So...having passed my test but still owning no more than a pair of motorcycle gloves, it was time to get some clothing in preparation for buying the bike. I was advised that the best way to get affordable clothing was at one of the motorcycle shows and decided to go to the one at the Bath & West Showground. That idea was scuppered when I realised that it wasn't until the spring so we decided to go the International Motorcycle and Scooter Show at the NEC in November.
The NEC was a place I'd heard of but not seen yet, the car-parks are the size of a small county and there is a definite feeling that you are buying a season ticket, not just the parking place for a day, at £8.
The place is huge so the first thing is to catch the bus to the exhibition halls. No queue to get in on a Wednesday so we are straight in, looking at a huge hall full of the manufacturers main stands. The main manufacturers were all there, Suzuki, Yamaha, Honda, Kawasaki, Benelli, Ducati, Triumph, Harley Davidson, BMW etc plus a few others such as the newer names from the far-east, not yet familiar. We wandered round, frankly a bit bewildered and identified a few familiar models and did the 'big kid' thing of sitting on them and trying their positions. Showed Lynne the modern edition of the Suzuki I had passed my test on and also showed her a Honda Transalp which is a bike I am considering buying. We sat on a few totally enormous bikes, some of which seemed less than practical, and Lynne insisted on getting on behind me (two big kids)
There were displays of 'custom' bikes which were breathtaking works though, in line with my dis-interest in bicycle machinery, I admired them without the least inclination to own one or emulate the achievement. One particularly extreme 'chopper' had a large crowd round it, none of whom seemed too bothered about the drive chain running along under the thigh of the rider. I've always been attached to these legs and I thought it was a bad idea in general. That's just what you need at the International Motorcycle and Scooter Show, some kill-joy who hates being chopped up by a chain.
Off to one side of this hall was another huge room holding some of the larger displays, mini-moto racing, a skills testing area run by Buell and most interestingly a Wall of Death! Lynne was off in it's direction like a shot, no stopping her. To her it was 'sole reason for visit'.
The Wall of Death is small, obviously small enough to be towed from place to place in a lorry. We had to pay £2.50 each for entry to this circus-like side-show and on entry we found ourselves looking down from a cat-walk into a wooden cylinder about 20 feet across and about 20 feet high. At the bottom were three motorbikes.
When enough people had filled the show, a slightly-built blond girl appeared through a hole in the Wall and started up one of the bikes, deafening with almost no silencer and in such a confined space. Suddenly she was away, riding around and up the wooden fillet at the edge that made a gradual change between the flat floor and the vertical barrel-vaulting of the Wall. Then you were aware that she was doing the 'impossible', riding on a totally vertical surface, blipping the throttle and going from top to bottom of the Wall on every lap, so close to the top that you had to remove your fingers from the edge of the track as she passed by. Each pass shook the structure; you were very aware of the weight of bike and rider passing right past your stomach. My initial reaction was that she looked like a rag-doll. With no helmet, her hair was streaming out behind in the wind and she was shaken as her bike passed over the planking. This was because the bikes were a bit rigid, having no suspension and probably very hard tyres. Yes that's right - no helmet, but it got madder before it finished. A young man took her place on another bike and did more or less the same stunts though at greater speed and with even more alarming shaking of the Wall of Death.
I pointed out a steel wire running round the top of the wall and said to Lynne "What do you think that wire is for?"
"To catch the riders and keep your hands out of harm's way" she said.
"Er, no" I corrected her "It's to stop the wall bursting!"
The next rider was an older man and just when I thought it couldn't be madder, it got madder. This guy stood up and rode with no hands, climbed over the handlebars and sat at the front of the bike, stood on his 'chain-stay' and waved as he passed by, riding 'no-handed' and generally doing things I could not do if the bike was on it's stand in a car-park.
There was an interlude while the girl drove a buggy car round the wall, noisy and mad but nothing compared to the finale, a few laps with ALL THREE riders riding round three abreast. The whole thing must have been about 15 minutes of noisy unforgettable craziness - fifteen minutes when I don't think I breathed once. I was simply stunned into silence. (There are some who would say this too is quite impossible)
We went and sat in another part of the hall then and let our ears have a rest while we ate our sandwiches (food at the show comes with a Securicorp guard - or at least at that price it should!) and watched the Buell skills riding. Felt that I could have done better than a couple of the riders I watched but a Buell is a wildly powerful bike so I doubt it really.
My purpose in visiting the show was to buy clothing. I visited a few stands and tried on a couple of crash helmets. It's very hard to actually know what you get for your extra money but everyone says "Don't buy a cheap one - you can't put a price on your head" I remain a bit unconvinced that the £600 helmets work 10 times better than the £60 helmets. Certainly there will be a diminishing return with great spending. That said I bought a helmet for...quite a lot of money. I put my credit card where my mouth is and effectively put a value on my head ( "What; it's worth THAT much?" ) I bought a Shoei, a well respected make, but last year's model so well discounted. Then we found a stall selling 'water damaged' clothing from a shop which had been flooded in the summer. Couldn't find anything wrong with the boots and trousers I purchased at bargain prices. Think about it - waterproof trousers that are discounted as water damaged stock. Is it me, or is there something rather strange about that?
Watched a rather dire dance sequence on the 'Black Horse' stage with some questionable characters of indeterminate sexuality prancing around in some odd clothing as well as some very good motorcycle gear. More entertaining watching the faces of the people in the audience, trying to keep from guffawing out loud.
There was still time to eat an outrageously fattening Greek Yoghurt and Honey ice-cream and have a look at a few more bikes including a Kawasaki that felt as if it's saddle was made of old house-bricks. The average leather bicycle saddle is surely no harder.
Then it was time to head south into the worsening weather and by the time we got back to Wiltshire it was teeming with rain.
We later learned that one of my friends met with an accident whilst riding home from the show and his bike had continued on down the hill after unshipping it's rider and felled a tree, 'totalling' the bike in the process. Hoping to hear that he is well again. He has had some time off work as a result with bruises in places not fit to be describe in a public blog...
Friday 7 December 2007
Thursday 8 November 2007
Motorcycling! What next?
At the grand old age of fifty I thought I would like to ride a motorbike again. I'd had one when I was 20ish but was doing so much cycling then that a motorbike was a bit of a white elephant. In those days you could ride a bike of up to 250cc without taking a test first. You just kept your 'L-plates' on indefinitely though you couldn't carry a pillion rider (unless he had a licence!) Well the law has changed since then, a good thing, so now my provisional licence meant that I could only ride a small bike, a 125cc and I had to take CBT, compulsory basic training, before riding that. There is one little loophole though, a short cut for experienced road users which is 'Direct Access', a system whereby you can train on a 500cc bike if you are on an approved course. I liked the look of that, a new challenge, a new skill and hopefully a safer rider as a result. After some hesitation, (that's me I'm afraid!) I approached Phoenix Motorcycle Training, run by Leigh Coldwell in Chippenham. We had a chat about it, initially by e-mail, and I went away and sat in a dark room feeling a bit faint about the cost. Anyway, I made up my mind that I would go down that route so the next thing to do was take the theory part of the driving test, another new introduction since I passed my car driving test in 1975.
The theory test was done in Bath, all done on a computer screen. A certain amount of revision of the Highway Code was needed, a process I thoroughly enjoyed! I hadn't realised how the Highway code had changed in 30 years (no more whip signals!) and there were many things I had forgotten. The Highway Code is only a part of the theory test though as there is also a 'hazard perception test' This was explained well on a DVD sent out by the DSA (Driving Standards Agency) so that on the day I felt confident that I would pass; I did! My marks were a perfect 35 out of 35 on the Highway code, very gratifying and a comfortable middle of the range score on the hazard perception test, harder to revise for (just like real life!) so a good score would need more practice, something I was unable to do.
