We once had a boating holiday on the Thames. This was a very pleasant way
to spend a week, literally going with the flow. But it had one huge
downside.

When we had travelled up the river for three days, it was time to turn
round and head back and that turn round point seemed to mark the end of
the holiday. We still had three days left but all the steam had gone out
of it.

The end of Cape Cod gave us a similar feeling.

Yes, it was the end of the holiday but we had set out that morning
determined to enjoy our last day. When we left Provincetown and headed
back to Hyannis, we both knew it was over.

The drive up to Provincetown was just as I imagined it would be. As the
strip of land gets narrower and narrower, you get glimpses of the sea on
either side and the sand dunes start to encroach onto the road.

It's kind of bleak out there and I should imagine that Winter must be an
experience.

Following Route 6 up the East side of Provincetown, you come to the point
where you know that there is no more. A signpost with two pointers on it,
one points to Boston back down 6, the other points, yes, to Boston, only
down 6a. Helluva choice. 6a is the alternative way out if 6 gets covered
over with sand.

The first priority for us was to slake the thirst of the last few miles so
we went in search of..... well it isn't exactly what we were looking for
but under the circumstances....

Quite possibly the only *empty* diner in the whole the US. If you stand
and look at it you can see why. And it's for sale. Anyone bid twenty five
dollars. We didn't go in.

On the side was an ice cream window. We had ice cream. We sat in the car
and dripped ice cream down our fronts and watched a succession of staff
members come outside for a cigarette, but not one customer. Anyone wanna
bid fifteen.

I wrote that I thought winter would be something, out here. I would love
to see it. The whole place, this tiny spit of land, felt like it was made
for me. I love the sea, I love being near it. If you have never walked a
beach alone, or with your partner, early on a summers morning, then you
have missed something magical.

This end of Cape Cod with it's huge sand dunes and the crashing sea just
begged to be experienced when all the tourist had gone home.

If you look at a map of the area you will observe that the end bit curls
round at the end and forms a bay. Across part of this bay is a causeway.

The sign nearby calls it a dyke, but I refuse to get involved in that sort
of thing so we'll move on. The sign also informs us that the causeway is
there to stop heavy seas pounding away at, and eroding, the sand marshes
that home to the local wild life. What the sign does not tell us is how
long the causeway is.

Nor did it tell us that the further you walk across it the farther away
the other side gets. It's true I tell you. You can say it's an illusion if
you like but we know different. 'Tis witchcraft.

It is actually a quite nice stagger. You can't exactly walk, as the whole
thing is constructed of huge rocks and the top. laughingly called a path,
is frightfully uneven and hard work. We turned round at the halfway point
when there was still over two thirds to go (if you get my drift) and
walked back.

The infamous sign did also say that the dyke could be covered at high
tide. Now I thought it would take best part of an hour to cross and the
same back (obviously) and the tide was rising, so coming back was a great
idea, don't you think.

We drove into the town and were alone. Wednesday afternoon in Provincetown
is obviously early closing day because there were no people. Perhaps they all
went out to the bay to watch the dyke being covered by the rising tide.
Back in the town I waited for the tumbleweed. Nothing.

Having come in on US Route 6, we decided to leave on State Route 6a. Well
a change is as good as a rest. What a change. To drive 6a is to drive any
one of a thousand roads around the coast of Britain. Beach huts, hundreds
of the blighters, all looking like they had been imported from Bognor.

And they blocked the view to the sea. Bummer.

6a turned into 6 which went past the 'Salt Pond Visitors Centre', where we
stopped on the way up and I've remembered what it is called, and then
turns off onto route 28 which goes to S.Yarmouth and our lodgings. It goes
by way of Harwich and Chatham, where we sat for a while and pointed
towards England, three and half thousand miles away.

I've been lucky enough to visit a few countries over the years, but I am
not a seasoned enough traveller to take it for granted. It still seems
just slightly amazing that we could be on the other side so soon. Hey ho.

Back at the motel, I sat and watched the Weather Channel for news of our
friend Floyd. What I saw did not impress me at all.

