A New Chance. Something Different, Something Better. Part 1.

So; a New Year is an artificial time for a new start.  But I thought I'd have one anyway.  A chance to try to live differently; better, not to analyse one's mistakes of the past, too much. And - of course - endeavour not to make them again.

Over the Christmas holidays, I had agreed with my cousin to stay with him in Chesterfield, Derbyshire, UK.  So I packed up my panniers, cranked up the folding bike and pointed it towards Edinburgh's Waverley Station.  I was to meet my cousin at his office after work; but it was financially advantageous for me to travel earlier and arrive in Chesterfield in the early afternoon.

So, merrily pocketing the seventy or so pounds, that I had saved, I had some lunch in the pub; completed some administrative chores and then found a cafe from which I could access the internet for work.

A night in a most excellent real ale pub in Chesterfield followed.  I did think that the Landlord seemed pleased to see my cousin when we rocked up together.  But that evening whizzed by as good evenings always do, and I was off to Newton, Notts..  To my ethnic homeland to see some other family members.

By then the bulk of the travelling had been done and it was just a quick hop, from Derbyshire into Nottinghamshire.  I caught a reasonably early train which took me into the centre of Nottingham, where it's just a short blast on the folding bike to my Cousin's place in Newton.  Lunchtime.  Excellent.

The next few days flew by in a pleasant haze of visitation and pubbing.  Turns out that I'm blessed with very generous cousins, who insisted on buying me lunch and getting me back to my accommodation in a taxi.  Great times.

So, onward ho.  I packed up the bike and pointed it towards Newark-upon-Trent, where I was planning to have lunch with some old mates.  There is a lovely cycle route from Newton, Notts., to Newark-upon-Trent, Notts, which meanders through some pretty villages and then joins up with an old railway line.  That brings one straight into Newark.  But there was no time for that, so I cycled up the old A46 - the Roman Fosse Way - to make haste.  I have written about the Fosse before:  http://travelsofgordonfisher.blogspot.co.uk/2015/06/what-have-romans-ever-done-for-us.html

I got a little lunch, worked for a bit and then met another friend after work for my onward journey.

A trip along the Thames-side path, part 2.

I was in Reading, Berkshire, UK., to attend a joint birthday party for two of my old muckers.  And my plan was to head back to my Youth Hostel, in Swiss Cottage, London; commencing the journey with a cycle ride along scenic Thames-side path.

Any regular readers of my blog will be aware of my fondness for the Thames-side path.  In the past, I have used it several times to cycle from London to Reading or Maidenhead.  But a recurring feature of previous trips is that I've had to depart from the Thames path around historic Runnymede, because of a lack of time and follow the quieter roads, which are classified as 'B' roads in the UK.

But this time a spare day between commitments in Reading and in London presented a not-to-be-missed opportunity for me to investigate the Thames-side path, as it runs to the East of Reading. Throughout the UK, the signage for cycle paths, which provide traffic free or perhaps semi-traffic free travel around our villages, towns and cities are simply getting better all the time.  Much of this is due to the sterling work of the Campaign for Sustainable Transport, or Sustrans (http://www.sustrans.org.uk/). And Reading was no different.  So after saying a fond farewell to my friends, I simply followed the Sustrans signs to the river Thames.

The Thames-side path through Reading was peaceful, I passed dog walkers and the occasional family, out on their bicycles.  Whilst my navigation might be classified as passable; it certainly isn't my strongest suit.  And true to form, quite soon I ended up stuck at the far end of some  swanky high-tech. business park.

A quick look at my smartphone revealed a circuitous route that I could take through back roads, that would return me to river bank.  But a cursory glance around my environs revealed what seemed to be an unpaved, but well maintained path heading in the direction of the river.  So I followed it and hoped for the best.  The further that I travelled down this path, the more convinced I was that it had been a good plan.  Soon the river was in view again and I was happily bound for Henley-on-Thames.

I find it easy to forget how slow progress can be on a push-bike when cycling on grass or on an unpaved path.  By the time I got to Henley I had probably been in the saddle for some forty minutes.  But a sign I passed noted - at least at face value - that I had only cycled some six miles.

Henley is famous, amongst other things for it's regatta; interested readers can find details here: https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Henley_Royal_Regatta   .  Henley is a pretty town by any standards and I enjoyed sailing through it on the bike.  But I had foolishly forgotten to bring my re-fillable water-bottle with me, and it was a warm afternoon for the time of year.  Refreshments were required.

I passed through bucolic scenes with cattle and deer amongst other livestock.  By now I was regretting not having stopped in Henley to get some refreshments and was feeling a little parched.  But the beauty of cycling in areas like this, is that one is never too far from civilisation, which in this context means Pubs/Coffee Shops/Bike Shops etc.  And soon there it was, a village Pub with a beer garden.  Ideal.

