Tatsfield Churchyard yesterday, but I aborted Monday's ride...

I woke up on Monday morning around 0320hrs and couldn't get back to sleep. It was starting to get light outside and I was scheduled to go on a ride later, but couldn't contemplate it as I fidgeted around in bed trying to sleep. At around 0400hrs I decided that an abort text would be the best policy. Annoying as I'm guessing the weather will be fine and sure enough it is. After aborting I jumped back into bed and awoke to hear that the Brexit Party had stormed ahead of everybody else in the European elections. Farage now intends to have policies (other than just Brexit) and take on the establishment at the general election (whenever that takes place).

I made porridge with blueberries, strawberries, grapes and bananas and then moved to the living room to check out the BBC website. The Brexit party's success was the lead item so I decided to visit my blog instead, and here I am.

Yesterday we rode to the Tatsfield Churchyard following the same route as Saturday - down Slines Oak Road, along Butler's Dene Road and through the golf course until we reached The Ridge where we turned left and headed towards the top of Titsey Hill. It was then a case of sailing down Clarks Lane and hanging a right close to the Park Wood Golf Club.

The Tatsfield Churchyard is a perfect place for a summer ride, the best destination, certainly first thing in the morning. We watched as a Spitfire flew past heading east, probably out of Biggin Hill airport, which is a few miles from where we were sitting, sipping tea. Andy was munching biscuits, but I've given them up, although later in the day I would eat around half a dozen ginger nuts, courtesy of a free promotion at Sainsbury's that was celebrating something. Free ginger nuts and free tea arrived at the house around lunch time and I can't resist a ginger nut (or any biscuit for that matter). But I'm trying to cut them out and largely I've succeeded. I reckon the only way to cut things out is not an outright ban, but looking at situations where they can be omitted, like on the ride. I've cut out biscuits on the ride and I don't have milk in my porridge any more, just water, although, to be fair, I only used to have half a cup of semi-skimmed milk mixed with half a cup of water, so I wasn't giving up a great deal. Still, it all counts.

Why Peggy?

The main topic of conversation was the name Peggy. One of the headstones, for a Gladys Jean Shrubb, explained how she was always known as 'Peggy' and I started to wonder what Peggy was short for. In the end I consulted Google and discovered it was a short form for Margaret, but that didn't explain why Gladys was so-called. Andy said that his dad, Sidney, was always known as Bill at work and that when Andy was born (back in the day when dads didn't feel obliged to attend the birth - my dad was at work when I was born) his real name was boomed over the tannoy and nobody knew a Sidney. "Oh, you mean Bill," somebody eventually twigged and Andy's dad was told that his wife had given birth to a son.

The plan for today (Bank Holiday Monday) was to go out later (meeting at 0800hrs instead of 0730hrs)  and ride to Westerham for breakfast in the Tudor Rose, but it wasn't to be. If I ride at all today, it'll be a short one, a late short one, over to mum's, perhaps, but I might just slob around* and do nothing until next weekend when I'll be raring to go.

* I slobbed around and did nothing.

Three weeks out of the saddle...

The last time I took the bike out of the garage it was still April. I haven't been on it for three weeks and I've started to notice things. I feel sluggish and fat basically. I've had a week in the USA where I've tried to eat sensibly, but sometimes 'looking after myself' goes out of the window and is replaced by chocolate chip cookies and fizzy drinks, French fries and cheese and if you take into consideration that I've lapsed a bit on the walking sessions at lunch time, then you might have some idea of the way I'm feeling.

My bike taking it easy at the Tatsfield Bus Stop, Saturday 26 May 2019*

Not going cycling for three weeks isn't good on any level and when it comes to getting up at the crack of dawn (well, 0600hrs) then it's even harder. I had the alarm set for 0630hrs, which was a mistake as it didn't give me any time to chill out and slowly wake up while making my porridge. So I went without, which is rare for me, and instead had cold Weetabix sprinkled with a dash of sugar. It wasn't the most appetising of breakfasts, I can tell you, especially as I hadn't really put enough milk in the bowl, leaving the second biscuit dry and crumbly. "Roughage, that's what you need," as my dad might have chipped in had he been standing there.

I got out around 0710hrs, unpadlocked the bike and headed off in the direction of Warlingham Green. Andy was there and we decided to ride to the bus stop via Slines Oak Road and the golf course, turning left instead of right when we reached the road. We cycled past what might still be Al Fayed's house, although I have a feeling he's moved on. Past the road that dips down into Oxted and onwards towards the mini roundabout at the top of Titsey Hill. We sailed down Clarks Lane in the direction of Westerham and swung into the bus stop, and then out came the tea, the best part of the ride.

The grass in front of the bus stop had become overgrown, but that didn't stop us from flinging our teabags off a spoon and into the long grass. It's a game we play every week. "Teabags are biodegradable, so it's okay to discard them irresponsibly." Yeah, right, Matthew, that's why you always see huge piles of banana skins and teabags littering the country. Andy's better at it than I am (flinging tea bags) but today I think I did well having slung my two teabags almost into the road, which is the Holy Grail in this game. I haven't the foggiest idea what the locals think of us.

Tea finished we headed off, vowing to visit the Tatsfield Churchyard for Sunday's ride and possibly Westerham for bank holiday Monday. It all depends on the weather.

I was going to ride back with Andy, but thought I'd get back quick and get on with the day so I rode down the 269 and half way along - well, probably not even half way, more like a quarter of the way - I jumped on to the off-road path, which meant I was risking a puncture. That would scupper me, though, and I really didn't want to fix a puncture as that would mean a visit to Halfords to buy some leeches. In fact, I'm hoping I can avoid a puncture this weekend as I've got no means of repairing it. Let's not even go there.

I reached home before 0945hrs and got on with the rest of my day.

* Pic by Andy Smith.

Thoughts on a flight from New York to London...

I reached the airport in good time and I'm glad I never weakened and took a cab. Besides, these days I'm getting a little tired of taxi drivers because, in the UK at any rate, there's a growing number of drivers who want to get their racist beliefs out in the open and they always assume that everybody holds the same views and just need a little coaxing. I might have mentioned a British taxi driver who was so racist, his own colleagues called him Gupta.

