I thought I was prepared. I prereserved the tour and got all of my maps together. Car had gas, it was an hour drive, and it was clear as a bell out. Therefore, by all reasonable accounts, since it was not snowing and not GOING to snow, for a change, the weather was beautiful. I even woke up on time.
It's cold out. Really really cold. And being on top of a bus that hit about 30 mph in spots was not such a good idea.
Let's start at the beginning...
I tried to do things a little bit differently, this time. From all my previous experiences, the largest common failing I could see was a great deal of time 'wasted' walking around. The second-largest was a tendency to forget details, like people's names, exactly which events came before or after which, the exact wording of a funny comment or situation, you know, life's little devils. So... Friday evening, I came up with a Plan to mitigate these things, being the Great Designer I know I am, it was (of course) foolproof.
But what does Nature do when someone foolproofs something? Yah. Along comes a bigger fool. Me.
I've had passionate arguments about overcommitting to a schedule. Several of my friends (who shall remain nameless for now) are 'schedulers'. They have itineraries down to the minute, and totally freak out, become despondent or enraged (!) if traffic sets them behind or they can't find parking in the spot where it SHOWS there to be parking on the map dammit and why did they have to put 30 handicapped spaces in? My major points against this: First, I think it limits spontanaeity on a trip, and second, I don't want to die of agita within the next two years. Somehow, in the stress of obtaining details for a blog which in the Grand Scheme doesn't really matter, and wanting to see All Of Europe In 20 Or So Days Off, I lost sight of those two points for which I have surrendered nights in a warm bed, and for which I have dodged airborne dishes, glassware, and assorted cutlery, as well as the odd sharp kick (aimed low) over the years. Yea, children, I did schedule, and scheduled mightily I did. For me.
I've read some other best-of's for the places I've been to, and I noticed that occasionally, there would be something I didn't see, or a tour that I missed out on because I arrived too late, or a building I didn't know was there, or a Great Life-Changing Meal For The Eating in a Hole-In-The-Wall a block away from a corner I passed six times throughout the day. So, to mitigate this, I would do my research, and come hell or high water, I'd stick to the plan. I would make damn sure I had a comment for each of the buildings or sights on the map, I'd plot out the addresses and ask for directions or look at house numbers. I'd have all of the tour times written down or prepaid and print everything out in a 'dossier' to study four or five (or more for those 'foreign places') times before I arrived. My Oxford dossier was pretty thin. A reservation for the open-top bus tour at 10, reasonable since Oxford was less than an hour away, opening hours for the Castle tour window, a list of Japanese restaurants to hit, the office from which I could rent a punt, a street map...
Unknown to me, It was -1 (30 F) outside when I woke up in Cheltenham. I had the heat set to 'disintegrate' in the room, the setting which made the closest approximation of human-livable temperature in the center region between the heater and the window. This did have the beneficial side effect of instantly drying my hair and body when I turned the shower water off, but it had the detriment of occasionally requiring, after any length of time in the 'zone', immediate submersion of myself and any leather articles in 45 degree water, followed by pure white-petrolatum application, or else become a cracked, dessicated pile of salt. The most comfortable radius ends up being about 10-12 feet from the heater, and 6-8 feet from the
window, which gives me a 2-foot curved region on the bed where I can not-freeze and not-bake. The fetal position fits this rather well, and what a stroke of luck! That's been my natural inclination lately.
After crawling out of my nice warm cocoon to the chaotic alarm, toying with the idea of smashing the phone, and scrubbing some of the crud out of my eyes, I went ahead with the plan. I plugged my MP3 player into the computer and initiated a backup (20 minutes...), as well as started the charge on my camera battery. I had already sent the 'dossier' via email to the front desk for printing. I made my way down, taking the stairs for exercise and convenience. Naomi, our helpful clerk, continued her sacrifices to the gods of Bureaucracy, clicking and pointing, the odd keystroke for menu selection echoing through the vacant lobby.
"Psst."
"..."
"Psst!"
"Oh, yes, Mr. Feichtinger?"
"That thing?"
"What?"
"That thing I sent, is it ready?"
"What? I'm sorry? And what's that in your hair? Mousse?"
