The best part of the early shift is the silence. Four in the morning, and Dronfield is still asleep under a thin gold light that hasn’t quite decided to be day yet. The kettle’s on, the car’s warm, and the roads are yours.
My imaginary passengers this morning are a family of four — let’s call them the Bakers. Two small children in matching dinosaur pyjamas, a dad counting passports for the fourth time, and a mum who has clearly done all the actual organising. They pile in, the little one clutching a toy rabbit that will, I already know, become the most important object in the entire county the moment it’s left behind.
The things you see
You see the sun come up over the Peak District more often than most. You see foxes trotting home along empty lanes, farmers’ lights flicking on, and the first delivery vans nosing out onto the A61. And you see people at their most human — half-asleep, excited, nervous, kind.
Mostly what you see is families at the start of something good, trusting you to get them there. It never really gets old.
By the time we reach the motorway the children are asleep, the dad has finally put the passports away, and the mum catches my eye in the mirror and mouths “thank you.” The rabbit, I’m pleased to report, made the flight.
Why we do it
People think this job is about cars. It isn’t, really — it’s about the moments either side of the journey. The 4am starts and the midnight landings, the wedding mornings and the race-day laughs, the quiet “we made it” when a plane lands early.
That’s the confession, I suppose: we genuinely like it. The roads, the hour, the people in the back. Even the rabbit.
More tales when the roads are quiet. Until then — if you’ve a real journey in mind, we’d love to be the ones to drive it. See our services or airport transfers.