The volunteer near the door of Durham Cathedral made a disbelieving comment about how much it cost to keep to maintain the place as part of the appeal to donate. I countered that I could easily see it given the size and age of the building. She grumbled that wasn’t it a pity that they had built it out of sandstone. This was also a bit silly as that was what to hand.
I did make a donation to the upkeep.
Newcastle-Upon-Tyne is a city heavily dominated by large Georgian and Victorian commercial buildings to the extent that was pleasantly surprised that any of the titular castle survives. It was started by Robert Curthose, son of William the Conqueror. The surviving bits are now separated by a railway viaduct, but it was nice to see.
Newcastle is also something of a party town judging from the signs near the inside of pub doors saying please be quiet leaving the pub. It also seems to a place for geeks as there are four stores aimed at geeks within fifty feet of my hostel!
Tuesday, 14 August 2018
Monday, 13 August 2018
On Durham Cathedral and losing the A167
The train managed to pick up food at York. The announcements about it put me in mind of a interstellar cruise liner stalled by a lack of lemon soaked paper napkins from Douglas Adams' œuvre. I wolfed down a bacon roll before getting off at Durham.
I chose Durham to start with as it features in several novels by Bernard Cornwell. Unfortunately, about the only thing extant was Durham Cathedral, which features in only one novel. Most of the novels in question are set prior to the Cathedral and feature a resolutely pagan character, viz Uhtred of Bamburgh in the era of Alfred the Great and later. He has an antagonistic relationship with the Church. At one point, he is the Lord of Durham. I couldn’t help but wonder at what he would make of the Cathedral where his fortress stood. As well, it is the resting place of St-Cuthbert whose corpse is featured in one of the novels. Cuthbert’s coffin and some of the contents were on exhibit, biz a cross, a comb and a portable altar.
The Cathedral also houses the tomb of the Venerable (or Venomous) Bede, the first English historian. He is figure from my career as a historian and thus significant.
I had lunch of roast beef in the undercroft of the monks dormitory. This felt indulgent, but proved a useful calorific indulgence as it turned out to be “one of those days” from a biking perspective. The heavens opened up for one thing.
It was a short ride to Newcastle but I managed to lose the A167 twice in Chester-Le-Street. Contrary to what might be inferred from Flanders and Swann’s “On the Slow Train”, the place still has a train station.
Still, I managed to get back on track. The Angel of the North statue of a man with what looks like aircraft wings helped to orient myself. I found my way across the Tyne into Newcastle and then to my hostel. I hope to two young German lads sharing my room don’t snore!
My theory about Campaign for Real Ale Pubs having better food has failed as both of the ones I popped into in Newcastle have had no food.
I chose Durham to start with as it features in several novels by Bernard Cornwell. Unfortunately, about the only thing extant was Durham Cathedral, which features in only one novel. Most of the novels in question are set prior to the Cathedral and feature a resolutely pagan character, viz Uhtred of Bamburgh in the era of Alfred the Great and later. He has an antagonistic relationship with the Church. At one point, he is the Lord of Durham. I couldn’t help but wonder at what he would make of the Cathedral where his fortress stood. As well, it is the resting place of St-Cuthbert whose corpse is featured in one of the novels. Cuthbert’s coffin and some of the contents were on exhibit, biz a cross, a comb and a portable altar.
The Cathedral also houses the tomb of the Venerable (or Venomous) Bede, the first English historian. He is figure from my career as a historian and thus significant.
I had lunch of roast beef in the undercroft of the monks dormitory. This felt indulgent, but proved a useful calorific indulgence as it turned out to be “one of those days” from a biking perspective. The heavens opened up for one thing.
It was a short ride to Newcastle but I managed to lose the A167 twice in Chester-Le-Street. Contrary to what might be inferred from Flanders and Swann’s “On the Slow Train”, the place still has a train station.
Still, I managed to get back on track. The Angel of the North statue of a man with what looks like aircraft wings helped to orient myself. I found my way across the Tyne into Newcastle and then to my hostel. I hope to two young German lads sharing my room don’t snore!
My theory about Campaign for Real Ale Pubs having better food has failed as both of the ones I popped into in Newcastle have had no food.
On the train to Durham
My slumber was again disturbed by snores. This time from Americans from Michigan. I hope this doesn’t mark the start of a trend.
I had been warned to be at least ten minutes early for the train in order to stow the bike. However, the departure board didn’t let me know which platform the train was leaving from until 9 minutes before departure! Then it turned out that the bike was to go at the end of the train my seat was at the front. I will have to migrate back nearing Durham.