I had apparently had some shaving foam caught above my sideburn. Siiigh. Erasing it with my palm, I informed her that I had sent an email the previous evening containing a couple of 2-page documents to print out, if she didn't mind. She happily did (what a great girl!), and of course, commented on the choice of 'dossier' for the title, and peeked as they printed. "Oh!" I, of course, commented in turn on her delightful Oh. "Yes, well, I've been to London about 50 times and I *always* go on the open-top tour! You learn so much from those, they're lovely!" I was pleased to meet someone with experience in this realm. We chatted about all of the different tours available all over the world and how they have multiple languages. I confided in her that I'd never been on an open-top bus tour before. I was cheered at the positive feedback on this tour, the gem in my day! Frankly, I was very heartened, because I'd gone bananas and prebooked the similar tour in Belfast for next week! I took the four papers with all of my confirmation numbers and maps and coupons and times, and made my way to the Express Breakfast Bar. Cereal and coffee. I'll skip the cereal and grab something later on, but I'll have some coffee. Yeah, and some more. While I was making my way back to the stairs, I must have triggered the door mechanism in the lobby, because a WHOOSH filled my ears, and suddenly the icy finger of death tickled back of my neck. It passed quickly, but... "Naomi, what's the temperature outside?" "Oh, it's about zero, but it's beautiful out! Should be warming up some today." "Oh ok, thanks... Shoot! Can you validate my parking?"
Back to the room, setting aside the warning signs coming together in my mind... I flung wide the drapes. It *was* clear as a bell out. Sun beginning to trickle over the buildings (about 8 am), blue vault above. Okay, well she's a native, she knows how it works around here... Got the camera together, Chucks on, mp3 player emptied, it and headphones en poche. Right! All assembled. Back down, out the door... wow! That'll wake you up! Cold and wet. Ice from the past days' snow on the ground, treacherous in the range -1..1 because of the water on top. The roads were coated in frozen-over slush in most places, due to the 'grit' shortage England was
experiencing. I pushed aside my unfair cultural comparisons. So what? Two inches of snow (max!) sticks around for three days and continues to make hazard to pedestrian and traffic alike. It's a different culture... I went into the car park and cranked the car, put the heat up to max, and made sure the wiper reservoir was filled. I do learn, occasionally. Luckily, the garage had been dry, so there was no sliding on the way down. This changed immediately upon hitting the road. A matte-finish sheen stared back at me as I considered my right-turn out onto the intrepid highway. I looked at the thermometer in the car - -1 C. Off we go!
By this time, I had left and returned (solo) to Cheltenham about six times. Every single time, I got routed around the City Centre. The signs here are confusing at best, and I think they are a relic of pre-mall days when merchants used to want to make people see their signage from their vehicles as they passed through the town. I remembered the trip to Stansted the previous week, and how easy it was Eastbound, and then the miserable route around back Westward into town. I resolved to pay attention this time, and remember my landmarks. Whoa! And pay attention to the other cars, sliding across my field of vision from time to time. I fishtailed around a corner, almost swiping the curb in front of a box factory (I'll remember that!), ran (slid through) the light at a church-turned-funeral-home (must make a right here on the way back), and I was free! Sailing along at 30 mph on A40 in Gloucestershire at large, outside the City Limits, with only limited slippage!
I knew I had to take the A40 to the A34, south. Since I was coming from the west, the A34 should be the first major Oxford exit (roundabout), and go right. The map told me 43 miles from Cheltenham to Oxford. I decided I would spend my time focused on the road, for at least the next 45 minutes or so (speed limit 50), and not worry so much about 'where' I was on the old mental-map. Good thing. The road was icy. Really icy. I saw a Land Rover overturned about 2 miles east of Cheltenham, it looked like a spaceship had torn up the earth. Must have slid across the road from that bend coming up, ... slow down, dumbass! Yup, the sun (in the east, of course) showed me the ice slick. The road became a sheet of fire. I couldn't see the car in front of me, so I slowed further. They were doing the same. We inched along at about 10-15 miles per hour for 5 or 6 miles, because the ice was strategically placed that there would always be a blinding burning patch in the roadway, until a convenient hill and some trees gave us some relief, and the road curved northwards. We went around the Eynsham roundabout, the Vauxhall in front of me's tires caught ice on the north arc and it spun in place at 40 miles per hour, tires going like mad, then sliding, gliding along. I downshifted (no brake use!) immediately on seeing the SUV fishtail, me coming onto the circle, and through a stroke of luck glided past on the right, staying on the circle, as she was spiraling leftward to the east exit and curb. I had a flashback to my experience with black ice in Upstate New York, when I did a 540. Four-thirty in the morning, going to work, someone coming up the hill the other way, and performing a complete spin and a half. Out of nowhere. This lady's expression - my expression at the time - horror at a 2-ton vehicle and it's capability to crush yourself and others, spinning completely out of your control. She caught the pavement, and continued eastward, slowly. She probably changed her underwear too. I saw a few gaps in the ice when I got the right view angle from the south side of the circle - just bad luck that her tires hit the way they did, really. I slowed down further on the south side, pumped the brakes a couple of times (south sun had cleared this side a little better over the past three days), and inched my way (5 mph) off the east exit.
