All posts by bpheasant

city, history, roadtrip, travel, UK, vehicles

Sun, ships & seaside

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From Taunton I returned to pick up Mum & we were off to Portsmouth on a hot (for England) day. A brief stop at Salisbury for lunch (outside yet another cathedral) & we eventually made it to our hotel in Portsmouth. After settling in it was off down to the historic dockyards for a quick look – managed most of the Mary Rose museum. Quite amazing some of the stuff that was preserved for so long down there – all sorts of things: weapons, doctor’s supplies, shoes, kitchen equipment & so on. Saw Portsmouth Cathedral (another one), a Nelson monument (another one) before trying to drive around & find somewhere to have dinner. Not without some difficulty finally found a nice Turkish restaurant – concluded apart from the Historic Dockyards, there isn’t really much to Portsmouth.

Back to the dockyard the next morning with a great look around the Victory (still can’t imagine the chaos it must have been fighting on those ships) , saw the remains of the Mary Rose with the waxy solution being sprayed all over it – when this has penetrated all the way in to the wood they will start drying it out properly (over twenty years since it was raised). Because there was a Royal Navy “Meet Your Navy” few days starting the day after we were there, the hour long cruise around the harbour was very interesting with many naval ships in – highlights were two aircraft carriers, three Japanese frigates & some other mammoth-sized ships (slightly bigger than a mammoth then) that I don’t really remember exact descriptions for.

Out of Portsmouth before rush hour (if they have one) & on towards Mum’s second (I think) cousins who live in a small village south of Southampton. Another warm welcome – was interesting to see an armchair-bed, I have seen plenty of sofa-beds before, but never a single armchair-bed – still it was comfortable. A brief look around the original Christchurch on Friday morning & then the half hour Lymington-Yarmouth to visit my previous Pukekohe flatmates, Ben & Gina, on the Isle of Wight.

The double-decker bus ride to Newport (where Ben & Gina live) was great, as I was at the front up the top & as we careened down these narrow back country walled lanes we hit a great number of overhanging trees. Dragged my small amount of gear (pleasant to be travelling without a bike some of the time) to the top of Ben & Gina’s shared house. As Gina works with maps at the Isle of Wight council she had considerately pinned a map of all the pubs on the island on the wall – we crossed three of the 150-odd off during the day I was there. Also got the big island tour (still can’t believe there was a chairlift down to the beach), saw The Needles, lots of pleasure boats (c.f. with most of England), watched a few cruise ships go out at high tide, visited Carisbrooke Castle (at least I will remember it this time – I still have the pencil case from 21 years ago) & generally enjoyed the warm weather. Up much too early to get back to Hordle & pick Mum up for the dash up to Kent for a family reunion of sorts. There I got to meet all Mum’s cousins on her father’s side – I don’t think they had been all together for quite some years. Of course, I didn’t remember any of the ones I had met before. That was pretty neat, if a little strange – getting to know all these people that are quite close, but not (no we are not Irish).

Unfortunately, the following day was my last in the UK. Mum & her cousin Trish headed off to the Imperial War Museum to do some genealogy research in to both of Mum’s grandfathers in WWI, while I gave my bike & shoes a thorough cleaning for the inevitable MAF fine tooth comb inspection back home & was entertained with stories of spying in Egypt for the British after WWII by Fred. Managed to get back to Heathrow on the M25 in about an hour – which I thought was ok from Sidcup & Junction 3, the Passat was gone & I embarked on the long trip home & back to work. To borrow from Captain Darling – simply says, “Bugger”.

bikes, friends, MTB, national park, roadtrip, travel, UK

The longest ride for a while, for me

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The ride John & Richard took me on may have been the biggest that I had been on since N-Duro 1 almost two months ago – but it was nothing compared to what John (crazy guy that he is) completed a few days later. That is, 300 km+ solo during a 24 hour event – and to top it off on a singlespeed. It makes me tired just thinking about it – or perhaps that is just recovering from the first shift set starting the day after I got back. Either way, I can’t quite face sorting over a thousand photos from the last six weeks in to some sort of highlight package that some one may be able to view some day with out getting completely bored. I’d much rather think about great rides in far off (& warmer) places…

