So the main event of the weekend was my heading down to a big family farm just outside the island city of Tewkesbury for some birthday party, someone from X's work. The idea was either to meet her in Bath on Friday or Saturday and ride up with her, or maybe just meet at the place. Either way, I was easy, and when it came time to sort out of my travel – necessitating innumerable internet searches, coin tosses, convoluted attempts to find "the best deal" and unnecessarily agonised decisions – I realised what I really wanted to do was "adventure it." I did buy my return ticket, for Monday evening – for the bargain price of £21.50, Bath-Wakefield – but all I could think of in that mire of buses and coaches and trains for getting there was those two words. Coin confirmed and it all felt good, and sometime Friday lunchtime I took me a local bus down to near Woolley Edge services on the M1 just south of Wakefield to begin.
The first thing I noticed was this: how horrible the bus ride made me feel. All that winding endlessly 'round country roads on a stinkingly hot day; all that going up and down, all that exploring every little village along the way, like some curious animal, all that taking forty minutes to go about five miles – I felt sick. And it made me so, so glad that I had shunned the National Express, even though that was by far the cheapest and most sensible option I had found. I really can't do buses, so cramped, so painfully slow – especially when they involve London! Oh, it's making me queasy just thinking about it…
The second thing was…well, I ended up finally departing still about four miles from where I wanted to be, and got my head down for the march through fields and down country lanes, and after about ten minutes I realised that was pretty much all I was doing – ie, getting my head down and marching. I still had my city head on; my brain was running fast and I was oblivious to my actually really nice surroundings. That bothered me, for obvious reasons. I carried on, though, and then, after about forty-five minutes, I noticed my mind had changed, become calmer, happier – an almost spiritual happiness – and I was starting to appreciate my surroundings, getting more and more chilled out. The power of time in nature – and so little time! – and the power or using one's own limbs, to walk, to hike, to just get out there. The city and that bus ride faded behind me; in front, only the unknown and freedom; on my back, only a guitar, a set of devil sticks and a change of clothes (no sleeping bag). Everything I needed for my weekend away.
By the time I reached the services I was so chilled out I decided to have a little lay down rather than get all wanting to hit the road straight away. I dunno, I had this sense that timing was on my side, that I could do that and everything would still all work out. I mean, it was by now about two o'clock – way later than I had wanted to be leaving, thanks to errands and bus rides and walking – but, to be honest, all through that I'd just had this sense of not rushing, of things unfolding in their own sweet time. It reminded me of hitching in America, of that sense that the perfect ride was always going to pick me up, that they were there, somewhere up the road, heading my way for me, and all I had to do was be in the right spot at the right time. Sometimes I'd wait for perhaps an hour or two, gainly and vainly thumbing it when what I'd rather be doing was laying in the bushes taking a nap, and when that perfect ride had appeared – the perfect person, going to the perfect place – I'd just think, man I shoulda followed my instinct and got laid out under that tree, it would've all been the same in the end. Slowly, I think that started to sink in to me – and on this day, I was really feelin' it. I mean, I had a long way to go – wherever I was going; not that I knew – and it was getting on a bit, time-wise, but still there was no sense in rushing, that was what I felt inside. Finally, satisfied with my laying about, and having exchanged insults with some passing moron in a white van (he started it – though I shouldn't have retaliated) I got up and stuck out my thumb.
Twelve seconds later – the second car that came upon me – I was on my way.
We did the whole thing of, where you going? etcetera, and I told him I was kind of heading generally South, had to be in Bath in the morning and was thinking I'd either end up there, or land at some friend's place in maybe Oxford or London or Worcester or Bucks, and I was really just seeing where the road was taking me. That was my plan, basically – I knew I'd end up somewhere that I knew someone that I was wanting to visit – or, if not, I'd end up somewhere else equally as cool. Thing was – and this is the superb beauty of "adventuring it" – life had other plans even beyond my own loose ones – for the chap who picked me up was going all the way to Norwich, and would be driving right past the home of a good old friend of mine from school days who I had been wanting to go to visit for some time but who I had totally discounted for this trip given that Norfolk is probably the other end of the country from Bath, and an almost impossible hitch in the timeframe that I had. A couple of surreptitious coin tosses later, however, and it was Dereham, Norfolk that was confirmed as my destination – lovely, lovely Dereham, with it's ever-so-friendly teenagers and holy water, and memories of my time there working as a postman, sleeping comfortable in a graveyard (yay!) and being madly high. I realised that by going there I was totally jeopardising the possibility of my getting to Bath – and, with it, risking the not-inconsiderable wrath of X – but, that's the thing with adventuring it, you just have to surrender to where life wants you to go, and forget about your own plans, and go with the flow. You've got to trust that where you end up is where you're supposed to be, that everything will work out for the best, and that there's a higher wisdom at work here than your own mere ideas of what you think should happen, what you want to happen. You've got to let it go. So I did.