The car's exterior thermometer varied from -3 to -1 (27 to 30 F) the entire trip. I got to the A34/A40 roundabout at about 9:40 or so, plenty of time for the 2 mile drive into Oxford, park at the railway station, and make the 10:00 tour. I mean, this was a *city*. Surely they'd have plows and grit and salt... No. It wasn't bad, mind you. Three days of traffic will take most of the slush and snow off the road. But the parking lots and smaller side roads were still caked and covered in ice, the sidewalks looked like skating rinks. I successfully navigated my way via the big blue P signs to where the tour company suggested I park. I pulled/crunched my way in, and
got out of the car, went to the meter to pay, following the "Prepay and Display" signs. Wait a minute, this can't be right. This says it will cost me 20 pounds ($30) or more for six hours parking! I had a 'display' for that! Forget that, I'd park at the actual rail station. The dude who pulled in behind me had the same idea. He spun off, and I followed. We both went around the block to the railway's parking lot, guarded by a rather imposing concertina-wired gate. He attempted to stop and slid past the entry, then suddenly spun off again. Puzzled, I edged up, mindful of the ice, and settled into reading position for the sign. "Rail ticket required for parking?" What? An older lady was walking her *unbelievably* cute Yorkie along the icewalk. I rolled my window down, "Excuse me, ma'am. Is there anyplace you know of where I could park for less than 20 pounds a day in this town?" She sadly shook her head. "I dunno." she said. "I think that there's cheap, but I think you need a ticket to park there. It's a shame, isn't it?" Yeah. I thanked the nice lady and smiled at the dog, but it was sort of distracted trying to climb in and out of footprint-craters. Cuuuute... I slid off. All right, I'll make a right here, this is a main road, and it's right near the station. I'll see if I can park somewhere a little cheaper out of downtown and just follow this road. I drove along Botley Road, maybe a mile, and saw a Computer Centre, kind of like a Circuit City or Best Buy. Shoot! They've got a huge parking lot! I pulled in, ignoring the 'Park at Owner's Risk' sign, and crunched into a spot, through the 3 inches of undisturbed frozen snow. All righty then! Now I know, make a right out of the train station, walk a mile, on the south side of Botley is the car! 9:55! I'm sure the tour time isn't hard-and-fast... it said every 20-30 minutes. I needed the exercise anyway.
Unfortunately, my skating skills had been sorely neglected. The sidewalk was completely coated in a shell of half-inch thick packed slush that had frozen over. This meant that the various ripples and ridges in the slush froze solid and gave some traction, but it also made the 'smooth' areas really difficult to get past. I walked along the road, along with a few other intrepid travelers at that time of the morning, all of us straggling and slipping our way toward Oxford. I crossed the Thames and a couple of its canals, no punts visible, several ducks the only creatures brave and equipped enough for that water. The Thames and its banks around the rail station were less than impressive. A corrugated-tin Avis warehouse took up a good section of the east bank, and there were some bumper-tires set up to the south, presumably for
Oxfordians to tie up their boats during the season. I came across a break in the ice strip when I went under the rail overpass at Botley, near my destination. An older lady was trying to make her way westward to the suburb, when she slipped and started to tumble! I moved as fast as my own unsure footing would allow, but she righted herself and straightened her jacket, gave me a quick grin, and began plodding on. I commented, "Maybe this is London's way of killing off the surplus population!" She got it immediately and started to chuckle, almost throwing herself into another sliding fit. We talked about the 'grit shortage' and how we should rest-assured, more sand and salt were on the way, being shipped in from, um, the mythical biblical land of sand and salt? Angela bid me good luck with the weather and the footing and made her treacherous way back under the overpass to get to the next corner, where she would be turning off onto another ice rink to skate her way home.