The New York subway is just like it looks in the movies, but not as edgy. It's full of commuters and, on the E line, travellers like myself and holidaymakers heading for the Air Train. I forgot to check the terminal, but discovered, once on the Air Train, that all BA flights arrived and departed from Terminal 7. I checked my bags in, handing over my emergency passport, and then walking away unfettered by cumbersome luggage.

It's a six-hour flight and we're due to land in London half an hour earlier than scheduled. Food eaten, two hours have flown by and I'm listening to REM on the plane's sound system. It's a Jumbo jet and I'm sitting in seat 39K, a bulkhead seat with plenty of legroom, which is all I ask for on flights of over four hours. The jackpot is to get a window too, and that's what I've got, but being as it's a night flight, there's little point - until things brighten up, that is. I like to see what's going on outside, especially when there's turbulence.

Daylight as we head towards Ireland

In life, there's very little that upsets me more on a flight than a baby crying and I can't work out why. It makes me feel really, terribly sad. I find that flying can be emotional too, so putting the two things together is the most awful thing for me. There's always a baby crying somewhere on a plane.

I remember having trouble once on a flight to Chicago, although I hasten to add that babies were not involved. By 'having trouble' I mean being in danger of getting a little over emotional about things. Music is the trigger and certain compositions can bring a tear to my eye and I then have to spend time concealing myself from prying eyes, which is difficult if you're on a plane. On that occasion, I had a window seat, so I could turn my head to one side and try to calm myself down. Sometimes, listening to music can be my downfall.

There was an occasion in Manchester, in a boutique hotel, when I was caught unawares. I'd bought a Supertramp CD on Euston station and when I reached the room, on discovering there was a CD player, I played it and found that a certain track took me over the top again. I remember lying back on the bed, staring at the ceiling with tears in my eyes. Fortunately, I was alone. The problem (if that's what it was) can be traced back to the late 1980s. I was driving to work and had reached a multi-storey car park when a certain piece of music, by a band called Spirit, grabbed my attention and took me by surprise. It took me a while to recover. I simply sat in the car on the top storey of the car park staring at the tree tops until I felt sufficiently normal to head into the office. Such vulnerability lasted for almost 20 years, possibly longer, but it's not there anymore. It sometimes happened with other art forms. I remember reading Milton Kessler's Thanks Forever, a poem from the London Underground; and then there was Bruce Robinson's The Peculiar Memoirs of Thomas Penman, both tearjerkers in their own strange way. It still happens occasionally. There's a fine line between euphoria and grief.

During the flight, turbulence on a couple of occasions made it difficult to write long hand, but looking at my notes as I copy type them into the lap top, the handwriting wasn't too badly affected.

I keep replaying tracks from REM at the BBC, it's the only thing worth listening to in my opinion. REM has it sized in my opinion; tracks like Orange Crush, Radio Song and Man on the Moon pass the time and I listen to them over and over again.

I'm still finding it hard to believe that I was in New York and later I'll be finding it hard to believe that I was up here, at 38,000, looking down as the skies brighten around me. But New York! I was there: Madison, 42nd Street, Park Avenue, Lexington, it's as if it was a dream. While I was there I mooched endlessly around the city, I drank mint tea in a Starbucks on Second Avenue, I sat in the back of a Yellow Cab and I stared upwards to find the tops of skyscrapers. The last time I was in the Big Apple I was staying at the Parker Meridien hotel and on one occasion, while waiting for the lift to the ground floor, the lift doors open to reveal Brian May, Roger Taylor and John Deacon of Queen. It was one of those moments I dined out on for many years - and still do. It was when Radio Ga Ga was in the charts.

By my reckoning, there's around two hours left of this six-hour flight. There's nobody in the seat next to me, but there's a woman in the aisle seat who has spent the entire flight covered from head to toe with a blanket. Outside it is getting light and there's nothing but cloud and we're high up.

I am starting to tire of REM, but perhaps I'll listen to Orange Crush one more time and then call it day. "We are agents of the free," warbles Stipe. Perhaps I'll listen to Radio Song again too. I remember when Out of Time was released; good and bad times, mainly uncertainty caused by looming redundancy, or had I already lost my job? Yes, I had. I remember the blue Cavalier I was driving, E108 HPH was the licence plate. I can remember all my plates. You could say I'm a sad, sad man.

I've switched on the map and we've passed the Charlie-Gibbs Fracture Zone and have just one hour and 45 minutes left before we land. I've put on Orange Crush again, it's so good, and I simply had to act fast as the song starting up was Love is Around Me, you know, the theme to Four Weddings and a Funeral. Surely that wasn't REM. Tell me it wasn't REM. I always remember it being Wet Wet Wet. Truly awful. Either way, I don't want to be reminded of that terrible movie.

Outside, it's getting a little choppy again. I think I prefer my turbulence when it's dark. We're headed towards Ireland and there's 90 minutes to go. We touch down at 0812 hrs. The seat belt signs have come back on and now it's clearer outside; I can see cloud below now. We're heading towards Porcupine Bank on our left and Porcupine Plain on the right and again I'm intrigued as to what they both are. I remember trying to learn more about the Charlie-Gibbs Fracture Zone and getting nowhere. And what, pray, is the Maury Seachannel? Time for Orange Crush again. I'm getting boring (was I ever anything else?). I'd better sign off.

Killing time in New York...

Two weird coincidences, sort of; first, arriving in New York at Penn Station was incredible. I don't know what it is, but there's something monumental about the city, you kind of know you're here, but at the same time you're wowed by the fact that you are here, it's an unbelievable place. I don't know, perhaps it's just me, but hey, I'm in New York and for some reason that's special. Anyway, and this will sound odd: the first thing I thought about as I waited for a cab outside of the station was Phil Collins and that time, back in 1985, when he performed at both Live Aids (in London and then Philadelphia). It came into my mind for some reason and then, once in my hotel room, I was watching a random interview given by John Lydon, in which he talked, quite candidly, about a number of subjects, including how he and his wife Nora had lost a baby. Very sad to hear that and I'm guessing the interview was fairly old, easily 10 years ago, as he said he'd just turned 50 at the time. In the same interview, although it might have been a different one, I watched half a dozen, he talked about being charitable and mentioned Phil Collins' appearance at both Live Aids. As Lydon rightfully pointed out, the money spent should have gone to the charity, there was no need for Collins to be at both events.

