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Tom and his trusty steed Burton

Coffin of explorer Richard Burton in Mortlake Cemetary

I am preparing to embark on the great adventure of my life. I am breaking loose from all ties and heading across the ocean into the unknown. I am filled with a mixture of emotions: hopeful anticipation, joy, apprehension and sadness. The explorer Richard Burton expressed it best when he wrote:

"Of the gladdest moments of human life, methinks, is the departure upon a distant journey into unknown lands. Shaking off with one mighty effort the fetters of Habit, the leaden weight of Routine, the cloak of many Cares and the slavery of Home, man feels once more happy. The blood flows with the fast circulation of childhood . . . Afresh dawns the morn of life . . ."

It is with a sense of relief and sadness that I depart my prior life. My relationship with Olivia, which began with so much love and promise before degenerating into a nightmare of weeping late night phone calls. My friends and co-workers who could sustain me at the most basic levels, but were unable to satisfy this yearning that drives me. And Eugene, the only place I've ever felt at home. All of this will soon be mere memories as I push myself forward into the great unknown that is my future.

The journey to London began auspiciously when the pilot at SeaTac (one Tammy Smith) announced that the flight would be delayed indefinitely because "person or persons unknown had drained the battery". Fortunately, the delay was only two hours and I was able to make my connection in Denver without problems and I arrived at Gatwick at 8:00 a.m. on the 3rd. I'd managed to sleep a couple of hours and so was bright eyed and feeling intensely happy: how wonderful it felt to be back in Europe!

On Lynn's suggestion I'd decided against cycling into London from Gatwick, and took the train into Victoria Station instead. There, surrounded by streams of commuters, I spent the next two hours putting together Burton, my bike. After tightening the last nut and bolt I set out following the map provided by Lynn. Alternately walking, carrying and cycling my bicycle I managed to wind my way out of central London to the quieter confines of Willesden Green where Lynn lived.

Lynn and I had been writing to each other for about six months. She had responded to my Cycling Companion Wanted ad in the British Cycling Club magazine, and through our correspondence we'd gotten to know each other fairly well. I knew that she was a 32 year old South African who held an Irish passport (although she had never been to Ireland she was an Irish citizen because her grandfather was born in Dublin Harbor while her great grandmother was on route from Lithuania to South Africa!). I knew she had a passion for music (especially jazz), and for all sorts of physical pursuits (swimming, hiking and bicycling). I knew she worked as a graphic artist. And I knew also that she had a thirst for adventure that was tempered by a need for security. She had given me enough hints of that need in her correspondence to make me realize that it was not likely that she would accompany me on my trip. Nonetheless, the possibility was there. I was completely prepared mentally to undertake this journey solo, but was comforted by the possibility that things might work out with Lynn.

I liked Lynn immediately. It was readily apparent that she had a touch eccentricity in her. Her casual jeans and t-shirt and uncombed hair showed that appearances were of little import to her. Her room was a chaotic tangle of maps, pictures, musical instruments and sports equipment. She could be disarmingly direct and her chutzpah was almost immediately evident. I admired all these qualities in her.

At the same time I met Lynn, I met her two flatmates, James and Amanda. While my first impression of this pair was less than flattering, I soon realized that(as was often the case with people I met in London)there was much more to them than immediately met the eye. James turned out to be an articulate and well-read South African who could carry on an intelligent conversation on many a topic. Amanda was a spunky Aussie who had a degree in the Classics and was equally adept at quoting Shakespeare and the latest dirty jokes (What do you get when you cross a rooster and an owl? A cock that stays up all night). Talking with Amanda was a joy; her vitality and humor kept me on my toes and I never knew what to expect next.

After an exhilarating few hours of conversation (covering everything from the artistic merits of Elvis Presley to the political implications of the LA riots), Lynn and I took a long walk where we discussed our lives and hopes and our dreams concerning the bike trip. Then off to the Queen Mary Pub on the Thames for a "jol" (Afrikaans for "partying") where we got good and plastered. Finally, an affectionate, cuddling ride home on the underground. I was feeling an almost indescribable sense of happiness. In one day I had wrenched myself from the oppressive cloak of my bleak existence in America into a world filled with limitless possibility.