The remainder of the trip to Maidenhead was easy, following signs along 'B' roads.  I then caught a train back to London, where a soaking awaited me on the cycle from London Paddington station to my home for the night.  It wouldn't be the UK without changeable weather.  A very enjoyable afternoon trip. 

What have the Romans ever done for us......?

.....Is a joke - I think - from one of the Monty Python films.   But for us Brits the answer is quite a lot.  I'm no expert on Roman Britain; but I do know that they built an extensive road network.  And in many cases, our current road network still broadly follows the same lines.  The Fosse Way, now known as the A46 is one Roman route that I regularly use; and so it was the other day.  The Fosse links Exeter with Lincoln, both important central places back then.  Perhaps not so much these days.

I had stayed overnight at my brother's place in Coventry having travelled there by train the previous day.  The eventual destination that day was a relative's farm, which borders onto the Fosse.  But I wasn't going straight there.   My first stop was Loughborough University, a diversion from the Roman route.   But much of the route from Coventry to there followed Roman lines.  I drove from my brother's place to the A46, which then turns into the M69 Motorway.

If I was following the approximate track laid down Romans, I would have nipped North on the M1 Motorway for a mile or so, and then continued on the A46 for another forty miles or so.  But I continued North up the M1 to Loughborough University.  I often try to stop there when I'm passing, just to see the old place and perhaps catch up with a few of my lecturers.  It's some sixteen years since I left Uni., but many of them are still there.

It was a short trip because I didn't find anyone I knew and I wanted to acquire an inexpensive lunch in West Bridgford, a suburb of Nottingham on the River Trent.  Here there was England at it's best.  The weather was splendid and people were sitting on the pavements outside the pubs, cafes and restaurants just enjoying the day.  It's also near the Nottinghamshire County Cricket Ground at Trent Bridge.  I stayed overnight on my relative's farm

The next day I would re-join the Fosse as I headed for Newark-on-Trent.  This section of the A46 was until a few years ago a bottleneck; and like many road improvement schemes in the UK there had been a number of proposals to improve it.  During the economic downturn the government was looking for ways to stimulate the economy and improve our infrastructure, so the section between Kinoulton and Newark was upgraded.

That made it a fast blast up to Newark.  Newark is a town that is rich in history, and was a significant place during the English civil war.  It has a large market square in the centre with a number of small winding lanes that radiate out from it.  I headed for the river.  Much of the path alongside the river is picturesque, save for the occasional scrapyard.  And the building a maintenance of boats is clearly still clearly a viable business proposition in these parts, as I saw several such outlets.

The castle by the main road bridge still looms large in the vistas from the river.  Just south of the castle there is a park which is often used for beer festivals, musical events and so forth.  It's a great place to be when the weather is nice in the summer.  I wonder what a Roman citizen would have thought while watching a contemporary local band blasting out their beats in the shadow of the castle.

Hitting the Jackpot

Sometimes something happens, perhaps like a beach ball being propelled from a spring.  All is well in the world.  I'm not gambler, I'm not a betting man; but perhaps that is what it feels like.  I'd been chasing a customer for some time for payment on a project and the money came into the account.  I like to think that I'm not a mercenary person; but I was away from home in London, and that money would make my life a little easier.

But beyond that it felt like a personal victory.  The issue had been going back and forward with this troublesome lot, and now we had been paid.   Perhaps any beer or pies procured with this cash might seem more tasty; a little more pleasant. I felt jubilant.

Shortly after, that I foolishly missed a coach that would take me from London to my brother's place in Coventry; that was annoying, and a waste of money; but it didn't really matter, I could just hop on a train instead.  This payment had changed the equation a little bit.  I no longer travel by car all that much; but my brother has a car in Coventry that I have access to; so I embarked on some trips around Central and Southern England, to see some friends and perhaps to try and drum up some business.

There is a lot to be said - I think - for those that try to minimise the adverse environmental aspects of their travel by travelling by public transport, and cycling, etc.  But when one is unused to having access to a motor car, and then suddenly one does; it seems to me that life gets a little easier.  That morning all felt well in the world.  I'd had a nice fried breakfast, and I was planning a road trip that was both familiar - and hence straightforward navigationally - and that evoked positive memories.

In the late nineties during my apprenticeship I made a semi-regular journey from Bedford in Southern England to Swanick, near Southamption and the South Coast of England.  And it brings back memories of those happy trips.

Great weather too.  It must have been warm, because I had the air conditioning on in the car.  The start of my trip simply follows the A46 trunk road; which is, itself I believe a route that still largely follows the Roman Road, Fosse Way; which was built back then to link Exeter with Lincoln.  There is then a short bolt down the M40 motorway until turning off to head South on the A34.  It's a main trunk road which links the port of Southampton with the Midlands.