Home of the British Consulate in New York

Similarly, another coincidence. I am reading Will Self's Psychogeography at the moment and there's a bit where Self asks his readers when they realised that Evian (as in the mineral water) was 'Naive' spelt backwards. Well, at the risk of being a right pain in the arse, I remember the moment very clearly. I was sitting in the Selsdon Park Hotel in South Croydon with a marketing executive from a rival mineral water company - in the office we knew him only as a 'poor man's Richard Madeley'. As we sat at the bar he said, "Did you know that Evian is 'naive' spelt backwards?" I remember thinking about it and realising he was right. From then on, for a few months, I asked everybody else the same question, although I don't think many people found it as exciting as I did. I mean, even I didn't find it as exciting as I found it. The poor man's Richard Madeley, of course, was suggesting that people who purchased Evian mineral, and not his brand, were naive, but I can't even remember the name of his brand and I don't think you'll find it on the shelves today.

Lexington Avenue, New York...

I'm in New York, sitting in a Starbucks on Second Avenue and 50th Street. I've just eaten a cookie and I'm sipping from a large paper cup full of mint tea, killing time while the British Consulate, which is just up the road, processes my emergency travel documentation and thereby ensuring that I will leave the country later today. I'm not being deported, I  had my passport 'stolen' from the hotel I was staying in back in Pittsburgha (the hotel was totally responsible) and had to train it to New York to go through what turned out to be a fairly straightforward process.

It's weird being on the other side of the Atlantic and still listening to the same music. "I'm over yoooooo and I don't need your love no more, oooh I'm over you, don't call me up!"

Yellow cabs pass by and so do people and trucks. "I'm over yooooo and I don't need your love no more...don't call me up".

Last night the hotel was fine. The room was smaller than the Sheraton and I decided not to use the safe, just in case the hotel engineer decided to come on up and take out my lap top and defunct passport. Just one night, but it was fine, although I hate hotels that don't conform with the designers' rule of 'function before form'. A tiny round marble bowl with no plug. It doesn't work, guys, just give me a proper sink with a normal tap that works. And how about a plug? It's not big, it's not clever and hey, it's not even trendy, just very, very annoying. There was no restaurant either, which is often fine with me as it means I can explore what's out there, which I did. I found an Italian place, a pricey one - Montebelo's -  and, as always, it's never worth it. All I had was a bowl of soup, a bottle of Pellegrino and a chicken-based main course and I got little change from $70. Still, you live and learn. Look, don't get me wrong, it was alright, just a little on the expensive side. It came heartily recommended by Danny, the hotel concierge. Thanks, Danny.

Breakfast was fine, but it lacked the excitement of other hotel offerings.

Breakfast was okay. I had scrambled egg, a bowl of bran flakes with raisins, a bagel and a pastry, not forgetting a cup of English Breakfast tea. The breakfast offering, however, wasn't that substantial and I didn't have the feeling that I often get in hotels where there's a lot more on offer and I can really go to town, so to speak, but it wasn't at all bad.

I checked out early, long before the official noon check-out time, and headed towards the British Consulate, which was about 20 minutes away on foot. While there I struck up a conversation with a young chap from Muswell Hill who left his passport on the plane coming over and was waiting for emergency documentation to get home. We talked about all sorts of stuff, with me doing most of the talking, boring him, no doubt, with travellers' tales. "See that buildin' over there? It's full of politician sheeet!" The Consulate offices were on the 27th floor of a tall skyscraper on Second Avenue, but it was all very pleasant and soon I was waltzing out of there with a beige-coloured emergency passport. I was told I would have to give it up when I arrived in the UK.

Only certain people will get this shot...

New York is a vibrant, industrious city with lots of people milling around, going about their daily business and I love it. Actually, that's the good thing about America as a whole, that feeling that people are getting on with stuff. Goods trains carrying coking coal or aggregates or goodness knows what, endless goods trains pulled by two massive locomotives heading, perhaps, for an integrated steel mill somewhere, people selling flowers from highly perfumed stalls, office workers behind numerous windows in faceless skyscrapers, hotel workers checking people in and out, hordes of people waiting for the stop sign to beckon them across the street, gig economy workers on ridiculously fast electric bikes darting in and out of traffic. It's all good. There's something solid about New York, like there was something solid about the Amtrak train I took from Pittsburgh to NY Penn Station yesterday.

If you want to read about the experience that led me to be in New York, just click here.

The excellent Morning Star cafe on 2nd Avenue, good value, great food

After getting my temporary passport I looked around for somewhere decent to have lunch. I chose a traditional establishment called The Morning Star Cafe. It was fantastic. I ordered another mint tea (two, in fact) and I had penne with chicken, garlic and brocolli. It was good, very good, and I left on a high. We need more traditional cafes here in the UK, normal food, not poncy places with poncy food like you see on MasterChef. I had plenty of hassles to come, such as going through airport security. Why is it that some airports demand that I take off my shoes (like JFK) while others, (like London Heathrow) don't? It's one of those questions that never receives a straight answer.

Lunch at the Morning Star cafe...

But before the airport loomed large I wandered around, I mooched about, as I'm prone to in foreign cities. I moseyed on up Lexington and somewhere I turned on to 42nd Street and then passed all the big street names: Madison, 5th, Park Avenue. I was tired, if I'm honest, and I couldn't be bothered with the spectacle. I wasn't interested in shopping, I'd sat in a Starbucks earlier and besides, they all looked crammed with people and I wanted something a little more chilled. I decided it was time to wander back to the hotel, pick up my bags and trundle them towards the subway where I'd catch the E train. At the station a man was playing a steel drum, bringing a sense of carnival to proceedings. The station was packed, however, and it lent an additional sense of chaos to everything.