Having passed the theory test I was able to approach Leigh about the motorcycle training proper. This was to begin with CBT (compulsory basic training) which is broadly the same for mopeds, motorcycles and scooters. It is possible to take CBT on a 500cc bike but I am glad to say that Leigh didn't try to get me to run before I could walk so I found myself astride a Suzuki 125 for my first motorcycle experience since I was an apprentice. The Redland School in Chippenham played host to our first wobbly figures of eight around the playground one Saturday. The other trainee for the day was a young girl, Emma, who was doing CBT on a scooter but the training is essentially the same except that I had gears and a clutch to add to my confusion whereas the scooter manages without.
All too soon Leigh was saying "Well, we all seem to be good enough, so let's head out on the road!" Eeek! The first few hundred yards was a bit slow. We must have seemed like a rolling road block to the bewildered residents of Redlands. The instructor is in touch with his trainees by radio and after a while I heard a voice saying "It is okay to go above 15 mph you know!" I managed to coax myself up to 30 mph over the next few minutes. I have to say that for anyone who values his life, 30 mph is three times faster on a motorbike than it is in a car. The Suzuki was ever so easy to ride, lying low to the road so that even short women can manage it, but it has an impossible gearbox with neutral coming and going erratically. I was so glad to be moving on to another bike for my test. CBT more or less mirrors what will be done later in the driving test, with emergency stops, U-turns, an open road ride (50mph!!!) and a hill start. My confidence was slowly rising and cautiously I started looking forward to the next part of my training, a half day of Direct Access conversion which essentially was a bit like the CBT but involved sitting on a Suzuki GS500 for the first time in my life.
The 500 weighs more. There was no getting away from it. It seemed huge. When you let go of the clutch there's a feeling of being carried away by a real no-nonsense power too. I felt like a pony trekker being sent out on Red Rum. First I rode around the car-park of the rugby club, figures of eight etc, some emergency stops and I started to get the measure of this larger bike. Then the time had come to go somewhere on it and Leigh followed me as we set off down the quiet lane to Biddestone and then left to Cross Keys at Corsham and back along the A4. Much poodling around the town and suburbs and all too soon this adventure was over and I went into work for the afternoon, grinning from ear to ear.
The next day, Tuesday, was just a work day. Presumably Leigh was involved with other pupils, so I trained next on Wednesday, meeting Leigh at his home on the other side of town. We had a whole day of round and round the houses, U-turns, emergency stops, hill-starts over and over with the occasional burst of excitement along an A-road. We finished by going through Lacock and up Bowden Hill to Sandy Lane. It wasn't a cold time of year yet but there is only so much you can do before you need to warm up and go the toilet etc so I was introduced to the delights of Mayhem Motorcycles, Chippenham's motorbike shop on the Bumper's Farm Industrial Estate. If we weren't hanging around in a motorbike shop, we were at a kebab van somewhere. I was a biker!
Wednesday started at Leigh's house again, and we were to be joined by Barny, about 30 years my junior. He was dropped off from a brand new Bentley. Leigh and I watched it drive away with our jaws on the floor. Barny was okay though, a real nice lad who had failed a few weeks ago on his U-turn and so he had to go back to more lessons and a retest. We drove round and round as the previous day, visiting places in Chippenham that I had hardly ever seen, maybe never seen, before. Each estate road had a six metre wide place just right for the U-turn and I slowly got better at them, usually turning rather too tightly - I'm used to turning a fixed wheel bicycle - and occasionally paying the price as I would be going too slowly and have to put my foot down.
The program of training was, essentially, to visit all the known haunts of the examiner and turn in all the places he uses and ride through the junctions that would be in my test.
My test! That was scheduled for Friday morning, six and a half days after first sitting on a motorbike. The morning dawned bright and crisp - in fact too bright and too crisp. It was very cold and very bright with a very low sun. At first the 500 could not be persuaded to run smoothly as it was chilled and I had to bump it back into life at several junctions when it cut out.
The other problem occupying my mind was the cold which was causing my visor to mist over alarmingly, and my glasses too. This combination of glasses and visor misted meant that I was trying to look through something only slightly more opaque than a house-brick. By cracking the visor open a little I could more or less see where I was going. We went off and did a practice route and the bike was just about warm and my nerves were jangling less.
The test centre is the very last building in Bumper's Farm. My test was the very first test of the day. The examiner did all the formalities, eye-test, licence, etc and then we went off. I was surprised when he told me to drive out to Castle Combe, not a normal route. He must have been avoiding the rush hour traffic. Going out in the country suited me as it uses up time and gets the bike warm before the manoeuvres like the U-turn. However I was caught out a bit by his instruction to turn towards Kington St Michael as, oddly maybe, I am not really very familiar with the junction. Even with the sun behind me I had trouble seeing it. No problem though, got away with it. Then we had to negotiate the traffic lights at the Plough. If I had not been familiar with the junction I would have been in big trouble, turning straight into the sun. We went up to the golf course junction and into Chippenham along Malmesbury Rd. I was instructed to turn right into Yewstock Crescent which I did, just as a van hurtled round the corner out of the flaring light at me. This went down on the examiner's score sheet...as did the next disaster when I completely cocked up the U-turn after having done maybe 100 perfect turns. I was dead cheeky and asked if I could repeat the manoeuvre (if you don't ask...) but to no avail.
Barny passed and I didn't. Disappointing, but the examiner is not your enemy; he's there to keep you alive! If at first you don't succeed...
Two weeks later I was booked in again so on the Tuesday I booked a half day off and we went round and round in time honoured fashion, this time on a different bike. I wasn't keen on this bike but it was all good training. Amusingly I had arranged to meet Leigh at 1pm but by 2.15 there was no sign of him so I phoned him on his mobile and he was hugely embarrassed to have forgotten all about me. He promised to get back to his home at 3pm. When he arrived he had another pupil with him, John, on the aforesaid different bike. John was just off home so I just climbed straight on his bike and we did an hour and a quarter of good training until the rush hour made it a bit too manic.
The next day was John's test, and mine too. I was pleased to be back on the old familiar bike - it felt like an old friend.
John failed ...on his U-turn. So that was three people to my knowledge who couldn't take a bike and turn it round. I had to sit biting my nails until he returned and I could go off with the examiner, a different man this time. We launched straight into the U-turn, almost from cold. I did it perfectly! (nervously but perfectly) Then the rest of the test was more or less a formality as we went out around Sutton Benger and the motorway junction and returned to Chippenham via the dual carriageway (70 mph in your driving test - not bad , eh?) At the end he said I had had a 'good ride' and told me I had only made 2 driving faults - you are allowed 15 in a test. I grinned all the way back to Leigh's house.
Then came the icing on the cake - because he had been so embarrassed by leaving me in the cold the day before, Leigh would only charge me for the re-test so a major financial disaster was avoided. A good bloke, Leigh - Phoenix Motorcycle Training, just in case you are interested!
The theory test was done in Bath, all done on a computer screen. A certain amount of revision of the Highway Code was needed, a process I thoroughly enjoyed! I hadn't realised how the Highway code had changed in 30 years (no more whip signals!) and there were many things I had forgotten. The Highway Code is only a part of the theory test though as there is also a 'hazard perception test' This was explained well on a DVD sent out by the DSA (Driving Standards Agency) so that on the day I felt confident that I would pass; I did! My marks were a perfect 35 out of 35 on the Highway code, very gratifying and a comfortable middle of the range score on the hazard perception test, harder to revise for (just like real life!) so a good score would need more practice, something I was unable to do.