I crossed the street to the train/bus station, the road was pretty clear, so no issues there, and made my way into the area from where my tour bus would be departing. It was pretty obvious, it was the only stop with a double-decker bus with an open top in residence, and "City Sightseeing" and a sunny-swirly logo plastered in yellow along its red sides emphasized the point. Gauche and loud, but noticeable. It looked like I had a few minutes, the driver was sitting on his lowest step smoking a cigarette, the vapor of his breath and the smoke swirling out over the kiosk and into the parking lot. I walked up to him and asked if my reservation was still good. He confirmed that my ticket would be good all day, so I could catch any of the buses from here until about 4 pm. Excellent! With that ammunition, I decided to get my butt into the (warm) terminus, and grab some food and coffee. A streaky-bacon-n-eggy sammich-on-crescent-roll and large americano later, I hauled myself out to the stop again, now vacant, and planted my bottom under the kiosk. A few other guys, evidently workers, not tourists, had decided to use the Citysightseeing bus shelter as a coffee clutch point. They were smoking and having their morning joe, discussing the state of mass transit in England, and the like. Ever the nosy b*stard, I listened in.
As I mentioned, the topic of discussion was the bus/train/air system in England, and how to best get from Oxford to London or Oxford to Birmingham or Oxford to East Midlands airport, because "Fookin'" Tom (that was his favorite word, apparently) needed to tell his fookin' niece from the fookin' States how she could get around on a fookin' budget. They all sort of chortled
at the concept of 'budget'. As Tom was going on about how he'd never been to fookin' Heathrow to pick up, just drop the fook off - suddenly, one of the fellows slipped and crashed to the ground on the median surrounding the shelters, and then all hell broke loose. Tom decided that enough was enough and took his steel-toe workin-man fookin' boots to the task. He and his mates started kick-chopping up the ice in great chunks and kicking the shards off to the sides. Sadly, the Chucks weren't up to that, but I walked over, and after a great laugh when I demanded their Union cards, started helping out with insightful commentary about grit placement and temperature and bus exhaust fumes, and the plot from Westminster to kill us all, yanks, tourists, and britons alike. We all had a pretty good time while I waited for the City Sightseeing bus. I did knock all the ice off the kiosk top.
The tour bus pulled in, and, after a driver change, I mounted the steps, showed the printout Naomi had so helpfully supplied me with, and got my ticket. I was also issued a pair of headphones and the instructions to turn the channel to '1' for English commentary. I asked the driver if there was an American commentary. He arched an eyebrow and replied something to the effect that most of the words required for the tour weren't in the American vocabulary, so I'd have to make do, and git my arse on the bus already. Wink. Ha. Quirky, indeed. That was funny. I laughed my way up the spiral stairs to the top of the doubledecker. The front third was a covered section, and then the rear two-thirds were open-top. I plopped myself in the protected area next to a boring- and bored-looking lady, almost nodding off to the headphones' drone in her ears. I excused myself and plugged in, turned on channel 1, and listened.
I was prepared. I had my mp3 player/recorder with me. I was going to listen to the tour, record voice notes, and take pictures of the sights. Then the Plan was to revisit the sights and Oxford Castle afterward, doing some detail-delving. Somewhere in there, I'd be close to one of the three restaurants I'd placed on the map. But the 'tour' would be the key to orienting myself in this city, as well as the primary vehicle (ha!) to get some good pictures. That was the Plan. As I sat, listening to the Saxon and Norman history of Oxford - before bridge-building, fords were extraordinarily important, as, historically, were oxen... the body count in the small compartment climbed, and the windows began to fog up! Oh no! I unplugged and cautiously waded through the pack of people that had accumulated in the cab and went through the creaky thin-paned door to the open-top. The seats were covered in snow and ice. I rolled my eyes at the sky and took to chipping the majority of the ice off the sunniest seat, then squatted over it, propping the small of my back against the seat-back, my feet against the bulkhead in front of me, and plugged into the channel one feed. Well, situated, but not comfortable. One cheek resting on the seat, most of my weight on my big toe, and spouting voice notes into the recorder. I stared into the camera-bubble facing me and gave the driver a big thumbs-up! Yup, one fool situated. The bus took off with a lurch. My foot slipped, back sliding down the seat, and my butt got a nice 0-degree bath. Yeah. Just what I needed. I re-propped, hoping that I would dry (or at least freeze-dry) some. The tour went on about the Castle, now passing on the left, and then the old college building on the right, more castle parts on the right now, the bailey, we were making a left, coming up on a Franciscan enclave. And look, there's the sweet shop that Alice (yes, Lewis Carroll's Alice) frequented! Holey moley! I was bent into the nook, trying to strain and crane my neck and the camera, nearly asphyxiating myself in my zeal to
follow the tour, keep the headphones untangled, and pop off the odd photo-shot! Then I made a voice note to tell myself to look up Lewis Carroll - Reverend Dodgson as he was known at Oxford. We passed a pub at 25 miles per hour that the recording happily told me either the block before or after had been the frequent of the Inklings, which had included C.S. Lewis and Tolkien, and a place I wanted to know where stood! Dammit! I had wanted to have a pint there, or at least a picture of the Eagle and Child pub! Feh. It was cold. Colleges and churches and retail establishments were zooming by, dreaming spires reaching toward heaven, and I was still trying to focus on the tour and the pictures and the recordings.
