Day 83 : Wednesday June 2nd. London to home

BA Flight 036 arrived slightly ahead of schedule at Heathrow Terminal 5, around 11.20am. It felt strange to be in this ultra-modern airport. Everywhere was spotless. There was no rubbish lying around. The signs were clear and logical. The movement of the travellers was orderly and effortless. There were no queues. Quite remarkable really, when you consider that Heathrow is one of the busiest airports in the world.

When I arrived at the luggage hall, my bike was already out, waiting to be collected and unwrapped. My tools were in the checked-in bag which arrived later. After putting the wheel back on and turning the handlebars the right way round, I tried to put some air in the tyres, but the pump had been damaged - I reckon the bag had been inspected and the security people didn't like the look of and tried to take it to bits, and broke an important part at the same time.

After getting the bike more or less in order, I proceeded to Immigration where a young lady asked me where I'd come from - I could have given a pretty lengthy answer, but simply said "this morning I flew from Chennai, South India". I wasn't sure why she asked me this, but it then dawned on me that I probably didn't look much like the image of me in my passport my hair was much longer than usual, and I'd not had a shave for a couple of months either. Perhaps I looked a bit like an ageing hippy.

Getting to Euston was the next challenge. I wanted to get a train home as soon as I could. The options from Heathrow were, at £70 a taxi, at £15 the Express Train to Paddington (central London and then I didn't know what), the Underground at £4.50, or I could cycle there - it would take hours.

After buying a ticket, I approached the barrier and a man in a colourful suit said 'cycles were not allowed on the train without first removing the front wheel' I said, 'OK, I've got the tools to take the wheel off if you really want me to', and I gave him a wink and walked down the platform and jumped onto the next train. Something of the Indian disregard for rules had rubbed off on me. But actually, taking the front wheel off was crackers - it would have made it virtually impossible to steer as I moved it out of the way of other passengers.

It was the middle of the day, so I'd miss the crazy rush hour period, but I wondered if there would be a lot of children about - it was half-term in the summer term. I'd been away since mid-March and it was now June. I didn't care what happened - I was going to get home as fast as I could.
I took the tube through to Green Park, and then changed for the Voictoria Line, which involved carrying the loaded bike up a few flights of stairs. At the exit at Euston, an official gave me a bit of earache about bringing cycles on the underground - apparently it wasn't allowed on some lines, including the one I'd been on. I didn't know that. But I'd got accros London for £4.50 in about an hour, and I was at Euston.

In the ticket office, I stood in the queue with my bike, and with everyone else who needed a ticket for travel. I asked for a single to Manchester, but a return was £1 more, so I bought a return - even though I have no intention of returning to London in the coming month.

The 14.00hrs train was about to leave, but I opted for the 14.20 because I needed a little extra time as getting the bike on a train isn't always straight forward. But I knew it would be today - I had a cycle reservation. I parked the bike in the luggage compartment which was immediately behind the engine, and I sat on the seats closest to the engine. Perfect.

I went to the buffet car, bought some unhealthy things at inflated prices, and felt great. Easy. I was in my homeland. Soon I would be in my own home.

I'd decided to ride the final miles from the Railway Station to home, instead of getting a lift. It seemed fitting to cycle the very last leg.

So, I rode north from Manchester a few miles up the A664 towards Rochdale. Deliberately slowly, I pedalled up the road on which my home stood as I spotted Clare, one of my daughters, looking out for me as I quietly approached home. From about 50 yards I heard her shout a message to everyone inside the house : "He's back!"

Lucy, my youngest daughter threw her arms around me and, for a few moments, didn't say a word. Neither did I.