And God said to Noah "Let it rain" And Noah said "Hell, No"

The rain returned about 3 PM as we returned to the hotel. The hard rain started about 4 PM.
The island of England is defined by its rivers. Scotland is also defined by its Lochs (lakes). Water is everywhere.
As the weather comes off the North Atlantic, it is always rain. Flooding is a common occurrence. The roads are narrow with two lanes with a few feet of shoulder on each side. Sometimes none. The roads are curves. Often, there are drop offs either to a Loch or a steep hill. On a dry day, driving must be fun.
In the evening we had decided to go for the earlier bus. As we wake, we now know we need to be on that bus. It is ugly outside.
I pay the bill around 7 AM and call a taxi.
The bus station is not crowded. I checked. we are assured seats. The bus is outside. The engine is running. Our confidence grows.
As I explained earlier, the train service from Oban to the rest of Scotland is under repair. Normally, travelers take a train directly from Oban to Glasgow. The bus service is the backup plan. The buses are tourist buses under contract to ScotRail system.
The bus leaves on time. Our train leaves @ 11 AM. We have plenty of time - little over 2 hours. Yesterday's journey was about an hour and fifteen minutes.
It is poring outside. No let up. We make good time. Then, the first of detours to the local stations. No passengers. I am less confident.
Traffic grows. Trucks pass us going the other way. Our mirrors come within inches of each other. The drivers nerves are unbelievable. Logging trucks are the scariest .
Time passes too quickly. We are not on time. We are going to be late if traffic gets heavier.
We turn right out of the last local station stop. We come to a stop. A dead stop. Five minutes, we do not move. Cars are turning around. Traffic moves to fill those spaces. Twenty minutes. We have gone 800 yards.
The driver is in contact with his dispatcher. There is a major accident ahead with injuries.
Hold the train? Please. I try to find out the next train. I am glad that we have taken the later flight from Glasgow.
The driver is exceptional. He keeps us informed. I find that the next train to Glasgow does not allow enough time. Trains are incurring delays because of the rain and flooding.
ScotRail has arranged for a bus at the station to drive to the Glasgow airport. Now, can we get there and when. At first, hopes rise. We find that we are among people who need to get somewhere - predominately, the Glasgow Airport.
Traffic does not move. We are now forty minutes waiting to pass the accident. We have been moving, but slowly.
This is the only road around Loch Lomond and from there to Glasgow.
Finally, we pass the accident. It is on a curve with little shoulder on one side and a hill on he other. The cars are demolished. It is surprising that anyone survived. They are sports car. Best guess - bad road, wet road and bad driver.
The bus driver says that we are lucky there were no deaths. The road would have been closed for investigation.
Despite passing the accident, we move slowly. Commercial traffic has picked up. Everyone seemed to have been surprised by the hard rain. Water is flowing off the hills onto the road.
We arrive at the station around 12:20 PM. There is a bus.The bus to Glasgow Airport and then to Glasgow Train Station has not arrived yet. The occupants of this other bus are travelers who also missed the train.
You can tell people are trying to be gentle and patient. The crowd psychic is "what if there is not enough room". "Who gets to go".
Within ten minutes, the salvation arrives. We load up the bus. Everyone gets to go.
As we pull out of the station parking lot, my hope is that the road will widen and traffic flow will improve.
We turn left onto the same road we just exited. Traffic moves slowly. Minutes. I am starting to think of options, backup plans, for our flight. The British Airways tickets are basically non refundable. I remind myself our objective  is Cambridge. What is an extra $600 dollar?
Within minutes, my pray is to get anywhere safely.
This is the best bus driver ever- hands down. I would trust my life on his driving. Hell, I did.
I took the window seat. I look out the window and literally cannot see the shoulder. I only see a steep drop of 15-20 feet into Loch Lemond.
It continues to rain. Traffic moves slowly because of the volume, weather and the trucks. If we came within inches before, we are within an inch of the mirrors of the logging trucks on the other side of the road. There is no choice. There is no shoulder on their side.
Betty wanted to see Loch Lemond. We have seen Loch Lemond as few have seen.
We have began to give up hope of making the plane. We accept our fate - vacation is adventure. This is an adventure. We are not enjoying, but there is a fatalist relaxation. We smile. We talk to other passengers.
The two women in front of us are from Iowa. They are opinionated. They are sisters. They are in competition with each other. That passes time.
It is about 1:30 PM and we are still moving slowly.
The passengers begin to cheer as we approach another truck. This could be a sport.
The rain has lightened. It is more of a mist. Suddenly, the road is now a four lane highway with a median. The bus picks up speed. We are now cruising.
The problem with maps is that it is hard to imagine actual distances. When possible, I have tried to locate our bus on the map. We have traveled to the south end of the Loch and we now turn directly towards Glasgow.
The driver passes up other cars. He is speeding.
