Monday 7 August, 1230 British Summer Time, Victoria Station, London SW1

The two VW Kombi vans were parked as close to the station as Desmond and Nina could get without risking the wrath of the traffic wardens, the most hated creatures in Britain.

Desmond himself was sitting in the station refreshment room, where he had decided against the cheese sandwiches, a sensible choice on a warm day in general, instead having a Cornish pastry, the slightly spicy item likely being the last truly British cuisine he would have for a few months unless he could got invited to a fancy do at one of Her Majesty's Embassies.

Nina was guarding the two vans, where some of the backpacks were stowed on roof racks and others had been place on the rear two seats of each of them. There was room for a maximum of six people in each van as a result and if you rode shotgun, you had better be able to read a map.

She glanced at her watch. They would need to get away very soon after 1pm; it would be a drive of around two and a quarter hours as London traffic could be notorious. Then they would have to check in and go through Passport Control, who might decide to search their van for drugs, even if most of that stuff was going the other way.

"If you need the loo, go now. You can't pull over for a p**s here and we likely won't see another one until we're on the ferry," was her friendly advice.

In the morning, Casey is up early. He takes a long shower, not knowing what the weeks ahead might bring in terms of facilities. Checking out, he consults a little tourist map of the West End and shoulders his duffel, stepping out into the cool early morning with his guitar case in hand.

He walks to Buckingham Palace where he stands outside the gates, taking in the glittering sight. Then he hikes on to Westminster Abbey, contenting himself with walking the grounds. Someday soon he intends to return to London and see the sights properly.

He turns his steps toward Victoria Station, passing through Victoria Tower Gardens for a glimpse of the Thames. He goes by Westminster Cathedral and stops in at a small cafe in sight of the station for a quick bite.

He enters the station and finds his way to the refreshment room, looking over the tables for someone who might be Desmond Weaver.

Weaver handily had put a sign on his table, saying "Overland Adventures" in large black felt tip pen. As he saw Casey approach, he raised a hand in greeting.

On the table were the remains of his pasty and a British Rail double arrow cup containing some tea that was probably cold by now.

"Hello there!" he called out.

With the prospect of sitting in a Kombi van for several hours with a bunch of relative strangers ahead, James opted to wait outside and stretch his legs. He had showered earlier and enjoyed a hefty breakfast, so would get by until much later in the day. The air would never be particularly fresh around here, but it was slightly better than inside the station cafe.

"I'm good," was all he said to Nina, before offering her a cigarette.

He had one himself and puffed slowly away while he leaned against one of the vans and indulged himself in a favourite pastime - watching people pass by. With shades on it was even simpler, the freedom to look closely at anyone and everyone without even moving one's head, which allowed you to really look closely at someone...just for the sake of it. Idle curiosity, or passive study, had always been a habit of his. Sometimes it was useful, and other times it just filled in the hours.

Soon they would be on their way, to the ferry, France and beyond. Despite his calm and outwardly cool demeanour James was itching to get started, for a variety of reasons. Reasons he was already shoving to the back of his mind...

Nina declined the cigarette.

"Thanks for the offer, but I don't smoke. Tried it once at school, behind the bike sheds, coughed all over the shop, got caught by the teacher. Got caned for it too..."

She glanced at the roof rack and gave the straps a quick flick to make sure that they were secure.

"But to each his own. Just make sure you have the window open if you're smoking in the van."

George briskly walked past a couple long haired hippies alongside two packed VW buses, his confidence that he hadn't missed the Overland company's departure was immediately boosted and a wide smile crept across his face as he pressed on. The sight energized him and he picked up his pace as he crossed through the main entrance to Victoria Station in search of a Mr. Desmond Weaver.

Finally stumbling upon the rather unimpressive 'Overland Adventures' table George unshouldered his large  military surplus duffel, softly set down his toolbox and huffed an audible sigh of relief that he'd made the trek across town with at least some time to spare. He reached into his jacket pocket, produced and briefly rifled through some papers pertaining to the trip. George had spotted the modest hand written sign for the travel company just after another man, long haired with a full beard and sporting a leather bomber jacket, had approached its representative. He presumed the man across the table from them was Desmond Weaver and would find out soon enough.

