Friday – May 21
Time to leave France. Leave the campground at 10:30 am, bike to the train station at Rouen. Head to Amiens, with a change of trains at Boulonge. Then another train to Calais. Take the ferry across the English channel to Dover. We see white cliffs, but no blue birds, and I can't hear Kate Smith! Bike to the train station in Dover. Take a six minute train ride to Martin Mill (about four miles from Dover – ALL UPHILL) and we arrive at Hawthorne Farm Campsite at 9:30 pm. With the time change, about twelve hours traveling time. Sleep is all we can think about.
Sunday, May 23, 2010
Saturday, May 22, 2010
Paris - not so much anymore
Thursday 20
I know it is Thursday, only after counting the days I have been gone. I have again lost all track of days and time. I guess I am truly on vacation.
We head to the train station only to find that the next train to Paris that accommodates bicycles will not be until 2:00 pm with a return at 7:30 pm. Bummer.
We take a tour of Rouen's town “clock”, an historic centerpiece of the town with ornate architecture. On the second level a window overlooks the street below, teaming with people. How I would love to open the window, lean out and shout, “Vive le Roi!” I don't.
We walk around a bit, do some window shopping, return to the train station, have lunch and board the 2:00 pm to Paris. I am excited as I have not been there in over 40 years!
However, arrival there reveals worse traffic, congestion, fast drivers, and more angry drivers than I ever experienced in New York! And to boot, the streets are narrow, and go every which direction, unlike a normal grid. And the streets change names after two to three blocks. After riding around for a while, I get too freaked out and we head back towards the train station. We find a café for dinner as we watch the passers by.
We get to the train station with a forty minute wait, but see a train leaving in the next few minutes. A conductor looks at our tickets ands allows us on. Little did we know the train was a “local” and got in just about the time our other one was supposed to. But it did beat waiting in the station for forty minutes. We stop back at the Web Café, still no wi-fi, but we use the computers to check our e-mails and send some too. We speed back in the dark to our campground and retire.
I know it is Thursday, only after counting the days I have been gone. I have again lost all track of days and time. I guess I am truly on vacation.
We head to the train station only to find that the next train to Paris that accommodates bicycles will not be until 2:00 pm with a return at 7:30 pm. Bummer.
We take a tour of Rouen's town “clock”, an historic centerpiece of the town with ornate architecture. On the second level a window overlooks the street below, teaming with people. How I would love to open the window, lean out and shout, “Vive le Roi!” I don't.
We walk around a bit, do some window shopping, return to the train station, have lunch and board the 2:00 pm to Paris. I am excited as I have not been there in over 40 years!
However, arrival there reveals worse traffic, congestion, fast drivers, and more angry drivers than I ever experienced in New York! And to boot, the streets are narrow, and go every which direction, unlike a normal grid. And the streets change names after two to three blocks. After riding around for a while, I get too freaked out and we head back towards the train station. We find a café for dinner as we watch the passers by.
We get to the train station with a forty minute wait, but see a train leaving in the next few minutes. A conductor looks at our tickets ands allows us on. Little did we know the train was a “local” and got in just about the time our other one was supposed to. But it did beat waiting in the station for forty minutes. We stop back at the Web Café, still no wi-fi, but we use the computers to check our e-mails and send some too. We speed back in the dark to our campground and retire.
Talking English
Wednesday 19
And what shall I have for breakfast this morning? Oh, that's right (remember sister?) steak and eggs. There is something extremely satisfying about cooking one of your favorite meals at the campground.
After a leisurely morning, we head back to the city and locate the train station. Always a good idea to get your bearings. We get information about the train schedules to Calais for our return by ferry to England.
We are hard pressed to find anyplace that has wi-fi. It seems very strange, and a few inquiries of people on the street accomplish little. A trip to the tourist center reveals one just a few blocks away. In fact, it is called The Web Cafe (although their wi-fi is down right now, we can use the bank of computers).
We walk in, and as always, there is the requisite exchange of, “Bonjours.” A tall man recognizes our accents and asks if we are American. He then proceeds to speak in English and tells us that his name is Steve, and he is helping the owner who is ill. He is obviously starved for English as he spends the next thirty minutes talking our ears off! He is a very nice man, but thankfully, he has an appointment to get to and must leave.
We spend some time on the Internet checking campgrounds near Dover as we will arrive very late in the afternoon. We plan to take the train to Calais, then cross the channel by ferry.
Later in the day, as we head for the campground, we shift gears and decide to stay here an additional night so we can take the train to Paris tomorrow, ride around, have dinner and return in the evening. More shopping in the village for food, cooking dinner at the campground and then to bed before our trip to Paris tomorrow.
And what shall I have for breakfast this morning? Oh, that's right (remember sister?) steak and eggs. There is something extremely satisfying about cooking one of your favorite meals at the campground.
After a leisurely morning, we head back to the city and locate the train station. Always a good idea to get your bearings. We get information about the train schedules to Calais for our return by ferry to England.
We are hard pressed to find anyplace that has wi-fi. It seems very strange, and a few inquiries of people on the street accomplish little. A trip to the tourist center reveals one just a few blocks away. In fact, it is called The Web Cafe (although their wi-fi is down right now, we can use the bank of computers).
We walk in, and as always, there is the requisite exchange of, “Bonjours.” A tall man recognizes our accents and asks if we are American. He then proceeds to speak in English and tells us that his name is Steve, and he is helping the owner who is ill. He is obviously starved for English as he spends the next thirty minutes talking our ears off! He is a very nice man, but thankfully, he has an appointment to get to and must leave.
We spend some time on the Internet checking campgrounds near Dover as we will arrive very late in the afternoon. We plan to take the train to Calais, then cross the channel by ferry.
Later in the day, as we head for the campground, we shift gears and decide to stay here an additional night so we can take the train to Paris tomorrow, ride around, have dinner and return in the evening. More shopping in the village for food, cooking dinner at the campground and then to bed before our trip to Paris tomorrow.
THE HILL
Tuesday 5-18
Next stop, Rouen, about twenty miles... but first, THE HILL. A long mile that rises over two hundred feet. I must walk the entire length, but Cookie stays on his bike and pedals all the way to the top. Bravo! A feat I would not even attempt at this point.
After THE HILL it is smooth going the rest of the way to Rouen. We arrive in mid afternoon and walk through part of the city. There are many small, cobblestone streets with bakery vendors and cafés where people are lunching. The French always sit at the cafés facing the street so they can view the passers-by. A good custom I am thinking.
We ride on through town to the campground, about another twenty minutes away. We set up and then walk down to the small village of St. Ledger to have lunch and buy some food for dinner tonight and breakfast tomorrow morning. Ah... the patisserie! Suffice it to say that the French know how to make bread and pastries (and they did long before Julia Child).
There is also a butcher in the village! Every kind of meat you can imagine, and some you don't want to. But the butcher is very nice and gives us exactly what we want. He cuts me a small breakfast steak (pay attention, my sister) and we also get some spaghetti bolognaise for dinner. A small “super marché” provides us with eggs and other supplements.
We lunch at a small pizzeria and after all the activity, return to the campground for a nap. Bad idea. We are both a little out of it now. The evening becomes a bit windy and chilly. I heat the spaghetti and turn in. A good day!
Next stop, Rouen, about twenty miles... but first, THE HILL. A long mile that rises over two hundred feet. I must walk the entire length, but Cookie stays on his bike and pedals all the way to the top. Bravo! A feat I would not even attempt at this point.
After THE HILL it is smooth going the rest of the way to Rouen. We arrive in mid afternoon and walk through part of the city. There are many small, cobblestone streets with bakery vendors and cafés where people are lunching. The French always sit at the cafés facing the street so they can view the passers-by. A good custom I am thinking.
We ride on through town to the campground, about another twenty minutes away. We set up and then walk down to the small village of St. Ledger to have lunch and buy some food for dinner tonight and breakfast tomorrow morning. Ah... the patisserie! Suffice it to say that the French know how to make bread and pastries (and they did long before Julia Child).
There is also a butcher in the village! Every kind of meat you can imagine, and some you don't want to. But the butcher is very nice and gives us exactly what we want. He cuts me a small breakfast steak (pay attention, my sister) and we also get some spaghetti bolognaise for dinner. A small “super marché” provides us with eggs and other supplements.
We lunch at a small pizzeria and after all the activity, return to the campground for a nap. Bad idea. We are both a little out of it now. The evening becomes a bit windy and chilly. I heat the spaghetti and turn in. A good day!
Chez les Mamies
Monday 5-17
It rained last night, but has ceased this morning and eventually the sun comes out. After saying our goodbyes to Orianne, we are on our way to Rouen.
We make a few stops for pictures and scenic views. We have only gone ten miles, but as we left a bit late, we must decide to either push on to Rouen, or stop sooner. Cookie warns that there is a BIG hill on the way to Rouen, and we may not make it over the hill and to the campground at a decent hour. We decide to search out a campground in the nearby village of Jumieges. Although only three miles away, it is all uphill – so we still have a bit of a struggle. But arrival in Jumieges finds us at a pleasant campground and a somewhat historic abbey to explore.
We bike down to the village and walk through the abbey. It appears as if it has been bombed, but Cookie tells me that at the end of the war, they started to use this and other abbeys and monastaries as “rock quarries”. They would take stones from them to build other structures I n the city. This practice was eventually stopped, and now they are restoring many of the old abbeys.