My plan was to get breakfast on the train. Unfortunately, owing to a mix-up, catering services are not available on this train! Furthermore, all my food is on the bike. Brunch in Durham, I guess.
I had been offered to bid on an upgrade to first class by LNER. I declined to do so. However, the lack of knee room makes me question that wisdom.
At a guess, in the first twenty minutes the train passed through a greater distance of tunnels than the Canadian does in four days!
I had been warned to be at least ten minutes early for the train in order to stow the bike. However, the departure board didn’t let me know which platform the train was leaving from until 9 minutes before departure! Then it turned out that the bike was to go at the end of the train my seat was at the front. I will have to migrate back nearing Durham.
My plan was to get breakfast on the train. Unfortunately, owing to a mix-up, catering services are not available on this train! Furthermore, all my food is on the bike. Brunch in Durham, I guess.
I had been offered to bid on an upgrade to first class by LNER. I declined to do so. However, the lack of knee room makes me question that wisdom.
At a guess, in the first twenty minutes the train passed through a greater distance of tunnels than the Canadian does in four days!
Sunday, 12 August 2018
On the Wallace Collection
My sleep was interrupted around midnight by the snores of an Aussie in the bunk above me. I was unwilling to rouse him as he had just arrived from Canberra via Singapore and had slept two hours in past thirty. Thankfully, the snores stopped after a bit and I returned to my dreams which were both odd and not terribly interesting.
I moseyed over to King’s Cross to get my train tickets and find some breakfast. I then had a hard time finding a bank machine able and willing to give me money.
After returning to the youth hostel, I rode over to the Wallace Collection where I spent most of the day. The items reflected the collectors and the fashions of the times which meant there was a bling element to them. I particularly wondered about the Indian weapons and armour as they were often flashy and gilded. I wondered how many of them were actually intended for use either martial or even ceremonial versus intended to be sold as knickknacks to foreigners. I also wondered how many fakes or partial fakes were in the collection. (A partial fake being an authentic item which received a later embellishment to increase its value.)
One interesting type of object was oriental porcelain objects which had been mounted in bronze by the French under either Louis XIV or XV. There was a lot of bling from Versailles owing to the French Revolutionary sales (they even had an auction poster from 1793) and francophile collectors.
I am probably being too cynical as the last owner willed it to the state and was otherwise extremely generous.
Anyway, time for sleep as I have catch a train at 7:30 which means being at the station at 7:15, etc.
I moseyed over to King’s Cross to get my train tickets and find some breakfast. I then had a hard time finding a bank machine able and willing to give me money.
After returning to the youth hostel, I rode over to the Wallace Collection where I spent most of the day. The items reflected the collectors and the fashions of the times which meant there was a bling element to them. I particularly wondered about the Indian weapons and armour as they were often flashy and gilded. I wondered how many of them were actually intended for use either martial or even ceremonial versus intended to be sold as knickknacks to foreigners. I also wondered how many fakes or partial fakes were in the collection. (A partial fake being an authentic item which received a later embellishment to increase its value.)
One interesting type of object was oriental porcelain objects which had been mounted in bronze by the French under either Louis XIV or XV. There was a lot of bling from Versailles owing to the French Revolutionary sales (they even had an auction poster from 1793) and francophile collectors.
I am probably being too cynical as the last owner willed it to the state and was otherwise extremely generous.
Anyway, time for sleep as I have catch a train at 7:30 which means being at the station at 7:15, etc.
Saturday, 11 August 2018
On the pittie of the Cittie of Yorke
I have a confession to make. I flew business class to London on Air Canada. My logic was that I might sleep in the comfort of a pod and thus be better able to cope with the logistics of getting a UK SIM card, assembling Leonardo at Heathrow, leaving box and unneeded bits at left luggage and then taking the Transport for London (or TfL) to Paddington from where I was to ride to the St Pancras Youth Hostel. In the anticipation/worry about flying indulgently, I fear I botched the shipping the bike bit. There is something off with Leonardo which I fear might due to bad packing. He is not shifting well and the wheels feel are weird. I found a bike shop near St Pancras. They didn’t have the time in their schedule for a tune up in my time frame, but wondered if the bearings in my axles were worn. I am considering booking a date with bike mechanic in Edinburgh as I have down time there.
I then set off for Stanford’s book/map store. I found the navigation rough, which seemed odd as the last time I didn’t feel as stressed. Then again, last time I was nowhere near as jet lagged and sleep deprived. I bought a couple of bike maps featuring Newcastle-in-Tyne and Edinburgh.
