(V Long) Train Trip 3 + 3a
Simon Mason
I always wondered why the SONY CR-V21 radio came with an on-board fax
printer. Apparently, you could take it into remote areas and by tuning into
the "grinding pebbles" sound that is FAX on short wave, you could get it to
spew out a weather map.
Pretty useful if you're a farmer with a degree in meteorology and want to
know if your field is going to turn into a quagmire halfway through seed
planting. In planning this trip, I've been studying more or less the same
thing, what with all of the flash floods, hailstones and gales we've been
having. I can only decipher the basic rudimentaries of weather maps, but
when I saw this one I could see that there was a fresh SW wind with probable
rain associated with it. It was near enough what I'd been looking for this
past week and so started to prepare for the long trip to Bristol.
On the last ride, my trousers ended up getting saturated, so I decided to
venture to our works stores and con them out of a pair of blue nylon
waterproof leggings, on the pretext that I was going to be working outdoors
all weekend in the rain. I was amazed when they came up as having a list
price of under 4 quid, especially as they were rubberised and had an elastic
waistband.
After leaving work it was off to the station to get the ticket sorted out
for the 0523 train for the next day. Hmm, this is starting to get expensive
now, 60 pounds including bike charge. The rest of the day was spent loading
up the rucksack, most of which was the water and tins that I intended to
bury in secret locations along the way in preparation for a future ride.
This made the rucksack heavy, but obviously it would get lighter as I
progressed. All was packed and ready to go as I got an early night; I would
have to get up at 0400 with the dawn chorus.
In the morning going downstairs, I saw that my wife had cooked breakfast,
it almost brought a tear to my eye! It was drizzling and dark as I headed up
the city streets on the way to the station. Only a mile to go as the clock t
icked over to 0500, plenty of time in hand. Suddenly I heard a muffled
explosion through the music of the minidisc, rapidly followed by a wobbling
of the back wheel. I don't believe it, the rear tyre was completely flat. If
I was quick, I might have enough time to put the spare inner tube in.
Pumping up the repaired tyre I saw it was 0512. I could still get there in
time.
It was not to be; after a couple of revolutions of the wheel, it exploded
again. Mission aborted. There was no point in pushing it to the station, I
wouldn't make it. Instead there was a 3 mile push back home and 60 quid down
the drain as the ticket said it was valid only for that day. I had a black
cloud over my head as depressed, I trudged off home. Until I remembered my
work colleague and laughed out loud. I could now see how he felt as he set
off for his Caribbean honeymoon last year. All went well until the airport,
when his new bride suddenly had a previously unknown case of fear of air
travel and no way was she getting on that plane. One very expensive holiday
down the drain. I would get another shot at it, he can't I suppose.
On arriving back I inspected the rear tyre. It had a split around 5 inches
long, just above the steel band. Blooming Indonesians! They might make great
food, but they sure make lousy tyres. The inner tube had poked through the
gash and split as it made contact with the wheel. Better it happening now
than in the back of beyond I suppose.
Trip distance: 4.72 miles in 57 mins at an average of 4.7mph.
Linear Trip 3a 2 JUN 00
When I was in my early twenties, I would avidly listen to the latest
adventures of the Soviet cosmonauts aboard the Salyut 6 space station. I
would marvel at how they could live in a caravan sized object for up to a
year at a time, conducting scientific experiments or going outside to
administer a well aimed kick at a misaligned solar panel. The best time
was at Christmas; Radio Moscow became an oasis in the desert of Yuletide
banality all around. I would be in my room on Christmas day hearing how
Vladimir Ryumin was repairing the East German MKF 6 camera, or creating new
alloys in the Splav furnace instead of pigging out in front of the TV.
Anyway, after the disappointment of yesterday my mind wandered back to those
days. I recalled when Soyuz 18 blasted off for the space station, only to
have an engine shutdown and the crew ended up stranded in the Altai
mountains on the Chinese border. They simply went back up again in Soyuz 18a
as though nothing had happened. So I decided to go back to the train station
the very next day and make another attempt.
