I’ve visited the Musée National d’Automobile before but was pleased to note they’ve shuffled much of the collection. I love all these European cars that are well presented in these well lit and easy to amble around Halls. It is the best car museum I’ve been to and I’ve been to tens.
From here it was overnight in Bar-le-Duc. The first time I stayed here, 2018, I was unlucky to be pitched in an empty field bar one caravan. This was occupied by two French lads who into the early hours were playing music (French!) and having a barbecue. At about 2am I ambled across to express a contrary point of view to their anti-social behaviour. Needless to say after little sleep I was less than sparkling the next day. I always suspected they were taking drugs and were away with the fairies (and saucisses.) In 2020 I was here when Huddersfield Town beat West Bromwich Albion and ensured that Leeds United were promoted to the Premier league after 16 years in the lower leagues. This time was less euphoric or sleep deprived.
The praise for the car continued with passers by, outside the camp, leaning across the railings to express their admirationI always try and operate within Anna’s budgetary constraints
The next day was a country lane amble up the Meus to an overnight stop in Givet before my final drive to Europoort (Rotterdam) to catch the overnight ferry across the North sea home. After all the driving it was a bonus to get home from the ferry in just over an hour. By the time I pulled into the drive in York I’d driven 1,600 miles.
Overnight thunder and lightning came with a major dunk. Quite a contrast to the eartler heatwave!Nelly after her departure from the circus..It’s not much, but I called it home for the night
In the 1970s or 80s you used to be planning to sell a car when it’d done 40,000 miles. Corrosion had started to appear, reliability was becoming suspect and the risk of some significant expenditure was looming. In many ways this part explains the demise of the once massive British car industry along with our parlous industrial relations and emerging global competition.
My Morgan, or ‘Samantha’ as I know her, is now creaking into its 16th year. She’s exhibiting some of the above reliability maladies along with paintwork or trim problems. In fairness a lot of its original design was done in the 1950s and 60s; durability wasn’t on their minds. The suspension is jarring on the wrong road and such a rigid ride rattles every component. The joke goes that if you run over a coin in a Morgan you can tell whether it’s head or tails! I say the wrong road because 16 years ago the road surface was not pock marked with botched repairs or providing a slalom challenge of avoiding potholes. Neither were there the speed bumps that can reduce me to gibbering wreck where the low hung car has to scrape over one with distressing metallic noises.
However, the looks of the car remain sublime and an open country lane in sunshine with the hood down is one of the most fun activities you can have with your clothes on. The admiring looks are myriad and I’ve lost count of the middle aged or older blokes who’ve cornered me in York, supermarket car parks or European campsites to ask about the car. I recollect once in Sweden that I had to flee into my tent to escape the inane questions of “I believe the car has a wooden frame; is the chassis ash as well?” (No, in case you’re not certain.) One car lifetime highlight was taking my Favourite Youngest Daughter to her wedding and the car appearing in the wedding photos.
Transporting the future Sophie Fuoco
This event spawned another memorable event where as we’re all sat awaiting the entry of the bride and groom in the room, to be joined by the registrar for the marriage ceremony and I was heard to utter, by my other son-in-law, the immortal words of “bloody hell, there’s someone sat in my car!”. Through the window I could see the car and in it was sat a complete stranger. Storming out I confronted my new passenger who rather than being contrite asked if I could take his photo? After his eviction I returned to the small matter of my daughter’s betrothal with one of the venues staff standing guard over the car.
When I took car abroad in 2016 I was less concerned about its reliability but as I plan a tour through Holland, Belgium and Southern Germany before France in a day or two’s time I’m nervous. You worry what could go wrong a long way from home. It won’t be the radiator. That’s been replaced after the plastic header tank cracked. The new radiator is aluminium. New Morgans now have aluminium ones fitted and the depth of the radiator necessitated, in my opinion, the fitting of a mesh guard to stop possible stone damage. Fortunately the wonder crew at Copmanthorpe MOT garage are now the custodians of the car and can fit or sort anything.
Leon, part of the wonder crew
In fact as regards dealers for the car there are 17 in the UK and the nearest to me is across the Humber Bridge close to Scunthorpe where any visit required it to be left overnight. As with all main dealers their prices became eye watering and you’ll find most Morgan owners have a beloved local garage they lean on. Some owners are engineers who actually perform many of the jobs on the car. I fall into the category of ‘polisher’ but with some accumulated knowledge from years of ownership.
A year or two ago I had a terrible smell of petrol in the cabin. The problem was a frayed hose that was routed next to a part of the engine that vibrated. Fortunately my sleuths at Copmanthorpe MOT identified the problem and after I ordered the new hose they fitted it and tied it down in such a way to stop movement. Fortunately the Ford Duratec engine and Mazda gearbox are mass produced and reliable; they worry me less. However, with an average mileage of 3,000 per year (I cycle further on my bikes every year!) you can forget to replace stuff such as spark plugs or change the oil in the gearbox or differential. On the latter then you’d not think about this type of maintenance but who keeps a car for 16 years? The body work polishes up nicely but in may places it’s tatty and a respray seems unavoidable on certain panels. Quotes suggest that I’ll be well into four figures and I’ve delayed this years, unsurprisingly.
This is the luggage space I have for any expedition. Just a little more than my touring bike!
Other tribulation came when I cracked the windscreen. This meant replacing the frame around the screen as well as the glass. Needless to say due to the fairly bespoke nature of the car the first frame assembly that came didn’t fit. This was inconvenient as I was going on holiday during the ordering process and I had to leave the car at Auto Windcreens for a couple of weeks hoping for the best. In the end they did a fine job. This incident brought home the necessity to have specialist insurance. I have such a policy and it’s very competitive. If the car ever needs repairing through an accident I feel an appropriate body shop will be selected.