Anyone who knows me will tell you that I am a pretty unflappable kind of
guy. I have to tell you though, that Hurricane Floyd, on the night before
we due to fly home, was beginning to make me flap (a little).

More Later.

----------------------------------------------

Part 12
----------

So Thursday 16th September finally hove into sight, with a cacophony of
noise, as what seemed like every plane on the cape, scrambled to be free
before Bad Boy Floyd arrived and tore the place to shreds.

We laid there in bed for a while and discussed leaving for Boston sooner
rather than later.

The car didn't need to be back until three in the afternoon, which is like
seven hours away at this point. The plane doesn't leave until 8.20 pm,
which is an awful long way off. But I got my way.

Although the weather outside was reasonably calm, the good old Weather
Channel was showing some heavy stuff in and around the area so I thought
it would be good to get out of there pronto. I would rather have a long
wait at Logan, than struggle to get there, for whatever reason.

US Route 6 was wall to wall motor vehicles. It seemed like everyone was
doing the same with their cars as the plane owners were doing earlier.
Running.

The traffic was no problem. Everybody in the slow lane doing 55 mph and
everybody in the fast lane doing 65, sort of. I stayed in the slow lane.

I am not real sure where it happened but suddenly all the traffic
disappeared.

As we drove off of the Cape, the rain came. Boy did it come. I knew that
Floyd had been downgraded to a 'mere' tropical storm and so it seemed that
this was what a tropical storm was like. Of course it wasn't. The real
storm wasn't due for a few more hours. Thank heaven we left early.

Route 6 joins 28, which has somewhere bonded itself to 25, and then
becomes I-495, only the road is still 6 or 28 and 25, so you have to keep
your eyes peeled to see which road goes off where.

6 turned off after a while and travelled to Providence, 28 stayed with us
for a few miles before heading off to south Boston, but I never saw the
going of 25, that just sort of went. All this time I was growing
increasingly concerned that maybe this was not I-495 after all. But hey it
was. Lordy, look, there's a sign.

The upshot of all this concern and concentration, was that I never noticed
which road the traffic took. Previously we had us two lanes of solid metal
and here we were on three lanes of just, well, us.

Now I appreciate that the rainfall was such that a semi could have been
twenty five yards in front of us and we wouldn't have known about it, but
I could see behind aways, nothing. Nothing alongside. Just a ball of spray
somewhere up ahead indicated another motor.

Where'd they all go?

Now any of you who have followed this yarn from front to back will know
how I feel about Boston, with regard to roads and stuff. Well I had been
certain that heading for the airport would be different. I had reckoned
without Tropical Storm Floyd.

As you approach Boston on the Interstate, there are signs, prominently
displayed, saying 'Airport-Best Route'. I had seen these signs previously
and thought them the best thing since sliced bread, but there was a
problem. They were small. With all the rain and spray that morning, I was
worried that I would miss one, but I saw one. Loud exhalation of breath.

Did I say spray? From an empty road? No the empty road was way back. As
you near Boston, so the number of moving objects increases and therefore
the spray level rises too. But like I say, I spotted one sign and was
confident of seeing any others.

We got lost. In Boston. I took a turn off I-93 cos the sign said
'Airport'. As we flashed past the sign I noticed the bit about Authorised
Vehicles Only. So we got lost.

Not strictly lost as such, we could, courtesy of the roller coaster ride
that is the Boston road system, see the way to the Callaghan Tunnel at
regular intervals. What we needed to do was get back on 93 and there ain't
no way. We got deeper into Downtown, which was nice. the more of Boston I
see the more I like it - but not from a car.

We stopped at an empty parking meter and consulted a map. it occurred to me
that if it wasn't raining, I'd have put some money in the meter and gone
for a walk round. It looked really good around there.

We drove back out of Boston. back out past the Big Dig, until we found a
ramp to get us back on I-93. After that it was all too easy, one long slow
crawl to the Alamo lot. Bus ride to the terminal. and all by one o'clock.

Only seven hours and twenty minutes to wait. Sheesh.

Still more later.

