There once was a couple who decided to drive all night from Billings, Montana to Longmont, Colorado. This after the man finished his second 75 mile day (in a two day day charity ride, mind you), and they ate a leisurely dinner in Jackson Hole, Wyoming.

Three hours from home at three in the morning, this couple pulled into a truck stop for reevaluation.

“Oh my God, I can’t go on,” she said.

“And to think we used to work mid-shifts.” He added.

“We’re to old for this shit.” She said.

“You’re the one that insisted we go directly home.”

She sulked.

A promise was made to travel ‘normal old-people hours.’

I don’t recall why, something to do with available connections, that man scheduled nighttime travel plans. It started with a flight from the Island of Naxos to Athens, Greece at the dinner hour. Then a four hour flight to London. Cheap airline, cheap seats, crammed into a flying tin can without enough room for your knees, to cross two time zones. Arriving at our accommodations at the stroke of midnight, we needn’t worry about changing into pumpkins, we were already there.

This morning, bright and early, we hopped a bus, a train, a subway and then another train.

I misread/misunderstood a platform sign. I thought it said all trains go to Stansted Airport and hopped on an express to Cambridge. Larry stood outside and questioned me.

I thought he was questioning the car I was standing in for seat availability.

“We can walk to other cars and look,” I said, “Get on!”

Forty six minutes ticks real slow when you’re headed the wrong way.

Forty six minutes ticks real slow when you go over in your mind the mistakes you made that lead you astray.

Forty six minutes ticks real slow when you can’t do a damn thing.

I was humbled.

Switching trains to head back from where we came, a man said, “You’ll love Killarney, we went a few years ago.” Then he asked, “Do you have waterproof boots?”

“No, we’ll purchase some if we need.” I smiled, patting my backpack sitting on my lap like a baby.

“You’ll need them. It’s very wet there.” He added.

After passing go and not collecting 200 dollars, or here’s a better analogy, weaving in and out through a zoo where all the animals are running around loose, we made it to and through the Stansted airport into the holding pen.

“Makes you really appreciate Denver (airport),” Larry remarked.

“I hope I never have to go through this airport again.”

“Well you’ll have to.”

“What?!”

“When we return…”

“Oh yeah, I mean after that.”

Watching the digital sign board for our gate assignment I asked, “What are they called?”

“What?”

“Wedgies?” I answered.

Questioning look

“Waterproof boots.” I elaborated.

“Wellies.” He laughed and added, “I can give you a wedgie.”