I'd reached the airport by taking the subway on Lexington and then jumping on the so-called Air Train. It was fine. I purchased a Metro Card at Lexington for $7.00 and it saw me all the way through. But! There's always a 'but': Because I swiped the card twice in order to chase after my suitcase, which had scampered off through the barrier on its own, like an unruly dog, I had to pay extra to board the Air Train. All was well, however, and I reached JFK's terminal seven (where the BA planes arrive and depart) with plenty of time to spare. After a turkey and Swiss roll, a large cup of some kind of exotic herbal tea and a banana, I moseyed around and then made for Gate 10 where my Jumbo jet to London was waiting.

On the subway at Lexington

I sat in seat 39K, a window seat with a 'bulkhead' meaning a wall, a little more leg room and a spare seat in between myself and the passenger in the aisle, who spent the entire flight covered head to toe in a blanket, like a criminal arriving at the Old Bailey. Later she told me she was cold, leaving me to wonder why it is that women always seem to feel the cold more than men? They're also skilled at wrapping towels round their heads.

The flight was smooth most of the way, but had its bumpy moments, and I spent my time listening to REM, reading Will Self's Psychogeography and writing rubbish in my notebook (you'll be subjected to it at some stage, unfortunately for you). The flight was just six hours and we landed half an hour ahead of schedule at 0830hrs.

Right now I'm sitting in a Caffe Nero inside Terminal 5 (they accept dollars) with a mint tea and an almond croissant and I'm contemplating my next move: train or taxi? I think the latter wins because I have some cumbersome luggage that I don't particularly want to lug anywhere else. Remember that I've pushed my suitcase from the hotel on Lexington Avenue all the way to JFK via the subway. I don't particularly want to continue pushing it.

The subway as we see it on the movies

But when I reached the taxi rank I noticed they were all Black Cabs, which means the journey would be metered. A metered journey means the final cost will be around £100 so I took the Heathrow Express to Paddington (£22) then the Bakerloo and the Victoria Line to Victoria where I picked up a train to Sanderstead. I was picked up at the station and spent the rest of the day lolling around, eventually hitting the sack at 8pm and sleeping through until 6am the following morning. Now it's Sunday and I'm feeling okay, the sun's shining and the garden is looking great. It's good to be home.

Approaching Ireland, nearly home...

On the ground at Heathrow Terminal Five - home at last!

On board the Pennsylvanian from Pittsburgh to New York, Part Two...

It's 1334hrs and we're heading west. We've stopped at Exton. Somewhere we lost the river. Exton looks like anywhere else. The train is now pulling out slowly, passing on my side of the train, the station car park and now there's woods on both sides. I don't think anybody boarded at Exton. We've just gone under the freeway past Fizzano Bros, concrete products. There's a huge pile of hard core and now more woods.

View from room 1306, Renaissance NY Hotel 57....

My eyes feel heavy-lidded and I know that if I was on a bed I'd fall asleep. As I said in a previous post, I never really dealt with the jet lag last weekend. I've been getting around four to six hours of sleep, but at odd times of the day. Invariably I've been awake around 0400hrs and I've never bothered going back to bed once up.

On the streets of New York...

Tonight I'm staying in the Renaissance hotel in the Midtown district of New York, on the East Side. I wanted somewhere close to the British Consulate as I want to reduce all possible hassles to a minimum.

At Philadelphia pulling silly faces...

When I first discovered I'd be on a train for 11 hours, at first I thought it would be an ordeal, but no, it's been fine. I've been on board now six hours and it feels like half that, if not less. We're about to arrive at another stop and it looks like a great little place, loads of wood board houses, nicely maintained with well manicured lawns; there's something peaceful about these small towns (or smallish towns). Paoli is, on reflection, not as small as I thought. The town grew up around an inn in 1769 and was the site of a big battle between the British and Patriot troops, according to Wikipedia, known as the Battle of Paoli. It was also home of Max Patkin, a baseball player and clown.

Arriving at Philadelphia station...

The guard says 25 minutes until Philadelphia and I can't believe how fast the time has flown. Outside the window it's looking a bit suburban. We've just gone through Wayne and the houses are big, loomy affairs and now we're here in Philly. They've turned off the lights for some reason and I know they're planning to change the locomotive, but it's now 1417hrs and I think there's about three to four hours to go before we arrive in New York. A lot of people have disembarked and they've switched off the lights. A few of us are sitting here in the dark as they detach the locomotive and fit one on the other end and now the train is travelling in the opposite direction heading towards Trenton. We've taken on more passengers too, but not that many. I've still got two seats to myself as the train picks up speed and passes grafitti-covered walls and bridges. Once again, things get a little more suburban, but it's messy out there now, containers covered in graffiti, scenery that looks familiar and then I remember why. Exactly a year ago I was here taking a train out to Chestnut Grove and I remember some of these downtrodden neighbourhoods.

Mint tea and a cookie - and what a great cookie!

The streets are looking rough, there are derelict factories, a plane in the sky pulling along an advertising message, but it's too far away to read from the train. On either side of the train it looks like a bomb site of scrap metal and graffiti, parking lots and rundown houses, not the sort of place you'd want to be wandering around late at night. The Jug Handle Inn is advertised, I see a bridge. Industrial sprawl, broken factory windows. Rosenbaum Injury Law. And then we cross a river and, presumably, the state line as we're now in New Jersey and place called Trenton.

Travelling in style (it wasn't THAT good)

The light industrial sprawl and downtrodden neighbourhoods are eventually replaced by woods and greenery and the train is now heading east and I'm not sure of the next stop. Suddenly, more sprawl, a trailer park and a lorry park, the rear-ends of articulated lorries or 'rigs' as the Americans call them, and then woods again and concrete railway sleepers piled up. Flats, a marshalling yard, cranes, lengths of rusty-looking rail and a brownfield site ready to be developed. A freeway, another river, another site ripe for development into residential housing, more housing, we whizz through a station at speed, a leafy suburb, a lake and a fountain, possibly a park and then FedEx trailers, odd bits of graffiti here and there, jet skis and another station passed through at speed. Tennis courts.

At Philadelphia - where's the locomotive?