Awoke to a bright sunny morning which reflected my sense of optimism. Since today was a holiday, Lynn and I decided to take a bike ride on the outskirts of London. We bicycled to the nearest rail station and took a train to Risborough, about 20 miles northwest of London. From there we set out and I got my first taste of cycling in the bucolic English countryside; a place of quaint villages, vivid green rolling countryside and narrow hedgerow-lined roads. We were heading toward Wold-on-Thames but soon got hopelessly lost. The English countryside is so densely packed with roads which go in so many directions that even the assistance of a small scale map is not terribly helpful. Lynn always carries a compass when she cycles here, and we ended up using it as much as the map.

But the day was by no means a total loss. We had a wonderful lunch in the middle of a field of alfalfa. And we learned a lot more about each other. I told Lynn about Jung Sook and she also told me about the time she had run out of money and hope while traveling in the Middle East, and how her father had to come to "rescue" her. She said she never wanted to be in that situation again.

We returned to London in the early evening and then went out to dinner with a couple of Lynn's friends, Allan and Sandi. Allan was a classic computer wonk working on his Phd in "digitals" at London University. Sandi (Allan's sister) was a law school graduate (in South Africa) who had recently arrived in London to look for work. Allan served us an atrocious meal of curry rice which I had to force myself to eat. I could tell that Allan had a thing for Lynn, but when I mentioned it to her later she was genuinely surprised. We returned home late, and utterly exhausted from the day's events went immediately to bed.

May 5, 1992

Today I paid homage to my patron saint, Richard Burton, by visiting his tomb. It was no easy task finding this tomb. I knew the district in London (Mortlake) where it was located but nothing else. I pulled out the "A to Z" map and found that there were numerous cemeteries in that area. So I took the tube to the middle of Mortlake and set out on foot to explore a few of them. At the third cemetery I discovered a caretaker who informed me that the tomb was in the Mary Magdalen churchyard, and gave me directions to it.

The Mary Magdalen church was a run-down building located in a working class area. The small churchyard was unkempt and a jungle of vegetation. Upon entering, I recognized Burton's tomb immediately. It was an Arab tent encased in concrete. Incredibly, in the back of the tomb there was a window through which you could see the contents. What an eerie experience! On the left was a plain wooden coffin (presumably Richard's) while on the right there was a much more ornate coffin (presumably Isabel's). Above each coffin was a picture of Jesus Christ. Surrounding Burton's coffin were a variety of Arab bells and lanterns as well as a large terrarium. The tomb reflected the radical differences between Burton and his wife; one a devout Catholic, the other a Muslim or pagan. On the front of the tomb was an inscription that read:

"Farewell dear friend, dead hero! The great life
is ended, the great perils, the great joys,
and to whom adventures were as toys,
who seemed to bear a charm 'gainst spear or knife
or bullet, now lies silent from all strife.
Out yonder where the Austrian eagles poise
on Istrian hills. But England, at the noise
of that dread fall, weeps with the hero's wife.
Oh last and noblest of the errant knights,
the English soldier and the Arab sheik!
Oh, singer of the East who loved so well
the deathless wonder of the Arabian Knights
who touched that Camoen's kite and still would seek
ever new deeds until the end! Farewell!"

To be here, alone at Burton's tomb, was awe-inspiring. What a man he was! If only I can have half his courage and a fraction of his insight I would be satisfied.

That evening Jasmine, another friend of Lynn's, came over for supper ("tea-time"). She was British of French/Indian extraction and extraordinarily beautiful. Lynn said that Jasmine is her only English friend--that the English are otherwise cold and unemotional. It was a very pleasant evening of conversation (Amanda and James were also there). It was made even more pleasant because Jasmine was a smoker, so I was not the only pariah banished to the hallway to satisfy my addiction. I walked Jasmine home as she lived near Lynn. She told me that she had lived in a "squat" for almost 10 years (squats are the solution that the British have to deal with the homeless--the law provides that if you take possession of a vacant unit you have rights to that property until you are evicted by legal means).