And me and that guy, well, we hit it off, and had four hours of good chat and good company, open, honest, thought-provoking, inspiring. As is often the case, I felt like I had something for him, that he was in a position of perhaps needing some answers, some direction – ok, as I often am too! – and that the things I said were of some use to him. As is often the case, it seemed like a perfect match, and our conversation flowed without effort, supported by that unique hitch-hiking dynamic that seems to enable people to really open up quick-sharp and express what's going on with them without fear, for some reason (thinking those North American truck drivers who had themselves on the metaphoric psychiatrist's couch within minutes of me settling into the seat next to them). It was cool. It was a real endorsement of my having chosen to go that way. And it wasn't to end there.
My friend lives in Scarning; that's a couple of miles this side of Dereham, and the plan was that I would be dropped off there. My ride, however, missed the turn-off, and ended up taking me into Dereham itself. No matter; I could get some holy water, I could have a little wonder 'round town – and, in any case, my friend hadn't replied to my text to let her know I was coming, so maybe she wasn't even in; at least from Dereham I could find my way elsewhere, to perhaps another friend's place before it got dark.
I set off walking merrily towards town – oh, good old Dereham, how pleasant you are! how funny my memories of you, and how nice to land so suddenly somewhere so familiar! – and after a bit of an unexpected detour I neared the centre. In fact, I realised I was walking past this pub where my friend and I had once sat in the beer garden on a sunny afternoon – and today was a sunny beer garden kind of afternoon too. I stuck my head over the fence; I had a quick look around…I spied the flowing blond hair of what looked like her son; I saw it was him. I smiled, and entered the pub, and tapped her on the shoulder, and she turned around and leapt up and gave me a hug and said, "oh my God, what are you doing here?" She was very happy to see me! And it was great to see her too! And, the thing was, it turned out she hadn't actually got my text – oh, blessed surprise! I love it when it works out like that! – because – here's the kicker – she didn't even have that phone anymore. I guess I don't need to spell it out – but I will: if he hadn't missed that turning, if the timing had been out by an hour either way, if I hadn't taken that route into town, if I hadn't looked over the wall, if I'd got to the services a little later or a little earlier, if I hadn't laid down and waited those extra few minutes…simply put, perfection. I settled in to the table, met the people there, and excitedly told her bemused friends exactly how I'd come to be there. What fun! And – oh, when will I ever stop talking?! but it doesn't end there! – she also had another visitor for the weekend: the man who married my first-ever girlfriend (who I saw for two years, 16-18; they got together not long after that) and the two children they had together (they're now separated). He and I haven't ever really talked much – I mean, I haven't seen her since I was 19 – but we got a good chance then, and really hit it off. His kids too, with their striking traces of my first girlfriend's face, were super-nice and had bizarrely seen me on Countdown when it was shown a few weeks ago, so knew who I was. Talk about a magic, magic day! And then our merry group wound our way through Dereham fields and streets – via delicious and marvellous as ever Dereham holy Saint Withburga spring water – into Scarning and hilarious curry and chatter and giggles and music and conversation and children and massage and contented 2 a.m. on-the-sofa sleep and everything seemed just right.
Totally unrelated to what I've just written, just here to break things up, a list of the graveyards and churches I've slept in, in chronological order:
1. Just across the street from my mum's house in Wakefield, when me and Shawn turned up late one night during his visit in 2000 and couldn't get in. Was slightly scared, I seem to remember.
2. Also in Wakefield, in some old churchyard out in the sticks somewhere, trying to sleep on one of those big stand-up flat tombs, just for the experience. Wasn't very comfortable.
3. Inside an old church near the Dhamma Dipa meditation centre in Herefordshire (when I'd turned up late again one night!) remembering that they didn't lock the door. Nice.
