LONDON

May 26, 1992

40 miles to Chesum and London.

An easy half day ride to the Chesum station of the London Underground. Both Princes Risborough and Chesum were beautiful little towns, made more charming by the warm sunshine. At Chesum I took the Underground to Finchley Road where I met Lynn and she gave me the keys to her flat. I cycled over to the flat and put all my clothes in the washing machine, whereupon the machine (a real Rube Goldberg device) proceeded to lock up and would not open. This has been a fairly typical experience for me with English appliances, which for some unknown reason, seem to require a 20 step process rather than an on/off switch. Anyway, I was going to meet Lynn after work at a local pool to go swimming, but had to abort that idea and wait for James to get home to disentangle the machine.

That evening Lynn and I went out with a couple of her friends to supper at the Royal Festival Hall (where you can get one of the best buys in London - an "all you can get on one plate" salad for £2.50 which we all piled to comical proportions) and then to the International Student House for a jazz "jam session".  We rode part way home on the underground with one of the musicians (a black drummer) who had performed that evening. He said that he is not a professional, but that "music is my life". He said that it was "like a drug". He is apparently a squatter who lives only to perform--a quite common character on the London scene according to Lynn.

May 27, 1992

A day of taking care of business re tickets, visas etc. Went to Trailfinders travel agency and found them to be so efficient and helpful that I could hardly believe it. They eased my mind on a number of questions. Later that evening had a long heart to heart talk with Lynn about her participating in the trip. She has done a lot of soul-searching on the ramifications of her participating. Her greatest concern is her lack of money, and the belief that she could end the tour in desperate straits. She is suffering a real conflict between this desire for adventure and her need for security, and there were a lot of tears flowing. We discussed a number of options but, all in all, it does not look hopeful that we will end up riding together.

May 28, 1992

Checked on ferries, which turned out to be a great deal more expensive than I had anticipated. I'm finding out that I am a novice at this travel business--there are all kinds of hidden discounts which I am ignorant of. Lynn made me a phony student letter (from an art school in Lesotho!) but I didn't have the chutzpah to try to get a student card. This could have given me some discounts, particularly on the ferries.

Spent a lot of time on the underground and experienced another suicide and bomb delay. The English are straightforward in explaining the situation--the sign said "there is a delay at Kilburn station due to a person under the train". I was riding in a half filled car when a plastic bag began floating in the air (there is a "jet stream" in some of the cars). Nobody would grab the bag or show any sign of awareness. In fact, as a rule, everybody on the subway is in somewhat of a zombie-like, suspended animation state, showing no awareness of their surroundings. I guess this is typical of big cities, and I just forgot how it was. One of the escalators was out and I counted the stairs (145), about the height of a ten story building! The underground is an incredible example of organization and engineering. The complexity of the system boggles the mind. I think some of the tunnels must be a couple of hundred feet underground (major stations have up to 4 levels of track). It amazes me the system can work at all.

Went out to dinner with Lynn at a "cheap" Jewish delicatessen. We had a bagel and chopped liver and a falafel. The bill for this meal came to $20! Probably the last time I eat in a restaurant until Eastern Europe.

Talked again with Lynn about our plans and worked out three possible options for meeting. Won't know until July what is going to happen with this.

May 29, 1992

A horrible day. Cold, windy and pouring rain as I set out at 9:00 on my bike for Liverpool Street Station (to catch the train to Harwich and from there the ferry to Denmark). It was about 8 miles and I had copied the map, picking out possible routes through the London maze. I thought I would probably need to walk 90% of the way, but was very fortunate in having picked, by sheer accident, wide roads with relatively light traffic. On a couple of roads I had a lane to myself as it was restricted to buses and bicycles. Nevertheless, it was a harrowing experience. I had a nasty, wet fall when I hit a deep pot hole hidden in a six inch puddle. I found cars and taxis to be extremely aggressive, but fortunately they are aware of cyclists. Unbelievably, I saw a number of other cyclists out in this hideous weather.

At Liverpool Street Station I got something to eat and then was unable to throw away the wrappers because the huge (and very clean) station had no garbage cans. This is apparently for security reasons; just another example of the impact of the IRA on London everyday life (the Brits seem to accept it all without complaint, however).

At Harwich quay I got the run around for over an hour trying to figure out where to buy my ticket. But I finally found the ticket agent and am now on the ferry, which is firing up its engines for departure. It was a depressing day generally (due to the weather, my leaving Lynn and the general hassles--my gear is soaking wet because of the fall I took in London). However I am now feeling upbeat as we are setting off. There don't seem to be any other cyclists on board. I did speak with a Scottish motorcyclist living in Esbjerg and expect to talk to him later in the evening. I met two American women cyclists at the quay but they were, unfortunately, boarding another ship to Hamburg.

The passengers consist primarily of Danes. In stark contrast to the Irish ferries, attractive, athletic people abound.

After midnight on deck: a real mix of emotions tonight. Early on, when I saw the prices on board I thought "Oh Christ, I am going to have to live like a monk in Scandinavia--bread and water and free camping only!" Hopefully, this is only evidence of the rip-off prices found on most ferries. I was pleasantly surprised to find cigarettes to be at American style prices (i.e. half the British price). I am now sitting on deck listening to a half dozen Danes having a great time singing (Tom Dooley, California Dreaming, Janis Joplin, Motherless Child etc.). It makes me feel really good, and even gives me an odd sense of pride in my culture and language. Overall, the passengers are quite subdued and mellow--no drunks around.

CONTINUE ON TO DENMARK