Having passed the theory test I was able to approach Leigh about the motorcycle training proper. This was to begin with CBT (compulsory basic training) which is broadly the same for mopeds, motorcycles and scooters. It is possible to take CBT on a 500cc bike but I am glad to say that Leigh didn't try to get me to run before I could walk so I found myself astride a Suzuki 125 for my first motorcycle experience since I was an apprentice. The Redland School in Chippenham played host to our first wobbly figures of eight around the playground one Saturday. The other trainee for the day was a young girl, Emma, who was doing CBT on a scooter but the training is essentially the same except that I had gears and a clutch to add to my confusion whereas the scooter manages without.
All too soon Leigh was saying "Well, we all seem to be good enough, so let's head out on the road!" Eeek! The first few hundred yards was a bit slow. We must have seemed like a rolling road block to the bewildered residents of Redlands. The instructor is in touch with his trainees by radio and after a while I heard a voice saying "It is okay to go above 15 mph you know!" I managed to coax myself up to 30 mph over the next few minutes. I have to say that for anyone who values his life, 30 mph is three times faster on a motorbike than it is in a car. The Suzuki was ever so easy to ride, lying low to the road so that even short women can manage it, but it has an impossible gearbox with neutral coming and going erratically. I was so glad to be moving on to another bike for my test. CBT more or less mirrors what will be done later in the driving test, with emergency stops, U-turns, an open road ride (50mph!!!) and a hill start. My confidence was slowly rising and cautiously I started looking forward to the next part of my training, a half day of Direct Access conversion which essentially was a bit like the CBT but involved sitting on a Suzuki GS500 for the first time in my life.
The 500 weighs more. There was no getting away from it. It seemed huge. When you let go of the clutch there's a feeling of being carried away by a real no-nonsense power too. I felt like a pony trekker being sent out on Red Rum. First I rode around the car-park of the rugby club, figures of eight etc, some emergency stops and I started to get the measure of this larger bike. Then the time had come to go somewhere on it and Leigh followed me as we set off down the quiet lane to Biddestone and then left to Cross Keys at Corsham and back along the A4. Much poodling around the town and suburbs and all too soon this adventure was over and I went into work for the afternoon, grinning from ear to ear.
The next day, Tuesday, was just a work day. Presumably Leigh was involved with other pupils, so I trained next on Wednesday, meeting Leigh at his home on the other side of town. We had a whole day of round and round the houses, U-turns, emergency stops, hill-starts over and over with the occasional burst of excitement along an A-road. We finished by going through Lacock and up Bowden Hill to Sandy Lane. It wasn't a cold time of year yet but there is only so much you can do before you need to warm up and go the toilet etc so I was introduced to the delights of Mayhem Motorcycles, Chippenham's motorbike shop on the Bumper's Farm Industrial Estate. If we weren't hanging around in a motorbike shop, we were at a kebab van somewhere. I was a biker!
Wednesday started at Leigh's house again, and we were to be joined by Barny, about 30 years my junior. He was dropped off from a brand new Bentley. Leigh and I watched it drive away with our jaws on the floor. Barny was okay though, a real nice lad who had failed a few weeks ago on his U-turn and so he had to go back to more lessons and a retest. We drove round and round as the previous day, visiting places in Chippenham that I had hardly ever seen, maybe never seen, before. Each estate road had a six metre wide place just right for the U-turn and I slowly got better at them, usually turning rather too tightly - I'm used to turning a fixed wheel bicycle - and occasionally paying the price as I would be going too slowly and have to put my foot down.
The program of training was, essentially, to visit all the known haunts of the examiner and turn in all the places he uses and ride through the junctions that would be in my test.
My test! That was scheduled for Friday morning, six and a half days after first sitting on a motorbike. The morning dawned bright and crisp - in fact too bright and too crisp. It was very cold and very bright with a very low sun. At first the 500 could not be persuaded to run smoothly as it was chilled and I had to bump it back into life at several junctions when it cut out.
The other problem occupying my mind was the cold which was causing my visor to mist over alarmingly, and my glasses too. This combination of glasses and visor misted meant that I was trying to look through something only slightly more opaque than a house-brick. By cracking the visor open a little I could more or less see where I was going. We went off and did a practice route and the bike was just about warm and my nerves were jangling less.
The test centre is the very last building in Bumper's Farm. My test was the very first test of the day. The examiner did all the formalities, eye-test, licence, etc and then we went off. I was surprised when he told me to drive out to Castle Combe, not a normal route. He must have been avoiding the rush hour traffic. Going out in the country suited me as it uses up time and gets the bike warm before the manoeuvres like the U-turn. However I was caught out a bit by his instruction to turn towards Kington St Michael as, oddly maybe, I am not really very familiar with the junction. Even with the sun behind me I had trouble seeing it. No problem though, got away with it. Then we had to negotiate the traffic lights at the Plough. If I had not been familiar with the junction I would have been in big trouble, turning straight into the sun. We went up to the golf course junction and into Chippenham along Malmesbury Rd. I was instructed to turn right into Yewstock Crescent which I did, just as a van hurtled round the corner out of the flaring light at me. This went down on the examiner's score sheet...as did the next disaster when I completely cocked up the U-turn after having done maybe 100 perfect turns. I was dead cheeky and asked if I could repeat the manoeuvre (if you don't ask...) but to no avail.
Barny passed and I didn't. Disappointing, but the examiner is not your enemy; he's there to keep you alive! If at first you don't succeed...
Two weeks later I was booked in again so on the Tuesday I booked a half day off and we went round and round in time honoured fashion, this time on a different bike. I wasn't keen on this bike but it was all good training. Amusingly I had arranged to meet Leigh at 1pm but by 2.15 there was no sign of him so I phoned him on his mobile and he was hugely embarrassed to have forgotten all about me. He promised to get back to his home at 3pm. When he arrived he had another pupil with him, John, on the aforesaid different bike. John was just off home so I just climbed straight on his bike and we did an hour and a quarter of good training until the rush hour made it a bit too manic.
The next day was John's test, and mine too. I was pleased to be back on the old familiar bike - it felt like an old friend.
John failed ...on his U-turn. So that was three people to my knowledge who couldn't take a bike and turn it round. I had to sit biting my nails until he returned and I could go off with the examiner, a different man this time. We launched straight into the U-turn, almost from cold. I did it perfectly! (nervously but perfectly) Then the rest of the test was more or less a formality as we went out around Sutton Benger and the motorway junction and returned to Chippenham via the dual carriageway (70 mph in your driving test - not bad , eh?) At the end he said I had had a 'good ride' and told me I had only made 2 driving faults - you are allowed 15 in a test. I grinned all the way back to Leigh's house.
Then came the icing on the cake - because he had been so embarrassed by leaving me in the cold the day before, Leigh would only charge me for the re-test so a major financial disaster was avoided. A good bloke, Leigh - Phoenix Motorcycle Training, just in case you are interested!
Tuesday 4 September 2007
Tuesday 14 August 2007
Exford.
This weekend we camped at Exford, Westermills Farm, and went walking a great deal! Despite some unpromising weather forecasts, the weather was good, great in fact.
We drove down on the Saturday morning, using M4 and M5 until Taunton. Considerable congestion past Bristol on the M5. Then it was Bishop's Lydiard and Wheddon Cross to Exford. Enough of the dull bit...