Arriving in Taunton, it was pleasing to see Anna home & not off at work (almost everytime I visited in Mt Maunganui I was left wondering if John actually did have a wife or was just making it up – as Anna always seemed to be at work). Although that didn’t last for long as Anna was soon off for her week of night shifts at the hospital – John & I took off for the a look around the Quantrocks (some hills close by). After following a car with a very flat tyre up the steep road, we discovered our first mistake as three mountain bikers tore past us down a hill – there was still plenty of light at 8.30 & we should have brought our bikes. Instead we wandered around looking across to Wales, finding previously ridden singletrack & John remarking how much faster it was on a bike – oh well, there was always tomorrow. We had to get back home to meet Richard (who I met last year when he came out to visit John in NZ) who was driving down from near Oxford for tomorrow’s ride. There we discovered our second mistake, we didn’t have house keys – off John went to the hospital while Richard & I unloaded & put our bikes together on the side of the street. To set the mountain-biking tone we watched The Collective’s Seasons – great. I think I like mountain biking movies more when there is a small chance I could see myself riding the same trails without certain death being involved somewhere. Obviously, my life is just not all about big air.

A reasonably undisturbed sleep (except waking up at about 5.00 thinking I was at the beach thanks to the loud but geographically challenged seagulls – we were no where near the beach) & another cooked breakfast later, we were off to Minehead & Exmoor National Park. A little bit of road riding through the seaside town took us the quaint little village of Dunster; from there we were on to bridleways (quite steep climb to start with) and then riding along the top of a ridge. As John & Richard pointed out where we were going, I couldn’t help thinking that it was an awful long way off & much further than I had ridden for a while. Just as well that the weather was a lot better than what they described last time – consequently, the icebreaker came off fairly early & the jacket stayed firmly (metaphorically speaking, that it could work its way out is never far from my mind) on the Camelbak. It sure is fun riding in different places – contrasting with my normal NZ riding, I could see a lot further, it was generally rockier & more attention was paid to wear the front wheel was going between those rocks.

After a bit of ridge riding, it was down to the small village of Wootton Courtenay via a nice long chute that was filled with rocks & at these nice big corners that were naturally bermed. The rocks reminded me a bit of the 6 km downhill I went down in Pokhara, Nepal – only this time I was hoping that I wasn’t going to go over the bars & split my chin open near the bottom. While I managed to avoid the endover, I did puncture a hundred metres from the end (it’s always strangely satisfying to have a mechanical problem at the end of a sweet bit of track, as opposed to the start). This was a good spot for lunch & the necessary tube replacement.

Crossing through the village it was back to the bridleway, up on top of another ridge, along the ridge & we got to a point where the guys weren’t sure which was the best way down. Thankfully, they chose a sweet descent & all smiles, we arrived at the turnaround point – Porlock (although the return was slightly more direct). It was off down some sealed lanes for a while to Bossington Green (nice steep climb here). On the way we had a photo stop as it looked English.

After John made us ride through that stream for the photos, I had great delight in riding up behind much too fast & soaking him – of course, I had rather wet socks too, but it was worth it. Especially considering how far behind I was up the next hill. Just as well riding back along the moors towards Minehead there was one nice long fast downhill. And that was about the ride. Back to Taunton, where Andy (who I also met & rode with when he was out visiting & touring NZ last year) turned up for dinner (well cooked by John) & we settled down to watch Seasons again – I think I enjoyed it more that time, possibly because I’d just been out for a great ride.

bikes, family, MTB, national park, roadtrip, travel, UK

Much water in the Lake District

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From Campbeltown it was off to the Lake District in the north of England. Instead of the road up Argyll, east & then down to Glasgow we opted for a little less driving & two short ferry hops across to just west of Glasgow. From there it was A-roads down until we turned off in to the Lake District. Unbeknown to us, the last part of the journey took us on some ridiculously narrow roads & then what turned out to be the steepest road in England – a mountain (in some sense of the word). Lucky for me, I had my done my driving in the morning & I sat at the back and enjoyed the view as the clouds got closer & closer. Completing the first pass (Wrynose) , we saw an impossibly windy & skinny road snaking up a 30% incline in to the clouds & immediately dismissed this as not the way we were meant to go. Of course the roads signs had other ideas & it was up & around & down many corners where the road in front simply disappeared from view as it was so steep (this was Hardknot pass). Eventually we made it & were off for dinner down the road to the Woolpack Inn – perhaps the worst meal we had our whole trip. Being a hostel dormitory that I ended up staying in, naturally there were at least two snorers, grrrr.

