Tuesday 26 May 2009
Monday 25 May 2009
Trains: the bane of my life
Last weekend provided me with one of the longest journeys I have yet undergone in search for a supermarket. Barrow, Stornoway and Lerwick were far, but felt like nothing compared to a trip down to Cambridge.
As far as I’m aware, Cambridge is in the middle of the country, and so would just be a quick pop on the train down to that famous educational town. Unfortunately, I didn’t realise until I had booked my visit that it was in fact almost in Ipswich.
So, at 7am I blindly rose from a bloody deep sleep and trotted down to the station. I now have a problem with trains. Before last week I was fine. They were perfect transportation devices to get me around the country. However, the ‘big’ trains such as London Kings Cross and Virgin’s Glasgow rail network feel it is their duty to protect cyclists by booking their bikes onto the train, in order to protect insurance claims.
And how do we book a bike onto a train in order to protect insurance claims? Why, by rummaging through the labyrinth of the National Rail website, at least 24 hours in advance.
How on earth am I meant to get my bike onto a train if I don’t even know what train I’ll be getting until I’m at the station? A question posed to the platform man. So thanks Virgin, who made me walk half the Lake District in Windermere because I wasn’t insured on their network. Thanks GNER, who wouldn’t allow my bike on board, and so I had to wait another hour for the next train and then walk the rest of the day!
Now, some may think I’m lazy by moaning of walking everywhere. But, with a heavy bag and crippled right leg, I was not in the mood to walk the 4km route to Tesco, which wasn’t in Cambridge I later found out, but the neighbouring borough of Cherry Hinton.
The weather was razzling and I was more than a bit moist by the time I got to the store. It took an hour to find it, and six minutes to buy my stuff. To make matters worse, I was dressed in the least desirable clothes I own, the ones that sit in the back of your drawer for a decade, and are only used when nothing else has been washed.
So, I decided to get the bus back. This gave me the opportunity the see probably every suburb in a ten-mile radius of Cambridge: fascinating!
The whole visit cost me about eight hours of my life and a lot of calories, although I did make them up later on in the day. The train back was better though, mainly thanks to the comedic timing of a withered old gentleman in my carriage.
The man was sat, head back, snoring away. He was clearly enjoying his little snooze, and was only gently snoring. However, he ultimately gave one loud, gradually rising snore that came to a crescendo, producing a massive grunt. He woke himself up, looking startled, glanced at his watch, and then the rest of a carriage, who were all sniggering away. It’s bad when your own snores wake you up.
On returning to Leeds, I grabbed my bike from where I left it about seven hours earlier (cheers GNER) and sped back home. A quick shower, and I was ready for a Pizza Express visit in Ilkley.
I’ve done Pizza Express visits before and the food was always crap. However, armed with my friend Jess, the epitome of discretion, we entered the restaurant just outside the Ilkley station.
Luckily, the food, company and ambience were fantastic. Only a poor lack of foresight on my part complicated the evening. After the visit, we saw the train waiting in the station. Jess ran, I walked, and the doors shut in front of our eyes. We were left standing on the cold platform, with an hour to wait for the next train.
So, we went to the pub! Walking through Ilkley on a Saturday night is very strange. It’s pretty much dead. Just a few rough-looking pubs packed with disco lights and karaoke machines.
We found a pub that looked nice enough, but as soon as we entered, my opinion changed. It was clear that this was the pub that the underage gather in, in a hope of getting served, whilst a bunch of mid-30s also claim the bar as their own.
No ale on tap, I paid £2.95 for a Fosters. I cannot believe how such a drink can cost so much. The Ritz would serve it cheaper than that! That’s if they served Fosters, which I doubt.
We got the next train and ended up in a taxi in Leeds, with a taxi driver that seemed more interested in chatting with his mate than driving us. The journey reminded me of a scene I saw earlier in the day, with two street cleaners having a drag race off the line at traffic lights, in the dawn hours, whilst no one else was around. It was an amazing sight!
Luckily the taxi driver was concentrating enough and we didn’t crash, and I left Jess in order to get some much-needed kip. After 15 hours on trains, feet and bike, I basically fell on my bed.
