From a Jet to a Dog
June 19 Poole Valley Coach Stn. Brighton, England
I’ve just boarded a bus to take me to Heathrow. A
light rain begins to
fall as we await our 8:05 departure.
Woke up 20 minutes later than planned this morning.
The alarm at Jim’s
failed me. Good thing my internal clock was ticking.
Had a nice last night over here. Went out to hear my
pals Jim and
Kirsten play music. They have a new persona, Phloot Groove, and are
doing a lot of old blues and jazz, spun into groove music and piped
through a myriad of electronic filters. Its sweet, sweet stuff, and I
very much enjoyed hearing them again.
When their gig was done I walked the Brighton Pier
then up the long
Dyke Road Hill to Jim’s place. We finally got to visit for a while
yesterday. Jim was telling me how he almost gave up the music and got a
job before finally giving in and taking it to the streets. For a year
or two, whenever I was in downtown Vancouver I would hear Jim melodic
chords emenating from theatre row on Granville in Vancouver. Turns out
that experience changed his life, and he became a full time musician. A
while later he and Kirsten moved over here, and have managed to make
music their lives. England is richer for it, and Canada is the loser.
Maybe someday we will learn to treat our musicians and artists as
something other than social outcasts and failures. It would enrich our
culture.
Have had a good time in England. After France it was
like dying and
going to heaven, hospitable heaven. People have talked to me, smiled,
helped when it was needed. I’m a little sad to be leaving, and feel I
should have come to Brighton much sooner, and for longer, which was my
inclination when I first visited.
The bus is rolling now. Wheels is in a box down
below, along with a
cheap duffle bag full of my gear. I can only hope British Airways will
be kinder to it this time.
In a couple hours I’ll be at Heathrow, then on the
plane, an idea that
makes my porridge filled tummy churn. I am not looking forward to the
flight, nine hours high in the air in a big hulking chunk of metal!
Wish there was some other way. But this is what is and I’m on with it.
More later from somewhere else.
Hours Later, Somewhere over Iceland
It wasn’t enough the loading took too long and we
were nearly half an
hour behind just pulling out on the runway, but then the captain
informed us there was a back log, and our jet would be delayed another
half hour while traffic controllers straightened out the mess on the
tarmac at Heathrow.
Then, after an announcement that we were fourth in
line to go, and
watching three jets take off, we were told the plane was experiencing a
technical difficulty and would have to travel back to the terminal.
Moments later we were informed the transit to the
terminal could take
some time because it meant crossing runways, and because we’d idled so
long, we would also have to take on fuel.
It took nearly an hour to get back to the terminal
and we were all told
to stay in our seats. When we did finally pull up to the dock, a small
troop of policemen suddenly scrambled on board, filling the cabin. We
were all quite startled.
Turns out, and the captain informed us of it moments
later, that one of
our fellow passengers was giving the help a hard time. The culprit, was
only sitting a few rows ahead of me, with his girlfriend, and no one
else had noticed, but apparently someone on the crew decided the guy
wasn’t fit to fly, for whatever reason.
We were told again by the captain, the “technical
difficulty”
explanation was a ruse, and they didn’t believe it would be wise to
tell us that we had to go back just to throw someone off.
I didn’t see anything but the back of the guy’s
head, he went away
peacefully enough. I did see his girlfriend as she pulled their stuff
from the overhead luggage racks. Her expression was one of bemusement,
she didn’t seem particularly disturbed, or surprised, or even phased by
the incident. You’d think someone who just had their holiday in Canada
toasted would be upset, but apparently not.
The staff would not tell us much but assured
everyone the fellow
was being abusive. Me wonders what he must have done to warrant turning
this big bird around and inconveniencing hundreds of travellers but I
will likely never know.
Anyway, by time the authorities went under the plane
and pulled the
couple’s luggage off, refuelled, made their statements to police, and
got the rest of us back in order, we were two and a half hours behind
schedule.
For my part, and for most passengers, the incident
seemed to lighten
the load. We were all quite pleased there wasn’t a real “technical
difficulty.” In a plane moving a thousand k an hour, technical
difficulties just aren’t anything anyone wants to know or hear about.
The fact it was some sort of security problem relieved us all, and I
began to ask staff if British Airways would pay for me to go to next
year’s Stanley Cup final game if I happened to miss the one on tonight
because of all this foolishness.
We have remained high above the clouds since
departing Heathrow. Its so
sunny up here I’ve had to keep the window shade down. Its also very
warm in the plane, partly because of the sun, which is very, very
bright.
