The Measure of Misery - 4-5 Solitons Solitons Per Hour

Standing by the side of the A303 this Bank Holiday weekend, watching the traffic slow down and eventually grind to a halt, is a good excuse to contemplate the infinite, to ponder those deep philosophical questions that have troubled mankind for years.

I was going to suggest it was an opportunity to contemplate ones own navel, but it was a darned sight too cold for that and, in any event, it may be of uncertain legality and is definitely of dubious taste - at least in my case.

Anyway, the deep question I was pondering, watching all those grey and grim-set faces behind the windscreens was: "How do you measure misery?'

I think I now have an answer.  It's 4-5 Solitons Per Hour.

A few weeks ago, I explained how people slowing at Stonehenge could create a soliton generator near Stonehenge and there were others at Longbarrow Roundabout and Stonehenge Bottom.  

Westbound traffic and eastbound soliton

Basically, vehicles joins a queue of traffic faster than than they can leave it, so the point at which traffic stops on the road, moves backwards,  against the direction of vehicle travel, until it meets another soliton and things jam solid, or it meets a stretch of traffic-free road and simply vanishes.   Today, I was watching traffic in Winterbourne Stoke go east and the soliton travel west, from Longbarrow Roundabout back to Winterbourne Stoke and the dual carriageway at Berwick Down.  People-watching is always fascinating, but even more so today as the traffic slowed to a stop.

I've noticed over the last few weeks that these solitons build and disappear in a fairly systematic way.  The periodicity changes in response to traffic volume, so the more traffic, the shorter the interval between solitons.  You can measure this periodicity in solitons per hour (SPH).  Now the fun thing is that people's demeanour changes in response to this periodicity - the higher the SPH, the deeper the misery of the car occupants.  It also changes their reaction to someone stood at the side of the road with a STAG sign and a video camera.

At 0 solitons per hour, the drivers see you, look sheepish as going 60 mph or more in a 40 mph zone is tearing the arse out of things a wee bit and they worry you might be a speed camera or something.   This effect can be enhanced by wearing a yellow, high-vis, dayglo jacket.  Passengers laugh at driver.

At 1 soliton per hour, the drivers sigh a bit, but they are travelling less than 10 mph over the speed limit, so aren't too worried you are a speed camera.  Drivers sweat a bit when they fail to see stationary car ahead.

At 2 solitons per hour, the drivers know you aren't a speed camera and don't give a stuff about you, as they are being slowed on their way home.  Passengers are busting for a pee and they should have stopped at the last place that had a toilet before Wylye.  Still, it benefits the Bell Inn in Winterbourne Stoke with additional passing trade.

At 3 solitons per hour, drivers glare at you, make obscene gestures and frequently open the window and swear at you. They really do seem to blame you for the fact they are stuck in this traffic jam.   Driver screams at passengers and they scream back.  The A303 becomes a place of learning - that is if you want to learn some of the choicer ways to use expletives.  Some drivers try to drive threateningly at the camera and then fail to notice the crossing lights are on red or a driver is turning in or out of the petrol station or pub - yet another near miss!   Smiling at them doesn't seem to help their mood, though it is cathartic for the traffic-watcher.  Waving is even more fun.

At 4 solitons per hour everything changes.  Drivers are no longer angry and abusive.  Instead they seemed resigned to their fate - like a condemned prisoner in a tumbrel, heading to the gallows, with passengers who seem to relish the prospect of joining them.  They attempt to smile in a thin-lipped, dejected way and will sometimes wind their windows down and engage you in conversation.

As I packed up to go home, another soliton was forming and the drivers reaction seemed to be the same.  On the basis of this, then I reckon the Measure of Misery is about 4-5 solitons per hour.

I trundled home to write this piece and then I had a flash of inspiration.  I had finally understood the true meaning of the answer and thus had finally got to grips with the nature of the question.   Hitchhikers Guide to the Galaxy fans will recall that "42" was the answer to life, the universe and everything and that, according to the book, the earth was created to determine what the ultimate question actually was.

Now, I'm beginning to think that the answer wasn't 42, as a numeral, but the first part of a statement "4 to"  as in "4 to 5" or "4 to 400" or even "4 to Infinity"   Of course, as infinity is big, really big, so it wouldn't all fit onto a computer screen.  Consequently, it seems adamantly (even Douglas Adamantly) reasonable to output just the first bit  - "4 to".

Now if that's the real answer, the question now becomes obvious.  "What is the Measure of Misery".

Clearly, Stonehenge is simply the on-off switch for the computer created by the multi-dimensional creatures who resemble white mice.  Experts in the field will see the problem here.  Whilst we are pushing to get the A303 dualled as a means of eliminating traffic misery, the blasted Vogons are intent on eliminating us entirely to construct a new hyperspace bypass.

SWMBO reckons I've been out playing with the traffic for waaaaaaaaaay to long!