-----------------------------------------------

Part 13
----------

Airports terminals aren't my favourite places. I like airports as such,
because I get a childish delight at watching planes taking off and
landing. Just sitting around waiting for plane taxes the patience
somewhat.

We couldn't have our usual bleat this time about the demands of the
airline that we be two hours early. We had made the choice ourselves to be
there with more than seven hours to spare. Grin and bear it boys.

For a while, after getting to Logan, I did not feel in the least like
grinning. We had intended to stop for breakfast along the way, but things
got so that we stayed on the Interstate without a break until we gave the
car back. Alamo do not appear to have any facilities on site. No food or
drink machine, and no rest rooms. Anyway the bus was just leaving so no
time for that sort of thing.

I must admit now that by the time I sat down inside the terminal building
I had had enough. Something like four and a half hours of stress was
taking it's toll on me. That and the fact that I had not eaten since seven
the previous evening, I was on the verge of passing out.

Wendy pushed me into a seat and went in search of food, returning with a
'sandwich'. It was dreadful. I didn't ask how much she had paid for it, I
just ate it. I felt better.

Outside the weather was getting worse and those nice TV screens that are
scattered around the place were showing almost everything 'cancelled'. The
one notable exception, the one beacon in the storm was flight VS012, our
plane out of there.

Feeling better for the rest and something to eat, I went in search of the
Virgin desk. I found it without trouble and was delighted to read the sign
which said that no delays were expected. We had noted that the aircraft
had landed from Gatwick, so the only problem was going to be the weather
and how much worse it would get.

The next thrilling thing on the agenda was checking in. the desk opened at
3.20 so having nothing else to do, we checked in. at least that way we
could lose the suitcases. I imagine an awful lot of people had their plans
for the day skewed by the weather, because the queue for check in, well
before it opened, was a good long one. Good job we were near the front.

The next four hours went by very quickly. No, I mean that. I thought I
would die of boredom, but suddenly it was time to board.

We had found a seat with a view of the runway and the place where our
Virgin 747 would park ready for us to scramble aboard and we waited. The
rain was horrendous. Occasionally the wind would shift and beat the rain
onto our panoramic window to such an extent that we could see absolutely
nothing. Other times we could see right to the other side of the airfield.

At about five an announcement informed us that no more flights were coming
in today. Incoming flights are more risky in these conditions than
take-offs. Walking around I noticed that all the desks were closing and
the entire airport was developing the feel of the Marie Celeste. Still the
Virgin desk remained stubbornly open for business. That and American
Airlines.

We saw that planes were still taking off and assumed that everything was
still on course for us and about seven the AA plane was dragged to the
ramp for loading. After that one left for the runway our machine appeared
and they started loading all the luggage and food and stuff. Then it was
time to board.

With nothing else flying that night, there was never any chance of delay
and we took off at exactly 8.20 pm Eastern Standard Time and headed for
home.

What a take off. The euphoria of actually getting out was tempered by the
fact that we went through some of the worst turbulence I have ever
encountered. This of course was tempered again by the fact that it was
nowhere near as bad as I had thought it would be.

Wendy suffered instant airsickness. Only an iron will prevented her from
using the bag rather than simply peering into it. I felt very sorry for
her. Having, over the years, conquered her fear of flying, she now has to
face the thought that any other flight could be like this one. The words
'Never again' were heard repeatedly coming from inside the bag.

Even with concern over my wife's well being, I enjoyed the flight, apart
from the seat. Oh how I yearned for my nice Premium Economy seat from the
flight over. My right knee died around about Nova Scotia and the
discomfort in the other body parts got progressively worse from there on.

The TV screens are too small to enjoy films on and anyway the films were
not up to much, couple that to the fact the engine noise drowned out the
sound from the headphones and you will know why I spent the flight staring
out of the window.

I can never sleep on planes and I was happy looking at the stars and
spotting lights down below, imagining what they were about. I imagined
many wonderful ways to kill the guy in front of me so that no-one knew and
I could push his seat upright out of my face. Still that's economy for
you. I ain't flying to Aus. like that. No way.

