FromSwamptoSummit

Here I am back in England and ready at last to give you the story as promised of my over-eventful trip to visit M and E [my parents].

The plan was a flight from England to Washington D..C., two nights in a hotel and a train to Durham N.C. The first hiccup was when Amtrak cancelled my train, but that was O.K., I booked a Greyhound bus. [My brother T was horrified at this thought and offered to drive to DC to rescue M from the potential dangers of a Greyhound bus. Being more naive, I just thought it was a cool idea.] I also heard that there was a hurricane around, but not to worry.

I arrived at my hotel in D.C. – an interesting old building called The Architect – at 7 p.m. on Tuesday the 11th. I phoned M and was told the hurricane was about to hit and I must get out of Washington on an earlier bus. My phone wouldn’t work so the helpful young man on Reception got me a taxi and I went to find the Greyhound bus station. The Greyhound office is two floors up in what seems like the roof space above Union Station, a great dark cavern of a place with a small glassed-in office in one far corner. The only earlier bus was at 11.30 p.m. the following day and I had to change at Richmond, Va., so I booked it.

Back at my hotel I started to get a series of messages, from my neighbour at home I – you must come back to England, a hurricane is coming; from M that it was not safe travelling on a bus at night; yet another message from I that I must stay in Washington because the hurricane was going to hit Durham; then again from M saying I must sit near the bus driver. So after all that I went to bed and slept quite well.

The next day was hot and humid, the sun beating down, fairly normal D.C. weather I think, though I found it exhausting. I had a walk about, not easy to find something to eat though eventually I found a few restaurants near Dupont Circle. I made sure I had breakfast and some lunch. I wandered down to the White House and back. Back at the hotel I had a shower, packed my bag again, and checked out of the hotel about 9 p.m., my helpful young man downstairs getting me a taxi again.

At Union Station I ate a slice of pizza on the main floor of the station, before going up to the great shed above where in the dark corner was a lit-up glass waiting room. I was about to go to the rest room before boarding at 11.10 when I looked up at a clock and found it was already 11.10 and my watch had stopped.

This whole journey was a chapter of accidents and miracles. I got on the bus, I had a seat to myself though not near the driver [as my mother, no doubt at my brother’s urging, had encouraged], and off we went into the dark still night, no sign of a hurricane yet.

At Richmond it was a proper bus station, a big hall with a cafe and toilets at one end and a desk at the other. I sat down and looked up at an indicator, which said that the Atlanta bus – my bus – was cancelled. I went to the desk where a very large man with dreadlocks was impassively fending off a crowd of chattering people. I found it difficult to understand his very strong accent but he seemed to say that the bus was not cancelled but it would not stop in Durham, my destination.

There was a young girl who I had noticed in the bus queue at Washington; she stood out because she was blonde and pretty, looked like a student.

She told me the bus was stopping at Greensboro and that was not too far from Durham.

I sat down again.

There kept being announcements which I could not understand, but then I found the bus was not stopping till Charlotte. I was miles from anywhere in the middle of the night, Richmond was unknown to me and I couldn’t go back to Washington, so I got on the bus. I only managed to do that because the young girl saw me sitting and came to tell  me a line was forming at the other end for the Charlotte bus. She was another of the miracles that happened to me that night. And I was lucky with the bus driver who was a helpful young man whose accent I could understand. I sat at the front of the bus this time.

Off we went into the dark again. I slept a bit and whenever I woke I saw a dry empty road stretching ahead between a wall of unmoving trees and I wondered where the hurricane was. Then I woke and began to see words I could recognise – Raleigh-Durham Airport one mile, Chapel Hill, then even Durham. And on the bus went. A woman passenger came to front and spoke to the driver. He said he was looking for a rest stop, so she got out her phone and directed him to one. We stopped at a gas station with a shop, and we all got off and went in to use the toilet. I saw that the young girl was getting her bag off the bus and she said we were not far from Durham. So I asked the driver to get my suitcase off too. He wrote down for me on a piece of paper:

Exit 165 off I-85 BP Station County Road.

The girl lent me her phone. I rang M [my mother] and read out the direction. It was 5.30 in the morning. The girl was going to Greensboro to a wedding but the friend she phoned was still in bed and did not answer. So we stood there outside the gas station as the odd car and truck pulled up and went away. A woman came up and asked if we were stranded and  could she help. I hope she stayed with the girl because I felt bad leaving her when she had been a lifesaver for me. The next car that came up had familiar figures in it and M got out. I nearly wept on her shoulder, I was so glad to see her.

It was not far to drive. When we crossed the Eno River I realised how close I had been to safety. Very soon we were sitting down having breakfast. We spent a few days waiting for Hurricane Florence but she did not trouble us much.

Sorry this has been a so long. I got a bit carried away remembering it all.

[Should we all have such adventures when we make it to our 80s!]