Author's note: Any geographical errors are my own as I've never been to England and there is only so much you can learn from looking at a map.
*****
'Now isn't that just fuckin' perfect,' Chris Ryan thought as he inspected the damage to the rear tire of his bike.
From the length and location of the tear, he was certain that the repair kit in his bag wasn't going to be much help. Not unless they'd started including spare inner tubes in with the patches, tape and glue.
"Just when I think nothing else could make this trip any worse," the short haired blond said to the empty air as he rose back to his feet.
A month before, when he'd signed up for Britain '67, the University's annual summer excursion, it had seemed like a really great idea. Not because Chris had a lot of interest in medieval castles and such, but because when he glanced out the sign-up sheet, the very first name on it was Cheryl Simpson - who he did have a great deal of interest in. He had asked the curvaceous brunette out a half dozen times during the semester, only to be told each time that she didn't date during the school year. Spending two weeks riding through the English countryside with her over the summer seemed an opportunity made in heaven.
He literally hadn't even left the gate yet when that opportunity became something less than heaven sent. At the airport, on the day of departure, he'd learned that Cheryl was no longer going on the tour. Her younger brother had come down with chicken pox a week prior and, not having had it before, Cheryl was at risk of coming down with it mid-tour. Not willing to take that chance, she had given up her spot to Noreen Whitman, who was definitely not someone Chris wanted to get to know better.
Short of trying to claim some sudden illness himself, there was no way for Chris to back out at that point. Not with all of the promises he had to make to his parents to convince them to pay for the expensive trip. So, disappointed as he was about Cheryl, the nineteen-year-old resigned himself to try and make the best of it. After all, it was two weeks in England, how bad could it be?
It turned out to be pretty bad, at least from his perspective. Oh, the castles, the abbeys and the occasional Roman ruins were interesting enough, at least in the beginning, but it really didn't take all that long for them to become familiar and even commonplace. So much so that by the end of the first week, Chris was already counting the days until they were to head back home.
And it wasn't like he could compensate for the lack of excitement during the day by taking advantage of the local nightlife, such as it was in the small towns they were staying in. By an almost unanimous vote, the group had opted to forego going out at night and retire early, allowing them to get on the road come the dawn. After all, they agreed, they'd come to see the sights, not party.
Finally, today, with only more two days left to go, the second of which was their date of departure, the tour finally came across something that Chris found interesting - an old US Army Air Force base just off the road between Southbrook and Foxwick. Long abandoned and fallen into disrepair, the decades old World War II aerodrome was at least a part of history that Chris could connect with. His uncle, Charles Ryan, had been the navigator on a B-17 crew, although he'd flown in the Pacific Theatre, not in Europe. Everyone else in the group only gave the base a passing notice, preferring to press on to their next rest point for an early dinner. This time, however, Chris decided to take a stand and announced that he was going to stay behind a while and explore the base. It was still only mid-afternoon; he'd have plenty of time to catch up with the rest of them later.
Once he'd started to ride around the air field, Chris found that most of the runways where B-17s and B-24s had once thundered into the skies had long since been reclaimed by nature. Also, of those buildings still standing, few looked all that safe to enter. After all, they had been built as temporary structures before he'd been born and stood empty longer than he'd been alive. Still, using his imagination and what he'd read of those times, he was able to bring it all to life in his mind.
'Well, now it's time to pay the piper,' Chris thought, his detour being responsible for his current situation. 'Can't see as I have all that many choices.'
The closest professional help was at least ten miles behind him in Southbrook. Foxwick was only half that distance in front of him, but there was no guarantee he could get the tire replaced there. Besides, it was better to go forward, especially since he was now on foot. There had to be smaller villages along the way, but they weren't always visible from the main road. Unless he came across a sign that showed where to turn off, finding one of those wasn't a promising prospect.
Which left encountering a helpful motorist who could give him a lift. A hope he didn't put a lot of faith in either, given the scarcity of vehicles that had passed him during the day. Despite that, he looked again up and down the road, only to once more find nothing in either direction. At least nothing on the road.
"I really have to stop asking how this could get any worse," Chris said after having shifted his gaze from the empty road to the sky above it, where he found another more immediate concern.
When he'd left the air base, Chris had noticed a row of dark storm clouds on the horizon, back in the direction of Southbrook. Since he was going in the opposite direction, they hadn't concerned him all that much. Now, however, they looked to have moved a lot closer than when he'd first spotted them. At the rate they seemed to be moving, he figured he had a half hour or so before they caught up to him. So, staying put definitely wasn't an attractive option.
"Time to get moving," Chris said to himself as he untied his rucksack from the back of the bike and slipped it onto his back.