I was heading for a friend who lives in Basingstoke, in Hampshire so my route crossed the M4 motorway and then took me past Newbury.  When the Newbury bypass section of this trunk road was built in the mid-nineties it was perhaps one of the most controversial of sections of road built in the eighties and nineties.  Many environmentalists felt that the proposed route would lead to the destruction of some beautiful woodlands.  According to Wikipedia, around £35 000 000 was spent by the government on policing and private security companies to try to nullify the protests.

The protest was unsuccessful, in the end.  Although it may have helped re-frame the debate around road building.  The incoming Blair government in 1997 took a much more sparing attitude to expanding the road network in the UK.  They really only acted to alleviate bottlenecks.

But none of that was really on my mind, as I whizzed down the A34 following a Porsche Panamera in my brother's eleven year old Vauxhall.   Soon after Newbury, I drove past Greenham Common the site of a protest against nuclear weapons in the mid-eighties.

Basingstoke is often sniffed at by a certain type of person.  But I think the views from the A339 road from Newbury to Basingstoke through rolling hills and pretty villages; are some of the prettiest in Southern England.  I was a little late for my friend; but he was very relaxed about that.  Boy it's great to be alive when you've just hit the jackpot.

Cycling in the Lake District in winter.

I do like to think that I have a good feel for where places are in the UK, without consulting a map.  I've been interested in Geography for as long as I can remember; and one advantage of working in the construction industry is that you do get to travel.  But there are definite gaps in my knowledge.  The Lake District is part of that.  I had a bank holiday walking trip there some seven years ago, and a stopover a few years ago on the way to Manchester.  But that is pretty much it, although I've passed through on numerous occasions.

And had I grown up in another part of the UK, I might have gone there as I child.  But my family always took the view that it was better to head North for the Scottish Highlands than to head South for the Lakes.  Periodically, my siblings and I meet up for a weekend cycle trip, and as my brother lives and works in Coventry; it seemed like a good half way house.    We booked a Youth Hostel in Arnside, and at 1900 on the Friday evening my sister who also lives in Edinburgh turned up in a hired van.  The journey down was brisk, uneventful, dark and swift; except for a stop for fish and chips.  When we got to the Youth Hostel my brother had already arrived.    

Saturday arrived and the weather was cold, but bright.  Good cycling weather.  Arnside is on the South side of the mouth of the River Kent, and we were heading North; so the first part of the journey took us East to Milnthorpe, where we crossed the A6 and picked up a Sustrans cycling route.  Our plan was to circumnavigate Lake Windermere, which is one of the major Lakes that this part of the world is named after. 

Our route took us through rolling countryside with plenty of ascents and descents, but nothing back-breaking.  And the views were great.  We followed minor back roads towards Kendal, a picturesque Lakes' town.   After a few slight navigational mishaps we emerged from Kendal and headed towards Burneside following the Sustrans routes and not straying far from the River Kent.  

The route then joins a trunk road, which was the least pleasant part of the ride.  But soon we were into Windermere town on the banks of Lake Windermere.  Which is where we had lunch.  The weather also turned a little and it occurred to us that it might be a wet ride back.  The pace after lunch seemed more rapid.  That often happens.  My sister thinks it's because lunch gives everyone a morale boost; but I'm not so sure.  

Having said that there seemed to be lost of cyclists travelling much faster than us that afternoon.  Somehow, I just can't let go of the inner teenager that is slightly annoyed when someone else is quicker than I on a bike.  And though I say it myself, in general it doesn't happen that often.   If you disregard the guys that head out early on Sunday mornings on ultra-light racing bikes, I'm in one of the quicker deciles.  Not that day.  We were the slow coaches.  Not sure why.

On this side of the Lake, the road parts with the water and follows a pleasant and undulating route through native forests.  The weather was sunny again and we stopped for a rest and admired the boats on the Lake.    But there wasn't too much time to spare; daylight is in short supply during February in this part of the world.  Also the penultimate part of our journey would be by train; this saved us cycling for miles in the dark.

Our train would take us over the estuary from the genteel resort of Grange-over-Sands back to Arnside.  Soon before Grange we emerged from the woods into a mixture of bucolic and arable vistas.  We got to Grange - as I recall - just as the sun was setting and we found a cafe for refreshments.

I enjoyed crossing the sandflats on the train, and it made for an unusual and atmospheric ending to a great day in the saddle.  