Got tented up and then drove to Hillsford Bridge on Oakford Water, a tributary of the East Lynn. We followed a suggested route from a Jarrold book of Exmoor walks which led us down to Lynmouth. The town was in uproarious mood as it was the occasion of the annual Raft Race. It seems to be the custom to throw flour and water at the competitors. Most were white and drenched before they had ever got near the water's edge. Had to point out to Lynne that if we did not leave a bit sharply we could be cooking our evening meal in the dark so regretfully we had to leave before the raft race had actually started. Most of the rafts were themed, in the way that carnival floats are themed such as the Pink Ladies (from the film 'Grease') and Sheila's Wheels (it's a current TV ad for insurance) The most bizarre though was one made of two cable drums joined together which the crew evidently thought would roll across the surface of the harbour like a cotton reel. I was amazed we did not witness a drowning. It was unstable, unsteerable and unhurried. It spent most of it's time on it's side with part of the crew desperately trying to right it before the other guy ran out of air.
The return journey to Hillsford Br. kept close to the East Lynn river and passed through Watersmeet. On the way out of Lynmouth is a river side garden which is a memorial to the people who lost their lives there in the floods of 1952. The cottages are gone now but the garden remains.
On Sunday morning we decided to take a walk to Tarr Steps on the River Barle. Jarrold suggests a circuit from Withypool to Tarr Steps but the outward journey along a permissive path on the NE side of the Barle was so good that we simply retraced to Withypool along the river bank. That worked out well as the views are just as good when facing the other way and we were lucky to see, amongst other things, five jays together and, later, a hobby. Also there were many damselfies and some Siver-Washed Fritillaries. The break at Tarr Steps was a joy as we went into the busy pub and Lynne went into ecstacies about her very-good cream tea and I had a welcome pint of bitter. Several vehicles went through the ford which was running well with water so we saw nothing smaller than a Land Rover make the passage. On foot we preferred the clapper bridge!
Monday was a rainier day altogether and we contented ourselves with a touristy day in Lynmouth, catching the funicular railway down from Lynton. The journey home dragged on a bit partly as the road from Lynmouth to Bridgwater via Porlock and Minehead is distinctly unimproved - not that I minded a bit!
We drove down on the Saturday morning, using M4 and M5 until Taunton. Considerable congestion past Bristol on the M5. Then it was Bishop's Lydiard and Wheddon Cross to Exford. Enough of the dull bit...
Got tented up and then drove to Hillsford Bridge on Oakford Water, a tributary of the East Lynn. We followed a suggested route from a Jarrold book of Exmoor walks which led us down to Lynmouth. The town was in uproarious mood as it was the occasion of the annual Raft Race. It seems to be the custom to throw flour and water at the competitors. Most were white and drenched before they had ever got near the water's edge. Had to point out to Lynne that if we did not leave a bit sharply we could be cooking our evening meal in the dark so regretfully we had to leave before the raft race had actually started. Most of the rafts were themed, in the way that carnival floats are themed such as the Pink Ladies (from the film 'Grease') and Sheila's Wheels (it's a current TV ad for insurance) The most bizarre though was one made of two cable drums joined together which the crew evidently thought would roll across the surface of the harbour like a cotton reel. I was amazed we did not witness a drowning. It was unstable, unsteerable and unhurried. It spent most of it's time on it's side with part of the crew desperately trying to right it before the other guy ran out of air.
The return journey to Hillsford Br. kept close to the East Lynn river and passed through Watersmeet. On the way out of Lynmouth is a river side garden which is a memorial to the people who lost their lives there in the floods of 1952. The cottages are gone now but the garden remains.
On Sunday morning we decided to take a walk to Tarr Steps on the River Barle. Jarrold suggests a circuit from Withypool to Tarr Steps but the outward journey along a permissive path on the NE side of the Barle was so good that we simply retraced to Withypool along the river bank. That worked out well as the views are just as good when facing the other way and we were lucky to see, amongst other things, five jays together and, later, a hobby. Also there were many damselfies and some Siver-Washed Fritillaries. The break at Tarr Steps was a joy as we went into the busy pub and Lynne went into ecstacies about her very-good cream tea and I had a welcome pint of bitter. Several vehicles went through the ford which was running well with water so we saw nothing smaller than a Land Rover make the passage. On foot we preferred the clapper bridge!
Monday was a rainier day altogether and we contented ourselves with a touristy day in Lynmouth, catching the funicular railway down from Lynton. The journey home dragged on a bit partly as the road from Lynmouth to Bridgwater via Porlock and Minehead is distinctly unimproved - not that I minded a bit!
Monday 23 July 2007
Some unseasonal rainfall
2007 is shaping up to be quite a year; we'll never forget it. April was a hot and dry month, and all the preceding weeks were dry(ish) as I prepared for the London Marathon.
Almost from that time onwards though it seems, it has rained and rained and...
Last week came crunch time though when heavy rain fell and the ground could no longer sponge it up.
Northern and central England had already been hit by flooding. Those places had not even had time to recover when more rain fell. One day in particular the forecaster warned people to expect 4 to 5 inches of rain. I have never heard of such a thing and doubted if it was possible. It was possible! As I write, Tewkesbury, Upton on Severn and Gloucester are all flooded badly - this is July remember. Tenbury Wells has been flooded on two separate occasions by the Teme escaping and causing trouble in the main streets of the town. This caused me to pay attention as Tenbury is downstream of Ludlow and of course Knighton. I have watched for word of Knighton but it has not been mentioned on the news, luckily. Hard to believe that the town has escaped flooding; it just doesn't appear on the medias' list of important places whereas Cotswold towns and smart Worcestershire villages are 'real'.
Word came this morning from Rosie via a text message that they were on holiday in a youth hostel in Northumbria. Apparently the journey was not without incident as the car was actually floating at Bucknell near Knighton. Sally has surprised me by sticking it out and continuing. Most impressed.
Locally the weather has been less scary though my friend Pete has told of an epic cycle home through the floods to get back from Swindon to Chippenham. On Saturday we visited Lacock to see what the water looked like and the road was flooded badly at Lacock Abbey and at Reybridge where the water was too deep for Land Rovers! Upstream of Chippenham the road was flooded at the Maud Heath causeway crossing of the Avon at Kellaways. I visited Kellaways on Sunday and although the flood had receded it was still deep enough to be unwise to drive a normal car through and the tide mark of mud left behind suggested that it had been two feet deeper!
Beanacre, Melksham and Bradford on Avon all had their own flood problems. Not sure whether the waters have reached Bath yet or if the excellent wiers at Pulteney Bridge and Newbridge have prevented any bad inundation.
Almost from that time onwards though it seems, it has rained and rained and...
Last week came crunch time though when heavy rain fell and the ground could no longer sponge it up.
Northern and central England had already been hit by flooding. Those places had not even had time to recover when more rain fell. One day in particular the forecaster warned people to expect 4 to 5 inches of rain. I have never heard of such a thing and doubted if it was possible. It was possible! As I write, Tewkesbury, Upton on Severn and Gloucester are all flooded badly - this is July remember. Tenbury Wells has been flooded on two separate occasions by the Teme escaping and causing trouble in the main streets of the town. This caused me to pay attention as Tenbury is downstream of Ludlow and of course Knighton. I have watched for word of Knighton but it has not been mentioned on the news, luckily. Hard to believe that the town has escaped flooding; it just doesn't appear on the medias' list of important places whereas Cotswold towns and smart Worcestershire villages are 'real'.
Word came this morning from Rosie via a text message that they were on holiday in a youth hostel in Northumbria. Apparently the journey was not without incident as the car was actually floating at Bucknell near Knighton. Sally has surprised me by sticking it out and continuing. Most impressed.
Locally the weather has been less scary though my friend Pete has told of an epic cycle home through the floods to get back from Swindon to Chippenham. On Saturday we visited Lacock to see what the water looked like and the road was flooded badly at Lacock Abbey and at Reybridge where the water was too deep for Land Rovers! Upstream of Chippenham the road was flooded at the Maud Heath causeway crossing of the Avon at Kellaways. I visited Kellaways on Sunday and although the flood had receded it was still deep enough to be unwise to drive a normal car through and the tide mark of mud left behind suggested that it had been two feet deeper!