The latest concern is that the fuel gauge never indicates when it’s full and tends to wander around when driving! The wonder crew (Leon and Mark) at Copmanthorpe MOT have ruled out other maladies to conclude it’s a dodgy sender unit. (A float sits on the fuel and translate into a level on a gauge.) You may well be thinking maybe the car should be a ‘return to sender’!
Anyway the Hull to Rotterdam ferry beckons. Wish me (and Samantha) luck!
I suspect it may be plain if you’ve followed this trip that I’d spoilt John and now it was time to bring him back down to earth. In summary, the sumptuous countryside, the antiquities, the museums, my scintillating company/guide skills and lastly the up market hotel in Hexham, The Beaumont. The latter cost £158 per night, which isn’t the way I usually roll but when divided by two it becomes more like it. However, you can take the boy out of Yorkshire but not Yorkshire out of the boy and the £17 breakfast option was a sausage too far. Anyway John absorbed the blow well and got his face around his Egg McMuffin.
Again another chilly morning (and as it turned out chilly day) and we left the Hexham rush hour for Corbridge and a route that generally followed the River Tyne as the river progressed to the estuary and then the North Sea.
The road itself was straightforward to navigate and eventually gave way to a cycle path that actually took us all the way to the end of the Wall.
A former rail bridge now a path
Along the path we came across many walkers who were either starting out on the Hadrian’s Wall trek or finishing it. As we cycled we came across George Stephenson’s childhood home.
The home of George Stephenson the ‘Father of the Railways’ and the inventor of the steam locomotive
I have to say the walk through Newcastle is straightforward but involved a selection of Zebra, Puffin, Pelican and Toucan Crossings. (We both know you have no idea about the difference between these various ‘bird’ crossings yet the Highway Code would expect you to know. Shame on you). It might take a day or two at the start but for these hikers but the change to rugged paths and splendid views was going to be a tonic when it came.
Stops along the way were few and far between but we eventually came to rest at a Sicilian café a couple of miles from the centre. John liked the coffee so much he bought some to make back in Hampshire.
Soon we were in the heart of the city and passed under the various bridges before finding the continuing Route 72 signs toward Tynemouth.
Overall Day 4 was an easy ride with little climbing. In discussing the route beforehand John had been surprised that our local map had identified so many Morrisons. Me too. On closer examination John had misidentified the signs for the Newcastle Metro!
These ’72’ paths were not the actually route of the Wall: the wall was a little further north in a more urban part of the city.
At Wallsend we came to rest at Segedunum (‘Strong Fort’) Fort. This location was the site of the first fort along the Wall in the east. Up until the last few decades it was a large housing estate. They cleared it and exposed the foundations. A villa that housed some exhibits was closed as was part of the main building. In fact this whole site is run by an amalgamation of five local councils and was shabby in places and a little unloved. The Vindolanda Trust museums were frankly on another level of presentation and care.
The Fort was sited here by the Romans rather than along the estuary at Tynemouth because the fort could ‘police’ the countryside to the east with its view of the land. Also on the south bank there was another fort (Arbeia) should the pesky Scots/Picts fancy a swim. A reconstruction of what the original Wall looked like had been built. It must be added that a vallum and other impediments would have made it a completely daunting task to overcome. It’s also here that the Wall ends.
The site of the FortA reconstruction of the Wall and the end of the Wall
With photos taken we retraced our route back to the centre. Near the bridges we had the slightly daunting challenge of finding a route up the hill to where the station was located. A combination of bridge construction works and a road surface that was shamefully potholed made the ascent memorable. At the Station we booked the earliest train we could get for the hour’s journey south to York and until it arrived we ate chocolate and John listened to me moan about how cold I was.
In summary it’s got to be one of the best short rides in Europe with so much to see, so many important and unique places to stop and stay or eat and terrific rail links south to either end. We had a great time and John has passed Module 1 of cycle touring.
We rolled out of Haltwhistle noting a distinct fall in temperature! As a man with drawers, in York, full of cycling kit for all the seasons I was rueful that I had believed the weather forecast. It advised that the week would get warmer rather than cooler and so hadn’t packed some leggings, a heavier cycling jacket, a long sleeve jersey and a buff. However, the granny wheel action got some blood pumping as our route abandoned the lower part of the valley near the Tyne and an ascent began up to Vindolanda. It was just before 9:30am when we got close to the museum with lots of time to spare and so I suggested Plan B – ‘let’s go up to the actual Wall’.
Cycling up the B6318, the former Roman military road below the Wall, we headed east to Housesteads Fort. On this roller coaster of a road we endured the chilly easterly headwind. On arrival at the Fort car park it was busy with a large group of walkers who sounded like they were either Dutch, Belgian Flemish or Welsh (with heavy colds). Climbing up to the Wall we set foot on the path and took some photos.
Practising to be a fierce guard on the Wall (fail)On the Wall
I regaled John about my last visit here where leading some walkers I had the responsibility for a very elderly but determined lady who despite my request that she forsook the walk in the heavy rain and slippery conditions added to my concern by telling me that she’d had a replacement knee and shoulder. I let her walk this brief section before slipping down to the lower path yet I still wondered how long the Air Ambulance would take to get from Newcastle or Carlisle. After this we visited The Sill. This is a youth hostel with a very nice café. Fortified we headed up to Vindolanda.
This is ‘one I took earlier’ of a model of the fort layout. Now mysteriously not there now as you enter the site
This Fort and its subsequent small settlement had predated the Wall. The settlement was outside the Fort Walls and this is where the British lived and provided services, food etc for the Romans. Over the centuries Vindolanda had had nine separate forts. Four had been timber and the other five stone. When a Roman cohort left they broke down the fort. The next set of Romans built a new fort. It is this destruction that led to several foundations being compacted in wet ground. This wet ground preserved the artifacts that tell the story of the Fort over the 450 years of its occupation. The current custodians are very concerned that climate warming as it’s drying out the ground and probably destroying/damaging anything that is currently preserved in the ground.
