You can't get there from here (part 1)...

Oh, where to begin. I guess the beginning is as good a place as any.

It's already been implied (perhaps more strongly than necessary by some) that I am not a morning person...so when Ryan revealed his 'high level' plan to get up around 4:30 on Sunday in order to get to Gatwick and come on home to Erie, I was understandably less than enthused.

His plan...leave Brentwood around 5:30. The train's plan...leave Brentwood at 6:35. That's the earliest train that leaves on Sunday. In a way, I kinda respect it. I wouldn't get up early on Sunday if I didn't have to either. ( I would like to point out now, because I didn't do it then, that I did not take this opportunity to point out to Ryan that I could have stayed in bed...that took a lot of effort...ahhh, the things we do for love.)

So we left Brentwood station on time (well, the train's time...not Ryan's time). Of course, we couldn't travel directly to where we wanted to because of work being done (aren't Sundays faboo?). This is fairly standard procedure in London and I think the locals just get accustomed to never travelling directly to where they want to go.

What Ryan didn't understand is that this is all part of travelling with me. For those of you who missed the fantastic beginning of my trip...let me explain.

I left Erie on Sunday, July 1. My mom drove me to Cleveland (thanks, mom!) and left very early to humor me (which is a good thing because, apparently, as they were leaving the airport there was a huge backup that we would have been stuck in...see, I told you). I waited around in the manner of most at airports all over the world after being thoroughly searched (because, God knows, I look dangerous) . Now, even not having flown often, I knew something was wrong when they hadn't started boarding and there was only 10 minutes or so until the flight was supposed to leave. Of course, it was cancelled. A crew member had gotten sick (read, drunk...no, I really don't know that for sure) and they couldn't find anyone to fill in.

After a lovely night in the Cleveland Airport Marriot (which was actually pretty nice, all things considered...try the stuffed mushrooms at Jack's steakhouse if you ever have the misfortune of being in Cleveland) I was back at the airport. I was back at the airport 6 hours early because I had to check out at noon and my plane left at 6:00. Yay! Nothing like 6 hours in an airport.

I'm sitting, waiting for the second start of this journey when my new friend Scott Z. from Delta (the guy who had set me up after the failed flight the night before) grabs me and very quietly ushers me to the next gate. Scott was making me a little nervous as he started typing furiously on the computer here. Then I hear the guy at the gate I was supposed to be at announce a delay that would have made me miss my connection in New York. Our hero, Scott, is putting me on a flight to Cincinatti, so I can make it to Gatwick (hooray for Scott from Delta). All of this was accompanied by much hurried texting to (a half-asleep) Ryan and my mom. Very nice. The flight was okay (as okay as any 8-ish hour flight can be) and I was on my way.

The flight was a little early, so, of course, Ryan was a little late (missed the train he wanted to get). Now, remember...I've had a rough start and I've barely slept and this is my first trans-Atlantic flight and I can't find the only person in this (bloody) country that I know, so after the tenth person I hit with my bags, I'm getting a little anxious. Then, this guy runs into me. Just bumps right into me. I've got two big bags and I'm obviously a little stressed and he just runs right into me, but because I'm a nice person, I turn and start to say excuse me to this jerk. Instead, I give him a huge hug, because it's Ryan. He ran into me on purpose. Dork.

This was followed by some subway and train rides of which I have almost no recollection whatsoever (even though they were firsts, too!) and Ryan substituting carrying my (rather heavy) bags up and down all the stairs in London for his workout that day. When I asked him if I could at least carry something, he handed me the umbrella. Still a dork.

As Bill Cosby always said..."I told you that story so I could tell you this one..." The rest of our trip back make sense in light of my travel mojo.

Stay tuned for the continuing saga of our return trip in which many trains don't go where they're supposed to, many people from Continental don't know what the hell they're talking about, and my bag gets to Erie a day behind me (hopefully).