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August 2 Wednesday sunny humid Bicycle touring England I put an earplug in last night, in my ear that was pillow side up, as the wind was rustling the tent fly. Sharon woke me and whispered, "We should go. I hear people going through the gate." I looked at my watch. 5 AM. Can't be, I thought, even for gung-ho British walkers 5 AM is a tad early. It turned out sheep were passing. Each one would stop to rub its flank against the wooden post beside the gate causing the gate to rock open and closed, banging each time. Since we were awake anyway, and it was just about light enough to ride, we quietly struck our tent and tiptoed past our sleeping bicycle touring comrades, still oblivious to the world. The German bicycle tourists, sleeping on the grass beside our tent, had started in Newcastle, England, from the 3 PM ferry arrival yesterday and had cycled 74 kilometres of steeply rolling hills to get here. First days are killers. Great for sound sleep, though. We breakfasted in a country park at a bench on the bank overlooking the River Tyne. Several dog walkers were out since the mist had begun to dissipate. We even saw a horse rider with little riding pants, riding boots and furry cap go past. The park info center gave us a map showing bike paths and bicycling routes. We bicycled back to a Superstore and stocked up on groceries for the ferry trip across to Norway. We only had £6 to spend. We made a quick shopping list of what we needed and then I went in and scrounged the shelves for the cheapest priced goods. I returned with my meager conquest. As Sharon packed the goods away into our bicycle touring panniers, I decided to clean out my fuzzy pullover's pocket. I discovered £30, forgotten in there since our trip to London. We were rich! Sharon went back in to buy a lot more groceries, and not the cheapest brands this time either. Loaded to the gunnels with heaps of groceries, we followed the bike path along the river. The bicycle path was horrendous. Smashed glass was everywhere. And a system of pipe gates were installed in such a manner that it made a devil of a difficult time to even get through on a loaded touring bike. We had to dismount each time we got to a gate and maneuver the bikes artfully back and forth a dozen times to get our loaded touring bicycles past the bars. And the gates were put in some of the worst locations - usually on a downhill, so we had to brake extremely hard to stop before being catapulted over the barrier. Great engineering concept! At one point, we pulled our touring bicycles to a stop and tried to figure out where we were - which proved next to impossible with the crappy bike map not having street names on it. What kind of map is that? Har har. A car driver saw us looking at the map. He detoured off the main road and came to give us directions. "Just stay as close to the river as possible until you see the ferry signs." Newcastle is an industrial city in northeastern England, a port on the Tyne River. Its full name is Newcastle-upon-Tyne and it has a population of around a quarter of a million. The Newcastle, England, ferry terminal was actually 25 kilometres farther from where we had breakfast at the edge of town. We continued bicycling along the river as our friendly resident had advised. Upon arrival at the ferry terminal, Sharon's bicycle meter read exactly 74 kilometres. We still had time and money (a rare combination), so we went to buy a new bicycle tire for Sharon. We finally found a bike shop. It was closed. Supposedly a long time Wednesday afternoon tradition we learned - I don't know how it started or why it persists but it was weird. Stores closed on a Wednesday afternoon. I managed to spend all my coins in a mall by buying fudge and carrot cake and an assortment of miscellaneous baked items. So, we are ending our bicycle tour in England with only two £5 notes. We bicycled back to the ferry to check in. At the Newcastle ferry terminal we met Arran and Rebecca, two touring bicyclists from New Zealand. They've been over bicycle touring in Europe since April. They've cycled for five months, beginning the bicycle tours in Greece and then have worked the remainder of their time in Scotland. They possess the miraculous dual passport, like the two bicycle touring Australians we met earlier. We all amused ourselves while waiting for the ferry by swapping travel tales. Four other bicyclist tourers are making the crossing to Norway, also. A father and son team proudly tell us they are going to navigate their way to the Arctic Circle. They are dressed in geeky bike clothes. I don't know why, but I have my doubts about them. Once we're aboard the ferry, we're instructed that the cabin we've reserved is on the seventh deck. Holy cow, we're way up there. Must be important passengers, eh? We secure our bicycles so they won't be trashed if the sea is rough, grab a few articles we figure we'll need for the journey and head upstairs. We go up more and more stairs. Finally we are on the seventh deck. We look around for our cabin. U1. Hmmm. U1. We can't find it. We