Beanacre, Melksham and Bradford on Avon all had their own flood problems. Not sure whether the waters have reached Bath yet or if the excellent wiers at Pulteney Bridge and Newbridge have prevented any bad inundation.
Monday 16 July 2007
School art exhibition
Went up to Lisa's school last week; some of her work had been selected for display. I wasn't expecting much from a comprehensive school's art room. I was wrong! I could have spent twice as long there, getting really involved in the work of various different years, some of it 'A' level, some for GCSE and some just course work. One or two of the works stopped me in my tracks. I thought back to my own days doing art at school and realised that, despite my almost continual denigration of modern education, the art was much advanced from that which we were doing in the 1970s. Partly this may be down to the way in which the exams are marked. Our work had to be of a suitable size and structure for transporting away to be marked for 'O' or 'A' level assessment. This meant there were size limits, limits on the sort of materials we could use etc. This no longer seems to be the case. One particularly eye-catching work is a good example. It was enormous and would have fallen well outside the limits in my day. But most importantly it was hugely inspirational, a painting on a board made up of various pieces of paper and textile. The theme was the bombings of the Tube system on 7/7/2005. Blacks and greys predominated. Alright it is a gruesome subject but that never bothered artists in the past! I can't say I want that painting on the wall of my sitting room but I can honestly say that have seen many paintings in galleries and exhibitions that are not it's equal. It is dark and frightening and evocative. I hope the artist did not have to endure that frightening day in person but he or she certainly provoked me to consider what it was like to be caught up in a smoke filled tunnel deep beneath the surface of London.
There were the usual collections of work from various years throughout the school, and sometimes you feel that you can tell who sits next to whom, but liberally scattered throughout the art rooms were paintings and sculpture which made you yearn to have had that idea yourself, or to be able to paint or draw just like that, or just to have been that original and creative in the past!
Most importantly I came away with one new notion: to go into town and buy a sketch pad and some pencils or charcoal and do something myself for the first time since school.
There were the usual collections of work from various years throughout the school, and sometimes you feel that you can tell who sits next to whom, but liberally scattered throughout the art rooms were paintings and sculpture which made you yearn to have had that idea yourself, or to be able to paint or draw just like that, or just to have been that original and creative in the past!
Most importantly I came away with one new notion: to go into town and buy a sketch pad and some pencils or charcoal and do something myself for the first time since school.
Monday 9 July 2007
Golden Cap Challenge
This weekend was the Charmouth to Golden Cap Challenge. It's a rather hilly race and held under fell race rules. How they differ I have no idea but they weren't kidding if they likened it to a fell race!
The start of the 8 mile race is through the back streets of Charmouth in Dorset then it takes to the rural lanes and immediately climbs a steep,narrow tarmac lane through a wood, and then just before the first mile is done, it gets onto looser surface. Pretty soon comes a water station and it is popular despite coming so soon. The Chippenham Harriers seem to have taken it over (following their success watering the Cotswold Relay last week)
There follows a more level section. It's an illusion of course, as soon we can see our fellow runners, the tearaways, up way ahead and more to the point, way above us.
Despite the heat and maybe because of the climb, it is cooler up here. Subsequent water stations get ignored by me.
Eventually though we are at the real top, only to be tormented again by the level of concentration and sheer effort of descending. No rest here at all, just a different sort of hard work! The surface is mostly grass but the gritty, worn patches are a bit scary as the stones cause you to slide. I choose grass where it is available as I feel I can slow myself a bit better here. I never forget my nick-name in the Harriers: Birdman. Am I going to go flying this time too? My luck seems to hold however, only one slight trip in the whole race.
Down to a boggy section under the trees. Nothing to worry those of us who have run Dursley or Sodbury. We start to climb to the highest point in the race. Moreover, Golden Cap is the highest point on the south coast of England. The path has been eroded in the past by heavy use as part of the South West Coast Path and has wooden steps built into it. These are a mixed blessing. Usually they are a help but of course this depends if they suit your leg length and stride. A shorter runner might prefer no steps. I suffer; we all do, but I make it to the top without walking. This really is my specialist subject so I can't walk this! The top is billiard table smooth but only for about 200 yards and then it's down, but down with a vengeance: more of those steps. On the way down they are treacherous. I am very wary of a trip or a twisted ankle. The steps had path material built up behind them once but now the steps themselves are worn and eroded and are a real tripping hazard. Somehow it all goes well and steps give way to open steep grassland and I am able to let myself go, somewhat recklessly. A level section allows me to look around and I realise that the last climb is almost as big as Golden Cap and in fact it is the hardest of the three hills. More Harriers shouting support at the top and I finally see tiny Charmouth down below me. The way is barred by a succession of stiles and gates and the path is 'improved' by more of those steps but I'm getting into my stride now. I'm passing more cautious, more sane, runners as I quick step and jive down through the steps and finally reach the narrow footbridge just before the finish. A final moment of worry as a toddler plays right into my path on the bridge but his guardian angel wisks him aside just in time.
In the school play-ground the Fire Brigade are spraying over-heated runners and many of us are showing signs of sunburn. It's true; the sun causes premature ageing. I feel a hundred years old...
I drink and I drink. One competitor is loaded into an ambulance, worried Axe Valley runners gathered around her. I think she is the runner who has been with me for the majority of the race. Thanking my luck that I seem to thrive in the heat.
Club-mates arrive in the finish funnel and I start to realise that I have done rather well and am 3rd Harrier and 2nd vet. My time is 1:10:39 giving me 73rd place. Great but 17 mins slower than the winner!
The weekend was spent camping at Seatown, an ambitiously named hamlet to the east of Golden Cap. The campsite is first class and so is the pub, the Anchor, which feels unimproved and historic but still seems to have everything in place for the 21st century patron. I love this sort of pub. Our first evening is spent on the front terrace of the pub, drinking a range of Palmer's Ales. Caution is thrown to the wind a little (a lot by some members of the club, though I remember that some of them are not racing the next day) I seem to be up all night for a succession of 'pees' and then before dawn I get up and walk to the top of the first hill to watch the sun appear. Back down from the hill I see the sun rise again - now that's a first for me! I have a walk on the beach towards Golden Cap and find a few fossils including a perfect 2" diameter Ammonite. Other fossils are visible, some I recognise from books I have read. Later we return and a man is chipping a dinosaur bone from the cliff face.
During the Golden Cap Challenge Lynne goes off with Lisa, and her friend Kirsty, to a donkey sanctuary near Seaton 25 miles to the west. They come back itching and sneezing. A donkey allergy? It sounds fun though, Lynne's sort of thing.
Later, after the race, we have a club barbecue which defies the smoke free regulations enforced last week by being more like a charcoal burners' convention. The food is good though and I have more than my fill, plus a bottle of red stuff.
Sunday is spent visiting Weymouth, though the rest of the club pack up and leave. We return to the camp-site in the afternoon and take the tent down ten minutes too late to avoid getting it wet in the only rain of the weekend...
The start of the 8 mile race is through the back streets of Charmouth in Dorset then it takes to the rural lanes and immediately climbs a steep,narrow tarmac lane through a wood, and then just before the first mile is done, it gets onto looser surface. Pretty soon comes a water station and it is popular despite coming so soon. The Chippenham Harriers seem to have taken it over (following their success watering the Cotswold Relay last week)
There follows a more level section. It's an illusion of course, as soon we can see our fellow runners, the tearaways, up way ahead and more to the point, way above us.
Despite the heat and maybe because of the climb, it is cooler up here. Subsequent water stations get ignored by me.
