60km?? travelled in ~22hrs on shuttle bus, train, on foot (pushing bike), bus....
After arriving back in London (trip not without considerable drama of loading bikes onto plane, Catania's airport x-ray machine being unable to cope with the dimensions of our bike boxes, and then acting as interpretor/tour guide for totally non-English speaking, likely Mafia, Italian gentleman for entire flight and through Gatwick airport) to an unexpectedly subdued reception from the Williams/Learner collaboration, the boys are reassembled with considerably greater finesse than the last time we tried to put them together in an airport - Alta seems a lifetime ago!! One of my brake cables has detached during the journey, which we judge to merit him un-ridable, a fact that doesn't concern me at this stage as I have no intention of cycling anywhere.
The girls are concerned about leaving me on my own, and I have to admit the idea of being a single entity rather than part of a trio is somewhat disconcerting. We wander over to hotel desk and get me booked in (for an exorbitant price - more than any hotel we've had all trip for all three of us!!). Ali checks I have some cash on me, in case of emergency, and Hazel reminds me to make sure I buy something for dinner. Both are jealous I get to stay in a hotel again.
Its a strange feeling to turn my bike and walk away from them, after the farewells, knowing full well I'll see them both in a matter of days...but who am I going to talk to when I wake up tomorrow??
Dinner sorted at M&S (Moroccan salad with hoummus, four pack of seeded rolls, an orange and a carton of apple juice), I attempt to locate an elusive stand of bike racks, which the hotel man had thought were "somewhere near the train station, past Ezy-jet...". More questions, and eventually I'm lead to a goods elevator which I can take down to the ground floor. Said elevator does NOT look as if its intented for public use but hey, what can I do? By this point its sometime after 6pm, meaning its dark, and I find myself standing in a goods bay, not a bike rack in site! More questions, no clear answers, so I wander off towards what may be a well-lit carpark thinking at least there'll be a post for me to lock the bike to. Turns out its a 24hr bus stop, but nevertheless, its well-lit and hence, has many good lamp posts I can lock the bike to. Incidently, this is the place of the bike racks, however they are all covered storage spaces and all taken. Resigned, I cable and lock my bike to the lamp post and begin to pray.
After arriving back in London (trip not without considerable drama of loading bikes onto plane, Catania's airport x-ray machine being unable to cope with the dimensions of our bike boxes, and then acting as interpretor/tour guide for totally non-English speaking, likely Mafia, Italian gentleman for entire flight and through Gatwick airport) to an unexpectedly subdued reception from the Williams/Learner collaboration, the boys are reassembled with considerably greater finesse than the last time we tried to put them together in an airport - Alta seems a lifetime ago!! One of my brake cables has detached during the journey, which we judge to merit him un-ridable, a fact that doesn't concern me at this stage as I have no intention of cycling anywhere.
The girls are concerned about leaving me on my own, and I have to admit the idea of being a single entity rather than part of a trio is somewhat disconcerting. We wander over to hotel desk and get me booked in (for an exorbitant price - more than any hotel we've had all trip for all three of us!!). Ali checks I have some cash on me, in case of emergency, and Hazel reminds me to make sure I buy something for dinner. Both are jealous I get to stay in a hotel again.
Its a strange feeling to turn my bike and walk away from them, after the farewells, knowing full well I'll see them both in a matter of days...but who am I going to talk to when I wake up tomorrow??
Dinner sorted at M&S (Moroccan salad with hoummus, four pack of seeded rolls, an orange and a carton of apple juice), I attempt to locate an elusive stand of bike racks, which the hotel man had thought were "somewhere near the train station, past Ezy-jet...". More questions, and eventually I'm lead to a goods elevator which I can take down to the ground floor. Said elevator does NOT look as if its intented for public use but hey, what can I do? By this point its sometime after 6pm, meaning its dark, and I find myself standing in a goods bay, not a bike rack in site! More questions, no clear answers, so I wander off towards what may be a well-lit carpark thinking at least there'll be a post for me to lock the bike to. Turns out its a 24hr bus stop, but nevertheless, its well-lit and hence, has many good lamp posts I can lock the bike to. Incidently, this is the place of the bike racks, however they are all covered storage spaces and all taken. Resigned, I cable and lock my bike to the lamp post and begin to pray.