Of course the cloud hadn’t lifted by the next morning, but being encouraged by all the mountain bike I had seen on the drive in yesterday I hauled the much travelled & little ridden GT out of the boot, put it together & set off for a ride in the rain down a riverside bridle path towards the coast. As the weather was utterly miserable, I was pretty sure that I would be the only insane one out & about down this path. Crossing stone bridges, opening & closing countless gates (I think I perfected the MTB magazine technique there, John) I would see that that was not the case as I came across all number of people kitted out for the rain strolling/rambling/hiking/tramping along. The weather improved slightly as I got down to the coast (with one very big hill to climb along the way – quite a shock after the last few weeks). A spot of lunch at the small Ravenglass station (where my burger actually had salad inside it, not sitting on the plate beside burger consisting of nothing but bread & meat) & I caught one of the few narrow gauge railways left in Britain back to near where I started.

It was half way back up the pass (the not-so-steep part) that we returned to look at the remains of one of Hadrian’s forts. The sheep seemed to like grazing around the area & dodging their presents & the myriad streams running down the grass we could get a good look at the remains. Why anyone would have built a fort all the way up here close on two thousand years ago eludes me…

The following day we took the easier coastal route to Arnside where we stayed for Dad’s final night in the UK. From Arnside we drove down, dropped Dad off at the coach stop in Birmingham (coach to Heathrow) & continued on to visit second cousins of Mum, drop Mum off at another second cousin’s place & then made my way to Taunton to stay with English friends that I had met randomly mountain-biking in Rotorua about a year ago. That was some three hundred miles & unfortunately we lost the second driver when Dad left us.

family, history, roadtrip, travel, UK

A great-great-great-great-great time in Campbeltown

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The next two nights was to be the start of intermittent visiting of relatives – in this case quite distant. The drive down from Oban was punctuated by a short stop at a preserved Scottish village from a time when the land farmed was communal. A split second decision saw us turn off the A83 to Campbeltown (our destination that day) for the B842 down the east side of the peninsula – it was more of the typical single track roads that we were used to: sealed, tight, twisty, bordered by large stone walls & only room to pass at the occasional passing bay. A great look at the countryside and a view across the water, through the cloud to the Isle of Arran. Campbeltown, for some reason or another, was once the home of almost thirty distilleries in its heyday – now there are only two; this seemed quite odd as it was pretty isolated.

We were set to meet two brothers who I think were Dad’s third cousins. Anyway, when we found their house, met them & managed to decipher about three-quarters of what they were saying (wonderfully thick Scottish accents punctuated with a lot of ‘ayes’) we found we shared a common great-great-great-great grandfather (I think – it got all very confusing with multiple family trees coming out & a lot of people helpfully having the same name). From what I remember, with a family of ten children there was not enough work on the family farm or employment close by to support them all. So some time in the 1800s five of the sons up & left to Australia & then pretty soon after to NZ. Of the five left in Scotland, the family name (Wallace) has only carried on down one line – this is obviously the line that we were meeting. I’m not sure how many related Wallaces are left in NZ (this is my paternal grandmother’s side of the family), but there are some.

James & William had only just sold the family farm last year & retired as there was no one else in the family to take it over. But we still got the big tour around the farms (a change from Dad’s tour of dairy farms around Oamaru & the district (spied some of Sir Paul McCartney’s farms – we were very close to Mull of Kintyre); the land was a lot more fertile & developed in this part of the country than most we had already seen in Scotland. It was great to see the land that some of my ancestors left all those years ago & also my great-great-great-great-great grandfather’s headstone. And the sun even came out briefly & every one was very excited & telling us what a nice day it was!