Paddy gave a chilly tour of the site before we dived inside for something hot to eat. The museum itself is equally as fascinating and shows many of the artefacts.
Paddy, a retired accountant from Carlisle, in full flight
The weather had slightly warmed and we remounted for the cycle into Hexham. Most of this was delightful and the path took us beside the railway and Tyne before we ended up in the centre and our hotel.
To celebrate the Roman connection we had a pizza and then took a stroll around the town.
John waiting for a StradivariusEvening bowls
On a bright and clear evening this was delightful as we were invited to take up bowls! We declined and continued through the park before ending up at a violin repair shop. Here a lady told us all about the surprising skill set of the owner of the shop strangely located here in the sticks. Our next stop was for a beer that turned out to only be a half as the fire alarm went off!
If there are any pleasures to be found in a Carlisle city centre hotel then breakfast was one. Normally it crosses your mind that having the equivalent of a ‘heart attack on a plate’ is bad despite your saintly consumption of cereal with skimmed milk as a starter. However on a cycling ride you can console yourself that you’ll probably burn it all off later. On seeing the selection of cereals John and I reminisced on our school days. The cereals we got always came in these little Kellogg boxes and I can well remember that it was a ‘red letter day’ if you managed to get Coco Pops. (If you think about products that don’t change over decades then many foodstuffs are in this category.)
We emerged into the Carlisle rush hour from our hotel. but soon dived off the main road onto cycle paths. This is usually a traffic free experience but the path doubled up as a pedestrian path knee deep in school children ambling along, with their heads buried in their mobiles, to school. Despite the temptation to lay waste these barely sentient obstacles I dinged away on my bell to warn of our presence. As we nearly cleared the throngs of shuffling teenagers one bright specimen piped up to our backs that “bikes aren’t allowed on these paths!” Clearly the painting of large white bicycles on the path might have provided a clue I thought.
(The white square on my sunglasses is a rear view mirror)
As we cleared the city we were into the countryside. The traffic was light but the roads had started to go up and we climbed up several country lanes to arrive in Brampton. This market town seemed to be teeming. A coffee break ensued along with the surreptitious consumption of the remaining chocolate covered custard creams after the coffee had been delivered to our table. John was delegated with the procurement of sandwiches and I with crisps. John sadly failed as my cheese and tomato sandwich turned out to be the saddest abuse of sliced white bread, tomato and cheese I had experienced in many years. I absorbed the blow. Unluckily, for them, two American tourists from Portland, Oregon sat next to us at the cafe and establishing their home I felt compelled to tell them about the legendary Bob Sanders pedalling across the USA. Weirdly this conversation took place as a passing dog vomited in front of them. How they’ll treasure these encounters…
Anyway, refreshed we pedalled on into the real wilds and found that the road did start to climb seriously upwards. However as we started to live on the granny gears we stopped at Lanercost Priory. This is a delightful site with a Priory ruin and church. Inevitably Henry VIII shut the priory and sold off the building to a rich pal. What remains is still interesting.
Lanercost Priory (English Heritage)
Shortly after leaving we came across the Wall: our first actual sighting of the remnants. The first 30 miles was always earth, turf and timber.
The stone Walll starts at Banks
Sadly, It seems that it is only the last 150 years or so that the Wall has been properly respected and preserved. Over the centuries the stone in the Wall was taken for many local uses and I imagine there will be most farms that have a building or wall that was built from this Roman largesse. The Wall took six years to build and at one time 15,000 men worked on it. The stone mainly came from local quarries. The Wall was 3 metres thick and 4.2 metres high. Along the Wall were 80 milecastles that housed soldiers and gateways for the movement of people and livestock. (A Roman mile was slightly less than the mile we know.)
The ditch in front was called a vallum. Needless to say the structure must have appeared impenetrable
After the climb out of Banks we plateaued and came to rest at Birdoswald Fort. This was the most westerly Fort. To be frank the most impressive feature was the set of graphics and models inside the Visitor Centre. The other interesting thing about the remains was the high location and its imperious views of the surrounding countryside. On asking the staff why it was called Birdoswald they admitted they or no one else knew? A strong suspicion is that this name was latterly given to the Fort and it was called Banna before this.
Some serious climbing was necessary to get to the Roman Army Museum. The last hill before we got there was steep enough to be a ski jump slope and before my heart leapt out of my chest I dismounted and pushed before resuming the ascent. This museum goes into the life of Emperor Hadrian and covers the life of the troops who were deployed on the Wall and how they went about their training and responsibilities.
After all this culture it was time to descend into Haltwhistle where we were billeted in a pub on the main drag. In discussing dinner options with the Receptionist she said that Tuesday was tapas night across the road at a hotel. That sounded brilliant and after a shower and a pint in the fading sunshine at a nearby pub we further toasted our day with a glass of vino over our patatas bravas, chorizo and other plates.
They were inordinately proud of this award!The day’s ride. 30 miles and 2,074 feet climbing
I suspect on these pages I’ve written about Hadrian’s Wall before but it’s still topical, not least because it’s a wonderful and intriguing piece of our British history and the fact that it offers a wonderful route across the north of England with delightful scenery and antiquity.
I first got interested in the area in 2020 when Anna and I took a short break up at Hexham and ventured onto the wall for a bit of a walk. Anna remembers it will as she slipped on the mud, that comprised the path, and sat in her coat in a soggy puddle! It was touch and go as to whether I would allow her into the car.
Later that year I ventured back up in the Morgan to investigate the Vindolanda Fort, the site of a world class museum that was one of the first locations in the UK where archaeology discovered the written word. Frankly, I was blown away by this Fort and the stories and histories it divulged. If you’ve not been then what’s wrong with you?
From here my visits were about taking holidaymakers there as a guide, whether walking or cycling. One of the delights that never failed to draw literal sighs of pleasure was Sycamore Gap. Here where the wall dips down between two cliffs a glorious and iconic tree stood. Sadly we know that the tree was felled for no good reason by two vandals who will find out their sentence in July. Let’s hope it reflects this awful act.
