On the Road - Domingo's Story

Just in case you don't know me, I am Domingo, Don's bike, so named because he bought me at Tomas Domingo's Bike Shop in Barcelona, way back in 2008.

I do like to get my side of a bike trip into print now and then – I must say it's not easy, but whenever there is no internet connection, there is sometimes the opportunity to download some of my photos and get my levers on the keyboard.

So in spite of seeming to have my calipers out of joint, I do have to be fair and say how jolly well the two old stagers, Don and val are getting on.

So here are some shots from my “Handlebar Cam”

It's quite demeaning, with all your bits-n-bobs exposed, especially in a public thoroughfare like the arrival area of an airport. Took this shot of  my girlfriend "Hurdy Girly" in just such a pose.

Val is pretty good at getting things covered up fairly smartly, but it does take some time to recover some composure.

It was really tough the first couple of weeks in the rain and cold of “late spring” in Scotland and Northern England, there were times when I felt like letting my tyres down and calling it quits,

 Not sure I wasn't the only one judging by this photo.

On a better day Hurdy Girly and me get a chance to catch up on some road talk.

I was impressed with the Bike Station, though I was left outside peeping through the door while "Gurdy" had her gears looked at - she would have preferred a female mechanic, but none were on duty that day.

I'm going to put this up in Don's workshop with item 5 highlighted.

I thought "Gurdy" had been consigned to the "recycle bin" when I saw this, but it was just Don having me on.

Coastal Footpaths are not designed for the likes of me!

This little "crittur" was saved by me swerving aside. Don picked it up and put it safely off the road.

(He's a bit soft on snails since the Book Club read a nice story based around them.

This is me cooling the wheels outside Sandringham gates, you know, the Queens weekend batch.

We were spoilt rotten in London, secure in the backyard of Val's old schoolmate Judith, who has a cool little house in Putney. I really got the giggles when I had to stand on my back wheel to get through the house and onto the street.

Oh boy, was Don excited when he found this in a Waitrose store, though I was the one who had to put up with the extra horsepower he put onto my bottom bracket.

It brings a tear to my rearview mirror when I see Dad's out on the cycleway getting the younguns onto two wheels.

Did you know that William Morris aka Lord Nuffield, started out making bikes like this one I saw through the window of his house in Oxfordshire.
(It was love at "first bike")

All for now, more from the workhorse of this outfit later.

:-)

The First One Thousand K's

Vals snippets.

We are half way through the trip, at five and a half weeks we have clocked up 1500 kms. Bracing is the word best describes the early days of the trip .

We watched brave souls, braced against the wind, dragging their dogs along bleak promenades in Ayrshire. 

We, braced against the cold, eating lunch under a flimsy tarp. Hail collected on by boots and in my sandwich. 

I did not even have to cry, we got on the train to Haltwhistle on Hadrian's Wall.

We followed Sustrans (Sustainable Transport Systems) cycle routes east to Newcastle and down the east coast, round the big bulge of Norfolk and on to Ipswich. After a few days in London are now in Oxford.

Stats. 2 Bed and Breakfast, I boat (Georgie's) ,10 wild camps, 9 campgrounds, 3 gardens and 10 house stays.

The Weather, I am so very glad to say has improved.

Getting dressed in two wool tops and one fleece, two longjohns, wool socks with thick poly bags over, boots, waterproof jacket and trousers, fleece hat, hood, gloves and helmet in a small damp tent in not such a happy memory. Although much of it was worn all night. Now it is shorts, shirt , sandals and away.

I found myself singing Jerusalem...something about  green and pleasant lands. 

Top moments

Some houses have baths. 

I just love the cycle routes. Greg (our WS host in Glasgow) said 'they are just the routes you would take if you had time to find them" . They take us on footpaths, bridleways, tiny roads and safely through towns and cities. 

In praise of cycleways.

In Scotland the bluebells were out, the Daffs having faded. Then came the primroses. By now I have seen all the wildflowers of my childhood; Pimpernel, speedwell, ragged robin 9in profusion on the cliffs at Branscome, cow parsley, hawthorn, poppies, cornflowers, trefoil, violets .......more to come yet.

We crossing the mighty Humber bridge. New, guaranteed waterproof gloves (forty pounds) were full of freezing water , and sleety rain obscured the gloomy view. But soon we were in the Singing Kettle Cafe. A huge, sugar rich hot chocolate, the full English breakfast and cake restored enthusiasm for life, as we dripped pools of water and steamed quietly in the corner.

And yes, the Rohan shop gave me my money back, on the spot, for the disappointing gloves

In a tiny Saxon church we spied, behind a curtain a small kitchen. Help yourself to a drink, a sign said. Look in the fridge, and if you are lucky you will find some cake. Give a donation if you can. 

The cake was home made, a jam and cream sponge.

I expect you all know that a dog won Britain's got Talent. A comment on the radio said, maybe a person will win Crufts.

New Experience

A man, in grey sneakers and track pants approached me, sideways. 

 "Are you not lonely, biking on your own like this he said. I, myself used to do this,"  gesturing at my bike, "but my companion has given up."

