Contents
A New Era
In the USA
---- Miami
A New Era
All through 1988 I felt increasingly unsettled, as though falling towards a kind-of limbo from which I'd emerge into either a new dawn or a stagnant quagmire. I just couldn't evoke the psychological energy to react. Was I waiting for a 'Gladwell' tipping-point? Something seemed to be growing inside my brain... a strength of motivation... a determination to act. And then I did it: I resigned. I sold the house, moved my stuff to Dad's garage at Huntingdon, bought a bungalow near my brother's place at Lowestoft for my parents to live in, and without having a clue where I'd go decided to travel somewhere... anywhere... but away... a long way too. It had to be a long way.
During the 3-months I spent organising these transitions and for the last month while at work I was kindly invited to stay at the rented house in Ealing of four amazing young guys who'd recently joined the Beeb. That final month in itself was an experience. I slept on cushions in the lounge and went to work like them via the tube.
Any change, I've found, has a 'waking-up' or 'rejuvenating' effect, but living in that little community of 20-year-olds seemed to cut my age in half - I was 3-months off 40. One frosty evening I accompanied one of my hosts running several laps around a local park. He was astonished how I'd managed to keep-up. The truth was, in that cold weather, I could have set an even faster pace. Too often this guy had seen me in idling-mode, slouched on a low chair in a recording bay, roll-up in mouth, feet-up on some nearby unit.... such was my normal pose.
But all my life, since a teen at any rate, I've been unable to physically idle for more than a few hours. Although relaxation has always come easily, like a physical version of the laid-back approach to life in general I decided to adopt as a small kid, after a while a curious restlessness stirs me into physical action. If I'm stuck somewhere for more than say, 3 or 4 hours, then I begin to feel unsettled and irritable. I'm normally out and moving about well before I reach that point. On rare occasions, such as on a long-haul flight or on a ferry, the novel circumstances seem to more than compensate. But this inherent restlessness has, I reckon, kept me well fit. Even now at 68 I get a fabulous sense of exhilaration from running across a field, especially if it's up an incline. I charge along winding paths through woods, dodging branches, or sprint hundreds of metres at a time across the sand when the tide's out... yet I've never been a 'runner' - except on special occasions when I've needed to get somewhere fast as in this little episode in Denmark once.
With several weeks of leave, my last day at the Beeb was just before Christmas 1988. I'd been there almost exactly a decade: September '78 to December '88... minus 3-months at TSW.
The next two months were spent at Huntingdon idling, days of wandering around fields and woods... and wondering too... like: What do I do now? Should I really go travelling somewhere a long way away? And if so, where? By the end of February I was beginning to detect that other kind of restlessness again, as I'd experienced a year or so earlier during work on that 'Great Explorers' production.
By now, though, I'd gathered together various items I thought would be needed for travelling, including from several years earlier a well kitted-out 531-framed bike, excellent large panniers front and rear, dome-tent... etc., etc.
The first week in March, just after my birthday, I took the train to London in search of what in those days was called a 'Bucket-Shop' - a small office where cheap airline tickets were sold. In those days too, unlike now, when a flight was almost full the airline would discount the last few seats rather than leave them empty. I remember entering between two large stores in Oxford Street a narrow door which had a sign: 'air-tickets'. Inside stairs led to a chaotic office on the first floor. A woman at a desk looked up at me with a friendly smile, then said she had cheap air tickets to many places leaving in the next few days. Where did I want to go? I shrugged and asked what were her best long-haul offers? Of the several she presented me with, on top was an £89 one-way to Miami. I already had an indefinite-duration US visa on account of my relations there. OK, I told her, and handed over my credit card. The flight was a Virgin Atlantic leaving at 11.00 am, in 3-days' time from Gatwick.
The next two days I just focussed on preparation. I had to leave the house free of all perishable food, and clean, then locked with the key hidden in its usual place for when my parents returned. With the bike all loaded and ready, I went to bed that final night both nervous and excited. I'd need to catch the 06.30 to Kings X, cycle through central London to Victoria, then take the Gatwick Express (included in the air-ticket), to arrive at the airport by ~09.00.
The alarm woke me at 06.00 and for some inexplicable reason I wondered: shall I just lay here, avoid all the hassle, spend the next few months idling as normal? Or do I make the effort... and my brain began to drift through the morning's prospective exertions: to the station, cycle across London...
Then, willing a total clamp on this absurd ruminating, I leapt from the bed. Now, instead, I had to focus solely on what I had to do. I remember telling myself the decision had been made, I had no choice any more.
The next time I reflected on my situation I was zooming exuberantly down Shaftsbury Avenue, bathing in the novelty and astonished that I'd nearly stayed in bed. Arriving at Victoria, all loaded-up with the bike's panniers stuffed solid, a young guy with walking boots and a back-pack, also checking the timetable boards, told me he was going to Sweden. He said he'd never travelled anywhere before and did I think it would be safe? He didn't look more than 15, though could have been 18. I said, pretending the confidence of a seasoned traveller, "Just keep your wits, use common sense and you'll be fine. I wish I'd travelled at your age. You won't regret going, but you'll regret it if you don't." He nodded and seemed to relax, then for good measure I added, "If you have money, not much, maybe a hundred or two, you'll have a great time." He thanked me and went away looking a lot happier. Who knows how he got on? There was no internet in those days or I'd have given him my email address.
Once on the jumbo, I thought: whatever happens now there's no turning back. When it was lunchtime the stewardess asked did I prefer red or white wine? I replied: whichever is driest... she then surprised me by giving me a bottle of each. I remember a few hours later gazing down on Manhattan several miles below while an appropriately uplifting sequence of Mendelssohn played on the headphones. About 17.00 local time we touched-down at Miami: altogether a sensational trip.
In the USA
Customs was a formality, and they never asked about a return ticket as several people had warned. I collected my stuff plus the bike, which I had to re-assemble, pump-up the tyres and load, then headed out. By that time the concourse was deserted... except for a big, shabby-looking estate car a few metres along from the entrance.
I'd planned to bike to a campsite at the edge of the Everglades, and the next day head for the Florida Keys. Then just as I was getting on the bike this skinny young guy leaps from the estate car and starts trying to persuade me to let him drive me to Miami: to the 'outstanding' hostel. So distracted by everything around me I failed to notice his English accent, and even had the impression - absurdly - that he had my best interests in mind. Despite my former intentions, the relative ease of this new unexpected option looked suddenly attractive. At least, it took him only minutes to convince me.
As we stuffed the bike and panniers into the back of the car, he told me his name was Alex, that he charged only $5 - much cheaper than regular taxis - and that he'd been operating his illicit service for a couple of months. The $5 was nothing to me, and after booking-in at the hostel I bought us both a meal at a nearby cafe for another measly $5. He looked a bit starved and it was obvious he was struggling financially.
The next day I was in the sea, which was milky-looking, quite rough and slightly scary. See link. As ever, I spent most of that day on a long wander around... evening