My image taken in May 2022
Stretching back nearly as long ago as the building of this 84 mile long barrier was my friendship with John. Fortunately John, judging by the look of him, has fared better than the Wall over the 60 years we have known each other. We met at Ashville College, Harrogate in 1966. We were both very young boarders at Ashville’s preparatory school, New College. John moved south at 16 and stayed down that way (poor soul, I know.) Our contact has been intermittent but includes the honour of being his Best Man at his marriage to Pip.
I’ve hardly changed since 1988.
So when John contacted me about his own idea to cycle Hadrian’s Wall I invited myself onto the ride! He never objected. Using my knowledge of the ride, the sightseeing and possible accommodation solutions we agreed a date and I got down to booking hotels and trains. John’s worries weren’t about my itinerary but how much fitter I’d be cycling after my well documented adventures. As it turned out John did quite a bit of training in the hilly areas of Hampshire and turned up fit. He actually turned out to be quite an athlete and got round well with no hitches or stress. So leaving the house we cycled to York Railway station and embarked on the straightforward trundle to Carlisle.
The only problem arose in arriving in Newcastle and finding the platform for the Carlisle train that was so tight for time that a coffee couldn’t be procured. However in Carlisle we girded our loins to cycle west to the ‘start’. This was at Bowness-on-Solway. Here the Wall was originally earth and timber and had disappeared several centuries ago. However before that we popped into Carlisle Cathedral. This magnificent building has quite a history with lots of graphics as well as impressive vistas.
Around the church we found a custard cream.
These little metal biscuits have QR codes with them that if scanned open up web pages giving you the history of the monument, building, sight or whatever they’re sited next to. Why a custard cream I hear you all ask? Well, McVitie’s and Carr are located in the centre of the town where one of their iconic products is this biscuit. Did you know 65 million are made here per year?
Frankly, yet unsurprisingly, I got a little excited by this because this biscuit is made even more supreme by covering it in thick milk chocolate. I felt compelled to share this vital information with strangers. So I did to a very kind elderly lady volunteer in the Cathedral who heard me out. She no doubt thought that this idiot, in hi viz cycling lycra, would shortly be gone and so adopted Plan A: smile sweetly. I felt that after this revelation we should pop back to M&S Food where these treasures appeared from and buy her a packet. The look on her face, on receipt, said ‘idiot, but with biscuits’.
Anyway after all this there was the small matter of turning the pedals to get to the start in Bowness. It was flat all the way and keeping the estuary to our left we ate up the 13 miles to find the formal start.
Forgot to breath in
Catriona took the photo. She was a middle aged hiker with a slightly furrowed brow who was walking alone and planned to start the Wall tomorrow. It did strike me as we chatted that this may be something of a retreat for her as she strode off heading east the next day; no doubt seeking exercise, history and possibly inspiration. The walk is a lot more ‘true’ to the old Wall location than the cycle route where we dodge around it on local roads but we would meet walkers from time to time. Anyway it was a sandwich in Bowness and then back to Carlisle. Also we additionally fuelled for our journey with another chocolate coated custard cream. They’re addictive.
My blog ‘Texas Odyssey 2025 – Bob 2’ was about Bob Sanders epic cycle ride from San Diego in California to St Augustine in Florida in a plan of becoming the oldest person to ride across the USA since 2023 when, the mere stripling at the age of 78, Bruce Closser did it. Bob is 85 years old, yet, any dealings with Bob will make you wonder if this is a mistake as he has the energy, determination and fitness of folk several decades younger.
After meeting Bob in Texas in mid April we returned to the UK and left Bob to roll on toward Florida’s east coast. As a busy cyclist communication with his audience, as he toiled every day, was limited with occasional photographs but little else. I compared this situation to being sat in NASA’s Houston Mission Control as the various Apollo craft disappeared behind the moon preventing all radio contact. As then eventually communication would be established and all was well.
Bob kept to his schedule and arrived in St Augustine, Florida after completing the crossing in 44 days (49 overall including rest days) and having accumulated 3,010 miles. Bob did tell a local news website in his home state of Oregon – “I’ll tell you one thing, without hesitation, I wouldn’t do it again.” Frankly, there’s no need as this record will stand for a long time. I think his lack of enthusiasm may be influenced by his now considerable administration of collating the photos, videos, witness forms, daily logs, and GPS tracking information that the Guinness Records require in order to confirm his achievement. However this won’t be completed perched on a thin saddle in 30 to 40°C heat in a headwind.
Congratulations Bob. I’m truly in awe.
If I have any female readers I must advise of an exceptional opportunity: the current record is held by Lynnea Salvo who sauntered across at the age of 73. Frankly a babe in arms. This was her second crossing although it must be added she did warm up earlier by acquiring the oldest female records for cycling North to South (in the USA) and then across Canada. If you need advice, I know a man.
I had Bob’s schedule and his email address and I’d communicated to tell him that there was a possibility we could meet. The meeting depended on where Bob was toward the time we were leaving the USA. The last thing I wanted to do was bombard Bob with messages or requests for updates on his progress. He was under enough pressure as it was. Hence our decision not to book any accommodation over the last few days to see where we needed to be. By the way the record is held by a mere stripping, Bruce Closser, who got into the record books in 2016 at the age of 78. Not only will Bob get the record but it seems inconceivable it will be broken for many years to come. Just being prepared to document for tens of days to satisfy the organisation that runs these records may have put off other riders.
Bob’s cycling route
Bob had been posting some images taken on his ride:
Bob took this stunning image in Rodeo, New Mexico.
‘The Wall’ on the Mexican border at Jacumba Springs in California.
Lunch on the road. Look at all that sun. It looks so hot. One of the party here rode with Bob for a week and Jack, on the right, is the support.