"I've got him," I yelled gladly, as Don shoved his bike into view. 

Onwards 2000 . Oh, Don says -

Thank you Waitrose.

A Norfolk Story - Staying at Rupert's

Sometimes minor irritations occur, especially when under pressure (like cycle touring in shitty weather and are not always handled with equanimity.

It was a bit like that on this day. 

Finding a campsite was the issue - someone was not pulling their weight.

We'd almost reached our target distance for the day, around 60 k's when I saw a man closing the road gate to a house, possibly a farm - it was the only house around and surrounded by crops - I sped up, but he was walking away by the time I teached the gate.  A woman was cutting grass on a noisy ride-on mower

“Hi there, Excuse me” I called loudly,

“Oh, Hello”

“We're from New Zealand, doing a three month long cycle tour of UK and wondering if there is somewhere around here that we may be able to camp for the night”

“Uh, I don't know, what do you do? Do you camp in people's gardens?”

“Well sometimes, if they are comfortable with that, but in a farmer's paddock, or in a barn once or twice”

“So in the corner there would be ok?” he indicated a nice flat area with a nice "bike leaner" tree and spongy grass.

“Yes that would be ideal,”  He flagged the mower down and talked to the driver who turned out to be his sister.

She came over, the four of us chatted briefly; she was relaxed about the idea, he opened the gate and we began setting up for the night.

A cosy spot in a friendly garden.

He was Rupert and his sister Victoria. They were having a couple of days getting the house and surrounds tidied up following their father's death last year.

Rupert took our water bottles away and filled them up. When he returned we chatted and found out he was an artist, living in Paris.

Next morning he came down for a further chat, found out that Val was an artist too and they exchanged web addresses etc.

 I got in on the act and presented him with my sketch of the situation.

Find out about Rupert 

See You Later Navigator

Val loves Maps - She pores over them, digests the information and regurgitates it as forward direction for our trusty wheeled steeds.

 Navigating off the end of Scarborough Promenade

Sometimes the Locals point us in several different directions.

Most of the time we're on track - there have been exceptions, one time in Czech Republic,  the wrong valley and a 30 Kilometre correction to our course.

She has eyes like a hawk when it comes to ferreting out a partially obliterated cycle way signs. Many a time a loud “Hoi” or a frustrated shout, to alert me to a missed sign - she has even had to chase me to get me back "on track".

Cycleways have a habit of starting off in great fashion and leading you onward with increasing confidence, then dropping you off in the middle of either;

Chaotic Traffic,

A dead end road or street,

Or

The Middle of Nowhere.

The National Cycleway system in UK is getting pretty wide coverage under the auspices of Sustrans (Sustainable Transport Systems) promoting cycleways within towns and cities to link with rail, working with rail companies to get motorists onto trains and in general encouraging people to get out on their bikes and out of their cars.

The more fancy Route Signs are quite artistic.

Ever since dropping off Hadrian's Wall and hitting the East Coast at South Shields, we have been heading South on National Cycle Route 1 and while for the most part it is reasonably signposted, there have been 3 or 4 occasions when even eagle eyed Val, and me as inferior backstop, have missed the vital indicator. 

This led us to doing one long leg of the coastal walkway, which meant unpacking our panniers to get over stiles and unpacking and lugging our five panniers up a hundred steps, which in this particular instance made it hard to appreciate and admire the workmanship of a high beautifully constructed Victorian Viaduct, crossing high above us as we struggled away. Did any of the passengers on the 5.30 commuter train see the drama enacted far below.

 Dang - 100 Upsteps at the Viaduct

Coastal Walkway De-Panniering

Val's bits

Yorkshire is indeed a beautiful place. The Yorkshire people are very proud if their county. They sell Yorkshire milk, Yorkshire meat, Yorkshire cakes, 

and pies and teas and beer. 

On the floor of a small shop I spied a collection of brown envelopes, loose and of varied sizes, and yes, they were Yorkshire envelopes.


Anxious moments.

In the middle of a long flight, middle of the night, Don announced he had lost track his hearing aid.

Escaping from the challenging climate of Ayrshire we took a train to Haltwhistle, on Hadrian's Wall. When changing trains at  Kilmarnock  we had just ten minutes. And there was on lift to take us under the track to the next platform. Bikes are very heavy when fully loaded. We bumped them down the stairs. In the process Don twisted the chain and froze up his bike. He could not push it at all. Anxiety levels grew as he prodded and poked. With moments to spare we carried the bikes up, one at a time.

A Poem.

When it rains and it's cold

I try to be bold.

When the wind blows with rain

its a pain, (to keep going)

But when it hails as well

all I can see 

is the sign of the next B and B

Waking up in  warm tent, hoping it is not time to get up.

The George's.

George (I chose this name for him) came biking swiftly towards us, a cheery wave and a smile from under his neatly trimmed grey beard. 

Ten minutes on he sped towards us again, or was his helmet blue this time. 

Another spell and there he was once more, maybe his teeth are more pronounced ??

And here he comes again, greying beard, twinkly eyes, lovely lycra and a chirpy grin.