We search for a place for dinner and, once again, have an encounter extraordinaire.
We enter what appears to be the only place in town that is open, a small tea-house called Chez les Mamies. The woman who greets us recognizes that we are American (who wouldn't) and although she is apologetic, tells us that we can only get cold sandwiches, no hot food. As we converse more, she once again says she is sorry, but then begins to stop herself. “Ooo... oh... ooo,” she intones as she walks to one end of the shop to look for something. She returns and tells us she can fix us warm quiche with a salad for both of us. “C'est bien!”, says I, and we are off on another splendid repast and wonderful discourse with this sweet woman. We talk about where we are from and where we are going; traveling by bicycle.
She tells us about the town and of the owner of the shop, one of the two Mamies. There are four delicious looking pies and pastries on the table next to us, all different versions of apple pastries. They all look marvelous and cookie has one which is! We thank her a million times and depart with her wishes for a “bon journey... bon adventure!” So much for the myth of the French being inhospitable. Moments like this are a treasure and stay in your memory forever!
We head back to the campground and finally, with Internet access, I make connections with the office, We chat for a while and laugh as I recount our recent dinner adventure, and then it is off to bed again, even though the sun will not set for another half an hour.
It rained last night, but has ceased this morning and eventually the sun comes out. After saying our goodbyes to Orianne, we are on our way to Rouen.
We make a few stops for pictures and scenic views. We have only gone ten miles, but as we left a bit late, we must decide to either push on to Rouen, or stop sooner. Cookie warns that there is a BIG hill on the way to Rouen, and we may not make it over the hill and to the campground at a decent hour. We decide to search out a campground in the nearby village of Jumieges. Although only three miles away, it is all uphill – so we still have a bit of a struggle. But arrival in Jumieges finds us at a pleasant campground and a somewhat historic abbey to explore.
We bike down to the village and walk through the abbey. It appears as if it has been bombed, but Cookie tells me that at the end of the war, they started to use this and other abbeys and monastaries as “rock quarries”. They would take stones from them to build other structures I n the city. This practice was eventually stopped, and now they are restoring many of the old abbeys.
We search for a place for dinner and, once again, have an encounter extraordinaire.
We enter what appears to be the only place in town that is open, a small tea-house called Chez les Mamies. The woman who greets us recognizes that we are American (who wouldn't) and although she is apologetic, tells us that we can only get cold sandwiches, no hot food. As we converse more, she once again says she is sorry, but then begins to stop herself. “Ooo... oh... ooo,” she intones as she walks to one end of the shop to look for something. She returns and tells us she can fix us warm quiche with a salad for both of us. “C'est bien!”, says I, and we are off on another splendid repast and wonderful discourse with this sweet woman. We talk about where we are from and where we are going; traveling by bicycle.
She tells us about the town and of the owner of the shop, one of the two Mamies. There are four delicious looking pies and pastries on the table next to us, all different versions of apple pastries. They all look marvelous and cookie has one which is! We thank her a million times and depart with her wishes for a “bon journey... bon adventure!” So much for the myth of the French being inhospitable. Moments like this are a treasure and stay in your memory forever!
We head back to the campground and finally, with Internet access, I make connections with the office, We chat for a while and laugh as I recount our recent dinner adventure, and then it is off to bed again, even though the sun will not set for another half an hour.
Le Harve (I believe it may be closed today)
Sunday 5-16
We arrive at 8:00 am. We are now nine hours earlier than Phoenix. As we were the first on the boat, we are last off (of course). It is early Sunday morning in Le Harve and it is like a ghost town. Almost no shops or restaurants open and very few people about. We make our way through the city and find the small roads that will take us to the next campground. We ride through a great deal if industrial districts, but also some beautiful countryside along the route. After 30 miles of mostly flat terrain, we arrive at the small village of Villequier and the campground.
A note here - “Thank you Mr. Rogers!”
When I was a sophomore in high school, I took French for one year. The teacher was Mr. Gil Rogers. He was one of the best teachers I ever had, for any subject. But for French, he was magnific! The first day of class we were told that if we had any questions, or anything we wanted to say in English, that would be the day to do it. After that day, we spoke ONLY French. Mon Dieu! How were we supposed to survive? How could we learn a completely different language? Ah... the way most people learn, by speaking and hearing it. Of course he helped by drawing objects on the board, having us do projects and write little skits. Next to drama, it was my favorite class.
Now, some forty plus years later, the words and sounds come back just enough to get by. Oh yes, I could survive by speaking only English. And sometimes, speaking French gets me in a little trouble, as people start talking back very rapidly and I can only pick out every third or fourth word. I know I have poor grammar, my syntax is not always correct, and sometimes I strain for the right word. But I feel a bit of relief that I can have some ease of communication. So Mr Rogers, “Merci beaucoups!”
The campground is run by a husband and wife who speak almost no English. They are very pleasant and accommodating. Now comes the fun part. The part about traveling that I love the most: the people.
They have an eating area and serve meals, mostly frozen food, but passable. As we finish our dinner, a small child of nine enters and walks right up to Cookie and gives him a big smile. We have paper place mats and she turns one over to reveal several games on the other side; find the word, find six things that are different, etc. She motions to Carl to play the games with her. She is delightfully cute. Who could resist!
I have brought some things with me for just such an occasion. I go to my tent and retrieve some magic tricks... and Grover. I return to the dining area and after they have finished all the games, I produce Grover and he introduces him self (in French). She is all giggles and smiles as her parents come out of the back to see what is happening. Her name is Orianne, and Grover has a fun conversation with her about how old she is, does she like school, etc. She scratches him under his chin and he shakes his body in delight. Again, she giggles. I do some magic with small red sponge balls, producing two from one, and making them appear and disappear. Her smile and the look in her eyes are my reward and payment in full for the show! Before turning in for the night, her father takes a picture of us all. Can you see grover smiling?
We arrive at 8:00 am. We are now nine hours earlier than Phoenix. As we were the first on the boat, we are last off (of course). It is early Sunday morning in Le Harve and it is like a ghost town. Almost no shops or restaurants open and very few people about. We make our way through the city and find the small roads that will take us to the next campground. We ride through a great deal if industrial districts, but also some beautiful countryside along the route. After 30 miles of mostly flat terrain, we arrive at the small village of Villequier and the campground.
A note here - “Thank you Mr. Rogers!”
When I was a sophomore in high school, I took French for one year. The teacher was Mr. Gil Rogers. He was one of the best teachers I ever had, for any subject. But for French, he was magnific! The first day of class we were told that if we had any questions, or anything we wanted to say in English, that would be the day to do it. After that day, we spoke ONLY French. Mon Dieu! How were we supposed to survive? How could we learn a completely different language? Ah... the way most people learn, by speaking and hearing it. Of course he helped by drawing objects on the board, having us do projects and write little skits. Next to drama, it was my favorite class.
Now, some forty plus years later, the words and sounds come back just enough to get by. Oh yes, I could survive by speaking only English. And sometimes, speaking French gets me in a little trouble, as people start talking back very rapidly and I can only pick out every third or fourth word. I know I have poor grammar, my syntax is not always correct, and sometimes I strain for the right word. But I feel a bit of relief that I can have some ease of communication. So Mr Rogers, “Merci beaucoups!”
The campground is run by a husband and wife who speak almost no English. They are very pleasant and accommodating. Now comes the fun part. The part about traveling that I love the most: the people.
They have an eating area and serve meals, mostly frozen food, but passable. As we finish our dinner, a small child of nine enters and walks right up to Cookie and gives him a big smile. We have paper place mats and she turns one over to reveal several games on the other side; find the word, find six things that are different, etc. She motions to Carl to play the games with her. She is delightfully cute. Who could resist!
I have brought some things with me for just such an occasion. I go to my tent and retrieve some magic tricks... and Grover. I return to the dining area and after they have finished all the games, I produce Grover and he introduces him self (in French). She is all giggles and smiles as her parents come out of the back to see what is happening. Her name is Orianne, and Grover has a fun conversation with her about how old she is, does she like school, etc. She scratches him under his chin and he shakes his body in delight. Again, she giggles. I do some magic with small red sponge balls, producing two from one, and making them appear and disappear. Her smile and the look in her eyes are my reward and payment in full for the show! Before turning in for the night, her father takes a picture of us all. Can you see grover smiling?
Small Village - Big Money
Saturday May 15
So much to write about and no access to wi fi, or time to write for several days.
We arise very early in order to avoid possible capture by the New Forest police. We are successful. It is a gorgeous day as we head form the trail to the road on our way to Brockenhurst. Here we will catch the train to Southampton and the ferry to France.
The countryside is lush and green. It reminds me of Valley Forge, just outside of Philadelphia. Almost Amish country. The roads are fairly flat here (ah...relief) and the way seems quite easy. We make a side stop in a little village called Beaulieu. It appears to be a tourist village, modeled after towns of old, but it has several “touristy” shops. And here's the odd thing about this area – here, in what seems to be the middle of nowhere, there is a Bentley dealership, along with a Ferrari and Maserati dealership. Where are these people getting their money to pay for these luxury vehicles?
We arrive in Brockenhurst and Cookie now remembers the train station – there is no lift (elevator) to get the bikes up and over to the correct platform. As our bikes weigh 15 pounds and our paniers weight about 45 pounds, we must detach our equipment and transfer each piece separately up the tall flight of stairs and down to the other side. We will not make the train scheduled to arrive in three minutes and will need to wait for the next one in fifteen minutes.