So by emails and then telephone we agreed that we’d meet in Del Rio. That meant our driving 175 miles west (Texas is a big State!) to the Mexican border to say hello. He planned to be there early on our second to last day in Texas. We drove to the town and phoned Bob. Where was he? Well he was around the town and ironically we’d passed him on the road but not known it. In our faulty understanding, from the telephone call, I set off up a road where after several miles we couldn’t find him. Anna then asserted that I was wrong and that he was going in the opposite direction. We drove back. Pleasingly she was also wrong!
Anyway another call and under instructions we stayed put in the car park of the Motel 6 and Bob and Jack came into view. Jack is his support man trailing or parking up the road in advance as Bob trundles on. He carries the luggage and ferries Bob around when he’s not pedalling. Jack also gives Bob’s bride, Kathryn, comfort that out in the wilds of this wide country he has a guardian Angel. A true star in this record breaking ride.
A man in awe meets a legend
So with 1,500 miles under his belt since San Diego we met Bob. What a man. Fit as a fiddle, jovial and insistent on buying Anna and myself a meal and having a beer.
Bob’s ridden this Southern Tier route before and knew what to expect. (For what it’s worth I have also ridden several hundred miles of this route from New Orleans to the Florida coast in 2015.) on this ride he was disappointed by the headwinds and some days were tougher than others but he’d rolled along ticking off the targets and was shortly to release Jack back to Oregon whilst Kathryn took over the support duties around San Antonio. We joked that the regime might be tightened up with a few more rules and admonishments when his wife took over!
We were interested in the detail of the ride including tyres, road surfaces, lodgings etc. However, the stories that make these trips so memorable started to flow. The best was when staying at Van Horn,TX it was the same time Katy Perry and her homies borrowed Jeff Bezos’ rocket for a 11 minute spin in space. (Van Horn is close to the launch site.) The celebrities in the rocket had had friends come to Van Horn to see off their pals. Some had arrived from NYC to cheer film producer Kerianne Flynn, in a stretched limo, and were staying at the Motel 6 where Bob and Jack were. Needless to say the friends/young ladies themselves were glamorous and barely noticed these old guys lurking around the hotel until it was volunteered that Bob was also going into the record books. Instant kudos.
Later that evening at a swankier hotel in town the girls all bowled up in their finery and were an immediate attraction to the younger men in the vicinity. However, on Bob and Jack’s arrival there was a demand by the girls for selfies and mobile/cell phones were swapped for a selection of snaps. Bob showed us the photos. I was impressed! I was too discreet to enquire what happened later that night but I know I’d have been looking at the inside of my eyelids fairly early after a long bike ride, a few beers and the thought of another 80 miles the next day. Another story involved meeting the lead singer of an Indie Rock band (Big Thief) near the Wall who was worried she was being followed by a drone. She was, the Border Patrol were tracking her!
Anna and I were privileged to sign a Guinness World Record witness statement. They were amassing tens of pages. We are now part of the history. Then it was time to go as Bob and Jack had to check in and then do their administration and Bob also wanted to give his Surly Disc Trucker a good look over and clean prior to the next ride toward the Hill Country.
We said our fond farewells in the car park when Bob was hailed by a burly chap in a pick-up. This guy it turned out to be part of a railroad gang who’d been working and staying out west when Bob and Jack were staying in the same place. There, they’d offered a beer and BBQ meal to these weary travellers. Again the kindness of strangers was evident and here in Del Rio they’d met up again by chance.
Anna and I had the small matter of heading east to be in striking distance of Austin to fly back the next day. We had another 120 miles to drive to our accommodation up the I90. Anna and I drove away elated at the meet up.
I shall keep you informed of Bob’s progress in the blog.
So our vacation was over and the long trek to Heathrow and then York began. By the time the car was returned to Thrifty at the airport I’d driven 2,500 miles.
I think about my 2014 bicycle ride across America one way or another every day. It was an amazing nine weeks of adventure, phenomenal effort, awesome scenery and some new friendships. I’d call it the adventure of a lifetime as well as an item ticked off my bucket list. It was 3,900 miles of scary freedom across nine States not knowing when the next Kentucky dog would chase you or where you could fill up an empty water bottle in the sometimes 40°C heat. The cycle route was laid down on maps and either millennials, wondering what to do with their lives after graduation, or physically fit retirees, with time on their hands and still a head full of dreams. Cyclists would appear coming the other way and you’d stop and engage in a sort of 5 minute speed date before waving goodbye with one heading east and the other heading west. On July 25 2014 I met a guy as I cycled through Virginia. This was Bob Sanders. He was nearing the end; I was passing through my first State. We talked about the route, lodgings and he volunteered a calling card with his personal details on it. I pocketed it. He said that this wasn’t his first long distance ride, he was 75 and was looking forward to reaching the coast where after meeting up with his wife he had some respects to pay for some fallen comrades. He was a Vietnam War veteran. We shook hands, parted and cycled on.
Bob Sanders in 2014
Photo by Bob of you know who
Subsequently we’ve corresponded over the years and both of us continued on our two wheel adventures. Mine are well documented here on the web site. When Bob recently dropped into an email that he was going to ride across the USA for the fifth time and nail the Guinness World Record by being the oldest person, at 85, to do this I was literally blown away. Riding across the country with the wind, the sun, the variable quality lodgings and food, the potential bike issues, the endless minutiae of the logistics and all those long hills, day after day, was not an easy undertaking irrespective of your age, fitness, experience and mindset. It’s also an expensive project if you think of getting to the start, home from the finish, the hotels, the food and incidentals etc.
However, adding to the above was satisfying the Guinness World Record rules. The route has to be submitted in advance and be a minimum agreed distance, your own credentials needed confirming and then the verification process on the journey included obtaining witness statements repeatedly daily as well as completing a daily video record. It’s one thing to actually do this as well as the small matter of riding, maybe, 80 miles daily including 3,000 feet of climbing. All this needs collecting and documenting. What a determination and energy on and off the bike!