I've just eaten a ham and cheese baguette. It had a posh name that involved Swiss cheese, but it was basically a cheese and ham roll. I'm now sipping another tea, not mint but possibly camomile, not sure, but I said yes when it was offered. I doubt I'll eat again until dinner. Outside a Home Depot and then low industrial buildings, rigs and white vans, a hotel and new flats. We're going at quite a speed now and it's nearly 5pm, probably around an hour to go and I could be anywhere in northern England on the outskirts of any provincial city. Everything looks fairly quaint, but are these good or bad neighbourhoods, it's hard to tell when you're in a foreign country. I spot a low-flying jet landing somewhere and it all looks fairly pleasant.

Not far from New York...

I'm loving this train ride and wish I could go home all the way by train, but I can't as they haven't built a bridge across the Atlantic yet. I wonder if that's possible?

Where the streets have a name...

We will soon arrive at New York Penn Station and I'm wondering if this is the end of the line. Nope, it's Newark Penn Station. Why has every station got the word 'Penn' included in its name? We're still headed east according to my iphone and I'm now informed we're nearly there, just 15 minutes to go.

Room 1306...Renaissance Hotel 57, NY

Crossing another river and it's more of the same. Parking lots full of trucks and vans, new flats, the New York Red Bulls stadium, marshalling yards. and the train's running parallel to the river, there are subway trains too. Is it the Passaic River? Marshland and in the distance skyscrapers, but not the famous New York skyline. My view is obscured by young trees. Roads, trucks, containers, we're almost there. More marshland. And now we're in a tunnel. This could quite easily be the end of the line.

I disembarked and took a taxi to my hotel, the Renaissance on 130 East 57th Street and I'm only a six-minute walk from where I need to be tomorrow. I'm only here for one reason: to pick up emergency travel documentation so I can leave the country. If you've been reading past posts, you'll know the story, but if not, click here.

On board the Pennsylvanian from Pittsburgh to New York City, Part One...

High up, looking down from the north side of the Monongahela River from Mount Washington, I reflected on the quality of American cuisine. It doesn't matter how you cut it, it's not good. Downtown, the culinary scene in Pittsburgh (and most other places in the USA) is dominated by sports bars, fries and burgers, the word 'chipotle' annoys me too, and after a while I start to feel almost nauseous at the thought of going out for dinner as I know what it will mean. It's not worth ordering dessert because it's going to be big and it's going to be sickly. Add to this mess an edgy week and you might begin to understand how I was feeling. Perhaps I never really recovered from the jet lag. I mean, I never really dealt with it; I simply went to bed, woke up six hours later in the dead of night and then stayed up, fretting about this and that, mostly travel hassles. But now, looking out over the city of Pittsburgh, with a bird's eye view of all three rivers: the Monongahela, the Allegheny and the Ohio, I'm beginning to feel at peace with the world.

The view from the terrace of the Coal Hill steakhouse, Mount Washington

I'm sitting on the terrace of the Coal Hill Steakhouse, recommended to me by Darryl, the hotel's bell captain, admiring the view with a bowl of tomato and basil soup in front of me, a good book (Will Self's Psychogeography) and a beer (non-alcohol) and I'm starting to chill out for the first time in almost a week. My chilled soul was beginning to thaw, let's say. As I sat there listening to the noise of distant motorcycles racing around the downtown below me, I thought of my colleague who is flying home from New York tonight. When I wake up in the morning, he'll be home and for him, that word 'chipotle' will be but a distant memory, along with the fries and the stodge. It's no wonder that some Americans are obese, it's their diet. Somebody tell them.

Another great view...

The hotel shuttle took me up to Mount Washington, but I came down on the Duquesne Incline railway, a steep drop down the side of the 'mountain'. If whatever was holding the car snapped, it would be awful, truly terrifying. I mentioned this to a young couple travelling down with me and they shuddered at the thought. They both hailed from El Paso, a good four to five hours of flying away, they said, and two flights: one to Houston and then to El Paso. It's hard to comprehend the size of the USA, but suffice it to say it's huge, and especially the state of Texas. After bidding goodbye to the young couple who, it turned out, didn't eat at the Coal Hill Steakhouse - they were ignored by the waiter so they upped and left - I found myself down by the river walking nonchalantly towards the Sheraton, past a floodlit football pitch where different groups of boys played the beautiful game. The light was fading and I was glad to be reaching the hotel.

Was the food at the Coal Hill Steakhouse any good? No, it wasn't and it was far too pricey for what it was. I sympathised with the young couple who decided to leave and suggested they tried a place called Eleven, where I had enjoyed lunch (and a dessert) although it was a cut above the average restaurant in town and I knew it well from a previous trip to Pittsburgh. It's been a good three years, but it's still going strong, which is good to know.

Amtrak station in Pittsburgh PA

When I got back to the room I started to pack things up and organise myself for tomorrow's trip, packing stuff away and making sure I hadn't left anything behind in the room. I've not allowed myself any time to recover from the initial jet lag and with all the worry associated with what happened, I started to get a little panicky. I thought I'd lost my Amtrak ticket (I hadn't, but I thought I had). So I took a cab to Penn Station (I think that's what it's called) and got issued with another ticket. I didn't want to take any chances. Now I have two tickets. When I got back to the room I found it, where I left it, in my case. After what happened I'm not taking any chances.

Luxury train travel at its best...

When the taxi turned up to take me to the station I noticed there were two black women, one driving and one in the passenger seat. "I don't like draavin' alone at night," said the driver and went on to explain that the city 'ain't that safe'. She has eight children, four boys, four girls, from different fathers and lives out Homestead way. One of her daughters kept calling her. "Tell her mom's busy earning money," she told her friend of more than 20 years. I said it must be great driving around at night with your best pal. She waited for me to sort out my ticket and then drove me back to the hotel.

I slept until around 0400hrs (which has been the norm all week) then I finished off the packing, checking that everything was out of the room before I left. This week I've been jinxed with bad luck so I wasn't taking any chances. I checked out and Nate was on the front desk so we exchanged pleasantries. He apologised again for the hassles I'd had and I said it wasn't a problem (it was a big problem, but I was being polite). The shuttle ran me up to the station and after standing around for a short while we boarded the train.