With the transfer complete, the next train arrives and we are promptly told that there is a “medical emergency” in the first car and we will be delayed for about 20 minutes. A call over the loudspeaker system asks for “any persons with medical training to come to the first car.” Obviously, I stay where I am. Now, if there was a psychotic person needing assistance, I might go... no.
We arrive in Portsmouth and first check the location of the ferry. It is easy to get to along a bike path. We return to the town for a light lunch and a bit of window shopping. Then back to the ferry, do some adjustments on our bikes and paniers and then settle in for a long wait. We cannot check in until 7:30 pm, then we board the boat at 10 pm and depart at 11 pm. It is chilly as we wait outside in line to board the boat. The push-bikes do go first though.
On the top two decks, there are three partitioned off areas where there are TV monitor screens and a dozen or so rows of airline-type seating. We stake out a space and like many other passengers, put out our sleeping pads on the floor between two rows of seats. The churning of the engines lulls Morpheus to my sleeping pad and I am out. Next stop: France!
Monday, May 17, 2010
Over The River and Through the Woods, But First...
Friday - May 14
We set out at 9 am for the New Forest, just a bit southeast of Salisbury, about 20 miles to Lyndhurst. Cookie has been there before, but decides to try a “new” route, “the one less traveled.” Did I mention the hills that we encountered last year? We found similar ones along this way! There was quite a bit of up and down, seemed like more up than down, but I didn't find it as exhausting as last year. I am enjoying the trip more this year. Guess I am a little more prepared, or at least know what to expect.
We arrive at the edge of the New Forest. This is not a dark or foreboding wood, but an inviting arbor of green sights and aromas. The river Avon meanders through a portion of it. There are many little villages and towns interspersed along the way. I have never seen so many free-roaming horses! There are no fences. Horses, cows and sheep cross the roads whenever they want or need to. As the roads here are VERY narrow, at times the animals may cause cars (or bikes) to stop and wait. There is hardly room to pass in each direction let alone pass around grazing horses!
There are many, many young colts. I guess they are born in early spring. Ah, what a life: graze, run, play, roll in the dirt, or just lie down next to mom & dad for an afternoon nap. I fully understand!
We had seen some hikers earlier in the day as we set out. Now we have encountered them again and we can't believe how we twisted and turned, up and down all this time, and now they have caught up with us! We joke and laugh with them and then go on our way... but unbeknownst to me, my phone has fallen off my belt. I will not discover until much later that I have lost it.
More up and up, along some fast highways. On the uphills, we have to get off the bikes and walk up as we push our bikes along. Incidentally, that is what they call bicycles here, “push bikes” as opposed to “motorbikes”. Now I know why!
Eventually we get to Lyndhurst. We will camp on the other side of town. We stop for some lunch... and this is where I discover I have lost my phone. I am sick. I think I lost it on one of the hills in the last 2-3 miles just before Lyndhurst. I MUST go back to find it. After an hour and a half of riding and walking back 2 miles on the wrong side of the road, and then coming all the way back again... but obviously, no luck. I resign myself to the fact that it is gone. I am ready to move forward.
We head for the campground, which is a working farm that Cookie stayed at 3 years ago. We arrive to find “no room at the inn.” Well, actually we find that the spring has produced too much rain and the farm is not ready to open to campers for the season yet! And it is now 6:00 pm (although it does not get dark until after 9:00 pm).
We push ahead (yes I do mean push) uphill and find another campground. This one has signs all around that you must have a “self-contained” toilet in order to camp – NO TENTS. (Note: I actually do have a self-contained system of sorts, but that's a story for another time.). We talk to some folks at the campground and consider merely pitching our tents as the camp “host/guard” will not return until morning. On second thought, we head down a trail through the forest, hoping to find a spot out of the way and out of sight to pitch our tents. We see a man walking his dog and ask if the trail goes through to the next paved road.
“Oh yes, cross over the river, go through the wood, cross the railroad tracks and then straight on to the road” (and Grandmother's house we thought!). After we have followed half of his directions, we find a place off the trail and although it is not allowed, we pitch our tents. We make some soup and have leftover half-sandwiches from lunch. It is only 8:30, but as the bugs are bugging us, we retire, hoping that the camping police will not visit us in the night and haul us off to camping prison, or prison camp!
We set out at 9 am for the New Forest, just a bit southeast of Salisbury, about 20 miles to Lyndhurst. Cookie has been there before, but decides to try a “new” route, “the one less traveled.” Did I mention the hills that we encountered last year? We found similar ones along this way! There was quite a bit of up and down, seemed like more up than down, but I didn't find it as exhausting as last year. I am enjoying the trip more this year. Guess I am a little more prepared, or at least know what to expect.
We arrive at the edge of the New Forest. This is not a dark or foreboding wood, but an inviting arbor of green sights and aromas. The river Avon meanders through a portion of it. There are many little villages and towns interspersed along the way. I have never seen so many free-roaming horses! There are no fences. Horses, cows and sheep cross the roads whenever they want or need to. As the roads here are VERY narrow, at times the animals may cause cars (or bikes) to stop and wait. There is hardly room to pass in each direction let alone pass around grazing horses!
There are many, many young colts. I guess they are born in early spring. Ah, what a life: graze, run, play, roll in the dirt, or just lie down next to mom & dad for an afternoon nap. I fully understand!
We had seen some hikers earlier in the day as we set out. Now we have encountered them again and we can't believe how we twisted and turned, up and down all this time, and now they have caught up with us! We joke and laugh with them and then go on our way... but unbeknownst to me, my phone has fallen off my belt. I will not discover until much later that I have lost it.
More up and up, along some fast highways. On the uphills, we have to get off the bikes and walk up as we push our bikes along. Incidentally, that is what they call bicycles here, “push bikes” as opposed to “motorbikes”. Now I know why!
Eventually we get to Lyndhurst. We will camp on the other side of town. We stop for some lunch... and this is where I discover I have lost my phone. I am sick. I think I lost it on one of the hills in the last 2-3 miles just before Lyndhurst. I MUST go back to find it. After an hour and a half of riding and walking back 2 miles on the wrong side of the road, and then coming all the way back again... but obviously, no luck. I resign myself to the fact that it is gone. I am ready to move forward.
We head for the campground, which is a working farm that Cookie stayed at 3 years ago. We arrive to find “no room at the inn.” Well, actually we find that the spring has produced too much rain and the farm is not ready to open to campers for the season yet! And it is now 6:00 pm (although it does not get dark until after 9:00 pm).
We push ahead (yes I do mean push) uphill and find another campground. This one has signs all around that you must have a “self-contained” toilet in order to camp – NO TENTS. (Note: I actually do have a self-contained system of sorts, but that's a story for another time.). We talk to some folks at the campground and consider merely pitching our tents as the camp “host/guard” will not return until morning. On second thought, we head down a trail through the forest, hoping to find a spot out of the way and out of sight to pitch our tents. We see a man walking his dog and ask if the trail goes through to the next paved road.
“Oh yes, cross over the river, go through the wood, cross the railroad tracks and then straight on to the road” (and Grandmother's house we thought!). After we have followed half of his directions, we find a place off the trail and although it is not allowed, we pitch our tents. We make some soup and have leftover half-sandwiches from lunch. It is only 8:30, but as the bugs are bugging us, we retire, hoping that the camping police will not visit us in the night and haul us off to camping prison, or prison camp!
Another Lazy Day in Salisbury.
We have decided to spend one more day in Salisbury before heading south to the New Forest. We do a bit more shopping (you would think we were teenagers spending all our time at the mall – perhaps we are) and biking about around town.
We have bought some lamb burgers and cook them for dinner in the kitchen at the Y. Quite tasty! Tonight we went to the movies, Ironman 2. A bit of a disappointment, but the theater is quite interesting. As most of the buildings here, it is quite old, yet the inside has been converted from one theater into several smaller ones. The walls, architecture, fixtures and decorations are all preserved making it an “old-meets-new" experience. Much of the trip is like that.
Tomorrow we ride!
Thursday, May 13, 2010
Getting to England
The hardest part about getting to England is... getting to England! Our plane was an hour late leaving Phoenix on Monday morning, then another delay with the trans-Atlantic flight connection in Detroit. But that wasn't the worst part. I got to the gate about 35 minutes before departure (one has to be there 30 minutes before , so I was cutting it a little close), and they had a terrible time finding the code for my seat and boarding pass. At first, I wasn't even sure I would be able to get on the flight, but eventually after three agents had tried, I finally got a boarding pass. However... you guessed it, it was NOT the aisle seat I had reserved. I was now in the MIDDLE seat for 10 hours! Not only that, but the woman on my left went to sleep and the longer she slept, the more she leaned in my direction. She was progressively encroaching on what little space I already had. In some countries, I believe we could be considered to be married now!
All that aside, we arrived at Heathrow airport about 9:00 am Tuesday morning. After standing in line for customs and then retrieving our bags, we got directions to the bus station. A labyrinth of tunnels and ramps finally found us at the bus terminal at 10:20. The next bus to Salisbury was at 12:20. After a hot chocolate and a bit of walking around to get the kinks from the flight out of our bodies, we had a lovely bus ride through the countryside and arrived in Salisbury about 2:30 pm. A short (?) walk to the YHA with our 45 pound bags and we were HERE!