May 6, 1992

Today I visited the British Museum and was propositioned by a homosexual in the restroom. First time this has happened in some time. Spent much of the day wandering around Soho and Charing Cross, and generally feeling oppressed by the teeming masses of humanity. Had a problem finding something to eat, as the prices are pretty outrageous (more than double that of the U.S. on almost everything).

That evening we went to a Sibelius concert with another of Lynn's friends, Aileen. Aileen is a 60 year old American who had been living in London for eight years. She was from Aberdeen, South Dakota and had protected draft dodgers while living in Canada in the sixties. She was an MSW psychotherapist. We had a terrific conversation as we obviously had a great deal in common. Went out for a beer at the Queen Mary with Lynn afterwards and did not get home until well past 1:00 a.m. Part of the delay was attributable to the subways being shut down due to a bomb scare--a daily occurrence on the underground.

My impression of London to this point is that it is clearly much wealthier than it was during my last visit seventeen years ago. It is wonderfully multi-racial--I've never seen such a mix; every race and creed imaginable. And on the surface there doesn't seem to be racial tension of any sort. The people are civilized and superficially friendly, but the pace is extremely fast. Cars are everywhere, the streets narrow and the noise pervasive.

I woke up today with a severe case of diarrhea --attributable, I think, to a "traditional English breakfast" (runny egg, watery beans and greasy bacon) that I'd eaten the previous afternoon. Spent a couple of hours on the toilet before I recovered. I then went on a short bike ride, which was much shorter than I had planned as the traffic was abominable and the roads very narrow. Cycling in London can be a harrowing experience.

In the evening I met with Lynn, Allan, Sandi, Jasmine and two other friends of Lynn (Tom, a co-worker from Wales and Jonathan, an Englishman just returned from two years in South Africa) at the Queen Mary. Everyone got pleasantly high before crossing the Thames to eat at the Royal Festival Hall cafeteria. There, while eating and in the midst of a lively discussion, Lynn suddenly leaned over, put her head in my lap and proceeded to fall asleep, or at least feign sleep. A most peculiar twenty minutes then transpired. The conversation continued as if nothing had happened. Allan had a look of utter disgust, while Jonathan's face twitched in a barely concealed anger. The rest acted as if Lynn had never been there in the first place. While I gently massaged Lynn's back I soaked in the sheer hilarity of the scene. Finally, the tension was broken when Jonathan got up, gave Lynn a swat in the butt and said "it's time to go!" The group then split up and Lynn and I headed back on the Jubilee line to Willesden Green. While on the subway platform Lynn proceeded to perform a calesthetic routine which was almost absurdly funny and a perfect cap to a most bizarre evening.

May 8, 1992

Spent the entire day wandering the streets of London visiting bookstores and bicycle shops. It is frustrating looking for used books because London is composed almost exclusively of quirky little specialty shops. I was looking for a biography of Burton but the stores were so small that none carried it. I finally found a paperback version of an earlier (and less impressive) biography and purchased it for Lynn.

Lynn was too tired to go on a "jol" so we met at home and spent the evening talking, listening to music and playing chess. The tentative plan is that she may meet me in Denmark at the end of July, but there are many loose ends that must be tied if that eventuality will every eventuate. I would like to ride with her but she has a lot of concerns (primarily, money) which make it improbable that she will ever go ahead with it.

May 9, 1992

Pouring rain all day. Nobody was in the mood to leave the flat. Lynn was ill and slept much of the day. I watched tv and talked with Amanda and James, as well as made preparations for departure the following morning. Ron, the landlord, saw both Amanda and I (Amanda is living there illegally and so this could be a problem) and confronted Lynn. Lynn handled the situation well and so everything worked out. In the evening Lynn was feeling better and so we talked until late and then fell asleep in each others arms.