All this craziness has helped me keep my mind off
the fact that I’m
flying, that my time in Europe and the UK is done, toast, fini,
complete, over, which I think would make me very sad if I really had to
look at it.
Its been one helluva ride, one I would probably do a
lot differently if
I had the chance to repeat. I’d stay longer for sure, would not likely
go to the south of France, would spend the money I spent on trains
going somewhere like Rome instead, I would do more time in Paris, let
the policeman arrest me in Maastricht, and give Brighton several weeks
at least. In fact, I told my pals Jim and Kirsten, if I do come back,
I’ll stay long enough to work out a gig with them.
Ah, but perfect hindsight in nothing unusual and
hardly worth writing
about. What is worth writing about is the fun I had. It was a treat
meeting Orla’s Mom, Helen, and good to get together with my Dutch
friends Arno and Gerda, and to ride with Kees, Marjon and Tomas, and to
see their country. Germany was my
favourite part of the ride,
especially the glorious weekend I passed with the Schafer women and
little Juliana, they were the jewels in the crown. I’m even half happy
I let Emma lead me around like the burro I met in the Dutch
countryside. Nothing like being a bit of an ass to keep the old ego in
check. Besides, the south of France, if the railway personnel were
extracted from it, wouldn’t be a bad place at all.
Anyway, I’m still not home yet, although its quite
apropo to be
arriving on the day when the seventh game of the hockey finals is on, I
left the day the playoffs started, and am looking forward, when I
land, to just sitting down and reaquainting myself with my homeland by
watching a hockey game. Should be fun.
More when this bird lands.
Later: Vanccouver Bus Depot
Well kids, I watched the Carolina Hurricanes kick
some Edmonton Oiler
tush and to tell you the truth, it quite pleased me. Even though I’m
Canadian I’m not so much of a homey and I wanted the best team to win,
and the best team did win, although I thought it was sloppy, nasty
hockey, and not at all the finesse and flourish the Stanley Cup ought
to be.
Still, it was a good way to reintroduce myself to my
home and native
land, although what I’m about to do may not be such a good idea, and is
not starting out to be either.
I’ve purchased a ticket to Vernon, where my BoB is
stored, on the
Greyhound. It leaves shortly after midnight and takes eight hours on a
circumventous route up through the Hope Princeton and then the
Similkameen and Okanagan Valleys. I should arrive in Vernon in the
morning, where I’ll hopefully find my bike in good enough shape to put
together.
After breezing through customs, no dogs this time,
and watching the
game at the airport, I got on the airporter bus and came here. I did
have some thoughts about overnighting in Van but have decided I want to
get back to my gear and get on my way again, as soon as possible.
Greyhound is the only way I can do it and they
damned near refused to let me.
The ticket agent has made me a special case, allowing me to take the
bike as baggage. However, it has been accomplished over the objections
of a nasty baggage handler who actually kicked my bike box and yelled
at me. He’s been overruled by the station manager, and I’m hoping that
willl resolve the issue.
Seems Greyhound will only allow bikes to be shipped
as freight and will
not guarantee same day and time arrival. Me wonders how much business
they lose from Europeans with this blatant attempt to gouge cyclists.
In Europe, bikes travel as baggage and there doesn’t seem to be an
issue with it, despite the fact there’s tons more bikes being carted
around over there.
Anyway, after the confusion, the loud verbal joust
with the baggage
goon, and reassurance from the station master that all is well, I’ve
settled down a bit, found an internet connection outside the depot and
now must wait an hour or so for the bus to leave.
I’m back in Canada, jet lagged and more than a
little stunned. I can’t
believe I’ve been to Europe and have done all I’ve done these past two
months. The time was definitely too short and I don’t think I’ve even
begun to fathom what’s gone on.
So I find myself in someplace totally familiar to
me, a Greyhound
Station, in a mildly cool Vancouver, among folks who speak Canadian and
make a point of talking to strangers. I’m home, but I’m not sure I want
to be.
Haven’t had an opportunity to sort out my bank issue
but I will do that
in Vernon tomorrow. From there I’ll likely move a little south and see
if I can supplement my income by doing a little cherry picking or farm
work. Then I’ll decide what to do next. I may well travel east and
complete the ride from Montreal to Newfoundland, or I may try to find
work and get busy trying to go to Europe again. Feel like I left some
loose ends over there.
I certainly hope you’ve all enjoyed the ride. There
may be a post
script coming, most probably, but for now I’m going to settle in a bit
and try to reaquaint myself with where I am.
Once I come up with a plan I’ll let you all know and
at that point you
can decide if you want to stay on the coach.
Talk to you all soon,
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