Our next task was to walk to the train station to see if our bikes were still there. Carl has been to England four years in a row, and each time has left his bike locked on the platform at the train station. Each time it was still there. Would our bikes be there this time?
AMAZING!
Well, it is truly amazing that our bikes were there again, and except for a little soot, were no worse for the wear. We rode back to the YHA and began to clean and adjust. Last year, I had settled for the standard seat sold to me. NEVER AGAIN! This year, in serious doubt that I would find a seat that I liked at any of the shops in Salisbury, I had brought my own (very comfortable) seat with me. It was the correct choice!
With our bikes clean, our bodies a bit exhausted, we had dinner at a local pub, returned to the Y and quickly crashed. No problem falling asleep this night!
Wednesday found us visiting various shops to not only buy some essentials like propane gas to cook our meals on the road, but also to purchase those proverbial chotchkis (Yiddish for knick-knacks). We can never seem to find too many and are always enticed to buy more. Such is life!
We made more fine-tune adjustments to our bikes, secured our chotchkis to various cross-bars and bike tubes and set out for a lunch of meat pies. Cookie (Carl) had a veggie, I had a chicken and asparagus. They are actually turnovers, and are quite tasty. After lunch, a new camping store caught our eye, and we were compelled to enter. And yes, I was COMPELLED to buy a new day-pack!
It was a little gray, and we felt a few drops, but nonetheless, decided to go for a 12-mile day-ride. As we were about to leave on the ride, a couple walked past and the man stopped. He said he admired our bikes, and then began a ten minute exchange with us about a long line topics.
The Brits are truly a friendly, and very talkative sort. Once they hear our American accents, they launch into a barrage of questions about us followed closely by where they had been on their visit to the states, suggestions about where we should visit if we haven't, where they live, the politics in England and America, and all manner of other information.
Earlier in the day, a chap had passed us on the street and when he heard our accents, asked us where we were from and then proceeded to take several minutes to tell us the “real” story of how the Battle of Little Big Horn had been started by a cow! We are not sure if the story is true, or if he just got Custer mixed up with Mrs. O'leary's cow from Chicago! All-in-all, it is a truly fascinating process to both observe, and be involved in.
Oh yes, our day-ride. Last year, this was the ride that set me up for pain as I had the very hard, uncomfortable seat. This time, the one I had brought from home made all the difference. It was smooth sailing (actually riding) this time, and I thoroughly enjoyed every minute of it.
Back at the Y, we sat in the common room and promptly... took a nap.
A late dinner of fish and chips for Cookie and mild (notice the spice wimp said, “mild”) lamb curry for me finds us both writing our blogs before retiring.
Although I have logged into my e-mail and had some contact with work about a couple of web changes I needed to make, I have lost all track of time and days. I constantly have to pause to focus in on, “what day is it?” This is a good thing! The only other long vacation I took was a two-week kayak trip on the Colorado river in the Grand Canyon. That “big water” trip provided many thrills, chills, spills, and a great deal of adventure! I can only believe that this three-week tour of England and France with my best friend will surely yield the same... and perhaps more!
Saturday, April 3, 2010
England 2010 - The Die is Cast
We have purchased our tickets! And here's the news... I am going for THREE weeks!
Last year I could only manage one week, left on Sunday morning, arrived Monday morning. I had five days, Monday through Friday. Then took the train to Crawley on Saturday, spent the night and flew home on Sunday.
This year will be quite different. Leaving on May 10 and returning on May 29.
I have been looking at Google maps and identifying the places we were last year and all the roads and paths. I am usually pretty good with maps, but for some reason I was quite turned around with directions. I finally found the landmarks, Youth Hostel, Kings Head Inn, path to the campground, etc. Still a little fuzzy on the ground, but I hope to be better at navigation this year.
We are planning a ride south to/through the New Forest. I am really looking forward to this one. Trying to peruse the map and find good routes that avoid the main roads.
Not sure what the rest of the trip holds in store for me/us. The Salisbury Festival starts on May 21. What a great time I had last year. This year there is a storyteller that I hope to see and make contact with. Who knows, I may even find a few venues to tell my stories, as I did last year!
Another new addition this year is video. I have a small Ipod Nano with video camera that is easy to shoot and then upload to the web. So look for some clips of me, Cookie and those wonderful, whacky Brits! Oh yeah, I will also try to post our routes and where we have been on Google maps with some links.
Cookie and I have both upgraded a lot of our equipment and chotchkis (although I am sure we will be in those little stores, always looking for more "stuff"). I have a new tent and sleeping bag. Cookie has some new paniers and a new stove.
Now all we have to do is... hope that our bikes are still there!
Monday, May 25, 2009
Saturday – Fairytales & Stonehenge
Another glorious morning. We must have brought some of the Arizona sun!
We sleep in a little, then Cookie must fix a flat he got last night while coming up the path to the campground. A strange thing about flat tires. I have had only one in the entire time I have had my bike, over a year. Cookie had seven last year during his trip, and has had several in Flagstaff. I had just remarked to him that he had not had any since we arrived, and of course, he had to get one. All in the course of owning and riding a bike.
We breakfast at the King's Head (do you see a recurring theme here? - See pic). They have good food and the Internet is free. This morning, I am off to see a fairytale at the festival. The Sun Dragon is described as an “intergalactic fairytale”. Presented at The Salisbury Arts Center, an old converted church by a troupe from Cambridge. Parents and their children begin filling the seats. At the curtained entrance, an usher seems confused that I am alone and queries, “no children?” “I am the child.” Would you have expected anything less from me?
Bleacher-type seating looks down upon the stage which is strewn with props and paraphernalia. A keyboardist plays softly to one side of the stage. As the performance begins, I know I have chosen wisely. A troupe of five performers begins a combination of narrative, character acting, puppetry, and use of props and lights to create a truly magical experience. It is reminiscent of the Muppets and the Lion King, with a little bit of Harry Potter thrown in. And just five players and one musician! How marvelous they are. Oh yes, the other children love it too.
I may steel some of their puppetry and gimmicks for my storytelling. I come away filled with smiles. In the back of my mind, I believe that this troupe might be a good fit for the Jonesborough Storytelling Festival. I think too that my friend Susan Southard's Playback Theater Group would fit well here in Salisbury.
Cookie and I meet back up and decide to take the tour bus to Stonehenge. A 15-20 minute ride brings us to the site of this ancient stone circle that's true purpose has eluded both scholars and scientists alike. It is strange to see this historic structure in the center of a field, surrounded by twenty-first century highways, a tourist shop and food vendor. An Ipod like device guides one around the structure with recorded explanations in fifteen different languages. You cannot get closer than 30 feet, as it is roped off to the public.
We sleep in a little, then Cookie must fix a flat he got last night while coming up the path to the campground. A strange thing about flat tires. I have had only one in the entire time I have had my bike, over a year. Cookie had seven last year during his trip, and has had several in Flagstaff. I had just remarked to him that he had not had any since we arrived, and of course, he had to get one. All in the course of owning and riding a bike.
We breakfast at the King's Head (do you see a recurring theme here? - See pic). They have good food and the Internet is free. This morning, I am off to see a fairytale at the festival. The Sun Dragon is described as an “intergalactic fairytale”. Presented at The Salisbury Arts Center, an old converted church by a troupe from Cambridge. Parents and their children begin filling the seats. At the curtained entrance, an usher seems confused that I am alone and queries, “no children?” “I am the child.” Would you have expected anything less from me?Bleacher-type seating looks down upon the stage which is strewn with props and paraphernalia. A keyboardist plays softly to one side of the stage. As the performance begins, I know I have chosen wisely. A troupe of five performers begins a combination of narrative, character acting, puppetry, and use of props and lights to create a truly magical experience. It is reminiscent of the Muppets and the Lion King, with a little bit of Harry Potter thrown in. And just five players and one musician! How marvelous they are. Oh yes, the other children love it too.
I may steel some of their puppetry and gimmicks for my storytelling. I come away filled with smiles. In the back of my mind, I believe that this troupe might be a good fit for the Jonesborough Storytelling Festival. I think too that my friend Susan Southard's Playback Theater Group would fit well here in Salisbury.
Cookie and I meet back up and decide to take the tour bus to Stonehenge. A 15-20 minute ride brings us to the site of this ancient stone circle that's true purpose has eluded both scholars and scientists alike. It is strange to see this historic structure in the center of a field, surrounded by twenty-first century highways, a tourist shop and food vendor. An Ipod like device guides one around the structure with recorded explanations in fifteen different languages. You cannot get closer than 30 feet, as it is roped off to the public.
There is only one day each year when it is accessible up close, the day of the summer solstice. There are so many people on that day, though, that unless you are one of the first 200 to enter, you become just one of the crowd. There are many theories and myths surrounding Stonehenge, yet no one can say with any real clarity, why it is there. Perhaps I will craft a story about it's origins.
We return to town, head to the train station to check schedules as I must head to Crawley tomorrow in preparation for my flight on Monday. The week has gone by quickly.
We return to town, head to the train station to check schedules as I must head to Crawley tomorrow in preparation for my flight on Monday. The week has gone by quickly.
We then ride through the park along the Avon river. The day is still sunny. People are walking the paths, sitting on benches, picnicking with their families. 
