hightailing it from England to Scotland

I giggle everytime i hear a new accent. Everwhere I look its something new to discover. I think I have seen a few people giggling at my accent.
I picked up the bike, and as usual, I had to tinker with it and kick it in the butt like an old stubborn mule. 1 week of sitting and it would not start. The battery was dead. "take a deep breath", I said to myself, as I started to go into a fight or flight response. "Is this going to happen to me all the way around the world?" The people at the shipping company where incredibly helpful though. Cigerettes in there mouth they pushed the bike with me on 1,2,3,4 times and still it would not start. They were kind enough to locate a new battery and give me a ride to pick it up. "But why would it not start from push starting it?" I was actually pleased that it wouldn't. Because then I would have been left to my own devices to find a battery. I installed the new battery, and wammo! it hit me. The guys that shipped the bike had drained the fuel so low that I needed to turn the switch to reserve. After a few grunts and groans, my motorcycle, who I have affectionately named either Mad Max or Minnie Winnie started up. Now the panick of driving on the left side of the road. How do those roundie-bouts work?
I can't fairly say that the English are one way or the other, because I was stuck in a corporate metropolis for a week while my bike was flying over. One thing that I do think is true is that cities are a ripe place to bread paranoia and self indulgence. The city of Manchester did not seem any different. I was happy to get on to Scotland where things already seem more healthy. I did connect with one person while I was in Manchester-Jimmy. A kind hearted brother that had a comforting nature about him. I felt I could have called him if I really needed help at any time. That made my stay in a new foreign territory feel a bit safer. Things are only going to seem stranger from here on out.