Chapter 1

Historically and culturally there is a connection between the UK and the USA: politicians like to refer to one aspect of this as the 'special relationship'. I think for most Brits this is a meaningless term which has little to do with everyday life.

More relevant is the interchange of ideas expressed through science and art, for example. There is an oft quoted/misquoted saying, regarding the shared verbal and written communication, used in films, literature and music; what has now been termed British English and American English. I quote here the idea which was expressed by Oscar Wilde in The Canterville Ghost, 1887, which predates a similar expression that George Bernard Shaw was supposed to have used:

"We really have everything in common with America nowadays except, of course, language".

I have seen interviews with contemporary American musicians who openly acknowledge the influence that British musicians of the 1960's and '70's in particular have had on them; and by the same token, British musicians reciprocate by naming their own American musical heroes of the early twentieth century.

As a 'Brit' growing up in England during the decades straddling the new millennia, I was raised on a diet of US television programmes, including films made in Hollywood more than half a century before my birth and some even before my parent's birth, as well as reruns of American TV shows of the 1960's and onwards and now considered 'classics'. And as a self-confessed 'petrol-head', as we call fans of all things automotive, as a boy I spent hours poring over my father's prized collection of Hot Rod magazine, with their content of eponymous hot rods and muscle cars.

Sadly, for most of us on this side of the pond, as we affectionately call the watery expanse that divides the two nations, these heavy metal monsters remain largely the stuff of fantasy: for even if we could afford the imported hardware, the high cost of mandatory insurance, the shortage of readily available spare parts, and the combination of low mileage fuel returns and high petrol prices make them impractical and unattainable to most peoples' pockets. However, by contrast, the relatively low price of air fares has led to the popularity of North America itself as a now affordable holiday destination, and even provides the opportunity for a number of British nationals to live and work there. Such were some of the reasons that saw me, James Maclean, better known to family and friends as 'Jim', arriving on American soil for the first time.

After the long transatlantic flight the Virgin Atlantic airplane landed in New York. After all those hours of confined space, even the interminable wait to get through immigration control was a welcome diversion. Prior to my trip I had spent a long time on the Internet at home looking at my options, regarding travel, accommodation, and what, realistically, I could achieve during my six-week stay. My exact itinerary was flexible, to say the least, but as a music fan it seemed logical to head down the east coast to the southern states for rock and blues, New Orleans for some jazz, and perhaps even Nashville. I reckoned that if I spent my hard earned cash sensibly, I should be able to eat well, sleep comfortably, and see a lot of sights, and experience some of that legendary American hospitality.

I had pre-booked a seat on a Greyhound Bus that would leave the New York bus station at 6:15 in the evening, then travel through the night until it reached Richmond, Virginia in the early hours of Sunday morning. I would then have a layover of several hours, until another bus left Richmond to continue on down through Virginia and North Carolina until we reached Charlotte, at just after mid-day. I figured that after that epic journey I'd deserve a good, long rest in a proper bed! The cab from JFK airport got me to the bus station in plenty of time, but to be honest, I was wiped out and the last thing that I wanted to do was play tourist, so I found a place to eat and sat and watched the world go by until it was time to board the bus.

Over the course of the next eight and a half hours or so there were brief but welcome stops in Raleigh, Durham, Greenboro, and Winston Salem where I got to stretch my legs. There wasn't a whole lot to see during the journey, but when sleep eluded me I read. This mode of transport may have been relatively cheap—but, Man, was it tedious! But at least I had plenty of time to think, and what I thought, was that a new plan was urgently needed. Don't forget that in the UK Land's End, the extreme south of England, to John O'Groats in the far north of Scotland—virtually the whole island—is only 874 miles by road, whereas New York City to Charlotte, North Carolina is only a few hundred miles less. Consequently a journey of 100-200 miles is a big deal for most Brits. I just couldn't see myself sitting on another bus again for a repeat of the sort of journey I'd just done.