Near one of the pubs, dogs and children play in the shallow river just below a small waterfall, with a view of Salisbury Cathedral in the distance. An idyllic English weekend setting.
After several tries for a dinner venue, we end up at The Mill Pub (across from the King's Head). Cookie has bangers and mash (sausage and mashed potatoes) and I partake of Hunter's Chicken, chicken breast with Canadian bacon, barbecue sauce, and cheese (and of course, the requisite order of peas – served with almost every meal). The dinner is “spot on” as the Brits say.
A perfect ending to a perfect day!
Near one of the pubs, dogs and children play in the shallow river just below a small waterfall, with a view of Salisbury Cathedral in the distance. An idyllic English weekend setting.After several tries for a dinner venue, we end up at The Mill Pub (across from the King's Head). Cookie has bangers and mash (sausage and mashed potatoes) and I partake of Hunter's Chicken, chicken breast with Canadian bacon, barbecue sauce, and cheese (and of course, the requisite order of peas – served with almost every meal). The dinner is “spot on” as the Brits say.
A perfect ending to a perfect day!
Saturday, May 23, 2009
Friday – Festival Time!
I awake at 7:00 am. I go back to sleep till 8:30. Ah, the joys of sleeping in.
Then reality sets in and we must break camp and move on. We dismantle our tents and pack, then make breakfast before setting out. This morning I make blueberry pancakes. Mmmm. Just add water, thank you, Krusteaz. Yes, I did bring a small bottle of syrup. What would pancakes be without syrup? Some luxuries cannot be left out, even when camping halfway 'round the world.
We're back on the canal. We know this will take us all the way to Trowbridge (about 7 miles) where we can catch a train back to Salisbury. Along the way, we stop to chat with a fellow working on his boat. He is a helicopter mechanic who is out of work. It seems the bad economy has touched everyone.
By the way, these Brits are a friendly and chatty sort! Rarely does a person pass by without a “Mornin,” “Afternoon,” or “Cheers.” almost always followed by some sort of questions and various responses: Biking about are you? You've got quite a bit of gear there, don't you! Where are you from? On holiday are you? How long will you be staying? I've got a cousin lives in Virginia. I suppose that's not very close to Arizona. I've never been there, but I've seen pictures of the Grand Canyon. That is in Arizona isn't it? So what do you think of your new president, this Obama fellow? Bit of a mess the economy's in right now, eh?
At least one can say that the art of conversation is not lost in merry old England!
It's actually good that they are this way, as we often need to ask for directions. We do so in Trowbridge to get to the railway station. One woman says she is headed that direction and actually helps us pull our bikes up some steps! I doubt that would happen in the states, or if so, it would be rare. We take the train back to Salisbury as we squeeze our bikes with paniers onto the end of the bike car. The train is quite full as the weekend is approaching.
Back in Salisbury we head for another campground, this one accessible by a very nice bike and foot path, about a 5-10 minute ride from the center of town. The hosts remember Carl (“The chap from Arizona who was backpacking last year, you remember dear.”)
We set up camp, have some fruit and cheese, and then head into town. We stop for a “cream tea” with scones, clotted cream and jam.
We're back on the canal. We know this will take us all the way to Trowbridge (about 7 miles) where we can catch a train back to Salisbury. Along the way, we stop to chat with a fellow working on his boat. He is a helicopter mechanic who is out of work. It seems the bad economy has touched everyone.
By the way, these Brits are a friendly and chatty sort! Rarely does a person pass by without a “Mornin,” “Afternoon,” or “Cheers.” almost always followed by some sort of questions and various responses: Biking about are you? You've got quite a bit of gear there, don't you! Where are you from? On holiday are you? How long will you be staying? I've got a cousin lives in Virginia. I suppose that's not very close to Arizona. I've never been there, but I've seen pictures of the Grand Canyon. That is in Arizona isn't it? So what do you think of your new president, this Obama fellow? Bit of a mess the economy's in right now, eh?
At least one can say that the art of conversation is not lost in merry old England!
It's actually good that they are this way, as we often need to ask for directions. We do so in Trowbridge to get to the railway station. One woman says she is headed that direction and actually helps us pull our bikes up some steps! I doubt that would happen in the states, or if so, it would be rare. We take the train back to Salisbury as we squeeze our bikes with paniers onto the end of the bike car. The train is quite full as the weekend is approaching.
Back in Salisbury we head for another campground, this one accessible by a very nice bike and foot path, about a 5-10 minute ride from the center of town. The hosts remember Carl (“The chap from Arizona who was backpacking last year, you remember dear.”)
We set up camp, have some fruit and cheese, and then head into town. We stop for a “cream tea” with scones, clotted cream and jam.
Then it's off to the King's Head Inn pub for some blog posting with free Internet. There must be something about Carl and me (or at least one of us) as there is one drunk in the pub who glams on to us. “Using the Internet are you? I use the computer to play chess. Sorry to bother you, I won't disturb you again.” Five minutes later, “I'm sorry to disturb you, I use the computer for chess. Do you play chess? OK, sorry for the interruption.” Three more times. Do we have signs on our backs?
OFF TO THE FESTIVAL
The Salisbury Art & Music Festival is quite famous, and tonight it begins. We head to the Market Square where the festivities begin. The crowd is milling about waiting for the main event to begin. Meanwhile, street performers are doing magic, juggling, balloon sculptures, and other interesting acts. There is a couple with a pram (baby carriage) that has large vegetables in it, all with little plastic eyes and facial pieces, and all dressed as babies. Their act consists of giving a vegetable baby to a small child, and then having the child “feed” the baby using a baby bottle filled with some sort of green juice. Inventive these Brits!
A juggler does a very nice “mute” act and shows the children that they can hold a spinning ball.
The Salisbury Art & Music Festival is quite famous, and tonight it begins. We head to the Market Square where the festivities begin. The crowd is milling about waiting for the main event to begin. Meanwhile, street performers are doing magic, juggling, balloon sculptures, and other interesting acts. There is a couple with a pram (baby carriage) that has large vegetables in it, all with little plastic eyes and facial pieces, and all dressed as babies. Their act consists of giving a vegetable baby to a small child, and then having the child “feed” the baby using a baby bottle filled with some sort of green juice. Inventive these Brits!
A juggler does a very nice “mute” act and shows the children that they can hold a spinning ball.
The Vice mayor (on the left) and Mayor of Salisbury.
Now comes the main event. A troupe of French performers and drummers begin to march to cadence among the crowd. They march in circles around small gatherings of people as they continue to drum and shout.
Often, they will form a line, shoulder to shoulder and march forward, forcing the crowd to retreat!
This goes on for some time until they all reach their destination: a large crane with a mobile-like contraption that has a space at the top for a trapeze artist and then seven other perches for the drummers. The crane takes them high into the sky as they drum and perform. It is an amazing performance that almost defies description.
An incredible opening to the two-week festival. We ride back to the campground and turn in.
Friday, May 22, 2009
Thursday – The Canal
Looks like a little rain. Just a few drops, nothing of consequence.
We head off and Cookie wonders if I can ride the canal. We stand on the bridge overlooking a very narrow canal (about 25 feet wide maybe) with a very narrow “tow path” to one side. From here, it does not look difficult. But wait, there's more.
I decide to go for it... I should have remembered my hasty decision about that hamburger in the pub.
The tow path is VERY narrow (3-4 feet), and Cookie informs me to always get off the bike on the bank side, and not to step in the rushes, as they are really part of the water. The further we go, the more grass under our bikes we encounter. Grass is extremely difficult to peddle on and maneuver, especially with 50 pounds of gear. Our average speed going up and down the hills was 5 MPH. Here, we are going 2 MPH. A few times, I scare myself and get too close to the canal. Fortunately, I keep one hand on the brake. There are several abrupt stops, a little disconcerting, but better than ending up in the drink!
There are many barges on the canal. They are similar to motor homes in that many are owned by folks who take them out for the weekend, or on vacation. Some are rented out to vacationers too. They cost about $1200 a week.
We stop where there is a bench along the side and cook our breakfasts. Each time I stop, I have three feelings: “Thank goodness we are stopping;” “I don't think I can walk;” and “I don't think I can get on the bike again.” We push on,.. and on... and on. The canal seems to go on forever. There is no place to get back on solid road until we get to the next town. On and on and on.
We head off and Cookie wonders if I can ride the canal. We stand on the bridge overlooking a very narrow canal (about 25 feet wide maybe) with a very narrow “tow path” to one side. From here, it does not look difficult. But wait, there's more.
I decide to go for it... I should have remembered my hasty decision about that hamburger in the pub.
The tow path is VERY narrow (3-4 feet), and Cookie informs me to always get off the bike on the bank side, and not to step in the rushes, as they are really part of the water. The further we go, the more grass under our bikes we encounter. Grass is extremely difficult to peddle on and maneuver, especially with 50 pounds of gear. Our average speed going up and down the hills was 5 MPH. Here, we are going 2 MPH. A few times, I scare myself and get too close to the canal. Fortunately, I keep one hand on the brake. There are several abrupt stops, a little disconcerting, but better than ending up in the drink!
