NIGHT RIDER

The heightened sensations afforded by the Porsche 718 Spyder’s open top aren’t restricted to daylight hours, as a nocturnal drive through an International Dark Sky Park reveals

- HENRY CATCHPOLE

TING. IF SOLITUDE IS A LUXURY ON this often crowded planet then right now I must be one of the wealthiest people alive. Over sixty-six million people live in the UK and I’m not near any of them. It’s this remoteness from humans and the light pollution that goes with their habitations that makes this area in Northumberland an International Dark Sky Park. Gazing up at the heavens, more and more pinpricks of light appear every second as my eyes adjust to the darkness.

Ting. There is an almost overwhelming, vertigolike sensation of the universe’s enormity and my own insignificance out here. Orion, one of the few constellations I can spot, is rising escorted (Ford joke there) by his dogs, big and small. I read recently that some stars in the big O’s belt are nearly as far away from each other as they are from earth. The mind (certainly mine anyway) boggles trying to comprehend things like that. I find it fills me with a curious combination of both terror and reassurance.

Ting. After a few minutes spent just staring at the stars my neck starts to get stiff, so I lower my gaze back to more immediate, sub-astral surroundings. The air is crisp and icy cold. Although I’m snug inside my down coat, each icy breath drawn through the nostrils sharpens the senses as it chills from the inside. With the darkness rendering my eyes semiredundant, my hearing feels heightened, but a stark silence pervades the still, chilly forest. The noiseless night is broken only occasionally by a tiny… Ting …from the Spyder’s still contracting metal.