While still back in the UK, I had considered the idea of hiring a car and driving from New York to wherever and back, but I had rejected the notion on the grounds of expense; but, I now thought, why not see if I can buy something that I could perhaps sell on later. I'd worked as a mechanic since I'd left school, so I knew more than a little about them, so the best thing to do was buy a local newspaper to see what was available and for how much. Several vehicle ads caught my eye, but the one I kept going back to was for a 2000 Honda Civic Sedan. I knew the ones sold in Europe were well-built and pretty reliable, so I thought I'd at least check it out. I saw the driver of the bus I'd arrived on still in the station, so I walked over to him:

"Excuse me, do you know if the town of Stallings is far from here?"

"I do, and it's not: I reckon it's about 15 miles, give or take."

"Oh, that's not too bad. And do you know if there's a bus goes that way from here?"

"Surely, but if you're in a hurry, you might wanna take a cab, Son."

"Yes, thank you; I might do that, but first I need to make a phone call."

The public telephones were a little different to the ones I was used to, but after taking a few minutes to work it out, I was listening to a dialling tone:

"—Hello!"

"—Oh, good afternoon! I was wondering if the Honda Civic was still for sale."

"—It is—do you wanna come by and see it?"

"—Yes, I'd like to, but I'm in Charlotte at the moment and I'll have to get a cab there; is that convenient?"

"—Sure, no problem! I'll see you when."

"—Thank you! My name's Maclean, by the way."

"—Okay, Mr Maclean."

A short walk took me to a line of cabs.

We pulled up outside a modest-looking single storey house and I paid the driver.

"You want me to stick around?" he asked, handing me my backpack out of the trunk.

"No thank you, I'm not sure where I'm going from here yet."

I saw what I assumed was the object of my visit: someone at least kept it washed, and from a distance first impressions were good. I rang the doorbell and waited, and shortly afterwards a young woman holding a small child opened the door.

"You must be the guy that rang about the car. You want coffee and we can talk?"

"That would be good, Mrs—"

"Devereaux, Ellie—"

"Jim Maclean," I replied, extending my hand. I followed her into the kitchen where I was invited to sit. My host poured me a coffee, then sat at the table opposite me. As I was sipping my coffee, another child—older, and a girl—came into the kitchen and stood by Ellie, but stared at me. "Hello!" I said. She moved closer to her mother, who ran her fingers through the little girl's hair; the girl now smiled slightly at me.

"Now Mr Maclean—"

"—Jim—"

"Now, Jim, about the car. She's pretty reliable, and I'll miss her—but, well, money's tight, so it's got to go. I was pretty much hoping for the price in the advertisement, so if you're hoping to beat me down some, maybe we shouldn't waste each other's time." I smiled: I liked her.

"That's fair enough—may I call you Ellie—and excuse my curiosity, but may I enquire why you need to sell something that you still need? I know that the town isn't far from here, but it must be awkward with two young children without a car." Ellie sighed.

"Shall we go somewhere more comfortable and sit, Jim. By the way, have you got to be somewhere soon?"

"No, not really. I need a place to stay tonight, but I think I saw several motels on my way here."

"This is Kari, by the way," Ellie said, indicating her daughter, "and this is my baby, Sammie. Well, it's like this, Jim, five months ago my husband was killed by a drunk driver. We never had a lot to start with, but the medical bills and funeral costs have used up most of what savings we had. I'm living on what the insurance company paid out on John's life; the fool who killed him and himself had no insurance, so as I said, times are hard."

I think Ellie was glad of the company, so we sat and talked for some time, I told her that there was no hurry to see the car, as it was Sunday and I couldn't get the money until Monday, anyway. As we'd been talking, I'd been thinking:

"Ellie, how many bedrooms have you got here: I've been planning on staying in motels for the six weeks that I'm on vacation, but if it's agreeable to you, I'll rent one of your rooms and use this town as my base; and of course while I'm staying here we can both use the car, as necessary. We've probably got a couple of hours of daylight left, so why don't I go and look over the Honda while you think about it. If you decide that you don't like the idea, I'll find a room somewhere for the night, then come back tomorrow about the car."

"Okay, sounds fair," she said, "I'll get the keys for you. There is some gas in it; take it around the block if you want."