There are many barges on the canal. They are similar to motor homes in that many are owned by folks who take them out for the weekend, or on vacation. Some are rented out to vacationers too. They cost about $1200 a week.We stop where there is a bench along the side and cook our breakfasts. Each time I stop, I have three feelings: “Thank goodness we are stopping;” “I don't think I can walk;” and “I don't think I can get on the bike again.” We push on,.. and on... and on. The canal seems to go on forever. There is no place to get back on solid road until we get to the next town. On and on and on.
We pass two geese and thier babies!
Finally, we arrive in Divises, a quaint little town. I think we are staying here. Carl says, “we'll have to talk about that.” There is a campground showing on the map, but last year, Carl could not find it. There is some discussion regarding our options. We go to the Information Center to get some information (ha). Indeed, there is a campground just a few miles down the canal. Uh, well, um, I don't think I can do anymore of that canal. Happily, I am informed that the tow path is a wider stretch of compressed gravel, very easy to navigate. YEA!
We head back down the canal and start to pass a series of locks.
There are 30 or so and each one is hand operated by the riders of each boat. I takes about 3-4 hours to get through all of them. I am ecstatic that the path is now ALL DOWNHILL. Mostly coasting.
Eventually we get to the campground. This is part of a network of campgrounds for campers and caravanners (mobile homes) and is very well groomed – showers and real toilets!. The “hosts” are quite friendly. I make some jokes and they think I am funny. Ha! We pitch our tents and walk to a nearby pub, The Three Magpies.
The “roast chicken” is OK, but not quite what I expected. It was more like boiled chicken, no seasoning, just white, bland skin. Oh yes, there are a few feathers still on the wing! I seem to remember when Mother and I were visiting in Devon many years ago, Mother made roast chicken for our friends Ken and Marcia and their children. They were quite impressed! Let us just say that English and American palates are somewhat different.
We return to our tents and although it is early, I have no energy to write. I am done in for the day.
We head back down the canal and start to pass a series of locks.
There are 30 or so and each one is hand operated by the riders of each boat. I takes about 3-4 hours to get through all of them. I am ecstatic that the path is now ALL DOWNHILL. Mostly coasting.Eventually we get to the campground. This is part of a network of campgrounds for campers and caravanners (mobile homes) and is very well groomed – showers and real toilets!. The “hosts” are quite friendly. I make some jokes and they think I am funny. Ha! We pitch our tents and walk to a nearby pub, The Three Magpies.
The “roast chicken” is OK, but not quite what I expected. It was more like boiled chicken, no seasoning, just white, bland skin. Oh yes, there are a few feathers still on the wing! I seem to remember when Mother and I were visiting in Devon many years ago, Mother made roast chicken for our friends Ken and Marcia and their children. They were quite impressed! Let us just say that English and American palates are somewhat different.
We return to our tents and although it is early, I have no energy to write. I am done in for the day.
Wednesday – On the Road Again.
As I thought, today I am hurting.
A long day ensues as we head north to Wilcot, about 26 miles from Salisbury. Once again, downhill and up (did I mention the up part?)
Well, let me also tell you that the bike handles a lot differently when it is loaded down with paniers (bike bags... Heidi take note). Together, they weigh close to 50 pounds. Oi vey, I have got to cut back! After only 3 minutes, I take a tumble. Some shopkeepers rush out and ask if I am hurt?, “Only my pride,” says I. The woman smiles and understands as she goes back inside.
There are several other spills during the day. The slightest bit of being off-balance sets me on the pavement. We have to stay as close to the left edge of the road (remember I said they were narrow) and at very slow speeds (the granny gear) it is more difficult to steer the bike. Several times I over correct and find myself on the road bank in the reeds. Other times I take the easier (not easy) route and walk up the hill.
We stop in Amesbury at the bike shop and I get a tune up as the gears need adjustment. Then it's back on the road, twisty, turney, narrow and steep.
The countryside is beautiful, looks a bit like Pennsylvania or Virginia. Rolling hills (did I mention the hills?). Cows and sheep abound. The cows are quite large. I have never seen ones so big. Some horses too. Two black beauties come to the fence to say hello.
It's still hard to get used to riding on the left side of the road. Turning is quite dangerous as one forgets which way to look. So I try to wait until there is no traffic from either direction. I looked the wrong way once, and a woman came from the other direction with a quite disturbed look on her face. I am sure she was thinking, “Bloody American Cyclist.” I think she actually gave me the Betty look. For the uninformed, this is a look that is “world famous” and carries with it anger, disdain, and the unspoken message, “Don't you EVER do that again!”
After five hours of biking, and an hour and a half of stops, a few tumbles, lots of walks, and a total elevation climb of 1200 feet, we arrive at our destination; a small 150 year-old wayside pub and restaurant with a field in back for campers. The Golden Swan is an extremely pleasant place to stop. Carl knows this as he has been here before. We pitch our tents and go to the pub for a proper dinner. The menu boasts a “Barnsley Chop.” I inquire of Peter, the owner, and am informed that is is a cut of lamb. Done, says I... but add that I would like it medium rare.
Me behind the bar.
Peter, the owner
We meet Sandra, her daughter and grandson. The daughter owns a dairy farm with her husband in New Zealand. Sandra was on holiday there to visit, and now the daughter has flown back to be on holiday here. An eighteen hour flight with a 16 month-old. Hmmm.
The meal comes and is wonderful. Medium rare was just right! I noticed earlier that Sandra's hamburger was like mine at the King's Head, DEAD. How do these Brits tolerate their well done meat? Shall we have desert? We are on holiday, why not? There are several “puddings” listed on a blackboard. Sandra suggest the Treacle, “It's quite sweet, if you like sweet things.” I do. Shall I have it with cream or custard? How about both? Mmmmmm. I finish off the whole meal with a large pot of tea as we begin to write our blogs.
My body is hurting and I am fading, so it's off to sleep. We have pitched our tents in the field behind the pub, but there are also cars parked nearby. I only hope that as patrons leave to drive home, they will not take my tent along with them!
A long day ensues as we head north to Wilcot, about 26 miles from Salisbury. Once again, downhill and up (did I mention the up part?)
Well, let me also tell you that the bike handles a lot differently when it is loaded down with paniers (bike bags... Heidi take note). Together, they weigh close to 50 pounds. Oi vey, I have got to cut back! After only 3 minutes, I take a tumble. Some shopkeepers rush out and ask if I am hurt?, “Only my pride,” says I. The woman smiles and understands as she goes back inside.
There are several other spills during the day. The slightest bit of being off-balance sets me on the pavement. We have to stay as close to the left edge of the road (remember I said they were narrow) and at very slow speeds (the granny gear) it is more difficult to steer the bike. Several times I over correct and find myself on the road bank in the reeds. Other times I take the easier (not easy) route and walk up the hill.
We stop in Amesbury at the bike shop and I get a tune up as the gears need adjustment. Then it's back on the road, twisty, turney, narrow and steep.
The countryside is beautiful, looks a bit like Pennsylvania or Virginia. Rolling hills (did I mention the hills?). Cows and sheep abound. The cows are quite large. I have never seen ones so big. Some horses too. Two black beauties come to the fence to say hello.
It's still hard to get used to riding on the left side of the road. Turning is quite dangerous as one forgets which way to look. So I try to wait until there is no traffic from either direction. I looked the wrong way once, and a woman came from the other direction with a quite disturbed look on her face. I am sure she was thinking, “Bloody American Cyclist.” I think she actually gave me the Betty look. For the uninformed, this is a look that is “world famous” and carries with it anger, disdain, and the unspoken message, “Don't you EVER do that again!”
After five hours of biking, and an hour and a half of stops, a few tumbles, lots of walks, and a total elevation climb of 1200 feet, we arrive at our destination; a small 150 year-old wayside pub and restaurant with a field in back for campers. The Golden Swan is an extremely pleasant place to stop. Carl knows this as he has been here before. We pitch our tents and go to the pub for a proper dinner. The menu boasts a “Barnsley Chop.” I inquire of Peter, the owner, and am informed that is is a cut of lamb. Done, says I... but add that I would like it medium rare.
Me behind the bar.
Peter, the owner
We meet Sandra, her daughter and grandson. The daughter owns a dairy farm with her husband in New Zealand. Sandra was on holiday there to visit, and now the daughter has flown back to be on holiday here. An eighteen hour flight with a 16 month-old. Hmmm.
The meal comes and is wonderful. Medium rare was just right! I noticed earlier that Sandra's hamburger was like mine at the King's Head, DEAD. How do these Brits tolerate their well done meat? Shall we have desert? We are on holiday, why not? There are several “puddings” listed on a blackboard. Sandra suggest the Treacle, “It's quite sweet, if you like sweet things.” I do. Shall I have it with cream or custard? How about both? Mmmmmm. I finish off the whole meal with a large pot of tea as we begin to write our blogs.
My body is hurting and I am fading, so it's off to sleep. We have pitched our tents in the field behind the pub, but there are also cars parked nearby. I only hope that as patrons leave to drive home, they will not take my tent along with them!
Tuesday, May 19, 2009
Tuesday - Salisbury Cathedral & Ride Upon Avon
We awake at 7. The stay at the Hostel includes a “proper English breakfast: Scrambled eggs, sausages, potato cakes, Canadian bacon, grilled tomatoes and baked beans. I partake of all save the beans.
With our bikes ready to go, we set out for Halfords, a small store nearby to gather more chotchkis. Then a ride through a park area that ends up at Salisbury Cathedral.
An incredible structure, even without considering that it was built on the ground without a foundation. It was built in 1250 and its spire is the tallest in all of England.