The train is luxurious: plenty of legroom, comfortable seats, curtains, power points, it's absolutely wonderful and definitely my preferred mode of transport. I'm riding all the way to New York, 11 hours, and I'm looking forward to this like you wouldn't believe. Despite all the grief I'd had, I managed to get all my work done and, as I write this, the train's about to make it's first stop. I think it's Greensburg. I've just had breakfast (vanilla yoghurt with blueberries and granola and a mint tea) and I can't tell you how chilled I am right now. This train's going to make 16 stops before it reaches New York and right now that's fine with me. We're now edging out of Greensburg and it's great to be able to see some of the towns on the outskirts of Pittsburgh. The train's picking up speed and we're leaving the town behind. There's another stop in about 10 minutes and I'm just hoping that it doesn't get too crowded, I'm sure it won't.

Coal Hill Steakhouse

There's something relaxing about train travel and I love it. I've always wanted to take the train in the USA, but the opportunity has never arose, until now, although I didn't really have much option. Without a passport I couldn't take the plane as I don't have any photo ID and I spoke to somebody at the convention who said it's a hassle traveling without a passport, and besides, I don't want to take any chances. Furthermore, going by air to NY would be pricey and there's always the cab into town at the other end. The train goes straight into Manhattan.

I wouldn't say it was a completely smooth ride. The train jolts and rattles its way into the next stop, Latrobe, another pleasant little town surrounded by woodland. I guess that 'nothin' much happens round here'. The next stop is Johnstown, in about 45 minutes. We pass a parking lot with mustard yellow school buses sitting around doing nothing and then we dive into the woods. The sun is trying to break through and it looks like being another great day.

The ride down to the river was great fun...

Americans love their verandas. Every house has one, or seems to, and there are dream catchers and chairs, sometimes barbecue equipment, all out front, and let's face it, it's probably quite pleasant on a summer's evening, sitting outside with friends and family chatting and eating as the night sets in.

It's a long way down...

The train's got free WiFi that works well. No signing in, it's just there and that's good. No faffing around. There's a restaurant car (where I'll be headed at lunch time, but it's only 0737hrs as I write this, so there's plenty of other things to do.

Looking out of the window...

There's a massive river out of my window on the left hand side of the train and a wooded hill on the far bank. There's been a fair bit of fog too and plenty of greenery. I wonder if there's any bears out there? That's been on my mind: what if I was out there, camping in the woods. Would I need to worry about bears? I might have to ask somebody. I've never seen such a wide expanse of water in all my life. Easily a half mile across from bank to bank. Along the bank there is a mixture of tiny wooden shacks, trailers and houses, some rickety and old-looking, as if they'd collapse in a strong wind, others sturdy and some with the American flag flying.

At Philly changing the locomotive...

As for my fellow passengers, they're all well-behaved and quiet. Nobody says a word, there's no unruly behaviour and perhaps that's because I'm in business class.

Outside the window now is row after row of container wagons advertising the Hub Group, Yang Ming, Hapag-Lloyd, UASC, Seaco, COSCO, China Shipping, and some huge, black Norfolk Southern locomotives. We're six minutes out of Harrisburg.

Waiting to board at Pittsburgh

We've left Harrisburg and are gathering speed as we head out of town. Outside the window is American industry hard at work: big, rusty old buildings and conveyor belts and rail trucks, electricity pylons and rusting old locomotives.

They're warning that the train's going to be full and that we should all keep our luggage off the seats next to us. Hopefully, they don't mean business class where I'm sitting. Just in case I've moved my stuff to the racks and taken the aisle seat as I don't want to be constantly asking whoever sits next to me to get up if I want to use the bathroom.

We're about to arrive in Elizabethtown and I might sign off here and start another post for the rest of the ride. The restaurant car re-opens around 1pm, that's in about half an hour, and I might get something more to eat, although an earlier cookie and mint tea has set me up for a while.

We've just arrived at Lancaster and from my window I can see cars moving about and an American flag blowing from a flagpole. For some reason I'm reminded of Blytheville, Arkansas. The train is now on the move and it's more of the same: industrial buildings, parking lots, derelict factories. Soon there's the river again as the industrial buildings are slowly replaced by fields and trees.

For the reason why I was taking an 11-hour train journey to New York from Pittsburgh, click here.

A few images of Pittsburgh...

It's 0510hrs and I've been up around an hour, just under. I've managed seven hours sleep. Last night, I decided not to go out to dinner. Why bother? I had a reasonably decent lunch at the Hard Rock Cafe (salmon, mashed potato, greens) and there's nobody to go out with. The idea of dining alone makes me simply look out the window at one of Pittsburgh's many bridges and decide to hit the sack. It's not even dark outside and I can't be bothered to watch television. In fact, I'm all-round pissed off with the Sheraton Pittsburgh Station Square and their gross incompetence.

If you saw Adventureland, you'll remember this photo.

Sitting here now I realise that I've had no time to talk about the good stuff (if you can call it that). On the only real day off for me, I decided to take a trip to Kennywood, a theme park on the outskirts of town. I think I mentioned the bus journey there through a rough place called Homestead. In all honesty, it was alright, but I simply moseyed around, I'm not a great admirer of theme parks and fairground rides and I had the most awful lunch of a hot dog with chips, or fries as they call them here. The girl who served me didn't understand what I meant when I said 'chips' so I quickly corrected myself, 'fries, I mean fries, sorry' I said and then took away the sorry-looking meal to eat on a table. It was a pleasant day, the sun was shining and I, of course, was blissfully unaware of the incompetence unfolding back at the hotel.

Arriving at Kennywood

As you know from previous posts, it was a long day and I didn't get back to the hotel until around 5pm, I went to the room and hit the sack, not waking until 11pm. Again, I missed dinner, but made up for it the next morning at breakfast time. The breakfasts here are quite good, loads of food, invariably all meals involve scrambled egg and cubed potatoes, fried, plus there's fresh fruit and tea and pastries, all sorts of stuff, so I didn't starve.

The hotel room is pleasant enough and the standard for American hotels: two huge double beds, a big television, which I haven't watched, a fairly good bathroom, although the shower could do with being more powerful. There's an empty fridge (it doesn't become a minibar unless it's stocked with chocolate bars, beer and soft drinks). I can never work out the thinking behind hotels that have the fridge but don't stock it. I used to think it was because they don't trust their clientele to act responsibly or they think the guests are capable of nicking stuff, but in reality, I just don't know and to be honest I'm glad there isn't a minibar otherwise I'd have been scoffing my face with Hershey bars and peanuts, especially last night having decided not to eat dinner.