Eventually though we are at the real top, only to be tormented again by the level of concentration and sheer effort of descending. No rest here at all, just a different sort of hard work! The surface is mostly grass but the gritty, worn patches are a bit scary as the stones cause you to slide. I choose grass where it is available as I feel I can slow myself a bit better here. I never forget my nick-name in the Harriers: Birdman. Am I going to go flying this time too? My luck seems to hold however, only one slight trip in the whole race.
Down to a boggy section under the trees. Nothing to worry those of us who have run Dursley or Sodbury. We start to climb to the highest point in the race. Moreover, Golden Cap is the highest point on the south coast of England. The path has been eroded in the past by heavy use as part of the South West Coast Path and has wooden steps built into it. These are a mixed blessing. Usually they are a help but of course this depends if they suit your leg length and stride. A shorter runner might prefer no steps. I suffer; we all do, but I make it to the top without walking. This really is my specialist subject so I can't walk this! The top is billiard table smooth but only for about 200 yards and then it's down, but down with a vengeance: more of those steps. On the way down they are treacherous. I am very wary of a trip or a twisted ankle. The steps had path material built up behind them once but now the steps themselves are worn and eroded and are a real tripping hazard. Somehow it all goes well and steps give way to open steep grassland and I am able to let myself go, somewhat recklessly. A level section allows me to look around and I realise that the last climb is almost as big as Golden Cap and in fact it is the hardest of the three hills. More Harriers shouting support at the top and I finally see tiny Charmouth down below me. The way is barred by a succession of stiles and gates and the path is 'improved' by more of those steps but I'm getting into my stride now. I'm passing more cautious, more sane, runners as I quick step and jive down through the steps and finally reach the narrow footbridge just before the finish. A final moment of worry as a toddler plays right into my path on the bridge but his guardian angel wisks him aside just in time.
In the school play-ground the Fire Brigade are spraying over-heated runners and many of us are showing signs of sunburn. It's true; the sun causes premature ageing. I feel a hundred years old...
I drink and I drink. One competitor is loaded into an ambulance, worried Axe Valley runners gathered around her. I think she is the runner who has been with me for the majority of the race. Thanking my luck that I seem to thrive in the heat.
Club-mates arrive in the finish funnel and I start to realise that I have done rather well and am 3rd Harrier and 2nd vet. My time is 1:10:39 giving me 73rd place. Great but 17 mins slower than the winner!
The weekend was spent camping at Seatown, an ambitiously named hamlet to the east of Golden Cap. The campsite is first class and so is the pub, the Anchor, which feels unimproved and historic but still seems to have everything in place for the 21st century patron. I love this sort of pub. Our first evening is spent on the front terrace of the pub, drinking a range of Palmer's Ales. Caution is thrown to the wind a little (a lot by some members of the club, though I remember that some of them are not racing the next day) I seem to be up all night for a succession of 'pees' and then before dawn I get up and walk to the top of the first hill to watch the sun appear. Back down from the hill I see the sun rise again - now that's a first for me! I have a walk on the beach towards Golden Cap and find a few fossils including a perfect 2" diameter Ammonite. Other fossils are visible, some I recognise from books I have read. Later we return and a man is chipping a dinosaur bone from the cliff face.
During the Golden Cap Challenge Lynne goes off with Lisa, and her friend Kirsty, to a donkey sanctuary near Seaton 25 miles to the west. They come back itching and sneezing. A donkey allergy? It sounds fun though, Lynne's sort of thing.
Later, after the race, we have a club barbecue which defies the smoke free regulations enforced last week by being more like a charcoal burners' convention. The food is good though and I have more than my fill, plus a bottle of red stuff.
Sunday is spent visiting Weymouth, though the rest of the club pack up and leave. We return to the camp-site in the afternoon and take the tent down ten minutes too late to avoid getting it wet in the only rain of the weekend...
Tuesday 3 July 2007
The Cotswold Relay
I've just about recovered now from Saturday's Cotswold Relay. It's a big event, 105 miles or thereabouts, from Chipping Campden to Bath Abbey. The event is divided into 10 unequal parts which start and finish where the Cotswold Way long distance path crosses roads. I was given the tough Leg 2, from Stanway to Cleeve Common, on which to represent Chippenham Harriers Mixed Team. Not only a long way and very hilly too but also the early stages are a long way from Chippenham and are a bit of a trek to get to, both on the big day and on the 'reccies' which are so essential to acquaint oneself with the route. They're essential because there are no marshals and of course, on foot a mistake costs big time and may even decide the eventual result of the overall race. I had reccied Leg 2 twice beforehand, once walking with Lynne, when we just covered the second half, and once at running speed with four club-mates. Initially we walked the second half as I believe that this is where most people would go wrong, when the field spreads out and the next runner might be some way off in the fog... It acts an as insurance against not getting the chance to run it if illness or some other problem prevents a proper reccy. Not only that, but the Cotswold Way can be breath-takingly beautiful, not least the second leg which has marvellous views out across the Severn Vale.
Because of time constraints, the Relays are not handed over like a short track relay with a baton handed on from runner to runner. Instead each stage starts after the previous one , separated by the time taken by the course record holder. Only someone breaking course record for a leg would ever see the next stage's runners before they depart. I missed the Leg 3 runners by about half an hour! The result is calculated on cumulative time, a feat of administrative organisation equal to any that the runners perform on the day.
Saturday is forecast to be a horrendously wet day and as we stand on the start line just before 8.15 (that meant rising at 05.15) there is indeed gentle rain falling. I don't remember the rain stopping but sometime after that it does stop and we have quite a dry run. I had deliberated over whether to wear my road-running shoes or some off-road shoes. I have two pairs of off-roaders, a truly terrible, but much loved, old pair and a pair that are not really comfortable yet. I choose the newer pair, hoping that I will not blister badly on the tough and wet 12.5 miles ahead. The shoe choice turns out to be a good one as runners in road shoes are sliding all over the place on the first slope, providing an additional hurdling hazard to be cleared. After just half a mile the course starts the first of three big climbs, finding out those who are unfit or, like me, not good at starts. The climb seems endless and the pace is pathetic but I am slowly passing a few people and dropping a few too. We all finally reach the top and then it is a couple of gentle downhill miles of farm land and a dark rutted bridle-path down to Hailes Abbey and then a tarmac surface to Winchcombe. We run through the streets of Winchcombe, not many people about yet, and out of town we are back briefly onto farm tracks. Then a half mile more of tarred road where we meet the Chippenham Harriers-organised water station (why didn't they give us a w. station nearer to Chippenham? dunno.) The water station provides good cheer, some not very necessary water and some jelly babies - can't remember what colour they were.
Mixed feelings at seeing the water station as I know it is placed at the foot of the longest hill which drags us unwillingly up to the Long Barrow at Belas Knapp. If you haven't seen Belas Knapp, go when you get the chance. Very interesting. B.K isn't quite the top although it signifies the end of the steep part. The next two miles are mostly gently up though you don't really notice.
Back at the water st. I have picked up a hitch-hiker, a pretty girl called Emma from the Great Western Runners. She's been dropped in at the deep end by her team captain as she has been given Leg 2 just 12 hours earlier after conscientiously reccying Leg 1 . I tell her to think herself lucky - she got a lie-in! The other thing about Emma is that she's a man - well, she's in the GWR men's team. You've got to pity someone in a predicament haven't you; I hardly notice how attractive she is... So I say "Follow me; I know the way."