I then returned via the Cittie of Yorke pub. The spelling is that used when the place was opened something like four hundred years ago. The place is stunning. Old wooden brewing vats are suspended above the bar. There are little wooden cubicles to drink in and all kinds of weird features including a triangular stove. I came in and my jaw dropped. The barman asked if I needed anything as I was just standing there with my mouth open. Even at the best of times, I can have an awkward manner. In this case, I was able to take refuge in the truth by saying: “Sorry, don’t mind me, I am both jet-lagged and stunned by how incredible this pub is.” He accepted this, doubtless having had to deal with similar reactions in past as well as far more problematic patrons.
I ordered a BLT and a pint of bitter hand drawn from an oak barrel. I sat down in a cubbyhole and waited for lunch.
The pittie was that the Cittie of Yorke, easily the most amazing pub I have been to, was rather empty. The Saturday was sunny and warm and London was bustling with tourists. However, I guess it lies in a less touristy area and is part of London’s legal district near the Inns of Court if I recall the term correctly.
I then set off for Stanford’s book/map store. I found the navigation rough, which seemed odd as the last time I didn’t feel as stressed. Then again, last time I was nowhere near as jet lagged and sleep deprived. I bought a couple of bike maps featuring Newcastle-in-Tyne and Edinburgh.
I then returned via the Cittie of Yorke pub. The spelling is that used when the place was opened something like four hundred years ago. The place is stunning. Old wooden brewing vats are suspended above the bar. There are little wooden cubicles to drink in and all kinds of weird features including a triangular stove. I came in and my jaw dropped. The barman asked if I needed anything as I was just standing there with my mouth open. Even at the best of times, I can have an awkward manner. In this case, I was able to take refuge in the truth by saying: “Sorry, don’t mind me, I am both jet-lagged and stunned by how incredible this pub is.” He accepted this, doubtless having had to deal with similar reactions in past as well as far more problematic patrons.
I ordered a BLT and a pint of bitter hand drawn from an oak barrel. I sat down in a cubbyhole and waited for lunch.
The pittie was that the Cittie of Yorke, easily the most amazing pub I have been to, was rather empty. The Saturday was sunny and warm and London was bustling with tourists. However, I guess it lies in a less touristy area and is part of London’s legal district near the Inns of Court if I recall the term correctly.
Friday, 10 August 2018
On wee bairns and "whee" bikes
About a month ago now, I made a quick trip out to Vancouver to inspect and marvel at Louise and Thomas' Tessa and John and Caitlin's Arthur. They are both very cute. What was really fun was to witness Tessa's first go in a Jolly Jumper. It took her a few minutes to figure it out, but she was screaming with happiness by the end. I also go to witness her first encounter with her cousin Arthur. As well, the two were put in their Jolly Jumpers attached to the same doorway so they could bounce in concert.
Inspired by a comment I had made in an earlier post, Margo very kindly rented me a carbon-fibre road bike, or whee bike in the parlance of Margo as you can go "whee!" very easily. It was good fun, even if it did distract me from the wee bairns a shade too much. However, I am not about to rush out to buy one. For one thing, I am leaving tonight for the UK. Also, true whee bikes start at around $3000.00 and I am not sure how much I would use it. Living in Montreal means that it takes quite a while before you can get out into good biking territory, unless you have a car and I don't own one. As well, storage space in my flat is already at a premium. Furthermore, the rented whee bike revealed one weak point in the system, namely me. I felt it showed me up as being relatively out shape. Which of course I am, but I don't like being reminded of it. ;-)
Inspired by a comment I had made in an earlier post, Margo very kindly rented me a carbon-fibre road bike, or whee bike in the parlance of Margo as you can go "whee!" very easily. It was good fun, even if it did distract me from the wee bairns a shade too much. However, I am not about to rush out to buy one. For one thing, I am leaving tonight for the UK. Also, true whee bikes start at around $3000.00 and I am not sure how much I would use it. Living in Montreal means that it takes quite a while before you can get out into good biking territory, unless you have a car and I don't own one. As well, storage space in my flat is already at a premium. Furthermore, the rented whee bike revealed one weak point in the system, namely me. I felt it showed me up as being relatively out shape. Which of course I am, but I don't like being reminded of it. ;-)
Wednesday, 18 July 2018
On Laurentian roads
This entry is a bit late owing to various factors including a serious heat wave and family politics.
The middle Vélo-Québec bike challenge this year was in the Laurentians. The Parents picked up Leonardo and I early on the Friday afternoon in the hope of avoiding St-Jean Baptiste long weekend traffic on the Laurentian Autoroute. We might have made it had the Parents thought to start out with a full gas tank. As it was, a stop to fill up the tank in Laval meant that we spent something like nearly three hours stuck in traffic.
