility. Would you see freedom in person? Spare a glance at any battered family saloon congested with luggage inside, bulging with it, tied on with clothes-line, outside; any boisterous two-seater carrying the equivalent of a couple of tooth-brushes ; any richly caparisoned limousine, sedate, silent, terrible with lustrous suit-cases, picnic-trunks, golf-bags, and all costly things. The roads are full of them now, and for all of them escape lies waiting.
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