So it was another 0400 start. There wasn't that much to prepare as it had
already been sorted out the previous day. Arriving at platform 6, I was told
by the guard that they were having problems with the doors and would be
leaving late. I secretly hoped that the train wouldn't be repairable and I
could go back to bed, but they got it going and we left 10 minutes late. As
there were only 3 other people on board, stowing the bike was no problem and
at 0625 we arrived at Doncaster. A quick dash across the footbridge and I
just caught the Plymouth train in time. An empty guards van meant the bike
was no problem again and it was soon time to settle back and wait for 3 1/2
hours.
The weather didn't appear that bad outside and least the wind seemed to be
in the right direction. Arriving at Birmingham New Street most of the
passengers got off to go to work and glancing across the platform at the
Walsall train I was surprised to see how full it was, they were packed in
like sardines; I was glad I don't have to go through that every day.
When I was a lad, engines were named after things like warships, regiments,
engineers and even mountains. Seeing an engine in a siding I couldn't
believe that a class 86 locomotive had actually been named "The Clothes Show
Live"! I mean, what sort of a wussy name is that? I'd be embarrassed to
drive the thing. I had never been on this bit if track before, or to
Cheltenham or Gloucester, so it was interesting to see these places for the
first time. Shame it's only from the window of a train though.
Eventually we arrived at Bristol Parkway and thanks to some excellent
directions from my old sparring partner James Thomson, it was not too
difficult to negotiate through the country lanes. After while, I came across
an old friend; the A46, which goes all the way to Grimsby, however it was
soon time to say goodbye as the A46 veered away from my chosen route, the
Fosse Way; a Roman road and as such a straight line back home, give or take.
About this time, I encountered a strange feeling; it was if my brakes were
binding. Indeed I was so convinced they were that I got off the bike and
span the wheels round to check. They weren't and I soon figured that it was
because I was climbing into the Cotswolds. It became a bit of a slog now and
I was even unhappy at the 40 mph downhills as I knew that shortly afterwards
there would be a price to pay in the shape of a steep uphill. Passing
through Tetbury, I could see it was a very different world from the major
port I live in. It was all gymkhanas, antique shops, amateur dramatics,
private schools and garden fetes. Scores of silver haired well dressed
people were pottering around cutesy shops and cafes.
After a while I arrived at Cirencester which was bustling with tourists.
The streets were very difficult to negotiate as they were narrow and full of
traffic. These places were definitely not built with the motor car in mind.
There appeared few places to stop among the crowded pavements, so I
continued to a garage on the outskirts where I bought water and ate a
chicken sandwich. A little further on I got out a plastic bin liner and hid
some supplies behind a tree and marked the spot on the GPS receiver for
possible future use.
A few miles further on and the hills were getting pretty bad. There were 45
mph descents, followed by 5 minutes of trudging up the other side,
especially at Fossebridge where the River Coln had cut a steep gorge in the
Cotswolds. The next few miles were spent going past countless craft centres
and coffee shops until it was time to leave the A road and join the B4455,
The old roman road proper, pity they couldn't iron out all these hills like
the railways builders did.
I started off the trip wearing a pair of holey jeans on top of some shorts,
so I didn't have to wander around the train with bare legs, so now as the
sun came out I threw away the jeans into a bin and continued in the shorts
only. Hours passed uneventfully as the county of Warwickshire was traversed
and soon 94 miles were on the clock and it was teatime. I stopped for some
fish and chips in Brinklow, which judging by the accents of the people
around was somewhere near Coventry.
My knee and legs were starting to ache now as I found a field to eat the
food. At this time I switched over to the radio from minidisc and was very
shocked to hear that the cricket Test Match in nearby Nottingham was
abandoned due to heavy rain all day. My heart sank as I looked over to the
north east and the black clouds. I had over a 100 miles to go and the wind
was changing into a northerly.
The main reason that I am trying out these rides comes from many years ago
when in my early 20s I was listening to a 1979 track called "Friedrich
Nietzsche" by a German synth musician. I read about his philosophy and how
mental strength can come only through testing yourself to your limits and
going through extreme hardships and coming out the other side, which is far
more fulfilling than sitting in front of a TV eating pizzas all night. In
the past few years, major companies amongst others have twigged this and
send their staff away on outdoor exercises or fire walking courses.
