We were rejected by the overflowing bus and resignation ourselves to a rip off taxi. It turned out pretty well in the end, bikes and bags in, our driver was a sweet natured indian who merrily chatted about his family and went out of his way to help us get them onto trolling and hold open doors for us. Although we were still on American soil, we felt in our hearts it was gone the second our foot hit the pavement.
Then a night at an airport hotel, a 5am start and of course on the courtesy bus we were sat behind an Australian couple bound for the same flight. Starved for australian conversation they asked us about our football teams and showed great interest in a corolla police car, I’m afraid we disappointed them.
Then shoes off, scanned and on our way to London.
We touched down in London, four Aussies and what seemed like a whole congregation of hasidic jews, curls and hats and prayer books. I felt a strong and very welcome sense of the familiar. London! Oh, I rejoiced holding a £20 note, how we share the same sense of humour, drive on the same side of the road and have the queen on our money! This is the point in all travel stories where any rejoicing has to be put aside for jet lag, and the grind to escape the airport for a warm bed. Not many include a train strike and dragging two 15kg bike boxes up and down the stairs of the under ground though. Through the midnight streets of London, trying not to drag the boxes, too tired to lift them. In a week we would see the fruits.of labour in wonderfully toned our arms bulging from the effort, today exhaustion. Up a final flight of stairs, bikes bedded next to us and us collapsing under soft sheets. We made it.