4. The cemetery in Dereham, for about a week or two (and then when I wanted to treat myself to a 'night out' after that) which was lovely, just in my sleeping bag under big trees that shielded the rain, such a peaceful and beautiful place – though it did kind of cost me my job as postman when they found out and started to think me a little strange…
5. In a little graveyard next to a church somewhere in Cornwall (Padstow?) with X, sleeping good and having some morning nookie while some old lady outside was making comments about sacrilege and the like.
6. St Damien and St Cosmus in Blean, Kent, a lovely little graveyard that was my home for my first night in Canterbury, when I turned up to start university in 2002.
7. The one in Wakefield again, while I was working as a delivery driver for VW and couldn't stay at my mum's place because she wasn't speaking to me, for one reason or another.
8. The last one, I think, was in a church in Beaconsfield, Buckinghamshire, the day I got back from China in July 2004 and kind of wandered that way in the hope that my old friend Richard could put me up. He wasn't home, though – but somehow I found shelter in there, the place calling me to discover its unlocked door…
And that's my list of sleeping in cemeteries, churches and graveyards! Now – back to the present day, and Norfolk, and the "adventuring it" of the story in hand…
I woke early the next day, about 5.45 when bright sunlight shone down on my long sofa home, and took that as a sign that I was to get a move on, set about booking bus tickets and things for the long trip Westward. Dereham to Bath is only about 230 miles, and maybe four hours in a car (if you go via the M25, which I had no intentions of doing; five hours on a sensible route) but, as I said, a practically impossible hitch given such a constrained timeframe and the fact that it was Saturday, not a good day for hitching (not really any working blokes; lots of full-car families). Mainly, though, it's hard because there aren't really any cross-country routes – the motorways across the Midlands all run North-South, and there aren't really even any big 'A' roads – and you've got the very real spectre of lots of big cities in the way, which could make things very tricky. I spent a few hours on the computer looking up buses and trains again, and figured my best option was probably a bus to Peterborough and then a train to Birmingham, and then on towards Tewkesbury from there. That should have gotten me there by four – which should have been in time to meet X and her friends who were heading up from Bath in a VW camper van – and would have only set me back about thirty quid (given my wicked clever way of splitting train tickets at some unknown place near Leicester to halve the cost). Thing is, though, by the time I'd done all that I'd just made myself dizzy with the possibilities and also made myself late for the bus into Peterborough – plus, I'd remembered how sick and uncomfortable that two hour journey would be. And so, instead, and perhaps somewhat wonderfully predictably, with the toss of a coin I made my way to the A47 and stuck out my thumb, thinking, well who knows where I'll end up – or, at the very least, I could make Peterborough by thumb and avoid the bus part of it there.
I was on my way by 9.15, a short ride into Swaffham with a couple of Max 'n' Paddy-a-likes from Yorkshire, down Norfolk way on a camping holiday at some nudist place ("we like to get our kit off," the big shaved-headed one worriedly told me, before I changed the subject). Remarkably enough, we arrived there just a few seconds before the bus to Peterborough, and there I was thinking, "safe option" and getting ready to shell out a few quid on the X1. Coin, however, told me otherwise – to my surprise – and it was back to the A47 and the mystery of the thumb (still thinking it was probably gonna be Peterborough, and then train). But my next ride were a couple heading off towards Cambridge, and I decided to sort of surrender myself in that direction, even though it wasn't really the right way, just having this idea that I should go wherever whoever picks me up is going. One more ride and I was by the junction of the M11 and the A603 – some nowhere road heading towards Bedford – staring at an unpalatable ride into London as my only real option. It seemed a bit pointless, though, only to get stuck on the M25, or to have to struggle to get into the centre just to take a bus or train anyway (Victoria! Blargh!) and in the end I stuck with the nowhere road – at least it headed West – and waited as the clock ticked by and my chances of getting there on time started to fade.
