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Part 2: The West Coast

Wednesday July 20

Never had half past four came round so quickly: my flight out of Boston was before eight, so to have enough time, I had to leave that early. I loaded the car, and set off. It was still dark, so I made good time. Once back on I95, it began to get light. There was the usual mix of idiots on the roads, as well as huge trucks zipping by at over 70mph.

As I approached Boston, I began to be worried as the time now less than two hours until it was time for my plane to leave. Imagine my horror as I passed the only sign to Logan Airport, at the exit I was supposed to take. In fact, the glimpse was so fleeting; I doubted if I saw it at all. To make matters worse, the fuel light had just come on: so I was running on fumes. After 5 frantic minutes looking for clues, I decided to turn round and head north. By then, I had passed several junctions, so I had to guess which one I should take. Thankfully, I had been here before, and thought I recognised the right road to take. After 5 miles, a sign appeared saying I was on the ‘best road to Logan.’ I pulled into the Hertz lot with 90 minutes to spare: thankfully, their check in was as easy as their ads claim, and within 5 minutes I was on the bus to the terminal.

Walking into the terminal, I was confronted by CHAOS. There were queues everywhere, and it looked like it would take hours to get to the front. A helpful member of staff pointed me in the direction of the self service desk. A swipe of a credit card brought up my itinerary, a checked my bags, and was on my way to security: all in under five minutes. So, in less than 15 minutes, I had checked the car in, got to the terminal, checked in and got through security: so now instead of thinking I would miss the plane, I had an hour to kill and time for breakfast, and time to get an English newspaper and read it.

The flight to Chicago was uneventful, apart from the attendants trying to sell us a box of snacks for $3. Still, the drinks are still free. We flew over New Hampshire and Vermont: an endless sea of trees: and onto New York state, right over Buffalo, although I must have been on the wrong side to see the falls.

Chicago was also chaos. Seems like there was a major storm right on our intended flight path, and we would have to fly round it. But this uses fuel, and which meant that four people would have to take a later flight. In the end, after offering $400 vouchers, they got volunteers. The flight took over 4 hours, and really the sheer size of America really hit home.

At Seattle, there were no signs to the hire car pick up points. So, I thought I’d take a lift to the ground floor: only to find that a sign in the lift told me to go to the ground floor. As before, there was no queue, and my car was waiting, a quick signature, and I was given the keys. I got a Mustang, convertible, in deep red. It looked cool, and once the luggage was stored, I turned the key, and the engine roared into life. Of course, the fact it had California plates did not single me out as a tourist at all.

Oh no.

I pulled out of the parking garage, and straight into rush hour traffic. I thought Washington was supposed to be empty? I crawled all the way into Seattle, taking the downtown exit. I had bought a map, but it was an old fashioned fold out type. And the reality of driving whilst opening up the map, and finding where I was and where I wanted to go, became clear.

I found the street where the hotel was, and tried to find my way to it, and then turn on it. And tried again. And again. After an hour of criss-crossing downtown, I headed out to find the other end of Aurora Avenue. I headed on to route 99, which should have also been the right road. After a couple of miles, we went over a high bridge, and then into the suburbs. I realised that this was not right, probably, and took the next exit back into town. I drove as slowly as I could, looking for the hotel. Just as the road entered a tunnel, I took the off ramp, and on my right was the hotel.

At least the tunnel explained why I had crossed it and not found it. There was a parking space right beside the lobby. I needed a shower, and a coffee, so I checked into my room, and headed up. The room was fine, basic, and with a view of an alleyway. But the bed was big, and I had a coffee machine, and a good shower. Just about everything a guy could want.

Having nearly fallen asleep watching the Mariners slump to a seventh innings deficit of 4-1, I decided it was time to go and find something to eat. I walked, heading slowly down towards the waterfront, crossing 6th, 5th, 4th streets, until I came to 1st Street. There was a good collection of bars and places to eat. I chose a place that advertised it sold Pilsner Urquil, and retired to a seat beside a large open wooden shutter: watching the world go by. I thankfully noticed that I did not have a pavement table, as a seemingly endless number of homeless people stopped and asked for change.

I had a great burger, and some more pilsners. Thinking a nice single malt would be the best way to round the meal off, I inquired about the cost of a wee dram: $12. Maybe not. After the long day, I thought it be best if I headed back to the hotel. Walking back through the city after dark was an experience: groups of youths or shady characters hanging on street corners, some hassling single women. I made the promise not to walk again after dark if I could help it.