So whilst I’m sat in wintery York admiring Bob’s plan Anna had booked two weeks in Texas. She knew nothing of Bob’s record attempt. I’d not had sight of Bob’s itinerary and hadn’t worked out that maybe our paths could cross. Slowly but surely I woke from my metaphorical slumber and calculated that if Bob met his daily schedule there was a good chance by our driving west on our second to last day we could rendezvous. If you’ve read my other blogs you’ll know that Anna and I had a busy schedule all around the southern part of Texas and so this meeting would be a bolt on if Bob did the miles.
Whilst our return flights were booked we hadn’t decided where we’d go after Corpus Christi prior to arriving in Texas. However, Anna had done some research in Austin and Fredericksburg in the Hill Country had come up as a great destination. Hill Country is the name for the area above Austin where the flatlands finish and rolling hills take over. After the fearful city centre concrete motorways the reversion to an A road that had bends, traffic lights and the odd brow of a hill had appeal.
You can see the miles we were covering and the places. Corpus Christi to Fredericksburg is 215 miles
Anna had also knocked it out of the park with a terrific Airbnb near the centre of the town. From the point of view of design and appointment it was the finest we’ve ever stayed in.
Always on social media…
On our first night we wandered up the Main Street; I liked the signage and cars we saw.
(Not if hell froze over)Yup, people buy these and drive them
On our walk we discovered two things. The first was that the town had a German heritage from its earliest settlers (Native Americans to one side who’d been there centuries, obvs.) in 1846. The second was that the town was the birth place of Admiral Nimitz. He went onto be Commander In Chief of the Pacific War effort after the USA was dragged into WW2 after Pearl Harbor.
You see, I jest you not. The Pioneer Museum had a barbed wire displayAdmiral Chester W Nimitz
The town was quite an upmarket settlement with a thick veneer of affluence. Not all this was positive as when I got talking to a bike shop owner she lamented getting staff who could afford to live in the area was difficult. This seems a common problem in parts of England as well. Anna quite fancied sitting and relaxing but I always have the view that we’ve come a long way and we should get out and about. So the Pacific War Museum was visited, err… by myself! I had no idea there was a museum before we came but it seems their illustrious son, Nimitz, had led to a museum being sited here. It was like a tardis where from the Main Street a relatively small building didn’t reveal that in fact there was a massive museum with exhibits including a mini submarine, several aeroplanes and a boat etc. that illustrated the Pacific campaign against the Japanese.
A PT boat that launched torpedos at Japanese shipping
The graphics also told a comprehensive story of the rise of Japanese hegemony in the region and the strains in the area from earlier centuries between China, Korea and Japan that led to the Japanese expansionist ambitions. I never quite appreciated that Roosevelt made the choice to put military resource into Europe first to defeat the Nazis before turning to the Pacific with the resources that eventually won the war.
Anyway three hours later I emerged a wiser man. When Anna did, herself the next day, deign to continue her education we found a Pioneer Museum that told the story of German migration, starting in 1846, to this part of Texas. The German language was still spoken here until the mid 20th Century but what seems to remain now are the restaurants, museums, surnames and an immense pride. Particularly interesting was that two of the volunteers at the museums were of German immigrant ancestry and rabbited away under questioning. I think if you’ve spent time with white Americans their European heritage is important to them for their identity (and tourism in Europe!) This is probably less so for other American ethnic groups.
You get the impression that the Texans make a concession with a few recycling bins for the woke and delusional. Us in other words. Here Mrs Ives is saving the planet.Spot the spelling mistake…
Frankly on our long drive around the State we saw few African Americans. Latinos were in great numbers in the large urban areas but in places like Fredericksburg you might only see Latinos working in construction or gardening. Other ethnicities in the State, whether, say, Asian or Chinese, were as common as blokes from Acaster Malbis.
‘Merica at its most Right Wing and direct
Lastly, always be suspicious of a country song. There’s a very pre-eminent artist called Miranda Lambert. Her last LP was called Postcards from Texas. I already had the album download but managed to buy the vinyl for $8 in San Antonio. A complete steal. It has a track on it called Looking Back on Luckenbach. Well blow me if that wasn’t a small town near Fredericksburg. Interested to see the town that spawned the song we saddled up and headed out to look around. We drove along a country lane and somehow missed the town despite earlier signage? Ultimately we came across about six elderly wooden buildings and a field that turned out to be a music venue where minor or aspiring country artists might appear on a low stage. Crushed we headed back to Fredericksburg with a story if not a visited landmark.
After Anna’s ankle break it’d been a while since we’d got abroad and when we did we added another Canary Island to our tally, Gran Canaria in February. It was grand (geddit??) to get abroad and out of the British winter. The island follows the usual pattern of being a big parched rock (in the middle) and towns on the coast. We stayed in Las Palmas, which is quite a large settlement (ninth largest town in Spain) with some attractive bits. I got along the northern coast on one day on a rented bike.
(breathing in…)
Meeting up with some friends holidaying there was delightful but soon we were heading back to Blighty. We’ve got lots of trips now scheduled for the year, starting with Texas in April. Did I hear Yee haw?
Anna, Jude and Peter
My football addiction is still a problem and Leeds United torture me with their possibility of getting promoted. As they say it’s the hope that kills. The present Mrs Ives and myself have been down to the shrine to see a couple of games. One was the unbelievable 7-0 victory over Cardiff City. Leeds United had last won so convincingly in 1972 beating Southampton 7-0. I was there as well. We have more tickets to go and hopefully they’ll keep the promotion show on the road.
Anna’s research, as previously noted, has found some cousins, three in fact. These are folk who I’ve either never met or not talked to for fifty years. Delightfully we all came together in London to have a meal. It was rewarding to bring all together and be amongst the youngest.