In retrospect, a little further planning and familiarity with the tour would have been helpful. As would a towel or scarf and hat or any combination of the three. I should have planned to take the tour once and listened to the audio in 'comfort' on the inside of the bus, made my notes, then taken the tour a second time with the audio cues, and gotten the pictures. It ended up a frustrating, uncomfortable, jumbled mess. One building certainly stood out on the tour, though, and I perked up and paid attention. The Bodleian Library, one of the copyright libraries of England, gets a copy of every book copyrighted, and has since expanded underground to 12 stories down, right under the main street! The tour told us (as we pulled away, of course), that it can take up to six hours for a book to be transported via some wacky automation system from its home to the checkout where a student patiently waits for it. 120 miles of shelves. Now that's a library. Attached to the Bodleian was a really interesting circular building (Radcliffe Camera). It had carvings of roman heads surrounding it that the tour claimed no one knew what or why they were there. Odd, there's a perfect repository for records of that sort, uh, right next door! You'd think that the builders could maybe put some plans or thoughts down and kind of drop them on the library desk. There were a few facts that stood out too: Radcliffe fought tooth and nail to remain women-only for a very long time, and ultimately failed. Oxford is really proud of Clinton having been a Rhodes scholar. St John's College used to own land that stretched from Oxford to Cambridge (about 120 miles), and was the weathiest college in the University. Hidden in the commentary was a great deal of the politics inherent in the 'town vs. gown' mentality underlying Oxford. For instance, in 1209 (!), Cambridge was founded by a group of Oxford students who couldn't take the townies' abuse! During the Parliamentarian fits and spurts, Oxford was a staunch monarchist town, giving over Christ College and other major landmarks to Royal Army use against the Parliamentarians, Charles I and Charles II and Henry VIII seemed especially big fans of Oxford, while the folks in the town, starving and fed up, were parliamentarian. Riots were common in this town, the big forefront of that struggle. But the University was never threatened, the library never destroyed or rioted out. That was impressive. I lived in the town in which I went to college for about 10 years, with a family. My family had townie bad-sentiment and gownie snobbishness to deal with, as we made friends in both realms. I can only imagine what 800 or more years of that would boil up to!
As the tour progressed, a few more intrepid cold-weather-hardy folks bravely made their way to the open area. Most lasted about five minutes or so, a couple of kids (backpackers/hostelites) thought it would be fun to lean over the edge. Shortly after one of them performed this amazing aerial stunt of stupidity, the bus screeched to a halt, and we heard a clambering from the inner chamber. The driver burst out and said 'Oi! Can't you read?" He vaguely shakingly gestured at the sign saying 'Remain Seated' in 5 languages. He turned to me and looked me right in the face "I mean, if I were to hit the curb, with the ice packed as it is, and slide, you'd fall over! So please, mind yourself!" I spent the next minute or two trying to figure out if he was talking to me, the guy with his nether regions hovering an inch above a pool of freezing water, or to the student types who'd basically been playing kill-the-guy and tag on his bus. Then I kind of shrugged it off, settled a little lower in the seat (1/2 inch), bent my feet and back into a new spatial dimension to accommodate, gave another thumbs up to the cc camera. We were off!
By the time I clambered back down into the train station, I was a wreck. My hair was frozen, fingernails were blue, and I was hungry. I also had to use the facilities. While I was indulging myself, my legs buckled. Pain knifed crosswise through my knees, pushing me into a stumble into the wall next to the urinal. I could suddenly barely stand up! I gingerly and wobblily made my way to the sink and then through the door. My body was telling me to "SIT" and "STRETCH" my knees. They had apparently been overextended with my weight directed on the joint from the wrong angle for a bit too long. Like an hour too long. I couldn't find a dry bench, so I collapsed on the terminus's steps. I circled my ankles with my hands and pulled my feet back to me, and sat with my knees and back bent double, huddled. That seemed to help tremendously. I had recovered myself after about 5 minutes, probably also gaining a few stares I hadn't been able to look up to see. Thank goodness Cafe Orient, my first choice for lunch based on the reviews, was only a block or two away from the station, at 77 George Street. I made my way haltingly at first, then with a little more strength, and back to top shape by the time I exited the bus lot.