Soon we are on the open land of Cleeve Common and it is quite misty. My boast of knowing the way is getting to be a bit hollow now as the way markers are hard to see in the fog. In general the rule is to keep to the right as the path is designed to take advantage of the views out over the Vale. In theory there are views but all we can see is the fog and a few gorse bushes. It all goes well though and soon we are dropping down the big descent to a stream with a weir which we cross before the last truly awful climb. This is a hands and knees job, even our fast man, Rich, confesses to having walked it - in fact running just isn't any quicker - but despite being twice the size of the Slaughterford hill we do eventually get to the summit and then all that remains is to rush in a bit of a daze across the public golf course past all the puzzled golfers and finish in front of the Golf Club house. Emma shows her gratitude by out-sprinting me. (Later Joc, one of my club mates and running for the Chippenham Harriers Ladies team, gives me a telling-off for helping the opposition but that's not the spirit in which the Cotswold Relays are run. It turns out that Joc needn't have worried about her and I think she was only joking anyway - well maybe.)
So that is our share of the long day. We drive back to Chippenham and I try stiffly to do a drop of DIY. Later Lynne drives me into Bath to see the leg 10 runners finish and to attend the presentation and visit 'Lambrettas', the very last evening of smoke-filled public houses before the ban on smoking in public places starts. Leg 10 is over, a City of Bath runner first and a first lady too from the same club. Our runners take an agonisingly long time to arrive. Every runner, no matter how humble, gets a big cheer and a clap as they run down Milson Street to the Roman Baths weaving between bemused late shoppers and tourists.
The presentation is huge and noisy and we all have to shout a lot to be heard over all the people who are shouting a lot... The results are read and we can't believe our ears - our Men's Veterans have been beaten after 105 miles by 8 seconds. In the next couple of days it is reckoned that the winners have inadvertently short cutted during the middle part of the day at a place where the route has been washed away by the recent terrible weather. Much discussion about appealing but, as I said before, that's not in the spirit of the race so they let it stand without complaint.
Then we all go to Lambrettas and boy, we 'supped some stuff'! Sunday is a quieter day altogether.
Because of time constraints, the Relays are not handed over like a short track relay with a baton handed on from runner to runner. Instead each stage starts after the previous one , separated by the time taken by the course record holder. Only someone breaking course record for a leg would ever see the next stage's runners before they depart. I missed the Leg 3 runners by about half an hour! The result is calculated on cumulative time, a feat of administrative organisation equal to any that the runners perform on the day.
Saturday is forecast to be a horrendously wet day and as we stand on the start line just before 8.15 (that meant rising at 05.15) there is indeed gentle rain falling. I don't remember the rain stopping but sometime after that it does stop and we have quite a dry run. I had deliberated over whether to wear my road-running shoes or some off-road shoes. I have two pairs of off-roaders, a truly terrible, but much loved, old pair and a pair that are not really comfortable yet. I choose the newer pair, hoping that I will not blister badly on the tough and wet 12.5 miles ahead. The shoe choice turns out to be a good one as runners in road shoes are sliding all over the place on the first slope, providing an additional hurdling hazard to be cleared. After just half a mile the course starts the first of three big climbs, finding out those who are unfit or, like me, not good at starts. The climb seems endless and the pace is pathetic but I am slowly passing a few people and dropping a few too. We all finally reach the top and then it is a couple of gentle downhill miles of farm land and a dark rutted bridle-path down to Hailes Abbey and then a tarmac surface to Winchcombe. We run through the streets of Winchcombe, not many people about yet, and out of town we are back briefly onto farm tracks. Then a half mile more of tarred road where we meet the Chippenham Harriers-organised water station (why didn't they give us a w. station nearer to Chippenham? dunno.) The water station provides good cheer, some not very necessary water and some jelly babies - can't remember what colour they were.
Mixed feelings at seeing the water station as I know it is placed at the foot of the longest hill which drags us unwillingly up to the Long Barrow at Belas Knapp. If you haven't seen Belas Knapp, go when you get the chance. Very interesting. B.K isn't quite the top although it signifies the end of the steep part. The next two miles are mostly gently up though you don't really notice.
Back at the water st. I have picked up a hitch-hiker, a pretty girl called Emma from the Great Western Runners. She's been dropped in at the deep end by her team captain as she has been given Leg 2 just 12 hours earlier after conscientiously reccying Leg 1 . I tell her to think herself lucky - she got a lie-in! The other thing about Emma is that she's a man - well, she's in the GWR men's team. You've got to pity someone in a predicament haven't you; I hardly notice how attractive she is... So I say "Follow me; I know the way."
Soon we are on the open land of Cleeve Common and it is quite misty. My boast of knowing the way is getting to be a bit hollow now as the way markers are hard to see in the fog. In general the rule is to keep to the right as the path is designed to take advantage of the views out over the Vale. In theory there are views but all we can see is the fog and a few gorse bushes. It all goes well though and soon we are dropping down the big descent to a stream with a weir which we cross before the last truly awful climb. This is a hands and knees job, even our fast man, Rich, confesses to having walked it - in fact running just isn't any quicker - but despite being twice the size of the Slaughterford hill we do eventually get to the summit and then all that remains is to rush in a bit of a daze across the public golf course past all the puzzled golfers and finish in front of the Golf Club house. Emma shows her gratitude by out-sprinting me. (Later Joc, one of my club mates and running for the Chippenham Harriers Ladies team, gives me a telling-off for helping the opposition but that's not the spirit in which the Cotswold Relays are run. It turns out that Joc needn't have worried about her and I think she was only joking anyway - well maybe.)
So that is our share of the long day. We drive back to Chippenham and I try stiffly to do a drop of DIY. Later Lynne drives me into Bath to see the leg 10 runners finish and to attend the presentation and visit 'Lambrettas', the very last evening of smoke-filled public houses before the ban on smoking in public places starts. Leg 10 is over, a City of Bath runner first and a first lady too from the same club. Our runners take an agonisingly long time to arrive. Every runner, no matter how humble, gets a big cheer and a clap as they run down Milson Street to the Roman Baths weaving between bemused late shoppers and tourists.
The presentation is huge and noisy and we all have to shout a lot to be heard over all the people who are shouting a lot... The results are read and we can't believe our ears - our Men's Veterans have been beaten after 105 miles by 8 seconds. In the next couple of days it is reckoned that the winners have inadvertently short cutted during the middle part of the day at a place where the route has been washed away by the recent terrible weather. Much discussion about appealing but, as I said before, that's not in the spirit of the race so they let it stand without complaint.
Then we all go to Lambrettas and boy, we 'supped some stuff'! Sunday is a quieter day altogether.
Friday 22 June 2007
Saying goodbye to Mike and Barry
This week is a sad one in two ways; we have to say goodbye to two good friends.
Mike was one of the porters here at the 'fun factory' He was big and loud and fun. Wednesday morning he came in, sat in his familiar place outside the sports hall and just quietly died. When a big rough rugby player of a guy dies, it is quite surprising to hear such an outpouring of affection for him. Although he had some sort of embolism in his brain about seven years ago, he had seemed in good health these days so his passing still came as a great shock. People are quite stunned. He was the same age as quite a few of us here, just 52, so it seems a bit uncomfortably close too. I shall miss him, a kind man who never complained, liked by all.
We lose Barry this week too, well, next week to be accurate. He is taking early retirement from his job in charge of 'X-ray spectroscopy', amongst other things. He is another man we shall miss more than we can know. I have been able to talk to Barry about any subject at any time over the whole 27 years that I have known him. He is never too busy for you, never judges you (not out loud anyway!) and I have never been let down by him. Although he is religious he does not sermonise or preach and he keeps a broad mind about other peoples' beliefs. I shall miss his advice whether personal, professional or musical. I hope to see him again on many occasions.