The inside is truly magnificent, with engraved stones in the floor, hand carved stone and wood everywhere, painted ceilings, stained glass windows, and an organ with pipes on either side of the church. It is the second oldest organ in England.
After visiting the cathedral, it's off to the dollar store for more chotchkis ands supplies. They call it “Pound Land” and everything is one English pound, about $1.50 American. For some time now, both Cookie and I have been looking at small, lightweight, portable, three-legged camping stools. REI has some, but they have always seemed a bit expensive. Pound Land had them in the outdoor & garden section. We each bought one!
Lunch at the Kings Head Inn, a local pub/restaurant that has free Internet. Cookie has a veggie-burger, I try the English beef berger. I guess I should have asked for it rare. I didn't, and it was quite dead, so I really can't tell you how English Beef tastes.
After lunch, we ride!
Cookie takes me on a 15 mile trek, halfway to Amesbury and back, along the Avon river for about two hours. Two excruciating hours of downhill and up. It seemed to me that for each downhill run there were two or three uphill! And up... and up... and up! Good thing I have a granny gear on my bike... designed just for that, allowing grannies (and me) to peddle uphill. I am peddling and going so slow, that it is difficult to keep the bike straight. I push through the pain and get to the top of the hills, all of them. I fear tomorrow my body will be hurting!
The group of school children are still here and would love to hear another story before they pop off to bed. I tell them of Zephir's Heroic Vacation, one of the Babar stories. I loved them as I was growing up, and this one was my favorite. Interestingly enough, many of the children are familiar with Babar, and Linda, the teacher-in-charge read them as she was growing up too. Once again, they listen attentively. There is small boy with curly hair that is a dead ringer for The Little Prince. Quite adorable.
I tell them that my mate and I are leaving tomorrow to bike north of here and do some camping. A disappointed, “Ohhhh...” comes from the group. It is a heartwarming sound to me.
Well, it's off to Morpheus for myself too as the day has been somewhat long and the ride arduous. I am hoping to get my “land legs” back soon!
With our bikes ready to go, we set out for Halfords, a small store nearby to gather more chotchkis. Then a ride through a park area that ends up at Salisbury Cathedral.
An incredible structure, even without considering that it was built on the ground without a foundation. It was built in 1250 and its spire is the tallest in all of England.
The inside is truly magnificent, with engraved stones in the floor, hand carved stone and wood everywhere, painted ceilings, stained glass windows, and an organ with pipes on either side of the church. It is the second oldest organ in England.
Salisbury was one of the areas that was designated to have one of the copies of the Magna Carta made for all to see across the English country, Hence, there is a museum for it with many writings and translations of the document. One of those original documents is on display (no photos please). It is quite awesome to be able to see an actual part of history from 750 years ago.
After visiting the cathedral, it's off to the dollar store for more chotchkis ands supplies. They call it “Pound Land” and everything is one English pound, about $1.50 American. For some time now, both Cookie and I have been looking at small, lightweight, portable, three-legged camping stools. REI has some, but they have always seemed a bit expensive. Pound Land had them in the outdoor & garden section. We each bought one!
Lunch at the Kings Head Inn, a local pub/restaurant that has free Internet. Cookie has a veggie-burger, I try the English beef berger. I guess I should have asked for it rare. I didn't, and it was quite dead, so I really can't tell you how English Beef tastes.
After lunch, we ride!
Cookie takes me on a 15 mile trek, halfway to Amesbury and back, along the Avon river for about two hours. Two excruciating hours of downhill and up. It seemed to me that for each downhill run there were two or three uphill! And up... and up... and up! Good thing I have a granny gear on my bike... designed just for that, allowing grannies (and me) to peddle uphill. I am peddling and going so slow, that it is difficult to keep the bike straight. I push through the pain and get to the top of the hills, all of them. I fear tomorrow my body will be hurting!
The group of school children are still here and would love to hear another story before they pop off to bed. I tell them of Zephir's Heroic Vacation, one of the Babar stories. I loved them as I was growing up, and this one was my favorite. Interestingly enough, many of the children are familiar with Babar, and Linda, the teacher-in-charge read them as she was growing up too. Once again, they listen attentively. There is small boy with curly hair that is a dead ringer for The Little Prince. Quite adorable.
I tell them that my mate and I are leaving tomorrow to bike north of here and do some camping. A disappointed, “Ohhhh...” comes from the group. It is a heartwarming sound to me.
Well, it's off to Morpheus for myself too as the day has been somewhat long and the ride arduous. I am hoping to get my “land legs” back soon!
Monday, May 18, 2009
Monday - Orientation Day
We arrived at London-Gatwick on Monday morning, 7am local time.
A snake line at customs to check our passports moves well and we are through the process in about twelve minutes from the time we get in line. I still get nervous with any authority figure. I guess it's the fear that someone will feel you are being just a little too flip, or too happy, or too sad, or showing no emotion, and will want to take you into the back room and grille you till you crack! When the agent asks, “What's the nature of your visit?”, I freeze for a moment. “I'm on vacation,” I say. Feeling like he is about to give me the third degree with another 40 questions. “Have a nice holiday,” he says (they call vacations being on holiday). I am safe from the dungeons of the the Tower of London!
A snake line at customs to check our passports moves well and we are through the process in about twelve minutes from the time we get in line. I still get nervous with any authority figure. I guess it's the fear that someone will feel you are being just a little too flip, or too happy, or too sad, or showing no emotion, and will want to take you into the back room and grille you till you crack! When the agent asks, “What's the nature of your visit?”, I freeze for a moment. “I'm on vacation,” I say. Feeling like he is about to give me the third degree with another 40 questions. “Have a nice holiday,” he says (they call vacations being on holiday). I am safe from the dungeons of the the Tower of London!
Two trains and two hours later we find ourselves in Salisbury. This is the town Carl has used as his staging site for three years. Once again, as in the past,
Carl's bike is still there, amazingly, locked in a rack at the train station! We load it up with our bags and walk for thirty minutes to the Youth Hostel.
After checking in and getting the lay of the land, we set out into town for a bite of lunch, and the search for a bike for me. The roads are quite narrow, hardly enough room for one, let alone two cars. The sidewalks are the same.
The fish and chips we ordered from a small shop was quite greasy, and not very satisfying. Wanting to sample the local fare doesn't guarantee it will live up to our expectations.
We look in two bicycle shops in town. The selection of lower-priced bikes is not appealing, so we board a double-decker bus for the town of Amesbury. This is the site of Stonehenge, and the place where Carl bought his bike three years ago.
A short note about these buses. Carl took me to the top deck-- the first two seats. Let me just say that on these very narrow country roads... it was very much like Mr. Toads Wild Ride! Enough said.
To my delight, the shop in Amesbury has a great selection and the shopkeeper is quite friendly and helpful. But if I buy a bike here, how will I get it back to Salisbury? I saw the hills we came down. No way could I make it back up. But there is a bike that I like. Darin, the owner, with an, “ow about this mate?”, offers that if we go off to have a “cream tea,” he will configure the bike for me in about forty-five minutes, load it into his van and then drive us all back to Salisbury. SOLD!
The bike is actually much nicer (lighter in weight) than my bike in Phoenix! I am very happy with it. Cookie cleans up his bike after having sat for a year at the station while I attach all the gizmos and chotchkis I have brought from home.
Fairly exhausted, we head for the Hostel dining room (note the capital “H”). The roasted tomato and red pepper soup was just right. Cookie is ready to turn in, but I want to finish my blog thoughts and post them so as not to get behind, and also not forget any pieces I wanted to recount.
I am in the “common” room typing away as fast as my little hunt and peck fingers will allow me. Suddenly, the room is filled with 35 seven to eleven year-olds. They are all school mates and are on a kind of extended field trip, with approximately six teacher/chaperons. By the way, did I mention that the children were all in their pajamas and/or robes? Quite a site!
One teacher has what appear to be two paperback books. She announces to the group that they have two choices of stories and proceeds to delineate both. Without a moment's hesitation, I add, “Or, there might be a third choice.” I explain that I am a “storyteller” and wonder if they would like to hear the story of The Magic Pomegranate. The paperbacks never had a chance.
There were 35 pairs of wide eyes listening intently as the story unfolded from, “Once upon a time," all the way through, “They lived happily ever after.” They thanked me en masse in their high pitched British accents. Off to bed they went. Well, off to making a bit more noise in their dorm rooms as only adolescents can.
I finish this writing with a great sense of contentment and joy.
My story for today now ends.
Tomorrow we bike!
The fish and chips we ordered from a small shop was quite greasy, and not very satisfying. Wanting to sample the local fare doesn't guarantee it will live up to our expectations.
We look in two bicycle shops in town. The selection of lower-priced bikes is not appealing, so we board a double-decker bus for the town of Amesbury. This is the site of Stonehenge, and the place where Carl bought his bike three years ago.
A short note about these buses. Carl took me to the top deck-- the first two seats. Let me just say that on these very narrow country roads... it was very much like Mr. Toads Wild Ride! Enough said.
To my delight, the shop in Amesbury has a great selection and the shopkeeper is quite friendly and helpful. But if I buy a bike here, how will I get it back to Salisbury? I saw the hills we came down. No way could I make it back up. But there is a bike that I like. Darin, the owner, with an, “ow about this mate?”, offers that if we go off to have a “cream tea,” he will configure the bike for me in about forty-five minutes, load it into his van and then drive us all back to Salisbury. SOLD!