Taking my panniers, and with a last glance back at my lonely bike (he's never been left alone!!) I head back to the terminal to wait for my shuttle bus to the hotel. It eventually arrives ( I have no method of keeping time, having relied entirely on the girls to tell the time for the past 3 months so not sure how long it took) and I'm reassured as we head out onto the main road and straight past Mr Bike - still firmly in one piece! Finally I make it to the hotel, where unable to summon the energy to use the pool, I settle for dinner over the hotel info folder, a lovely hot bath and some telly in bed, with hot chocolate (after the cup of tea of course!).
Despite the comfy bed, I have a fitful sleep (which I still think is related to lack of exercise, can't wait to go for a run..who would have thought?!) and wake early in the morning to a throbbing headache and swollen glands - not good timing, I think, to be coming down with the virus the girls had a couple of days before we left Catania. Luckily, I am still in possession of a few painkillers from the disassembled Field Hospital, and after some drugs and water manage to fall back asleep. I'm woken again around 8am when someone (I'm presuming the cleaner) opens my key-card locked door, realises I'm in it and leaves. Deciding I've had enough sleep and don't seem to be overly viral, I boil the kettle and settle in for a bit of morning tv... Before I know it, its almost 10, so I quickly jump in the shower before rushing down for the buffet before it finishes at 10:30, knowing full well that Hazel will kill me if I miss it. The kindly lady at the door checks the list twice, despite my telling her that I'm pretty sure breakfast wasn't included, and promptly serves me up a 4-cup pot of English Breakfast. For the record (and I think this was a fairly good effort given the time frame of 30min):
- 2 pork sausages (short fat ones, you would have been happy, Ali)
- 2 half tomatoes
-1 hashbrown
- 2 pieces of toast, one white, one brown (half with raspberry jam)
- a serve of fried potatoes
- a serve of scrambled eggs
- a bowl of sliced peaches with mixed berries
- a rhubarb yoghurt (which I was extremely excited about, then most disappointed with , as it was warm)
- 1 small pastry with jam and custard
- 1 small pain au chocolat
- a glass of apple juice.
I felt sick (but didn't need lunch!), and it was reassuring to see that Bobby J had not in fact gone off on another European adventure! I should point out that I have been having difficulty not voicing my random thoughts out loud (they slip out every now and then), and have been unable to switch off the auto-blog that is going on in my head.
After a short lie down in front of the tv (not even room for a final cup of teain my overly full stomach) I check out and catch the shuttle back to the airport. My tension grows with every kilometre, in the fear that somehow the locks will have failed and someone else will have taken my poor bike on a new adventure. I'm delighted to see him still hanging out with the buses as we fly past back into the airport compound. Back in the goods lift, rear-loaded (which I will come to regret as I try to carry him down the stairs at Clapham Junction) and we're on our way to Apex to get the niggling problems sorted. The guys are admittedly a little surprised to see me a) in the month of October and b) on my own, but soon the stories have been shared and I leave the bike in their capable hands. Back on the bus to Tooting, where I stop, understandably, for some caffeine before killing some time in the internet cafe, giving lessons in emails and word documents to a middle-aged man trying to send his CV off for a parttime job whilst he's completing his doctorate in music.
Interestingly, I find I have much more time to answer questions and queries, and offer a hand to strangers who may be in need since our journey, which was shaped in so many ways by the kindness of strangers. Perhaps this is also due to the fact that, at this point, I have no schedule, no one to answer to, no trains or buses to catch at any particular hour so I literally have all the time in the world to sit patiently and explain ideas like the attaching documents to emails, or why you won't miss your plane because the time in the UK is an hour behind Italy. I like to think that this trend will continue even when those time constraints are reintroduced to my schedule, and hope that I won't ever find myself too busy to point someone in the right direction when they look a little lost.
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