Thursday 21 June 2007
Pyrenean walkies
Had a good trip to France and Spain. I stayed in Toulouse with Lesley (and Alan) where Alan works on the A380 (one of my workmates thought it was a road - the idea of Al spreading the black-stuff out for a living is wonderful.) Alan is plane-mad (Unlike me. I am just plain mad) He has a share in a plane which they keep at Staverton near Cheltenham but during the week when I visited he was doing a week of aerobatic training in the town of Jaca in Spain in someone else's plane (if you are going into steep dives and flying upside down, do it in someone else's plane - then if you hit the ground at 400mph it won't cost you a penny) Of course Lesley was faced with a week of sitting in an airfield watching them 'faff around' with their little planes, so she called on me to go walking in the Pyrenees with her. That took a lot of deciding. Er um er....about half a second!
Had a good walk five days in a row though we were badly hampered by the lack of good mapping in the mountains and never once completed our walk on any day. The last day was the nearest but even that involve some spoofing it. I'd never walked at that altitude before and it was a bit of a learning curve. The map was crap, the compass behaved a bit oddly in the hills, you get very disorientated and the paths marked on the map haven't existed for years! ( All of that in good weather - if we had had bad weather we would have really struggled - I watched it like a hawk) We were walking on top of deep snow for some of the walks. I knew for a fact that sometimes the snow was more than 12 feet thick. No need to worry; I have big feet! More worrying was having the water running under it as we crossed some quite sizeable streams which ran straight under our feet. That was very unnerving. Every now and then you would fall through the surface of the snow up to your knees or on occasions up to your waist. And of course having struggled through the snow you'd discover that you weren't where you thought that you were so you would have to retrace and fall through the same drifts again. On one walk we got up to about 8000 feet on a ridge between two valleys and were faced with descending down a snow slope which we couldn't see the bottom of. Of course it could have gone down a hundred metres to a cliff, something I wasn't prepared to risk so not for the first time we 'bottled' it. Several of our walks were like that including a similar one in trees which seemed to drop towards a cliff. Took us two hours to do about a mile but at least we got back.
Saw some gorgeous wildlife, everything except the bears which are 'smaller than grizzlys and rather timid' Yeah right. One place we saw a flock of 50 vultures! Loads of orchids and other flowers, tons of good birds, slow-worms, red deer and chamois and some marvellous close ups of marmots.
Lesley surprised me by being a really tough walker. Just once she was clearly very tired and I had to make allowances I suspect that I was more tired than Lesley most of the time - not a problem as our excellent and very cheap digs sold the vital hop-medicine.
The digs were on the Camino Santiago, the pilgrims trail that the devout follow to get to Santiago do Compostela and all day there is a stream of walkers tramping through Jaca and Santa Cilia where we were staying. They literally walked over our doorstep on their route.
Another highlight was going through the Somport tunnel - about the same length as the northern line but huge in diameter. About a 30 mph limit in there so it takes a long time to get through - My mate Roger would freak out but then I'd have never persuaded him onto the Sleazy Jet to get there.
Forgot to mention the air show we went to on the first day in France at Alan's home air base. It was not bad at all and cost the grand total of....nothing! The only cost was that all three of us got roasted in the South of France sun and Al and I got quite burnt. Added interest as Al knew a lot of the pilots. We were right in the thick of it when all these restored WW2 planes etc. were being revved up etc. Brilliant!
Had a good walk five days in a row though we were badly hampered by the lack of good mapping in the mountains and never once completed our walk on any day. The last day was the nearest but even that involve some spoofing it. I'd never walked at that altitude before and it was a bit of a learning curve. The map was crap, the compass behaved a bit oddly in the hills, you get very disorientated and the paths marked on the map haven't existed for years! ( All of that in good weather - if we had had bad weather we would have really struggled - I watched it like a hawk) We were walking on top of deep snow for some of the walks. I knew for a fact that sometimes the snow was more than 12 feet thick. No need to worry; I have big feet! More worrying was having the water running under it as we crossed some quite sizeable streams which ran straight under our feet. That was very unnerving. Every now and then you would fall through the surface of the snow up to your knees or on occasions up to your waist. And of course having struggled through the snow you'd discover that you weren't where you thought that you were so you would have to retrace and fall through the same drifts again. On one walk we got up to about 8000 feet on a ridge between two valleys and were faced with descending down a snow slope which we couldn't see the bottom of. Of course it could have gone down a hundred metres to a cliff, something I wasn't prepared to risk so not for the first time we 'bottled' it. Several of our walks were like that including a similar one in trees which seemed to drop towards a cliff. Took us two hours to do about a mile but at least we got back.
Saw some gorgeous wildlife, everything except the bears which are 'smaller than grizzlys and rather timid' Yeah right. One place we saw a flock of 50 vultures! Loads of orchids and other flowers, tons of good birds, slow-worms, red deer and chamois and some marvellous close ups of marmots.
Lesley surprised me by being a really tough walker. Just once she was clearly very tired and I had to make allowances I suspect that I was more tired than Lesley most of the time - not a problem as our excellent and very cheap digs sold the vital hop-medicine.
The digs were on the Camino Santiago, the pilgrims trail that the devout follow to get to Santiago do Compostela and all day there is a stream of walkers tramping through Jaca and Santa Cilia where we were staying. They literally walked over our doorstep on their route.
Another highlight was going through the Somport tunnel - about the same length as the northern line but huge in diameter. About a 30 mph limit in there so it takes a long time to get through - My mate Roger would freak out but then I'd have never persuaded him onto the Sleazy Jet to get there.
Forgot to mention the air show we went to on the first day in France at Alan's home air base. It was not bad at all and cost the grand total of....nothing! The only cost was that all three of us got roasted in the South of France sun and Al and I got quite burnt. Added interest as Al knew a lot of the pilots. We were right in the thick of it when all these restored WW2 planes etc. were being revved up etc. Brilliant!
Weary of today...
1st blog...no idea what to say or why I am saying it!
Another frustrating day at the World Centre for Disastrous Career Decisions. Our optical table (weight about 3/4 tonne) won't go in the lift no matter which way we push or shove. 9 guys (8 guys + 1 gal) turned up to help shift it but they don't have the permission to stretch the lift. It fails to clear the door opening by about 1 millimetre. Now tell me there's no such thing as Sod's Law!
Then I decided to get on with my real job - a simple matter of machining some gauge plate to length. Didn't fancy sawing my way through a piece of tough steel 40mmx20mm so I put it in the cut off machine, an abrasive wheel gismo with an automatic feed. Went off quickly to the loo and came back to smoke, vibration and a ruined piece of steel. I'm really not very good at this job at times. Now I'm convinced the milling machine is clapped out so I am a bit weary of the whole thing. Can't wait to get home and get into my running kit. Out there on the road, no-one can hear you scream - at least they do, but Wiltshire people are too polite to ask...
Another frustrating day at the World Centre for Disastrous Career Decisions. Our optical table (weight about 3/4 tonne) won't go in the lift no matter which way we push or shove. 9 guys (8 guys + 1 gal) turned up to help shift it but they don't have the permission to stretch the lift. It fails to clear the door opening by about 1 millimetre. Now tell me there's no such thing as Sod's Law!
Then I decided to get on with my real job - a simple matter of machining some gauge plate to length. Didn't fancy sawing my way through a piece of tough steel 40mmx20mm so I put it in the cut off machine, an abrasive wheel gismo with an automatic feed. Went off quickly to the loo and came back to smoke, vibration and a ruined piece of steel. I'm really not very good at this job at times. Now I'm convinced the milling machine is clapped out so I am a bit weary of the whole thing. Can't wait to get home and get into my running kit. Out there on the road, no-one can hear you scream - at least they do, but Wiltshire people are too polite to ask...
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