NOTE: Look for closings before planning a lunch. Cafe Orient, I figured out, after crunching and sliding a mile too far down George Street and back, had been closed, and replaced with a
Nando's Chicken. Enough. I had seen a Yo! Sushi place, I assumed it was similar to the Zushi I had had in Cardiff and I was right. Suitable for the needs. Not as good as Zushi actually, the tuna was brownish, there was a lemon wedge on every plate (?), and they didn't have the 'spicy' options, but protein, wasabi, and fish oil - good for the cold. And hot green tea. I downed a seaweed salad (sweet/tart), a lobster salad (5 langostino tails in citrus), a squid appetizer (4 rings), about 4 plates of sashimi (@ 5 slices, which looked like some Gaijin had sawed at the tuna/abalone with a butter knife), and 2 handleless mugs of tea. Just pick it off from the conveyor track and dive on in!
It was time for me to go. I had conflicting obligations this evening, work and social. I didn't want to give one up for the other, so I figured I'd go back to the hotel and work for a bit, then try to get ahold of Gaz and apologize for being late. Optimism. It had warmed to 0 and 1 (32-34 F) by the time I made it to the car, of course, this had just made the sidewalk slipperier, but no spills or thrills this time. I took off northwards, back to A40, and after picking my way through a fully-awake university town (bikes, backpackers, pedestrians, tourists) at about 15 mph or less, I made it to the highway. The road had mostly melted, in the hills above Oxford to the west, the sun was out and clear, and the temperature had reached about 2. Also, I was on the south side of the road now, which should be getting more sun this time of year. I was still watchful. I noticed that the Land Rover had been towed from its crater, and then I saw a blue P for me to pull off. The hills were somewhat charming, so I took a 5-minute break there by the side of A40, with its view of the Cotteswold hills, and thought: You know, this is pretty cool, to take a morning/day trip, so what if I didn't do everything I wanted for the day? And then the schedule stress just kind of melted away and I was me again. Refinement is sometimes the better part of Design.
I made it back into Cheltenham, finally taking the efficient route and not driving through the hordes of mall-goers and vagabonds (right at the funeral home-church, left when I see the box factory), and pulled up to the queue at the Car Park. Apparently everyone was taking advantage of this lovely weather to do the Great British Pastime - walking around the mall, a.k.a City
Centre or High Street. Oh, darn! Oxford's High Street ('the High') looked pretty interesting, most of the pubs seemed independent, and there were several museum-type shops that I'd like to go back and investigate sometime, but not that day. Anyway, the car park in Cheltenham was one-in, one-out. It was full. I just relaxed and waited the 15 minutes to get in, and I was well-rewarded! The one-out that just happened was right on the first floor! Right by the door out to the road! Ha! I re-entered the Holiday Inn to greet our Naomi again.
"Hey! You're still here!"
"Hiya, yea, I'm alone today, it's not too busy, and I had a call-in [GJF: someone called in sick or personal]. How was Oxford?"
"It was good! Very cold, but educational! Well, but it's beautiful out now! Everyone's out and about, the car park is one-in, one-out!"
"Really? Well, where are you off to?"
"Oh, I'm going back to my room to try to get some work done."
"Oh, ok, then. Good luck!"
"Thanks."
Album:
Facebook "Oxford - Holey Crap It's Cold"[GJF: Written 8 February 2009]
This post will hold my past and future itinerary. It will be subject to change, obviously, as events conspire to f*ck me up. At the end of the blog entries, you may find pictures at the album links (to Facebook) and/or map links (to Google Maps).
in, I reassured the lass at the desk that I wasn't quite ready to check out just yet, and grabbed a coffee to take back to the room while I puttered around with the shower and getting dressed and cleaned. I had packed the stupid deodorant in the car! Dammit! I got my backpack and the plastic bag with the rest of my stuff together and hustled to the desk, checked out (no swipey needed, no additional charges beyond the deposit), slipped and skidded back out to the car, and chucked my stuff in the trunk. I fished out my deodorant and froze my nipples off deodorizing (it was -1 (30 F) out!). Brrrrrr! I jumped in the car, cranked it, and planned my day as it warmed up.