head downstairs. After re-checking with reception, we find our cabin is indeed on the seventh floor. On our first hunt we had only seen reclining chairs (which we had been told weren't on this sailing). Back upstairs we go. Phew. Good workout. Good thing we're in shape from bicycling all those hills in England's Lake District. We finally found it. Cabin U1 turned out to be a large cabin shared with thirty or so other fellow passengers, most of whom, like us, had incorrectly assumed they were getting a private cabin. Ha ha ha. No wonder it was such a great deal. It hadn't said anything about "shared occupancy." I figure the ferry brochure could at least provide the words under the cabin photo "not exactly as illustrated." An efficient crew kindly provided each of us with our very only air mattress. Wow. Talk about travelling in style. I think my Thermarest camprest would provide a better sleep. Anyway, Sharon and I gamely staked out a claim to a piece of floor. Two late arriving women were the funniest. Upon being greeted by twenty-something other passengers as they opened the door to U1. "Welcome!" It's like one of those dreams. One woman exclaimed, "There has to be a mistake!" "No mistake," the porter informs them. "But we had a cabin!" the two nattily dressed women cry in unison. "This is a cabin," he informs them. Then he adds, perhaps unwisely, "This is better than my tiny cubicle by the engine room. It's hotter than hell down there with no air." I wonder what he would look like with no air ... it looks like one of the women is about to try and find it out. A smurf porter. "Do we get blankets?" one of the newly arrived women asks. "Nope," someone cheerily replies. We're all having rather great fun at the two women's expense. "Great," fumes one. "First they tell us no cabins..." "... then they tell us no blankets," the other finishes. She mourns aloud and plunks herself down on her air mattress. Very cool. It's exactly like that psychological hierarchy thingy I learned in university. Those two women progressed through all the stages quite rapidly: shock, denial, anger, depression, bargaining, and finally acceptance. I wonder if Dr Elisabeth Kubler-Ross ever had a multi-shared cabin on a ferry? The porter takes this as an opportune time to make his exit and slips away. A Norwegian woman next to the new arrival tells her this is much better than the reclining chairs or even a small cabin. "We have lots of fresh air." "This is great!" the late arrival woman chirps. "Who needs a cabin when we can go camping?" She pauses, then adds, "I should have brought a sleeping bag though." Now convinced, or at least resigned to her fate, she begins to happily unload her suitcase. First, out comes a rather large teddy bear (much bigger than the one Mr Bean travels with. And this one has eyes, too). This rather large teddy bear is followed by a second, equally large, teddy bear. Wow, I had no idea. This shared cabin thing is very educational. The bears are followed by some souvenirs from the UK, an economy size bag of tacos, and last, but not least, a taco maker. I suppose it's just in case she runs out of store bought ones and has the urge to make more during the voyage? I suppose. Another fellow has strategically placed his air mattress under a table. He smiles at the late arrival women, and says, "I have a large cabin." Another fellow, quite shy, I believe, decides he isn't getting enough of that cool fresh air. He removes his pants and walks around in his underwear. Well, I guess he is in his cabin. If we don't want to see, I guess we can not look ... or something like that. Apparently he needs even more fresh air than in our supersize cabin though because not only does he walk about our cabin in his underwear, but he also heads out into the hallway for a wee stroll to who knows where else. Perhaps he's looking for the attached en suite? After his excursion he comes back into the cabin and lies on his mattress in his skivvies. Man, where else can one get this amount of entertainment included with the price of crossing the North Sea? When the pamphlet said there would be onboard entertainment, I had no idea. It's still too early to sleep, and I don't feel like laying around in my underwear, so we head out to meet Arran and Rebecca. We go to the Tyne Pub (maybe getting smashed is the best way to deal with this cabin thing. Or not). We have a great time regaling in travel misfortunes. Arran and Rebecca actually have a shared cabin with another couple. Or is it a family? Anyway, they are so smelly that Arran and Rebecca had to abandon their cabin. See, lots of fresh air is not such a bad thing. We have a great time talking until a piano player starts, drowning out all hope of a conversation. Sharon and I work up courage and retire to our cabin at 11 PM. Upon entry, we find we are the only ones in the room. Maybe everyone else had the same idea of let's get drunk! I shove in my earplugs, lay down on the air mattress, arrange my fuzzy pullover for a pillow, kiss Sharon good night, and close my eyes. Sweet dreams. Hope I see you all in the morning. |