Sadly though, I’m not that young. I clocked up 70 at the beginning of the month. How the hell that’s happened I have no idea. For some reason Facebook dropped my birthday details from my profile and I avoided getting hilarious comments about getting a telegram from the King and any birthday cake being a considerable fire risk. It seems to be an age that people celebrate and cards and WhatsApp’s were lovely to receive although it’s only through the insistence of the family that any celebrations were held! The festivities included a family meal with close relatives and, earlier, a trip to the theatre and a meal at one of our favourite Indian restaurants (Bundobust) in Leeds. ‘Calamity Jane’ was fun at The Grand although being barked at by an usher to stop taking photos was unsettling for those around me in the dark!
Quick snap before the Gestapo arrived…
I treated myself to a new record turntable as my present to me. You’re uncomfortably into four figures for a good one and the main trick on this model (Rega P6) is the glass platter the vinyl spins on. It’s all about taking out the vibrations and movement so you hear everything that’s in the grooves. Needless to say I’m having a wonderful time spinning records.
The gateway to joy
Talking about records I’ve been selling a number of records on eBay for a good friend who’s disposing of the surplus discs she doesn’t want to keep. Up to press the gross figure for 29 sales is £700. Ever concerned to avoid complaints I meticulously check and play the records before listing, take and publish ample photographs of the vinyl and sleeves and then despatch with sufficient packaging to ensure a safe revival.
I appreciate that you have an interest in my TV viewing habits, thank you, and it’d be selfish not to share my enthusiasm for ‘Outback Truckers’. Here rough and ready Aussies, usually rough, drive enormous American trucks around the country often with several trailers (road train) through rain, floods and impossible mud. Each story usually has a deadline or mishap. One trucker had a 25 ton car crusher press on the back of a trailer, which enabled him to compress the vehicle before loading it on another trailer. I can imagine you’ll be tuning into the ‘5 Action Channel’ (Channel 33, one of those innumerable channels you never knew you had.)
Isabella continues to delight and I leave you with a photo of her departing to bed, fully laden.
Here’s my year through letters of the alphabet although dreaming up a skirmish with a zebra for the ‘Z’ did prove elusive! As always it’s been a good year, but ‘A” does begin the alphabet with a fall…
Austria certainly changed the year. On a forest mountain path, near Hinterglemm, Anna stepped onto a tree root and broke her ankle in two places. From here mountain rescue retrieved her and we eventually got to York District Hospital five days later, at 4am, to start the proper treatment. Anna has worked hard, recovered really well and is making great progress. This journey was blogged – click the link.
Books. I’ve read Slow Horses (Fiction – M Herron), A Bit Of A Stretch (Prisoner journal – C Atkins), Abroad In Japan (Living in Japan – C Broad), We Need to talk About Xi (China Politics – M Dillon), Decline & Fall: Diaries 2005 – 2010 (Politics – C Mullin), Hundred Year Marathon (China Politics – M Pillsbury), Why Can’t We All Just Get Along (Social musing – I Dale), Politics On The Edge (Politics – R Stewart) and Becoming (Biography – M Obama.)
Cousins meet up. Anna has been enthusiastic about genealogy and researched both sides of our family in. On my side an illegitimate child and a criminal have come to light but more pleasing but maybe less exotic some cousins have been found. My mother was one of six and the youngest. Anna found two cousins from my Uncle Jack who I had known albeit I think I last saw and spoke to them fifty years ago. From my Uncle Bert, a man I have no recollection of having met (and if he met me then I was a baby/toddler) came Bernice. Our meet ups have been nostalgic, educational and informative. Here’s to more relatives!
Departed. This year has been light on deaths but I recollect a call to a friend (Lyndon) in London, when beside the road on my bike leaving Mildura in Victoria, Australia at 5am, to learn the chap who introduced me to publishing album reviews had died. His website and podcast were The Americana Music Show. Calvin was 58 and lived in North Carolina. The other news came via a Facebook post. Duncan Warwick, the owner, editor and main contributor at Country Music People also succumbed to cancer after a very short illness. This is the magazine I write for. He was 63 years old. I knew he had health challenges but didn’t anticipate this.
Expedition. I loved another long bike ride from Sydney to Canberra and then onto Adelaide. This was through the Australia I liked: working folks, big distances, big skies, great campsites and unbelievable memories. My February and March 1,100 miles are much covered elsewhere on this website. Click the link there are several blog from beginning to end.
Flight. A memorable visit was to the Duxford Air Museum. Apart from many exhibits of aircraft from bi-planes, military vehicles to Concorde there was a Spitfire and Hurricane taking off and landing on the runway. The vastness and breadth of the exhibits was engrossing. Having driven past it so many times on the M11 it was about time we popped in. Fabulous.
Gigs. There were plenty and even a couple in the USA. The list included Molly Tuttle, Tommy Emmanuel, The Average White Band, Julie Roberts (in Nashville), Lionel Richie (In Memphis), Kiki Dee, Guy Davis, Blackberry Smoke, Crowded House, Jason Isbell & The 400 Unit. Which was best? I enjoyed them all bar The Pretenders but Nathanial Rateliff and the Night Sweats bordered on astonishing.
Holidays. As retired folk then this is always on our mind and you’ll see the 2024 ones listed here. 2025 has already got Texas and France booked. France will be in the Morgan via the ferry, thanks to one of P&O’s promotions.
Isabella Isla. Our granddaughter continued to delight and she clocked up 12 months on Planet Earth in early December. A beautiful child with a lovely temperament being brilliantly brought up by her hard working parents. Her smile can melt away a number of problems although as she now becomes mobile she’s generating a few! Next year will be another interesting year.
Journey. Cycling keeps me fit, lets me see the world and provides great pleasure. Inevitably I get a number of injuries to keep the local physios busy; the main worry I always have is whether I can get back on my bike asap! Since 1994 I’ve cycled over 103,000 miles. In 2024 it was 4,200 miles.
