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50 foot screen directly in front of us. Here they come! The last turn! They're gonna line up on the grid and moments later - they're off! Crash and burn baby! What a minute. They're pulling into the pits when they are supposed to be getting into grid position. What the heck is going on?!

The man in the row in front of us was listening to the radio and gave all of us within earshot the low down. The cars running on Michelin tires (14 of the 20 cars) were not allowed to run because it was thought that the tires could not take the turns and would blow out, causing potential death and destruction. It was all very complicated, trust me. So there we were watching six cars go round and round a winding track along with 130,000 other race enthusiasts. We left after half an hour completely stunned. That's why I started this article with "I used to be a Formula One fan . . . ".

Back to the roots. I just had to go back to Fort Wayne, Indiana. That's where I spent the forming years of my life from 12 to 18 years of age. I always promised my wife I would one day show her where I grew up. This was it. Within less than a couple of hours from South Bend, it would make a nice day trip and I could indulge in a bit of reminiscing. Excitement grew as I got nearer my "hometown". Coming down Highway 33, getting closer, my heart rate increased as my foot got heavier. Do you know how much an Indiana State Trooper fines you for doing 70mph in a 55mph zone? $130.

Having had enough of Indiana, going to see my parents in Minnesota was a welcome relief. However, shortly after arriving, my wife became quite ill. So ill in fact, she went to the doctor which she never does. Yes, visiting the doctor cost $130. And what did he do? He gave her a prescription. I got the prescription filled for a mere $130. Some pills!

Thank heaven the holiday was over. We arrived back at London Heathrow ever so glad to be out of the $130 money pit. We grabbed our luggage and headed to the parking garage where we had our car in a long term park. The idiots, or intellectuals, who designed the elevators going to the parking garage, did not make the elevator wide enough to fit a luggage trolley in the lift. Realizing this, I instructed my wife to get in the lift and hold the door open while I threw the luggage in. All in and I jumped in. Phew! That's it. Holiday over.

We got to the car and I loaded the luggage in the car. I started up the car and my wife asked me "Where's my handbag?". "I dunno" I gave as a standard husband response. " It was hanging on the hook on the back of the trolley!" she screamed! I dashed back to the trolley but of course the handbag was gone. Purse snatch at Heathrow. Now the holiday, and nearly life itself, was over.

To finish this marathon of mishaps, the last thing to finally put it to rest was the filling in of the insurance form. We sat down together and went through line by line of what is in a woman's handbag. Brain surgery would have been easier. Then came the line - "How much cash was in the bag". With a big grin, she answered "About $130".

Learn more about this author, Travis Casey.
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