This modern highway gashes through the end of the hill in a deep cutting. As you speed along, you may have a sort of flickering impression of a bridge passing overhead—the ghost of a bridge?—perhaps you're traveling too fast to be sure.

You might also (but no, if you're in a car you certainly won't) notice something small and gray by the roadside. If you're on a bicycle, you stop in surprise to examine it. What's an old milestone doing on an obviously new-cut highway, a hundred and fifty feet below the natural surface? By treading the nettles down and kneeling to trace the moss-filled characters, you can make out: "8 to Bridport 4 to Axminster", with a peculiar mark below like a T with three legs.

As the cutting ends, a lane doubles back on the left. If cycling, tired of the noise—the angry noise of vehicles firing by—you gratefully turn off.

If in a car, you may glimpse the lane, but more probably, seeing in your mirror that a ponderous lorry hurtles close behind, you hurtle onward.