A truly awful hot dog and chips

There's a coffee bar downstairs on the ground floor, which is really just a kiosk. There are no tables or chairs so I haven't used it. Instead I've found a very chilled place called Crazy Mocha a couple of doors down from the hotel, it's a chilled out sort of place, with WiFi, and I plan to go back there as the week unfolds.

My journey to Kennywood started here

Station Square is an interesting place and I remember cycling here the last time I was in Pittsburgh, which I think was 2015. There's a Hard Rock Cafe, a Tex-Mex restaurant, the aforementioned Crazy Mocha, a fondue operation, the Buckhead Bar (a kind of large sports bar) and there's even a sushi bar, so lots of stuff I don't like (sports bars, sushi and fondue). Something that does interest me is a place called the Grand Concourse. It looks pretty upmarket and it's housed in a building that I'm told used to be a railway station. There's a white tablecloth restaurant and I need to check it out this week. Then there's so-called Mount Washington, an elevated spot that offers views across the city and can be accessed via some sort of cable car or rack and pinion railway, I'm not sure which, but it's a steep incline. Sadly, it's not working, but I'm told there's another one on West Carson Street, or I suppose I could get a cab. At the top, apparently, there's a few restaurants and bars and it's fairly upmarket, so another place to try out.

The view from my hotel window, the best yet...

My hotel is claimed to be the only hotel in Pittsburgh located on the waterfront, it's across from the downtown so over breakfast there are great views of skyscrapers on the other side of the river and it's only a ten-minute walk across the Smithfield Bridge into the downtown, and twenty minutes to the convention centre where I'll be spending most of this week, that's why it would have been nice to enjoy Saturday and Sunday, my down time, without having the hassle of the hotel staff's incompetence (see previous posts).

A kiosk at Kennywood

What's also quite cool is the railroad track right outside the hotel. I can see it from my room and every now and then a train rolls by and it never seems to end, carrying coke or aggregates somewhere far away, or possibly just to and from the US Steel integrated mill in the Mon Valley, a place I saw while on the bus to Kennywood on Saturday. In fact, I'd say that the Sheraton offers the best view out of the window I've ever had. Check out the Hotel Views section of my blog and you'll see what I mean. Normally the view is of car park or a brick wall or a housing estate or trees or a garage, but not here. I've got the river outside my window, a huge bridge and, of course, the railroad track. In fact, a train has just roared by and will probably continue to roar by for some minutes as all the trains go on forever. And oddly, the trains don't disturb the peace as much as you might think, they bring something to the party, they add something typically American, which must appeal to guests, like me, from outside of the USA.

The view across the river from the breakfast room

It's a fairly friendly hotel. There's a shop selling everything you're likely to forget and more: tee shirts, mugs, souvenirs, fridge magnets - I bought mine from the Hard Rock Cafe - briefcases, umbrellas, razors, toothbrushes, everything. If only all hotels had shops like the Sheraton Pittsburgh Station Square, but they don't. Invariably, if I leave something behind, I have to go in search of a pharmacy. Not here!

So for the next five days I'm going to have a regular 20-minute walk across the bridge to the convention centre. It takes around 20 minutes. They have a bike share scheme and I could probably hire a bike, but now that everything is beginning to calm down on the missing laptop and passport front, I can figure out what I'm going to do. I have to say that the whole incident outlined in previous posts has been a nightmare and it's basically ruined what is normally a great trip to the USA. Still, life moves on, I've got another big breakfast to look forward to and then I've got to attempt to sort things out or I won't be able to come home on Friday.

Lap top AND passport "stolen" from my room...

I was up really early this morning, probably around 0400hrs, something like that, and it's all to do with jet lag. I got up and messed around on the computer and then phoned home, even managed a bit of Face Time on the iphone. All good. I had a hearty breakfast, much needed, and then I walked across the bridge (there are lots of bridges in Pittsburgh, incidentally) and into the downtown where there was a junior 'fun run' of 5K. Streets were closed off to traffic, there was cheering, the military was involved (as participants) it was all very upbeat.

I took a day trip to Kennywood, aka Adventureland

I went in search of a Starbucks, somewhere to chill for a bit, although, to be honest, I'd already been chilling in the hotel's breakfast room so I didn't really need any more down time. Today was my first day in Pittsburgh and officially my 'day off' so I considered going out to Kennywood, a theme park, just for the hell of it. There's a movie, Adventureland, that my daughter and I have watched a couple of times and, well, I went there to get her a tee-shirt. I could have taken a cab, but that would have cost me money so I took the bus, the 61C, which took me through a decidedly dodgy area called Homestead. On the bus I decided it was best policy to keep myself to myself and not catch anybody's eye, but all was fine and when I reached the park I wandered around, took a few photographs and, of course, bought the tee-shirt.

The journey back was, like the journey out, a little edgy, but all was fine and soon the bus found itself in 'civilisation', or Oakland, to be precise, a place I'd visited before, staying in a hotel called the Quality Inn, it's probably still there, close to a Panera Bread outlet where I tried (and enjoyed) my first ever Bear's Claw (it's a pastry). The Quality Inn didn't really live up to its name; it was, shall we say, a little 'down at heel', but the people who worked there were good. I remember that there was a couple arguing in the room next to mine and I recall expecting to hear gunshots and the sound of somebody fleeing the scene, but again, I was letting my imagination run away with me.

When I got back to my room at the Sheraton Pittsburgh Station Square I was tired out and it was only 5pm so I decided to lie down on the bed and fall asleep, which I did, fully clothed. I awoke around 11pm and considered just changing, or rather taking my clothes off, cleaning my teeth and going back to bed. Alternatively, I thought, I could go on the lap top and write something, like I'm doing now, except that I'm writing this from the ground floor on the hotel's 'business centre' computer. I decided to write and not sleep and went to retrieve my lap top from the safe, except it wasn't there and nor was my passport. I called and then paid a visit to the front desk and then checked out what I was supposed to do online. I've cancelled my passport now and I've called 911. That's a first for me, calling 911, but apparently, here in the USA, that's what you do when you're passport's been stolen or, I suppose, if anything's been stolen. Anyway, after a while three cops turn up, nice guys, and took a few details. Apparently this hotel, the Sheraton Pittsburgh Station Square had issues with room theft in the past, but they thought they'd solved the problem by installing a key card locking system. There's been no problems, I'm told, for around five years... until now.

