United Kingdom 2015
  
 

Day 07

September 21

  
  I'm a bit like a mule that smells his feed - I'm ready to head for the barn or in my case, the Holler. I'm up early so I can hit the hotel breakfast bar. As expensive as the rooms have been, I figure I might as well enjoy the free but not-so-free breakfast.  
   
  I figure the rest of the day's meals will be airline food, so I enjoy what I have before me since it tastes like real food.  
   
  It's up to the room to stack my stuff on my hand cart and then back downstairs to check out.  
   
  It's a short hop over to the Wandsworth Town train station where I will get my first connection of the day. I swipe my Oyster card at the turnstile and make my way to the dreaded steps.  
   
  By the time I manage to carry my load to the top of the steps, I am sweating like I just ran a marathon. Little do I know this is just the beginning of several more such experiences before I get home. This morning, the train is super crowded as folks are headed to work and school. It's a bit sad to note that very few of people are smiling except for the kids. Most look like they are headed to the gallows instead of to the job.  
   
  This time my train adventure has no missed stations as I can get off right at Feltham Junction. I look for Bus Stop A, but it is no where to be found. When I look across the road, I see Bus 490 pulling up to a stop. At least it is the correct bus, so I head in that direction, knowing that another one will be along soon enough. This is Bus Stop E but the schedule tells me it that it stops at Heathrow Terminal 4 so I'm good.  
   
  When the next bus arrives, I use my Oyster card one more time and all is well. I have been a bit concerned that I have enough money on it for the entire trip but apparently I do. The bus trip is about 30 minutes and then we pull up to the now familiar bus stop at Heathrow.  
   
  I've got plenty of time before my flight just as I planned, so I go looking for what gate I'm flying out of. As it turns out, my gate will not be posted until about one hour before the flight. I just pick a central spot and chill out for a while. Since I have some British Pounds and some Euros that I brought over from a previous trip, I mull over what I should do with them. The exchange rate in the airport is not very favorable and they also charge a commission to do the job. I decide I'll pick up a few things for my lovely wife while I'm here, so I head for a Harrods Shop located nearby. After lightening my wallet here, I decide I might as well take the hit and exchange what's left for US dollars. Otherwise, the cash will be put in my desk drawer and wait for another trip in the future. It crosses my mind that the Euros had come from my Alps trip back in 2008. So I do the deal and now have what's left in good old greenbacks.  
   
  My gate is finally posted and it turns out to be in the exact opposite direction of where I thought it would be. But with only an hour until takeoff, it's not long before we are directed down the cattle chute into the waiting metal canister.  
   
 

The gentleman that gets to share the seat beside me is of about the same shoulder width as me. I tell him -

"Well I see the airlines algorithm to put the two fellers with widest shoulders together is in fine working order."

We both laugh and agree on that one. Finally we are headed down the runway and I bid a fond good-bye to Lady England.

  
   
  My seatmate is a British Policeman by trade and I mention that I know several officers, one who works in Kent and one who just retired from the Scottish force. He has been to the States several times so we have some engaging conversations on the differing approaches that the UK and the states use with police enforcement. We're out over the water soon so I decide I'll check my eyelids for holes for a while and he settles down to watch some in-flight movies.  
   
  It's not much rest, but at least the gentleman in front of me doesn't throw his seat back. In one of my 'rearrangements' to find some comfort, I notice we should be over the United States.  
   
  Raising the window shade and looking out, I see my beloved country and am glad to be back even if it is only in the air.  
   
  When I land in Atlanta, I wish my seatmate a pleasant journey. Soon the insanity of the Atlanta International Terminal begins. The lines are long and moving slow. They have placed passport scanners in an area which is really interesting as most folks don't know what to make of or how to use the technology. This makes things go even slower as people fumble and fuss with kiosks, trying to get a 'receipt' to print out so they can continue to the next customs position. Then you queue up again, waiting for a real 'human' to check your 'receipt' against your face. Then you queue again and wait to see a real Customs Officer to determine whether you can come in or not. And if this rigmarole is not time consuming enough, then you have to pick up your checked luggage only to drop it off at another carousel with no customs person ever looking at - which makes no sense at all if you have a connecting flight like I do. As the minutes click away, I figure my chances of making my flight back to Nashville are slim and none. Once I get through all of these machinations, I find that my Nashville gate is all the way at the end of the concourse and it is already boarding. So off I go as quick as I can, super sweating with luggage in hand to make my flight. I get there just barely in time as the last group is boarding. Since it's a full flight, they offer to check my carryon to Nashville, so I take them up on it. That's another $100 that I don't have to pay to the airlines for doing something they should have done in the first place. I know I probably smell like a dead horse and look like a train wreck after my mad dash, but at least it's short flight.  
   
  Once we land, I make my way down to luggage claim. Much to my joy and amazement, both of my checked bags arrive on the luggage carousel in short order. I reassemble my luggage cart, get all my stuff on it and head to the economy parking shuttle. I am one happy camper when I see my little pickup truck.  
   
  There's a Wendys just up the road, so I snag a Double Baconator, some water and a Frosty for supper on my way home across town. It's been a great trip with wonderful memories but this old hillbilly is ready for the comfort of his Holler.