What I think is that some sixty years ago, on the lonely Yorkshire moors, successful experiments were made, and the sporty Yorkshire man was cloned.

In Lincolnshire tests resulted in a chubbier version, less desirable in lycra and more suited to ride a mountain bike.

Of Scottish Weather & Walled Gardens

Glasgow

A highlight for us was Sharmanka Kinetic Theatre in Glasgow. We had seen the Tinguely Museum in Basel, Switzerland and been impressed with what he had done with scrap metal and other materials, but this was a step up on that.

Each piece, made from recycled metal/recycled anything really, plus sculpted figures made by the artist (Eduard Bersudsky-Russian Immigrant who took up residence in Glasgow during the 1990's) has a story and a message and the presentation was superb.

 The People

Ian and Isabel, are farmers in the Ayr district, at the end of our day an eggs for sale sign on the road led us to their backdoor. Don't think they had ever experienced two old codgers on bikes loaded to the hilt, buying 6 eggs and politely asking if there was a small patch in the corner of a paddock to pitch a small tent for the night. Of course, come and have a look at the orchard.

Looked fine to us and Ian, gesticulated with his hands that there was a handbasin in the front porch where we could “Wash our faces, and the back door would be unlocked all night.

After a comfortable night we had a cup of tea and a long chat in the morning and headed on our way up a couple of long hills, lots of bemused sheep and sweeping views, somewhat limited by the low cloud and showers sweeping across the downs. “People of the Day – Ian and Isobel

The Walled Garden Caravan park was most welcoming to a cold and damp pair. Jim the owner, made himself known and was quite disappointed when we did not take him up on his offer to spend the night in a couple of lazy boy chairs with the heater on, in the recreation room. Fact is that, on our 12mm of thermarest mattress and sleeping bags zipped together, we are comfortable and cosy.

The Walled Garden is part of the Ferguson Estate, Sir Bernard being GG of New Zealand, some years ago, and according to one of the village locals, the Ferguson family have hosted the All Blacks at the “Big House” on one or more occasions.

Jim was not your usual campground owner, (sometimes disillusioned and down on the public for making a mess of their amenities). When we awoke next morning to continuing rain and cold, we talked to him about options for moving along and he spent the best part of an hour phoning around looking for rail routes that would get us along the way a bit (though we have no set agenda, Val has partitioned our 3 months into blocks of 2 weeks, when we need to be around a certain area-(there is a family campout planned for mid trip).

Jim had said he had a speeding fine to pay and had to do it today – just so happened that was in Ayr and Ayr was where the train left to get us along the way to Hadrian's Wall town of Haltwhistle via Kilmarnock, where we had to change trains. Sounded like a very generous excuse, but we took it nonetheless and with the bikes and panniers in the back of his van, we had a mini tour of the district, (met his wife and looked at their 300 year old cottage, and the house Sir Bernard lived in after his marriage, before both being GG and inheriting the “Big House”) before being deposited outside the Ayr railway station. Thanks Jim – well and truly “Person of the Day”.

Interview with General Hadrian on site

“General, this is a most impressive feat, how did you manage it?”

“We could not have done it without the help of the locals” he said magnanimously.

“Were any lives lost in the construction of the wall?”

Jangle of armour an embarrassed shrug of his shoulders, not looking at me but gazing out across the hills stated ;

“As far as I know, no humans or animals were damaged physically or psychologically over the time we occupied Britain, let alone the building of this wall.”

The Road

Picked up the Hadrian's Wall Cycle Way on and off, then met Terry outside Colbridge around the time we were ready to camp.

Terry was standing outside a lovely stone gatehouse when we rode up.

“Any chance of a place to camp around here”

“Well if it were up to me, you could camp just here throught the gate, but my Landlord, who goes crook if I even park my van in the archway, would have a fit”

“Well we don't want that to happen, anywhere along the way, what about the farmer over the road there?”

“Tell you what, I'm a member of the local Rugby Club (we'd played the NZ – All Blacks card), they've got 30 acres of land and I'm sure no one would mind you camping on a bit of it and its only a 100 yards back to the Pub, where thet put on a good meal and pull a cold ale!”

“Thanks Terry, we'll give it a go” and had a very peaceful night – though I cooked up on the camp stove :-)

This was an “off” when we found a rutted muddy track along the top of a ridge and had lunch under our tarp slung over a stone wall, along with a short sharp hailstorm and freezing cold fingers on the handlebars, once we got underway again.

Cup of tea with a couple who had recently retired from the Newcastle City Symphony Orchestra, (we met them in the course of getting back on track). From there we ended up riding the whole of the Hadrian's Cycle Route, meeting up with the Tyne and going through the heart of the city, catching a ferry across to South Shields, where we camped at a Caravan Park on the foreshore.

However, would you believe it – riding through Newcastle along the riverside cycleway I noticed a van parked half across the path and on the wrong side of the road and just vaguely thinking I'd seen one like it somewhere else, when out of the door pops Terry, our rugby ground host.

“How'd you get on last night? Have a beer at the pub?”

Talk about million to one chances of us ever meeting up again in a country of 70million(?) people.

Our Bodies

We are holding up well, but Val's hair?