Here I was in Heathrow airport, a little giddy from the time change and the fact that my round-the-world trip was really underway. I had to call my friend from Wales and our London business associates, but otherwise the day was mine--and so were the next 3 weeks, I reminded myself.
My Welsh friend, Bill (a.k.a. Owen, a.k.a. Saer-san), as I'd expected, was busy this evening, so could I entertain myself in London today and come to Wales tomorrow? Of course. The London business associates were pretty busy all day, although they'd go out of their way to make me feel welcome. No worries, I said, let's meet for beer after you're done.
So now I really had the day to myself. What I really wanted to do was head for the Hundred Acre Wood. The train information booth said try the bus. The bus said it couldn't be done--they couldn't even find Hartsel (the nearest town to the hallowed woods that are home to Winnie The Pooh) on their maps. The article I had--the one I'd clipped two years ago in case I ever had a free day in England--suggested driving so you could get deeper into the forest. So I'd drive!
Through the whole rental process they never asked if I'd driven in the U.K. (or anywhere on the left side of the road). Of course I hadn't. Neither had I studied up on English rules of the road--how difficult could it be? So I got to the car--a subcompact that made American sub-compacts look like limos--and opened the left door. A bit surprised to see the steering wheel on the other side (yes, my plan really was this half-baked), I played it cool by dropping my bags on the passenger seat as if I'd meant to open that door.
The pedals are the same, but the gear shift (I really hadn't
expected a rental to be a standard transmission, but once again, I hadn't
done my homework) was on the left. That took some getting used to--more getting
used to than I managed. I was still struggling with it at the end of the
day.
My problems getting out of the parking lot were less driving on the left, and more that I misread the signs to the exit. Three times. Who was it that said the U.S. and U.K. were "two lands divided by a common language"?
Once on the road, I was alternately yelling out loud how cool it was to be driving in the U.K. and chanting to myself the mantra "Stay left! Stay left! Stay left!" I made the first couple turns, but on my first roundabout attempt I missed and got on the M23 headed the wrong way (north). The next exit proved to be 5 or 6 kilometers away and it was one of those confusing spaghetti-bowl intersections where a simple U-turn easily becomes a U-uh oh-U-damn!-U-turn. Somehow I found myself on the M25 headed East. It looked to be another several kilometers before I'd have another chance to take a wrong turn.
The next exit, however, proved to be a simple left exit onto a quiet little farm highway called the A22. It just so happens that this was the road that takes me to Hartsel. I guess planning is overrated--did I get my sense of direction (or lack thereof) from Pooh? My flubbed turn only added about fifteen minutes to the trip--and all fifteen minutes were beautiful English country roads.
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