He walked the damaged bicycle over to the side of the road and laid it down where it wouldn't be an impediment to oncoming traffic, assuming any ever came. The bike was a rental, making him financially responsible for it, but he'd be damned if he was going to push it all the way to Foxwick.
Chris had gone about a half mile down the road when he felt the first drops of rain. The darker clouds, with their heavier downpour, were still to come, but even so he was already thankful that he'd set out this morning in shorts and a t-shirt. By the time this was all over, he'd undoubtedly be soaked to the skin. Doubling his pace, if for no other reason that than that wasn't anything else he could do, Chris continued onward.
Ten minutes later, with the rain coming down a bit steadier, Chris had his first bit of good luck. There in the distance, coming up on the road behind him, was an odd vehicle, the likes of which he'd never seen before. Later he'd learn it was a Morris Minor Traveller, a uniquely British automobile with no American counterpart. It looked to be at least ten years old, with more than its share of road wear, but right now Chris would've been overjoyed to see even a horse and buggy cresting the hill.
Reminding himself that the driver would driving on the left side of the road, Chris moved to that side and began to frantically wave his arms in order to catch their attention. He was also mindful to ensure that he had enough space to get out of the way in case they didn't see him in the rain. Thankfully that didn't prove the case, as the vehicle slowed and stopped a good ten feet in front of him, the driver's side window cranking down once it did.
The window was totally down by the time Chris reached it and when he glanced inside, he saw an older woman behind the wheel. If he had to guess, he would've taken her to be in her mid-forties, with short brown hair liberally mixed with grey. She had on a yellow summer blouse and a dark full-length skirt that came down to just below her knees.
"Having a spot of trouble?" the woman asked, flashing a broad smile as she did.
"What?" Chris said, caught off guard for a second by the question. "Yeah, a bit."
"Well, then, let's get you out of this rain and you can tell me all about it," the woman said, motioning to the opposite side door with a motion of her head. "Climb in."
Chris quickly raced around the front of the car, climbing into the passenger seat bare seconds before the sky really opened up and a virtual deluge fell out of the sky.
"Wow, that was close," Chris exclaimed as his rescuer hastily rolled up her window, splashes of rainwater hitting her as she did.
"I'm assuming that was your bicycle back there on the verge," she said as she turned her attention from the window to him.
"I had a blowout," Chris responded, thinking the statement both an acknowledgement and an explanation of how he wound up where he was.
"Well, I'm afraid that it's going to have to wait until this lets up a bit," she said as she put the Traveller back in gear. "The roads around here can get a bit dodgy when it comes down like this; I'd rather not have to cover the same ground twice. Besides, it'd be a lot easier to carry it along if we came back with the estate car; otherwise we'd have to tie it down on the boot."
"That's fine," Chris said, not really worried too much about the bike, at least not more than his appreciation that he was out of the rain now pounding on the windows. "Chris Ryan," he added in way of introduction.
"Margaret Dawson, but everyone calls me Peggy," she replied, offering a smile in lieu of one of her hands, both of which she kept tightly on the wheel. "You're a Yank, aren't you? From New York City I'm willing to bet."
"How can you tell that?" Chris said, glancing down at his attire to see if he was wearing anything that said New York on it.
"Your accent," Peggy offered, "it's rather distinctive. I used to hear it a lot back when, well ... let's just say I've heard it before."
Until he'd left his native Brooklyn for the first time back in high school, traveling to different states to look at colleges, Chris never realized just how much of an accent he actually had. When a young woman in one of the registrar's offices remarked what a funny accent he had, his reply had been - "I have a funny accent?" The girl had a deep southern drawl, the likes of which he'd never heard outside of the movies.
"So, what brings you all the way across the pond," Peggy inquired as she carefully navigated the water-logged road, "holiday or business?"
"Probably a bit of both - it's a school trip," Chris explained as he told her a little about the excursion and how he'd gotten separated from the rest of the group.
"Well, I have to say, it was quite a bit of luck for you that I came along when I did. Not many people even use this old road any more, not since they opened the new motorway down by the coast," Peggy said. "I went into town this morning to stop by Doc Willard's surgery and then pick up a prescription at the chemist..."
She paused for a moment, then added.
"... don't worry, I don't have anything contagious. Just one of those old lady things."
"I wouldn't take you for an old lady," Chris grinned.
"Really, do you think I could get that in writing?" Peggy laughed. "But where was I, oh yes, I had planned to have a bite to eat and then catch the new Sean Connery film at the cinema, but the queue at the chemist was so long that I missed the start of the film. So I just decided to head home instead."
"I guess I was really lucky then," Chris remarked.