As far as I’m aware, Cambridge is in the middle of the country, and so would just be a quick pop on the train down to that famous educational town. Unfortunately, I didn’t realise until I had booked my visit that it was in fact almost in Ipswich.
So, at 7am I blindly rose from a bloody deep sleep and trotted down to the station. I now have a problem with trains. Before last week I was fine. They were perfect transportation devices to get me around the country. However, the ‘big’ trains such as London Kings Cross and Virgin’s Glasgow rail network feel it is their duty to protect cyclists by booking their bikes onto the train, in order to protect insurance claims.
And how do we book a bike onto a train in order to protect insurance claims? Why, by rummaging through the labyrinth of the National Rail website, at least 24 hours in advance.
How on earth am I meant to get my bike onto a train if I don’t even know what train I’ll be getting until I’m at the station? A question posed to the platform man. So thanks Virgin, who made me walk half the Lake District in Windermere because I wasn’t insured on their network. Thanks GNER, who wouldn’t allow my bike on board, and so I had to wait another hour for the next train and then walk the rest of the day!
Now, some may think I’m lazy by moaning of walking everywhere. But, with a heavy bag and crippled right leg, I was not in the mood to walk the 4km route to Tesco, which wasn’t in Cambridge I later found out, but the neighbouring borough of Cherry Hinton.
The weather was razzling and I was more than a bit moist by the time I got to the store. It took an hour to find it, and six minutes to buy my stuff. To make matters worse, I was dressed in the least desirable clothes I own, the ones that sit in the back of your drawer for a decade, and are only used when nothing else has been washed.
So, I decided to get the bus back. This gave me the opportunity the see probably every suburb in a ten-mile radius of Cambridge: fascinating!
The whole visit cost me about eight hours of my life and a lot of calories, although I did make them up later on in the day. The train back was better though, mainly thanks to the comedic timing of a withered old gentleman in my carriage.
The man was sat, head back, snoring away. He was clearly enjoying his little snooze, and was only gently snoring. However, he ultimately gave one loud, gradually rising snore that came to a crescendo, producing a massive grunt. He woke himself up, looking startled, glanced at his watch, and then the rest of a carriage, who were all sniggering away. It’s bad when your own snores wake you up.
On returning to Leeds, I grabbed my bike from where I left it about seven hours earlier (cheers GNER) and sped back home. A quick shower, and I was ready for a Pizza Express visit in Ilkley.
I’ve done Pizza Express visits before and the food was always crap. However, armed with my friend Jess, the epitome of discretion, we entered the restaurant just outside the Ilkley station.
Luckily, the food, company and ambience were fantastic. Only a poor lack of foresight on my part complicated the evening. After the visit, we saw the train waiting in the station. Jess ran, I walked, and the doors shut in front of our eyes. We were left standing on the cold platform, with an hour to wait for the next train.
So, we went to the pub! Walking through Ilkley on a Saturday night is very strange. It’s pretty much dead. Just a few rough-looking pubs packed with disco lights and karaoke machines.
We found a pub that looked nice enough, but as soon as we entered, my opinion changed. It was clear that this was the pub that the underage gather in, in a hope of getting served, whilst a bunch of mid-30s also claim the bar as their own.
No ale on tap, I paid £2.95 for a Fosters. I cannot believe how such a drink can cost so much. The Ritz would serve it cheaper than that! That’s if they served Fosters, which I doubt.
We got the next train and ended up in a taxi in Leeds, with a taxi driver that seemed more interested in chatting with his mate than driving us. The journey reminded me of a scene I saw earlier in the day, with two street cleaners having a drag race off the line at traffic lights, in the dawn hours, whilst no one else was around. It was an amazing sight!
Luckily the taxi driver was concentrating enough and we didn’t crash, and I left Jess in order to get some much-needed kip. After 15 hours on trains, feet and bike, I basically fell on my bed.
Friday 8 May 2009
Consistently inconsistent weather
I saw something today on my trip round Halifax that made me chuckle. Well, the thing I saw didn’t (it was a train cargo) but the thing it reminded me of did. I remembered sat on a platform, most probably in the middle of nowhere awaiting my link to another middle in a different nowhere, when a cargo train went past. On the side it simply read ‘WARNING! SHAFT HUMPING POSSIBLE’
Now, a sign like that is going to get my attention. And so, when I saw a cargo come thundering through Brighouse station today, my eyes were peeled for more humping. Unfortunately, there wasn’t even a warning sign. May day was off to a terrible start!
