Return

The sad day finally arrived. I had run out of time and money to continue my fantasy life of new friends, new experiences, and no work. I had promised to be home by Saturday night to meet some German friends who are staying at my flat, so that became my final deadline. My return flight was rescheduled to stretch out the inevitable. The new flight would leave London at 8:30 Saturday morning, which would get me home about four hours ahead of my guests.

Rob gathered some friends for a big last Friday night out on the town in Soho, and Toria was nice enough to come down to London to see me off as well. To really maximize the last night, the plan was to play through. Stay up all night, move the party back to Rob's loft, and see me off to the airport. It's a stretch for a geezer like me, but the idea is to be tired enough to sleep on the flight back and begin the process of getting back onto California time.

The night was a blast. After going out dancing at a club party billed as "the best funk night in the world" (later certified by Toria), we all returned to Rob's and played music reminicent of our times together and drinking gallons of Red Bull to stay awake. We danced all the way up until a painfully sad round of hugs and kisses and me taking my last backpack trudge toward the nearest airport, hoping for a seamless journey.

Ha.

With a total of twenty pounds in my pocket and filled with sadness to leave, I got in a cab with a driver, who after arriving to the subway station, let me know he had no change at all. Jerk. I made him find me some change and return me to the tube station PDQ.

Groggy and jittery from caffeine, I wandered into a mostly empty Kings Cross tube station at 5:30 to catch the Picadilly line to Heathrow airport.

Murphy's Law of subways dictated that the Picadilly line was, of course, shut down. I grabbed the nearest employee I could find (a janitor perhaps?) to tell me what I should do and he gave me another route to take to find another rail train to get there.

I started to really worry that I would miss my flight. Mostly I was concerned for my guests arriving in San Francisco that evening. I imagined them getting to my door near midnight with no one there to greet them.

While doing my best to follow the instructions, I ran into a guy with the same problem, only he had directions given to him that took him in the opposite direction. Great. He managed to convince me that his directions were right and mine were wrong, and I followed him. We made it to the Heathrow Express train and I made it to the airport within about twenty minutes of my intended arrival time. Not too bad.

Once I was on the plane, I was mostly assured of getting home eventually. How late could I be?

Murphy's Law of weather dictated that Houston, my only stop along the way, was shrouded in thunderstorms. This gummed up things there quite a bit. My flight out to San Francisco was a solid two and a half hours late, getting me home only an hour or so before my guests arrived. How is that for cutting things close?

Groggy, and unshowered, we managed to just beat last call at Molotov Cocktails down the street and get one good beer down the hatch before crashing out big time.

Now I'm home to a completely empty room and no particularly solid plan for my next few days. They call this part of the travel experience "re-entry".

Deep breath.