Of course, in everyday life, there are few opportunities to put yourself in
the situations he recommended, but at the time I dreamt up various things,
from seeing how many days I could go without sleep to experimenting with
various chemicals such as ether and chloroform to see how close to death I
could get, ( not recommended!). When I told all this to an older woman
friend who was into astrology, she said "Ah yes, you must be a Scorpio", I
am, but don't understand what she was on about. With responsibilities, these
activities had to go, but through cycling I can get close to those sort of
experiments by pushing myself past where my body wants to go, in a modest
way.
Anyway, back to the ride and by now I had entered the city of Leicester just
as hundreds of teenagers were queuing up at the bus stops ready for a night
on the town. Didn't they realise, as Nietzsche had said, that alcohol is a
terrible thing as it removes you from the harsh realities of life and
convinces you, like religion, that everything will turn out alright? They
should try 12 hours of this to get real pleasure! By now, I had reached the
very busy A46, which I had cycled before just over a month ago, so I knew
I'd seen off the worst of the hills at this stage. The clock said that I'd
done 135 miles , so it was case of hoping the weather would stay dry and
that the wind would not pick up.
It was not to be though; about 15 miles short of Newark on Trent, rain
started and the head wind increased. I was getting soaked and there was no
way I could cycle for another 5 hours in this. My options were limited
though. It was now 2200 and Newark was more than an hour away. I could ring
for help and get someone to pick me up in a car, but there was no mobile and
I hadn't seen a 'phone for miles. Looking around, there was nothing for
miles and I was getting slightly worried. By the time I got to Newark, all
of the pubs would be shut. Suddenly I saw a road digging machine, I could
get inside there and keep out of the rain for a while. It was locked.
8 miles short of Newark, there was an old fashioned wooden bus shelter.
This would have to be my home for the night. Luckily, there was a bench
inside, which would have to be my bed. I had some black plastic bin liners,
from which I made some sort of blanket. I put on the nylon trousers and
waterproof top and was soon resting in a pool of sweat. There was shelter,
water and food, but unfortunately no heat and about 0100, it got very cold.
I was dismayed when listening to Radio 5 that ground frosts were forecast
and that this was the coldest June night since records began, just my luck!
It was futile to sleep as dozens of lorries thundered past all night a few
feet away, their draught sweeping away the flimsy plastic blanket time after
time. I decided to head for the railway station as soon as it got light and
although I didn't know the timetable, knew that Newark would connect with
Doncaster and then home to Hull. At 0530, I left my shelter and headed
towards the town arriving at Northgate station at 0600. After buying the
ticket, it was a 90 minute wait for the next train- a doddle compared to 8
hours in a bus shelter.
At 1000, 30 hours after I had got out of bed, I arrived back home and put
the sauna on. Swigging back a few bottles of Amstel, reading the morning
papers, there was both a sense of failure in that I had not completed the
journey that I set out to do, but then again as a Nietzschean exercise in
coming through an adversity, it was a great success.
Final distance = 158.8 miles in 11 hours 20 minutes. Average 14.0 mph
John Mallard
Simon Mason <simon...@btinternet.com> wrote in message
news:8hdk2k$7gj$1...@neptunium.btinternet.com...
> Linear Trip 3 1 JUN 00
>
>
> Linear Trip 3a 2 JUN 00
>
[Also Snipped]
So what are your plans now?
Still going for it?
--
Cheerful pedalling
john_m...@lineone.net
ian.markham
around £10 to enter, and people will give you food for that as well at
regular intervals.
you're obviously mad, although it's quite good fun reading how mad you are
:-)
Simon Mason
John Mallard <john_m...@lineone.net> wrote in message
news:8hdu7u$4qq$1...@supernews.com...
>
> So what are your plans now?
> Still going for it?
Ask me next week !
--
--
Simon Mason--Kingston upon Hull
53.45N--0.24W
<http://www.btinternet.com/~simon.mason>