As he stood waiting, George crossed a pair of fingers behind his back that space was still available on the international excursion. He was certain he wouldn't be getting any money back from the rather questionable James St. James, a fast talking agent at Globe-Trekkers Travel who assured him that in addition to the big upfront fee, the 'experience of a lifetime' required little more than being current on shots and toting a valid passport. High risk, high reward George told himself.
This message was last edited by the player at 06:27, Thu 16 Sept 2021.

Gillian stood near the Kombi vans, relishing a last chance to stretch her legs before spending a couple of hours cooped up in a small van. She was wearing a denim minidress over a T-shirt, and cork sandals.

"I'm OK."

She wasn't five!

Her breakfast had been what a British hotel called 'Continental'; she was looking forward to seeing what the real thing was like.
This message was last edited by the player at 17:56, Sun 19 Sept 2021.

Desmond looked up at the approaching gentleman and looked down at a document behind him. He'd got the photographs of all the people who were coming on this trip, but this guy wasn't someone that he recognised.

"Can I help you at all?" he asked at the new arrival.

****
"Glad to hear it," Nina replied, then moved over to the second van. This had a 'D' sticker on the side, which Gillian recalled stood for Deutschland. This was from West Germany. Well, it was highly unlikely to be from East Germany, who didn't exactly make Volkswagens, despite the word Volk meaning "people" and their army, the one that would have been a threat to her husband when he was in the RAF, being literally called the Nationale Volksarmee.

She opened the door and pulled out a walkie talkie.

"Hey, would you mind taking this down to the coach station and seeing if it works?"

OOC: I did initially write this for a CB radio, but those weren't exactly legal in the UK in 1972 and with the number of frontiers we are crossing, the risk would be rather high of confiscation or fines.
This message was last edited by the player at 20:00, Sun 19 Sept 2021.

In reply to Desmond Weaver (msg # 3):

"Hi," Casey says, "Hello, I'm Casey Nelson and I'm booked for your overland trek." He indicates his duffel and guitar case.

He glances at the other potential traveler, chuckling, "Sorry there, didn't mean to interrupt."

"Sorry! Sorry..." George apologized with a nod to Casey whom he inadvertently cut off in line with the distraction of his arrival, and a nod to Desmond who hopefully wouldn't be put out by his last minute arrival.

"George Edwards, last moment addition, I'm looking for Desmond Weaver..." he introduced himself to the two men, "... all paid up, I booked with James St. James. At Globe-Trekkers?" he seemed less sure of his arrangements as the last few words left his lips. George reached forward and gingerly laid his travel documents and a receipt from the booking agent on the table before taking a large step back.

"I can wait, please go ahead!" he motioned for Casey to take the lead in line.

Desmond nods and takes a look at the list. He identifies Casey's name on it, reaches for a pen whose origin is from his wife's home country and places a nice blue tick against it.

Then he glances at George and back down at the list.

"Well, I assume that you've paid the full amount to Sinjin... but he doesn't appear to have paid it to me," Desmond replies. "You look like a decent enough chap. Then again, so did Kim Philby... anyway."

He glanced at his watch.

"I'll send him a telex when we get to Brussels. So, tell me a bit about yourself, George Edwards. Since we're going to be spending a few months together, might as well get to know each other."

"Well sir, there isn't much to say. I guess that's why I'm here!" excitement  crept into his voice and mannerisms now that he'd secured himself a seat on the trip.


"Canadian born, Windsor Ontario. Been living in West Germany where my father is stationed, I've turned wrenches since I was a boy. Spent the last  year working at Wolfsburg as a contracted gastarbeiter but now I really just want to stretch out and see the world but, y'know, I didn't want to go-it alone." George lightly kicked the toolbox at his feet halfway through his introduction to lend credence to his story.

"Oh, and I like Motown but I dig a lot of the Brit bands too." he added with a grin.