The bike is actually much nicer (lighter in weight) than my bike in Phoenix! I am very happy with it. Cookie cleans up his bike after having sat for a year at the station while I attach all the gizmos and chotchkis I have brought from home.
Fairly exhausted, we head for the Hostel dining room (note the capital “H”). The roasted tomato and red pepper soup was just right. Cookie is ready to turn in, but I want to finish my blog thoughts and post them so as not to get behind, and also not forget any pieces I wanted to recount.
I am in the “common” room typing away as fast as my little hunt and peck fingers will allow me. Suddenly, the room is filled with 35 seven to eleven year-olds. They are all school mates and are on a kind of extended field trip, with approximately six teacher/chaperons. By the way, did I mention that the children were all in their pajamas and/or robes? Quite a site!
One teacher has what appear to be two paperback books. She announces to the group that they have two choices of stories and proceeds to delineate both. Without a moment's hesitation, I add, “Or, there might be a third choice.” I explain that I am a “storyteller” and wonder if they would like to hear the story of The Magic Pomegranate. The paperbacks never had a chance.
There were 35 pairs of wide eyes listening intently as the story unfolded from, “Once upon a time," all the way through, “They lived happily ever after.” They thanked me en masse in their high pitched British accents. Off to bed they went. Well, off to making a bit more noise in their dorm rooms as only adolescents can.
I finish this writing with a great sense of contentment and joy.
My story for today now ends.
Tomorrow we bike!
England - Flight Legs
The flight from Phoenix to Atlanta was uneventful, except for the one hour delay due to weather in Atlanta. We arrived safely in constant rain, transferred to a new terminal, had Panda Express at the food court (big mistake), and eventually boarded the flight to London-Gatwick.
Cookie and I were across the aisle from each other. He was next to a cute girl in the window seat. That didn't last long as she was in the wrong row. She was replaced by a “much older” man who proclaimed to Cookie that he had been on a flight from South American and had some sort of trouble and lost his hearing. That was their last conversation for eight and a half hours.
The only real life saver on this flight was the fact that they had movies-on-demand. This helped greatly to pass the time. I was only able to catch a few winks early on in the flight, then I was wired after that. Cookie was on his laptop and also watching (really just listening) to a movie. When we were over the Atlantic, he heard one of the characters say, “We'll be making our descent into Los Angeles.” He looked up and wondered, “Where are we????” He soon realized the hilarity in the situation.
One final note about the flight: We are all aware that there are many scented, soaps, lotions, etc. in the world. However, I must admit that I have never heard of the soap they had in the washroom on the plane; lemon grass and wasabi. The concept escaped me.
Tomorrow morning... England!
Cookie and I were across the aisle from each other. He was next to a cute girl in the window seat. That didn't last long as she was in the wrong row. She was replaced by a “much older” man who proclaimed to Cookie that he had been on a flight from South American and had some sort of trouble and lost his hearing. That was their last conversation for eight and a half hours.
The only real life saver on this flight was the fact that they had movies-on-demand. This helped greatly to pass the time. I was only able to catch a few winks early on in the flight, then I was wired after that. Cookie was on his laptop and also watching (really just listening) to a movie. When we were over the Atlantic, he heard one of the characters say, “We'll be making our descent into Los Angeles.” He looked up and wondered, “Where are we????” He soon realized the hilarity in the situation.
One final note about the flight: We are all aware that there are many scented, soaps, lotions, etc. in the world. However, I must admit that I have never heard of the soap they had in the washroom on the plane; lemon grass and wasabi. The concept escaped me.
Tomorrow morning... England!
Sunday, May 17, 2009
England - Pro Log
My friend Carl Cooke (I call him Cookie) has been to England three times now. He goes in the summer for about 6 weeks. He rides his bike, camps out, and generally comes and goes when he pleases. He's been trying to get me to go with him each year. There was always some reason I couldn't go: time, money, no one to take care of my dog, etc. I would always say to him, “It's not a good time.” We say that at work a lot too. There is always a project, conference, meeting, etc. I realized, there never really is a good time. So, with some assistance from Cookie, I decided to go this year, for a week.
The decision was simple, the preparation seemed daunting. Apply for (and get in time) a passport, make sure I have all the equipment I need. Get work projects in order before I leave. Ask Betty (my friend) to take care of Ginger (my dog). Stop worrying about all of the above.
The passport was easier than I thought. I paid the extra for expedition, I had it in less that two weeks! The rest of the stuff got worked out (except for the worrying) as Cookie and I talked and strategized almost every day for 4 weeks. I decided to buy or rent a bike there, shipping is far to expensive. Then there was more worrying: How much can I afford? Will I find one that fits me? What will I do with it when I go home? Lock it up as Cookie does with his? Store it somewhere? Worry, worry, worry. Hmmm... I am seeing a pattern here that I need to change.
Well, it's finally here: the day we leave for England! The duffle I bought is just a bit smaller than I thought. It is bulging, but I got everything in. Two paniers (bike bags), one small bag that sits on top of the back rack, clothes, tent, sleeping bag, cooking stuff, a small assortment of dehydrated food, and various bike attachments and 'chotchkis'. (That's a Yiddish word that translates as “little nick-nacks” and like most Yiddish words, it has about 6 different spelling variations.)
It is early, 4:30 am. Cab to the airport to find a long line at the check-in counter, but it does move quickly. Another long/quick line at security. Computer, belt, shoes, watch, through the radar, then everything back on again. Some coffee for Cookie, a danish for me. A short wait and we board the plane.
Three hours to Atlanta, a three hour layover, then 8 hours across the ocean.
The adventure is about to begin. Or has it already?
The decision was simple, the preparation seemed daunting. Apply for (and get in time) a passport, make sure I have all the equipment I need. Get work projects in order before I leave. Ask Betty (my friend) to take care of Ginger (my dog). Stop worrying about all of the above.
The passport was easier than I thought. I paid the extra for expedition, I had it in less that two weeks! The rest of the stuff got worked out (except for the worrying) as Cookie and I talked and strategized almost every day for 4 weeks. I decided to buy or rent a bike there, shipping is far to expensive. Then there was more worrying: How much can I afford? Will I find one that fits me? What will I do with it when I go home? Lock it up as Cookie does with his? Store it somewhere? Worry, worry, worry. Hmmm... I am seeing a pattern here that I need to change.
Well, it's finally here: the day we leave for England! The duffle I bought is just a bit smaller than I thought. It is bulging, but I got everything in. Two paniers (bike bags), one small bag that sits on top of the back rack, clothes, tent, sleeping bag, cooking stuff, a small assortment of dehydrated food, and various bike attachments and 'chotchkis'. (That's a Yiddish word that translates as “little nick-nacks” and like most Yiddish words, it has about 6 different spelling variations.)
It is early, 4:30 am. Cab to the airport to find a long line at the check-in counter, but it does move quickly. Another long/quick line at security. Computer, belt, shoes, watch, through the radar, then everything back on again. Some coffee for Cookie, a danish for me. A short wait and we board the plane.
Three hours to Atlanta, a three hour layover, then 8 hours across the ocean.
The adventure is about to begin. Or has it already?
Sunday, May 10, 2009
Almost a year!
Wow, I cant believe it has been almost a year since my last post. I had made a pact with myself that I would do more writing... Hmmm.
My latest adventure has been Storytelling. I have been telling stories since I can remember. Mostly jokes or humorous (I hope) stories. Then I came across a Storytelling class at South Mountain College here in Phoenix. I believe the only college that offers a full "certificate" in Storytelling. I am not sure what the certificate signifies, other than one has gone through the entire program. I am not taking it for the grade (I have never been interested in grades).
I wanted to see what an actual class in the Art of Story Telling would be like. Who would I meet? What might I learn? What might I learn about myself?
Well, a lot!
One important piece I had not expected. I have learned to appreciate other tellers and their styles. I still procrastinate about homework and assignments (duh). But the end result? I AM LOVING IT!
My instructor was great. Doug Bland is a wonderful storyteller and a great teacher He provided a very safe place for everyone to learn and experience storytelling.
I have renewed energy as I have returned to my roots as a performer. In storytelling, I have found an outlet for not only sharing personal stories and experiences, but a new way to entertain and teach; two of my greatest loves.
My latest adventure has been Storytelling. I have been telling stories since I can remember. Mostly jokes or humorous (I hope) stories. Then I came across a Storytelling class at South Mountain College here in Phoenix. I believe the only college that offers a full "certificate" in Storytelling. I am not sure what the certificate signifies, other than one has gone through the entire program. I am not taking it for the grade (I have never been interested in grades).
I wanted to see what an actual class in the Art of Story Telling would be like. Who would I meet? What might I learn? What might I learn about myself?
Well, a lot!
One important piece I had not expected. I have learned to appreciate other tellers and their styles. I still procrastinate about homework and assignments (duh). But the end result? I AM LOVING IT!
My instructor was great. Doug Bland is a wonderful storyteller and a great teacher He provided a very safe place for everyone to learn and experience storytelling.
I have renewed energy as I have returned to my roots as a performer. In storytelling, I have found an outlet for not only sharing personal stories and experiences, but a new way to entertain and teach; two of my greatest loves.
More stories are on the way...
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