Anyway so I was in Brighouse waiting to go to Sowerby Bridge. For those who don’t know, Sowerby is a town jarred into a steep river valley, just below Halifax. And when I say below, I mean below.
After a cheeky shop round Sowerby, my plan was to bike to Halifax to complete a final mooch around a supermarket. Google maps said it was barely spitting distance from Sowerby, so I decided to bike it there. Unfortunately, what Google maps did NOT tell me was that to reach Halifax, you have to bike the northeast ridge of Everest.
The ascent up to Halifax is a killer, with steep, continual uphill following the path of the river. It must have been a meaty river to gorge such a gash in the earth. To make matters worse, the weather had changed. Oh you have to love the weather of the Pennines. One minute it’s bright sunshine, then the next some wind picks up and Manchester belches a rain cloud in your direction. I entered Sowerby Tesco in the sun; I left in the rain. This decided to continue until I was about 100 yards from my Halifax shop, when of course the Sun broke through the clouds.
‘Well, at least it’ll be sunny when I make my way back’, I thought. Of course I was wrong. The weather had reached new levels of utter dour when I got back on my bike. But I didn’t mind as I was about to free-wheel back down Everest and to the station back in Sowerby.
What I didn’t realise was just how strong the wind had become. I remember about a month ago going on a jolly trip down south to visit my mate Brede, in scenic Grantham, for his birthday. Everyone was there, and I was accidentally misunderstood when I told everyone huddled around the warming barbeque that I had been ‘blown off’ on my bike the previous week. Hilarity ensued, much to my detriment, but eventually I explained that the wind had diverted me into a ditch near Digley reserviour.
Anyway as I was saying, I hadn’t realised how strong the wind had got, and was ALMOST blown off my bike as I descended from the Heavens. Luckily I kept my balance and dignity and sped off towards the station. When I got to the station, the Sun was frolicking once again, which cheered me up. Even though I was soaking wet.
Now, a sign like that is going to get my attention. And so, when I saw a cargo come thundering through Brighouse station today, my eyes were peeled for more humping. Unfortunately, there wasn’t even a warning sign. May day was off to a terrible start!
Anyway so I was in Brighouse waiting to go to Sowerby Bridge. For those who don’t know, Sowerby is a town jarred into a steep river valley, just below Halifax. And when I say below, I mean below.
After a cheeky shop round Sowerby, my plan was to bike to Halifax to complete a final mooch around a supermarket. Google maps said it was barely spitting distance from Sowerby, so I decided to bike it there. Unfortunately, what Google maps did NOT tell me was that to reach Halifax, you have to bike the northeast ridge of Everest.
The ascent up to Halifax is a killer, with steep, continual uphill following the path of the river. It must have been a meaty river to gorge such a gash in the earth. To make matters worse, the weather had changed. Oh you have to love the weather of the Pennines. One minute it’s bright sunshine, then the next some wind picks up and Manchester belches a rain cloud in your direction. I entered Sowerby Tesco in the sun; I left in the rain. This decided to continue until I was about 100 yards from my Halifax shop, when of course the Sun broke through the clouds.
‘Well, at least it’ll be sunny when I make my way back’, I thought. Of course I was wrong. The weather had reached new levels of utter dour when I got back on my bike. But I didn’t mind as I was about to free-wheel back down Everest and to the station back in Sowerby.
What I didn’t realise was just how strong the wind had become. I remember about a month ago going on a jolly trip down south to visit my mate Brede, in scenic Grantham, for his birthday. Everyone was there, and I was accidentally misunderstood when I told everyone huddled around the warming barbeque that I had been ‘blown off’ on my bike the previous week. Hilarity ensued, much to my detriment, but eventually I explained that the wind had diverted me into a ditch near Digley reserviour.
Anyway as I was saying, I hadn’t realised how strong the wind had got, and was ALMOST blown off my bike as I descended from the Heavens. Luckily I kept my balance and dignity and sped off towards the station. When I got to the station, the Sun was frolicking once again, which cheered me up. Even though I was soaking wet.
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