I'm trying to figure out how it happened, whether whoever stole my belongings accessed the room while I was asleep (I hadn't put the latch on) or whether they got busy while I was swanning around Kennywood. The police reckon it's the latter and they should know. So I've had to cancel my passport, which is annoying and I don't have a lap top anymore, which is also annoying and a shame as I loved that Chromebook, I really did.

Right now it's 0159hrs and I'm wide awake. The police have been and gone and now there's nothing much left to do other than wait for the morning when I can talk to a Candace Dearolf, the front office manager.

They say there's a first time for everything and this is the first time I've ever had anything stolen from me in a hotel room, and I've stayed in a lot of hotels all around the world. I've left my lap top on the desk in the room, in virtually every hotel I've stayed in. I kind of trust the hotel because I figure that only the housekeeping teams have access to the rooms without having to break in; and because this is known, they're not going to risk prosecution and losing their jobs by stealing from the guests, but it happens and now here it is in black and white.

After a stressful 48 hours and not much sleep, I needed a breakfast treat!

Later, and having spoken to Candace Dearolf I'm none the wiser. They're going to run over the data that tells them who has had access to my room and, I guess, get back to me. In the meantime I'm starting to get a little angry about the whole thing. I've lost my passport and my laptop and the British Consultate in Pittsburgh is completely out to lunch. I've left them SIX voicemail messages and they've not responded. So remember that if you ever find yourself in dire straits in Pittsburgh. I'll keep you all updated as and when, or even IF something happens, but I think I can kiss goodbye to both my lap top and my passport for good, although I've now cancelled my passport so I'm not expecting it to turn up and if it did it, would be useless.

But it did turn up and so did the lap top. Details have now emerged of what actually happened and it goes like this: a hotel guest approaches the front desk of the hotel and complains that the safe in his room is locked and he can't access it. The person working behind the front desk asks the man for his room number and he, unwittingly, not thinking straight, gives my room number. The hotel didn't think to question this or even ask him to repeat it, they simply accepted that the room number he had given was the right one. They were wrong. So a hotel engineer is sent to my room and when he gets there he finds a locked safe, just like the man downstairs had said. He opens the safe and finds my laptop and passport and smartly takes them out of the safe and downstairs to another safe on the understanding that they belong to the room's previous occupant and that's why the man downstairs was complaining. But he was wrong. He was not in the man downstair's room, he was in my room and he had taken my laptop and my passport from the safe where I had placed it.

Candace broke the news to me in a confusing and chaotic email and it soon dawned on me that I had cancelled my passport and had no documentation to take me home to London on 10 May when I'm scheduled to fly back. So now things are looking really bad. Through no fault of my own, my passport had been 'stolen' along with my laptop and suddenly I have both items back in my possession, but one of them (my passport) is totally useless.

Sheraton Pittsburgh Station Square

I need to act fast. What do I need to do to get home? The answer is I have to travel to New York to the British Consulate to get myself an emergency travel document, but first I need to go online to get it booked and arrange a meeting with the Consulate prior to getting the document. I organise this, pay £100 online and then fix a date and time of Friday 10 May at 11 o'clock. Now all I've got to do is get to New York, but how? I won't be allowed to use a plane without a passport so what the hell can I do? One suggestion is to hire a car, drive to Erie and then catch a train to New York. Sounds like a plan, but surely there are other options. Yes, there are, thanks to a work colleague: he suggests a Greyhound bus to Philadelphia and then a train to New York. Not bad, I think, but there's more: how about a train all the way from Pittsburgh to New York? Now that's more like it and it departs at 0730hrs and takes around 11 hours to reach the Big Apple. Job done, I think. I mosey on up to the train station, but it doesn't open until 1800hrs. When I eventually go back there's no queue and I buy a business class ticket to New York on the Pennsylvanian, but when I hand the man behind the desk my credit card he says it's not working. "Shall I use the cash machine?" He says yes, so I draw out the money, hand him the cash and he gets to work. "The machine appears to be busted," he says. "You'll have to come back tomorrow." So that's what I plan to do, but the money I'm spending on this is getting silly and none of it is my fault. I've spent £100 on emergency travel documentation, £122 on a train to New York and I'm shortly going to spend £100 on changing my booking from a flight from Pittsburgh to London to a flight from New York to London. On my return home I'll need another passport (urgently) and that's going to set me back around £140 and that little lot adds up to £462. And that's not to mention the numerous phone calls to the UK passport office and to home, explaining the problem and figuring out what to do.

So now I'm back in my hotel room. I'm going to have to go back to the Amtrak ticket office tomorrow (Tuesday) at 6pm to get my ticket. Hopefully, by then, the ticket office machine will be working and I'll get my ride. Silently, I thanked the Lord that I was not going to be on a Greyhound bus. Earlier in the day I'd heard stories about them and the sort of people that one finds on them. Because it's so cheap, it attracts the low-lifes of this world, just like everything else, and the thought of sitting next to some nutter who might have a gun was a little concerning.

I had dinner with a colleague at Eddie Merlot's at 444 Liberty Avenue - and I didn't like it one bit, especially the name. Nothing appealed, it was all burgers and fish and alcohol and it made me feel, not sick, but bloated and awful, so I opted for a baked potato and a bottle of Pellegrino and later turned down what I knew would be a gooey, over-sized dessert. Not great. I parted with my colleague at the top of Stanwix Street and walked the 22-minute walk home along Fort Pitt Boulevard on the river bank and then over the Smithfield Bridge.

And here I sit thinking about going to bed and getting a decent night's sleep. My eyes are feeling heavy and I need a good night's sleep as tomorrow, the President's Breakfast awaits me. In fact, I need to set my alarm and ensure that it wakes me.