I see a sign pointing to the Glasgow airport. We are thirty miles from the airport. It is 2:30 PM.
The rain has stopped. Skies are lightened. We cross a bridge. The driver is confident. We are very confident.
As I leave the bus, I smile to bus driver. All I can say is "terrific". He knows he is great.
Glasgow Airport is larger than Edinburgh's. We roll our luggage into the terminal and find the British Airways counter. We have about 50 minutes.
The security line is long but efficient. European security is full body scan every time. It is separation of computers, your quart bag and personal items. For the second time, I have a second screening which takes time.
We are safe - only a quarter mile to our gate and the gauntlet of Duty Free Zone. Most importantly, we have 35 minutes to the gate.
We have not eaten since the biscuits in Oban. At the gate, we grab sandwiches and beverages. Of course, we are the last section to board. The ground crew is polite.
We have assigned seats but not assigned overhead space. We walk outside onto the tarmac. We climb the stairs. We find our seats and there is overhead space.
We have found the commercial aircraft seats to be much better that in America. Take off is on time. We are back on schedule. It is an hour flight to Heathrow. We have done it. This was an adventure. I think I learnt to slow down and be optimistic. Betty has been great and calm.
The weather has turned dry and blue skies. I look out the window at the English countryside. We must be low since I can see the houses and villages so clearly.
Our experience with the air travel has been exceptional. Yes, they are full flights. But, everything I have read has not proven true during our three flights. The attendants have been professional and courtesies. The seats are better than what you experience in economy with US standard airlines. The horror stories about last minute gouging at the gate have not occurred. They are on time - well reasonably.
In an hour we have landed and moving to the far, far gate.  Well, to be honest, all gates at Heathrow are a far, far, far.
Down a corridor. Down a another corridor - you get the idea. We are the end of the line and the line has disappeared. We are follow signs. It is so empty. Finally, an automatic door opens and we are in terminal 3. We have been here before so we know where the Underground station is.
We are now about to become experienced Underground and London train travelers.
In the past, we have taken cabs. This time we have decided to take the Piccadilly Line to Kings Crossing or is it St. Pancras Station? The map says St. Pancras. The train station says Kings Crossing.
We are using Oyster cards. When Bill and the kids left they gave us their cards to use. We are outside zone 4 so I am not sure of the fare.
I do stop and ask the attendant - there is always an attendant. he swaps the two cards we offer and we are past the turnstile. Down an elevator to the platform, all the terminals are stops and Kings Crossing  is an all stop. First train is within minutes. We have our luggage and backpacks.
We sit and ride. There are 19 stops or about 50 minute ride. The train to Cambridge is every half hour so we are fine.
It is rush hour - about 5 PM and the train is surprisingly full for a train moving into London. The train does empty slightly. Then, we pass a point and we are now moving with the commuters homeward bound.
We exit and escalator up to a tunnel. We follow the signs. Are we at Kings Crossing or St Pancras?
The answer is that it is the same station - to the right is St Pancras to the left is Kings Crossing. Of course, I do not figure this out until we purchase our tickets and start looking for the gate. I stand in front of the wrong gates entrance for five minutes. Until I realize that Kings Crossing is to the left.
We have seven minutes to cross the station floor, pass our tickets through the turnstile and run down the train looking for room.
They are all full. We edge in and try to make room for our luggage. We huddle in a corner away from the door. We have another hour and some minutes trip ahead of us. It is about 6:50 PM. This is a local. It is dark outside.
I have been standing for a long time. I have tried to remember when we ate. I know we had something at the bus station, then I think something at the airport. usually, I remember meals but I honestly have no idea.
The train empties as we move away from London and the immediate urban area. Finally, we have seats. The train ride feels long. Our day is almost over. We are well past twelve hours of travel - buses, plane, the Underground, trains.
Finally, Cambridge - not without a question.  There is Cambridge and there is North Cambridge. Which station?
We pick Cambridge. We cross over to the station. At 8:30 PM, the station is relaxing at the end of the day. The cab station is clearly marked. We roll over to the cab stand. We have reservations at the Gonville Hotel. After our last two hotels, we are hesitant. How large is Cambridge? We have been to Oxford. Is Cambridge the same or different - smaller or larger?
The cab driver is pleasant. And, apparently takes the shortest route.
There is an aged Rolls Royce outside. The interior is grand. The two gentlemen at the front desk are professional. We look like hell. They attitude is if we are grand travelers.
Betty had made reservations a few weeks ago. At the last moment, she added a day. Tonight"s reservation is in a Spa room. What a great way to end the journey. It is after 9 PM.
Betty relaxes orders room service. I need a drink to celebrate a great adventure.
The bar is not full but for Tuesday night, there are guests. I have a whiskey and enjoy.
The bed is luxurious. It is TV. A great shower. A free in-room bar and snacks.
Tomorrow morning we move to a more standard room, but tonight we celebrate.