We had supper with Thierry, his daughters and a boyfriend of one of them. Thierry is a family friend from way back. He and his older brother Christian (my best friend from high school) were with me on my very first Tour de l'Île back in 1993.
I had to look up that date via a slightly arcane and somewhat sadly relevant connection. In writing this, I had frisson from thinking it was 25 years ago that I first did the Tour de l'Île.
The next day (Saturday), the Challenge's route took us along a variety of Laurentian back roads which had made with no discernible logic. There was an awful lot of up, down, left, right, repeat, etc. The short hills lead to a lot of gear changes and I confess at times I lost track of where I had shifted to fore and aft. This resulted in some less than desirable gear combinations.
I arrive at the lunch stop to find my Father who had taken a shorter option before lunch. He regaled me with how his route had taken him along a road that went by a camp he had gone to in his youth. He spoke as if I had gone along that road even though I repeatedly pointed out that I gone a different route.
After lunch, there was a longish bit of old provincial highway leading towards Lachute. This was parallel to the Ottawa River and thus on level ground. Unfortunately, the end of the Challenge was up in the Laurentians and climbing was in order. While climbing a hill on a more sensibly laid road than normal, my chain hopped off the front rings with a crunching sound. I managed to get the chain back on via adroit shifting and pedalling. However, the sound was enough to attract the attention of a nearby encadreur (volunteer). He expressed concern, which I dismissed. Nonetheless, I noticed that gear shifting on Leonardo was becoming less than crisp.
My route took me off the sensible road and onto a back road, the same one that my Father had been going on about. I had decided that between the relatively high humidity and the hills that I would "only" the basic distance which amounted to 107.75 km (average speed: 19.7 kph, maximum: 55.4). This road proved particularly perverse as it climbed up paved roads only to have the descent on gravel!!!! This was less of an insult to me than to the people on skinny tires.
It was not a great day. Furthermore, a week and half later, I took Leonardo in to the shop so they could figure out what wasn't working smoothly, the diagnosis was that the drive train needed to be replaced. I have faith in my local bike shop and their logic seemed very sensible to me.
The middle Vélo-Québec bike challenge this year was in the Laurentians. The Parents picked up Leonardo and I early on the Friday afternoon in the hope of avoiding St-Jean Baptiste long weekend traffic on the Laurentian Autoroute. We might have made it had the Parents thought to start out with a full gas tank. As it was, a stop to fill up the tank in Laval meant that we spent something like nearly three hours stuck in traffic.
We had supper with Thierry, his daughters and a boyfriend of one of them. Thierry is a family friend from way back. He and his older brother Christian (my best friend from high school) were with me on my very first Tour de l'Île back in 1993.
I had to look up that date via a slightly arcane and somewhat sadly relevant connection. In writing this, I had frisson from thinking it was 25 years ago that I first did the Tour de l'Île.
The next day (Saturday), the Challenge's route took us along a variety of Laurentian back roads which had made with no discernible logic. There was an awful lot of up, down, left, right, repeat, etc. The short hills lead to a lot of gear changes and I confess at times I lost track of where I had shifted to fore and aft. This resulted in some less than desirable gear combinations.
I arrive at the lunch stop to find my Father who had taken a shorter option before lunch. He regaled me with how his route had taken him along a road that went by a camp he had gone to in his youth. He spoke as if I had gone along that road even though I repeatedly pointed out that I gone a different route.
After lunch, there was a longish bit of old provincial highway leading towards Lachute. This was parallel to the Ottawa River and thus on level ground. Unfortunately, the end of the Challenge was up in the Laurentians and climbing was in order. While climbing a hill on a more sensibly laid road than normal, my chain hopped off the front rings with a crunching sound. I managed to get the chain back on via adroit shifting and pedalling. However, the sound was enough to attract the attention of a nearby encadreur (volunteer). He expressed concern, which I dismissed. Nonetheless, I noticed that gear shifting on Leonardo was becoming less than crisp.
My route took me off the sensible road and onto a back road, the same one that my Father had been going on about. I had decided that between the relatively high humidity and the hills that I would "only" the basic distance which amounted to 107.75 km (average speed: 19.7 kph, maximum: 55.4). This road proved particularly perverse as it climbed up paved roads only to have the descent on gravel!!!! This was less of an insult to me than to the people on skinny tires.
It was not a great day. Furthermore, a week and half later, I took Leonardo in to the shop so they could figure out what wasn't working smoothly, the diagnosis was that the drive train needed to be replaced. I have faith in my local bike shop and their logic seemed very sensible to me.
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