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June 15 Thursday overcast sun 15º C Bicycle touring England In the morning, we say goodbye to Joan and David and thank them for their hospitality. They leave for work, leaving us in their home to prepare our breakfast of fresh farm eggs gathered from their hen house that morning. We also have meaty slices of bacon -- called rashers in England. Toast with homemade gooseberry jam complement the meal. After breakfast, I relax and read for a while. Sharon plays the piano. As we are washing dishes, the phone rings, but we don't answer it. It finally stops and then immediately begins again. I think it might be Joan trying to reach us, so I answer it. It is the stove repairman. Joan and David had recently purchased a new stove -- or cooker as they call it in England -- and they are having problems with the oven. The repairman wants to know if he can come over. Joan had told us the repairman was scheduled for tomorrow, but we tell him sure, come on over, since we are here anyway. The repairman's not sure how to get to Joan and David's cottage, and we don't know it well enough to give him directions. I go down to the main road and watch for a service truck for twenty minutes. Eventually Sharon comes and gets me. The repairman had already arrived. After reloading our bikes we our mountain of cycle touring gear, we ride to the end of the driveway and guess what? Sharon's rear tire is flat. Off come the bags. We put in a new tube and Mr Tuffy tireliner and cycle off again to continue bicycle touring England. The Barrington Hill leads us out of Haslingfield. The hill is short and not too steep, but it is our first real incline in a long while. We feel out of shape as we labour to the top, hindered by a bag of cycling magazines Joan and David had given us. (The day we met Joan at the park bench, she asked us which way we were going. When I replied Barrington, she said, "Oh, you don't want to go there. There's hills." We cycle along country roads with bright red poppies livening up the scene. We learned that poppies grow so abundantly in England that they are considered weeds -- poppies are about on the same level we think of dandelions in America. But I think they look beautiful, with their bright red waving blooms. We pull our touring bicycles to a stop at a roadside vegetable stand and stock up on fresh salad materials and new potatoes. The owner pulls up in her van to replenish the stall (it is a self-serve vegetable stand with a container to put money in). As she's talking to us, a neighbour comes over to chat also. They ask where we camp. "In the forest," we say. I add, "We're very inconspicuous." Their eyes widen as they survey our neon panniers and bulky load with reflective vests attached. "I see you're succeeding very well on being inconspicuous," the vegetable stand woman says. In Ashwell, we again pull our touring bikes to a stop to buy groceries. A doughnut shop is superb. A woman talks to Sharon. She sends us to a hairdresser down the street as the hairdresser has a son who lives in Prince George BC and "would love to meet you." We cycle off to the hairdresser shop and go in to say hi. She is perming an old woman's hair. As the hairdresser talks to us, the old lady becomes perturbed that the hairdresser's not paying as careful attention as she should be. We cycle off to a cricket field to eat. We watch as a ground crew cuts the grass on the pitch as short as a golf green. Then, to my amazement, one fellow sweeps the grass up with a push broom. I hadn't realized it was such an extensive preparation to get a cricket pitch ready. We go to a church to look at some famous graffiti. Supposedly, it dates back to the time of the plague. We cycle along, wandering along country lanes, guessing at some intersections as to which way to go. This whole area has been scenic with lots of rolling meadows. Even some forests have begun again. At a four-way intersection we stop to ponder. It's almost 7 PM. There is a forest on one corner. We wait for traffic to clear and then hastily push through a tiny clearing and up a steep bank with brambles that grab at my cycling helmet cover, cycling clothes and cycling panniers. It's worth it though -- we reach a level area inside the hedge that looks like a perfect spot to pitch our two-person Kelty cycle touring tent. Oh, oh. A "Private -- Keep Out" sign greets me as I look up. Hmmm. I pretend not to see it, and push my fully loaded touring bicycle in the opposite direction. |