The kindness of strangers (and friends)

I was looking forward to the cycle ride home.  I'd had a great stay with some relatives near Jedburgh in the Scottish Borders; and the forecast was fair.  I'd had a quick look at an online map; but only for the portion of the journey to Hawick.  There's a limited number of back-roads in the Borders, and I've known them since my teenage years.   But my plan was foiled through my own haphazard bicycle maintenance regime: I had tried to get a few extra miles out of a ropey old back tyre by attempting a cack-handed botch on it some months ago.  And as is the way with such botches, they often come unstuck at inconvenient times.  And so it was.  Some miles on from Hawick, as I hauled myself up the hill enjoying the sunshine, a metal strand of the wire in the tyre popped out and punctured the inner-tube.  I valiantly but hopelessly attempted an improbable mend.  This resulted only in the tube blowing out again.

Nothing for it but to walk the bike back to Hawick.  In the interim, while I was faffing away with the bike; I may have thought ill - or at least envious - of a person who swept by in a new looking and sparkling BMW coupe.  I can't fully remember if I did; but if so, I shouldn't have.   As the lady drove back down, she stopped, asked me if it was a folding bike and then offered me a lift.  There were a number of problems with this including the fact that her car had beautiful leather seats, her boot was full and my bike was filthy.  But she seemed unfazed; dismissed my concerns by saying any oil from my chain would wipe off.  So I packed the bike and all the other paraphernalia in and a few moments later after a pleasant chat, she dropped me off back in Hawick where the buses to Edinburgh go.  That saved me quite a long walk.

I was wondering how to pass the twenty five minutes until the bus arrived, before someone else at the bus stop engaged me in conversation and before long I was speeding towards Edinburgh.  The views would have been better and I could have taken longer to admire them, if I was travelling the back-roads on a functional push-bike.  But somehow the kindness of a stranger more than compensated for that.  And I always enjoy eavesdropping on fellow passengers during bus journeys.

I disembarked at a shopping centre in South suburban Edinburgh which is a convenient place from where to head home.  There I bumped into a friend and went for a coffee and a chat with him, which was splendid.  That day panned out in an unexpected way; but I received a barrel load of undeserved kindness.

In Search of Robin Hood

I think there's something uniquely appealing about cycling alongside a river.  But I've written about that before.  Do check out my previous blogs on that if you are interested.   The River Trent in the English Midlands has always been close to my heart because the village that my father hails from is located only a few hundred yards from it's banks.  And I lived in Newark-on-Trent for several years in the noughties.

I'd had a long weekend staying with relatives on my Dad's side of the family and a plan to travel from their farm near Bingham to stay with a friend of mine in Eckington in North-West Derbyshire; many would regard Eckington as a de-facto suburb of Sheffield.   And it's a great bike ride through a variety of landscapes.  I even had time to plan my route with my aged maps prior to commencing my journey.

I understand that in a bygone era, there were manually operated rope-ferries at various locations between Gunthorpe Bridge and Newark-on-Trent; but these have gone the way of the milkman.  Nowadays, as a cyclist, if you want to remain dry you have to cross the Trent at Gunthorpe Bridge, which I did.    By which time I was on the West side of the Trent.  This route is familiar to me as I went this way from Newark to Nottingham in the past.

I ambled through pretty Nottinghamshire villages; sometimes cycling along beside the river, and at other times a little further away.  I like the town of Fiskerton, it offers pleasant river-side walks and a good pub.  One of the delights of cycling is that the cyclists feels the shape of the landscape instinctively.  Of course, the most modest of inclines is noticed by the cyclist who pedals harder to beat the incline.  As I pedaled on to the ancient town of Southwell, you leave the river basin and the pull up the hill keeps the landscape in the memory.  These things are much less striking in a motor-car.

On from Southwell, I went through Kirklington, Eakring and on to Wellow.  Wellow is notable for it's school and unusually large flagpole.  I was disappointed in Ollerton that there was nowhere to procure a portion of fish and chips for lunch; but a few miles further on my disappointment was assuaged by a fish and chip shop at the next roundabout.    The route goes through Sherwood Forest, home to Robin Hood according to the legend.  It's a sudden change in landscape from the predominantly arable vistas I had enjoyed hitherto.

The view from the roadside does not indicate a huge variety of tree species, but the landscape is pretty, with babbling brooks and some small lakes.  And the few properties are strikingly different to the conventional red-brick of the English Midlands.    A few miles further on and one is in Whaley where there was a coal mine.  Now, of course, long closed.  And converted into Poulter country park by the local council in conjunction with the European Union.  This is also indicative of closeness to the destination.

The landscape in the final fifteen miles or so is quite different once again.  Steep inclines and rapid descents through Clowne, Barlborough and into Eckington, made me glad to be on a bike with a selection of gearing ratios.  Only travelling by bike - I think - with it's gentler pace and vulnerability to the lay of the land can a voyager be so intimately in touch with the nature of the landscape and their environment.  What a great invention.