Category Archives: UK

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!

roadtrip, travel, UK, vehicles

Ode to a Passat

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Well back home now after the nice thirty-odd hour trip from Sidcup to Pukekohe. Unfortunately, I had to return the trusty Passat to Hertz before I left. Considering I was expecting to pick up a Mondeo three weeks ago, it was pleasing to see the Passat sitting in the lot waiting for me (although my only other experience of one was my Uncle’s ’70s estate version that he had for years). For a 1.9L sedan I was somewhat astounded to see that the boot positively swallowed Mum & Dad’s two large suitcases, my grab, backpack, Dad’s wheeled cabin bag, a full-suspension mountain bike & all sorts of other bike paraphernalia. What’s more, this was the Bluemotion edition – apparently VW’s most eco-friendly & economical diesels. With a claimed combined consumption of 46 mpg (5.1 L / 100 km) it was always going to be easy on the fuel (my Galant runs at about 29 mpg & I think that is pretty good for an aging two litre sedan); but after more than 2000 miles of British motorways, congested cities, high mountain passes, skinny one way roads it came back with a staggering combined consumption of 57 mpg (4.1 L / 100 km)! Which was just as well as it cost about $200 to fill up. I sure will miss the cruise control – now to go outside & see if the trusty Galant will start after six weeks of sitting on the lawn & get itself to 300000 km.

(Back to work tonight, but should find some time somewhere to update last two weeks travels).

family, roadtrip, travel, UK

Iona, Staffa & puffins

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By now I was glad that amongst the suit, bike, summer clothes & bike clothes I had found some room for the trusty icebreakers – they were in full use now in the middle of the Scottish summer. Dad finally decided it was time to buy a jacket during our first afternoon in Oban – just as well there was a well stocked outdoor shop (these seem to pop up in the strangest little towns in Britain). Another cosy room in a pleasant guesthouse on the waterfront & it was up early for a day of ferries & bus rides. We were off to visit Iona & Staffa – as Mum & Dad had set this up I had little idea what was planned – but it was nice not to be driving for a change.

First it was a ferry ride over to Mull (an island off the west coast – not to be confused with Mull of Kintyre<, as some have done), a forty minute bus ride to the south west corner of Mull & then we boarded a much smaller boat (saw some bottlenose dolphins jumping around the boat) to Staffa – an small uninhabited island north of Iona. We had an hour there to explore parts of the island. Much of it is basalt & the rocks near where we handed were huge basalt columns – some of which were so long, thin, regular in shape & close together they looked like giant pieces of hexagonal spaghetti that had been forced through one of those spaghetti makers (I'm reminded of the old Play-doh ad – "making spaghetti"). The other highlight of the island was seeing the crazy little puffins flying off from the cliffs to go fishing then returning to their nests – they are so small & quick.

Off to Iona in time for lunch, the Atlantic swell had increased somewhat to make a more interesting ride – at least all the French who got suitably soaked thought so (Dad & I managed to find the correct side of the deck, more by chance than anything & Mum retreated inside, where it was bumpier). Got a good look around the abbey at Iona – much more austere than any of the previous religious buildings I had seen in the preceding weeks. Back on more ferries & boats – where we promptly fell asleep – probably just preparing ourselves for the great dinner that night at some random restaurant that foiled us in our previous bid to eat there – being closed doesn’t usually help matters.