Most of my rides had required maybe a wait of between two and five minutes; the first one of the day was fifteen, and that's a long time for me on these British roads (America was generally longer, but with longer rides at the end of the wait). This time, though, I was stood there for over an hour, passed by hundreds of cars – most of them still receiving their 'Rory wave' – and the situation seemed hopeless. Coin told me to stick it out, however – and I gave him numerous chances to take me elsewhere! – before I finally got the go ahead to walk a few miles further down the road to a better spot. In all, I wasted about an hour and a half waiting there – and yet, the thing was, I was kind of hungry and in need of water, and I'd been thinking about taking something of a lunch break, which would have probably used up a similar amount of time, but I was too keen to head on. In the end – you know what's coming – I was picked up promptly from my new spot, taken about ten miles down the road to some other nowhere junction, and then picked up promptly again there by a nice man in a fast car who was heading all the way across middle England, at breakneck speed, to within about thirty miles of my destination. It was ridiculous! The miracle had occurred! And, not only that, but he was another like-minded soul, a real inspiration to talk with, who gave me some great ideas and some fun conversation. The time and the road passed quickly as we sped through Bedford and Milton Keynes, a little taste of the M1, a skirt of Oxford, of Banbury, of Bicester, and the beautiful countryside of the Cotswolds. It was the kind of journey that could have taken all day, and in the end it took about an hour and a half. I was dropped off in Chipping Norton with a simple straight road ahead of me. Trust, and surrender, and faith – and the coin – had all worked again. A few more rides and I was nine miles from Tewkesbury, just as X and her friends were getting there. They took a slight diversion to come and pick me up and I happily climbed aboard their happy little vehicle, giving it one last thumb for good measure. The timing of the day staggered me: that I had basically arrived exactly where I needed to be, at the exact right time, after seven hours, several hundred miles, and seven different rides, against all the odds, and that I'd done it by sort of surrendering my will to life and just trusting that I'd get there – or that even if I didn't that would be the right thing too. Just trusting, basically. Another magic, magic day.
Questions Rory would like to know the answers to:
1. Why is it that the skin of a woman you haven't been to bed with (and her conversation) seems so much more alluring than the skin and conversation of one you have?
2. What would you rather eat: your own bogies, or your own scabs?
3. Has there ever been a fireworks display that wasn't about five or ten minutes too long?
4. How do you make the infinity sign on a myspace blog entry?
The party was okay. I'm not a big party man but I found my entertainment and chatted and danced and played. I built a thirteen-feet high tower out of oversized Jenga blocks, borrowing straw bales and small, shoulder-dwelling women to reach the upper echelons. I also pretty much blanked X due to my unmovable and inherent inability to talk to her when she's been drinking, even though I can talk to others, which she really hates. I just can't help it, though, and feel okay with it, seems reasonable to me. We had a good time back in Bath, however, and I took her out for a lovely birthday dinner at some nice Thai restaurant, drank lots of talking tea and expounded my latest theories regarding gay sex and the male/female dynamic, which I love to do, and we got on great. I'm so not sure about what to do about that though – particularly given the way my feelings fluctuate, and the way I end up feeling about others (ie, Y, Z, K(1-inf.) and U(1-inf.) – although Y is no longer talking to me) but I guess the answer is I don't really have to do anything, since there's no pressure to decide. It's certainly an interesting time though! Finally, I had an afternoon at the Bath Thermae Spa, which was pretty cool (actually, pretty lukewarm – ha!) and chilled me out nicely, and then it was onto the train for the long ride home, which wasn't quite adventuring it, but then I didn't really need any more.
In other news this week:
• I went Thursday to see my dad play in Leeds, with his band Green Mac. It was pretty cool; he's still got the chops. Also still the funniest man alive (as in, character) - during a discussion on the anti-smoking laws, which he's not a fan of, he told me, in all seriousness, that he's still not convinced smoking is bad for you, that it's one of those things they one day say is good for you, the next bad, like "sugar and potatoes." Priceless!
• Also Thursday had a wicked game of tennis with somebody I hooked up with via gumtree, a nice young bloke from Spain. We battled it out for about ninety minutes before he came through 6-4 7-5 (me surrendering a 5-3 lead in the second). I was happy with my game, considering it's been a long time, and happier still to do lots of running around and have a good competitive match, even throwing myself full length on the concrete court to reach one ball. I love tennis! It's so gladiatorial!
• Business is booming, and I'm feeling a renewed vigour and enthusiasm for it, glad that I didn't make a move anywhere just yet. Though it would be nice if my area manager could see the good work I've done - and not be so negative all the time!
• I also didn't eat any chocolate again. That's seventeen days without sugar now. I feel no attraction whatsoever.
• I found the best myspace site ever. It belongs to one of my Creative Writing tutors at UKC. Genius!
And now it's time for work! By-eeee!
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