We are Ffordd

No where to walk, no where to cycle, no room for a horse - our modern rural roads

I actually drafted this blog a couple of years ago, but it never felt like the right time to publish it. Now, with absurd calls for more roads, the proposed Lower Thames Crossing, and the completion of the ‘Heads of the Valleys’ road, the moment feels right.

What’s also been bothering me—and I’ve blogged about this elsewhere—is the opposition to the eminently sensible policy of default 20 mph zones where people live. There’s no rational argument against it. So perhaps the conversation should shift to what’s really going on: the 'road rage' people feel when they’re simply asked to slow down a bit. What’s happening psychologically?

In one of the Star Trek stories, humans and other species are assimilated into the Borg collective. Each individual gets a robotic implant that binds them to the collective, so they can act as one. This half-human, half-machine future crops up all over science fiction. I’m here to tell you—it’s already happened.

We are Ffordd

The Ffordd are humans who cannot live without their cars. We are one with our automobiles. We rely on them completely—even for the shortest of journeys. They bring us our parcels. They take us to work, school, to shop and on holiday. Without our cars, we are nothing. We do not exist. We are no longer simple humans. We are graded by the car ‘implant’. We are Ffordd. (You could add mobile phone too).

A symbiotic—some might say parasitic—relationship has formed between people and their vehicles. Drivers become something else once they sit behind the wheel: not a person on foot, but a person of motorised speed. A person whose journey matters more than anyone else’s. We become one with Ffordd. The space beneath, and around our motor vehicles is owned and should not be entered by anyone else. We are Ffordd.

The Ffordd object to low traffic neighbourhoods. They cannot abide pedestrians, cyclists, or those quaint old-fashioned romantics who still persevere with horses. Walking, cycling, riding—these are relics of the past. They must not impede the Ffordd’s mission to get from A to B as fast as possible.

There’s so much evidence for this already. Our leaders don’t believe in providing for alternative or active forms of transport. The Westminster Government has just cut £800 million from its active travel budget (last Tory Government, but has it been reinstated yet?). All must be done to speed up car-borne journeys.

Roads are built to a high standard. Footpaths are not. Roads are resurfaced, trees chopped back, verges mown. Rarely is this done for bridleways.

Even when you find a cycle lane, it’s a joke. Cyclists are expected to give way at every entrance, every field gate, every driveway, every minor road. Nothing must impede the sacred forward motion of the car.

There is no doubt the car has been the best bit of ‘outdoor’ gear ever invented. It gives us freedom to play out of doors wherever we want, whenever we want, with who ever we want. There is no doubt either that the motor car has destroyed the places we live, our town centres and our health. It’s impact on nature is off the scale. We could choose to roll back on its dominance; we could choose to travel more healthily and in more sociable ways.

But we have been assimilated.

We are Ffordd.

I use the word Ffordd because in Welsh, it means “road.” In English, it looks like “Ford.” And it was Ford, after all, that developed the assembly line and made cars affordable—kicking off the rise of Ffordd. Everyone (who mattered) could now afford the financial sacrifice required to become Ffordd.

Car rules OK?