Eventually the first lights broke on the horizon and gradually things
began to appear below. Through breaks in the clouds I saw the coast of
Ireland (I think) pass underneath, and then quite soon I saw Chessil beach
and Portland down below. Unfortunately the cloud blocked out the sight of
where I live, as it always seems to. I have flown over the area so many
times either coming from or going to holidays and I have never once seen
it from a clear sky.

Then suddenly it was over. The warning lights came on. The pilot told us
we were approaching Gatwick. The Stewardesses assumed the position and we
landed.

Home. It was great to be back in England. Wasn't it?

I'll tell you later.

------------------------------------------

Part 14
-------------

So that's it then. All over. Pretty near copy book landing, what a pilot.

All that remains is the baggage reclaim, then find the car and drive home.
You all know exactly what I think of baggage carousels so I won't labour
the point, except to say that even a good one is bad when you haven't
slept for goodness knows how long.

Another thing about being really tired, *your* courtesy bus is always
last. Yet one more thing about being tired, you are more likely to get off
the courtesy bus at the wrong stop.

Gatwick has excellent on-airport parking. The problem is it is a huge car
park. You really have to make sure of your bus stop number. Now if your
stop is B6, I caution you not to be silly and get off at B3. Dragging two
suitcases through the small gaps between parked cars, looking for the
right row can be a bit trying.

We *did* find it, eventually and it started. Just a slight murmur of
apprehension from me as I haven't left this car parked for two weeks. I
had no idea what the drain on the battery from the security system would be.
These are always good times for a previously perfect battery to fail. But
no worries. We were on our way home.

Just one minor error regarding which side of the road I should be on,
sorted with a shout from the passenger seat.

Was I glad to be home? Not really. I had grown to like the way things are
over there and whilst I still don't know for sure if I could live there
full time, I could sure use a couple of months at a stretch.

Two weeks is long enough because you start to look across the Atlantic and
think of home, but two weeks isn't long enough because there were a million
things we could have done that we didn't. It's only from this side of the
pond that you realise how important some of those things seem to be.

We never saw the Bash-Bish Falls or went to Seekonk. We never visited
Chicopee but came pretty close to Woonsocket and Pawtucket, whilst
Plymouth, Weymouth, Norwich and Worcester also failed to make it onto our
itinerary.

I would like to have seen whales in Cape Cod Bay and I wish I had gotten
to Marthas. I'm sad that I never got to Acadia.

I liked Wal-mart. I don't know if I should and I don't know if I would if
I went there again, but once was just fine. I liked the price of gas. I
liked the steaks but not the burgers. I actually did like the burgers but
they didn't like me. Every time I ate one I had an upset stomach. Probably
what they are cooked in, I don't know.

I like Americans.

The only person who I could get to dislike was a waiter who claimed to be
from York, England. We knew he wasn't and he knew we knew, not a recipe
for friendship.

My only regrets were, not knocking on Georges door (my own fault), not
meeting Norma (her fault entirely :-)) and not turning up at Phyllis'
daughter's wedding in Millis.

When on holiday on any previous occasion, we have given some thought to
staying right where we are, Spain, Barbados, wherever. After we get home
the feeling fades and we are happy to be back. This time it was different.

Whilst out there, we both said that we didn't think we could live in the
US on a permanent basis. After being back in England for a short while we
were both aching to fly back.

In the States it is easy to OD on cheerful waitresses and 'Have a nice
afternoon (evening, day)". You have to wonder sometimes how they keep it
up. But one visit to a Little Chef for a bite to eat after leaving Gatwick
made us dream of that cheerfulness. One miserable woman server with a
"What do you want?" attitude, let us know we were home. But at least we
left the remains of Hurricane Floyd behind.

We also left behind some wonderful friends who met us in Boston, some
friends that I could have, and maybe should have met, and a lot of friends
who were just too far away for meetings to be practical. Still there is
always another time for that.

Final opinion.

UK - USA. Two countries divided by - well not very much really. Just
details. But such glorious details.

If you all end up with a black, female, chat show host as Vice President,
don't complain to us, we've got enough problems of our own.

God Bless America.

Mick