"Say, are those your loaded buses out front?" he asked, aiming a thumb back over his shoulder, motioning toward the main entrance.

"Not out the front, no," Desmond replied. "We're on a side street. Anything right out on the forecourt that isn't London Transport, the Metropolitan Police, British Rail or a black cab is going to get ticketed in short order. We're on one of the side streets. Guildhouse Street to be exact. Unless you've got an A to Z - that's a street atlas - suggest you stay here and we'll walk over together.

"Okay, great." Casey pulls out a chair and sits at the table, glad to take a load off his feet after a morning of walking on city streets.

"Sure, I'm ready to jam-out whenever." he was a bit hungry but that wasn't going to spoil his good mood and he certainly wasn't going to wander off now that he was locked in for the trip.

George watches Casey pull up a chair for himself and does likewise, making sure to leave ample room for any new check-ins to approach the table. He can't help but smile as he looks around at everyone coming and going through the room, thinking only of his travels ahead.

"Say, where ya from?" George eyes Casey's bag sporting a maple leaf patch. "Always good to join paths with a fellow Canuck." his Canadian accent strengthened a bit from when he spoke with Desmond moments before.

"Oh, that," Casey replies, looking a bit abashed, "I'm from California really. A friend who'd been traveling in Europe suggested it. He said people were kind of negative to him when they found out he was American, especially when he told them he'd been in the Army. Viet Nam and all, y'know?"

"We've actually got another Canadian joining us on the trip, George. Name's Rose. She'll be joining us in Nuremberg. I actually served in Germany myself with the RAF. Truck driver for a Canberra squadron. No. 16 out of Laarbruch. I think you call the Canberra the B-57? Anyway, I was mainly involved in making sure we had enough food and drink for our operations."

He sighed slightly.

"Joined back in '58 when I turned 18, left in '66 after eight years. That included some rather hairy years, as you can no doubt imagine especially because 16 Squadron is a nuclear bomber squadron..."

He chuckled.

"Got out of my reservist commitment, thank God, three months back. Because after actually seeing Russians in the flesh, I have no desire to fight them any time soon. Good thing we're getting some proper arms control now, eh?"

Given they could still be waiting a while, Jimmy didn't want to use up an entire pack of cigs, and people-watching was perhaps slightly rude when there was company. He looked to Nina, attractive and wordly, with the exotic air of someone born away from these shores. Desmond was doing well for himself, though he was hardly an ogre by any stretch. Idle curiosity crept upon him.

"So Nina, what are your best and worst experiences when travelling? You know my worst one from the conversation at lunch yesterday. And I can imagine being interrogated for two hours ranks down with your worst, but perhaps there was another time? And please tell me your best is something other than meeting Des..!"

Nina chuckled slightly.

"That was definitely one of my worst..." she replied. "But I would have to say the worst time was when we were off the coast of Greece in a fishing boat... and it sank with not enough life jackets to go round for everyone. Fortunately, we were quickly picked up and everyone lived, but I've not been back in a boat since."

She did the radio check with Gillian. Once that was done, she could her to come back.

"As for the best, a sunrise over the mountains of Iran would definitely be up there. Along with, oddly enough, a monkey stealing my lunch in Gibraltar."

"Oh sure, I get it. I everyone from over there is supposed to be like the guys in Endless Summer eh? We had a lot of people dodge up our way from The States, a real mess..." George can only shake his head as he trails off not wanting to possibly offend Desmond who mentioned his service.



"That's great, we always tend to flock together like geese... My dad's based in Laarbruch right now with the Canadian Forces Europe in the 4 Canadian Mechanized Brigade... those are some big birds! ... and yeah, maybe the world's finally headed back in the right direction." George folds his hands and sits back in his chair to think for a moment.

Desmond nodded.

"Indeed."

The rest of the time until the 'last call' passed in some decent conversation and then it was time to start this long, slightly crazy, journey...

Gillian completed the radio check with Nina, then returned.

"Seems OK. How long until we have to get underway?"

She didn't want the trip to start by missing the ferry.