Kangaroos. On February 23rd I truly lived the dream. It was an 84 miles ride between Temora and Narrandera in NSW, Australia and it was all through flat farm land with nothing to see. I pedalled for 8 hours listening to podcasts or music wandering what the town ahead offered? As I’m deep in my own world having not seen a car or person for what seemed like hours I spied in my peripheral vision two kangaroos bounding past me silently in a parallel field. (They can move at speed!) After they got past me they crossed the road and disappeared into a wood. That’s why I do it.
Last Guide Tour. I enjoyed my time as a tour guide. It got the adrenalin flowing and I’ve seen much of Yorkshire, Northumberland and The Cotswolds. Most of the guests were interesting and fun to be with. The company I worked for veered between supportive and kind to disorganised and deceptive. This is why I ended the work, however, I learned a lot and have some great memories.
Madeira. We were there for a few nights in April. What a lovely island. I’d thought it may be very similar to the Canary Islands but it was quite different with more to see. A super break. Highly recommended.
Narrandera. This small town in New South Wales was a stopover as I headed from Sydney to Adelaide. With the use of the Talksport App I was able to listen to Leeds United vs Leicester City as I cycled the next morning. I listened to live commentary of an evening match. We won this table top clash but from here our season drifted into disappointment. If there was one addiction I could kick then supporting this damn team would be the one!
Peeved. So many of these entries are significant events but one thing that stuck with me from the year was a testy conversation with a bar owner in Rome. With Neil and Paul I entered a bar close to our accommodation and ordered drinks. The barmaid who took the order didn’t pour our drinks but, behind the bar, washed glasses, moved things around and then disappeared! After some time I got frustrated and suggested we leave. So we ambled down a narrow street home when a short woman appeared asking why we’d left the bar after ordering the drinks? Here was a small woman facing up to three men in the dark; it seemed unusually brave. We told her clearly about the lousy service and she countered that it was being sorted but in an adjacent room! I was impressed by her ‘front’ if not their service and so we wandered back to have a drink.
Older. As I clocked up 69 years in March I was now older than both my father and paternal grandfather when they died. It seemed profound. Let’s hope I can stretch the gap!
Qatar Airways. The bastards stopped me boarding a flight to Doha, and then onto Sydney. The reason was the condition of my passport. Anna had washed it in Queensland but despite being a little weary it’d since got me in and out of New Zealand, through Australia and in and out of Spain and Portugal since it’s ‘wash’. To find that you’re bounced at Check In was devastating. I had to reschedule and rebook at considerable cost.
Records. I never threw away my vinyl records when from the 1980s they went out of fashion. Viva the CD! However, they’re back and riffling through racks in second hand stores is a joy whether in Yorkshire, Australia or the USA. This year I acquired a further 47 discs. I think I will do a blog on this next year.
Sightseeing. A trip in October to Rome with Paul and Neil was to see the Vatican, Colosseum, Pantheon, Tiber etc. As very old friends we’d started meeting up in London for a meal and then progressed to a few nights in Malaga. This year it was Rome. See the blog on the website – click the link.
Tennessee – In late May Anna and I flew to Nashville. Here we saw the sights and heard a little music before driving to Memphis to do the same. I was last here in 2015. Later we flew out to Georgia to see my niece and family before driving back to Nashville via the Smoky Mountains. It was good to get my regular dose of America. This is written up elsewhere on the website – click this link.
Victoria. Amongst my annual highlights was to ride a bike in Savannah, Georgia and then back in Yorkshire later in the year with my niece. The first time. The USA ride was on the flat at pace on a titanium framed bike her husband, Ben, provided. The UK trip was around our house. Such a memory. Oh yes, she’s a lot better than me!
Writing.My monthly album reviews keep me sharp and working to deadlines. I write at least three reviews a month. Most of the artists I’ve, frankly, never heard of before which means lots of research to knock out c350 words per record. All this is for Country Music People. It’s part of my life.
X Factor. A surprising but complete delight was a visit to Leeds Playhouse to see Opera North’s My Fair Lady. Lerner and Loewe’s adaptation of a George Bernard Shaw play hit Broadway in 1956 and was one of the golden age of musicals. This cast did a wonderful job and re-ignited my enthusiasm for live theatre.
After a little negotiation and the loss of one nomad, Tim, Rome was selected as the destination for old friends Paul, Neil and moi to head in October. The three of us had been friends since the 1970s and as reunions go we’d set the bar high by a sojourn to Malaga in 2023. The Italian capital ticked all the boxes for culture, cuisine, was warm in October and walkable. Inevitably I had to rise at Stupid O’Clock to attend Leeds Bradford Airport for the Jet2 flight. Sampling Yorkshire cuisine for the last time in four days I feasted on a Greggs bacon sandwich before boarding.
As a bloke with too much to say I was soon attempting to pass the two hours and 50 minutes by talking with my neighbouring passenger. She was looking around Rome with her partner before starting a cruise for a week or so from the coastal port near the city. I’m interested in people’s lives and her aubergine spiky hair sat on top of a retired Primary School music teacher. She was now spending time in more leisurely pursuits; this included playing and teaching steel drums. A long discussion ensued about the chord structures they played and how the hell you kept the lid of an oil drum in tune. Anyone earwigging this conversation would have probably found themselves shortly drifting into an unconscious state. Anyway, not the most obvious musical pursuit for someone who lived between Leeds and Wakefield.
At Fiumicino I eventually tracked down Paul, who’d flown in earlier from London, and we took a taxi to the city. The last time I caught a taxi in Rome was 1987. My honeymoon. My lasting memory was being ripped off by the driver. In fairness it was something like 40,000 Lira and it was easy when man handling a half inch wad of notes to accidentally chuck in an extra 10,000. Comfortingly there was a fixed fee of €55 and so the potential for malarky was reduced. On arrival in the centre, we were in need of hydration.
The first of the holiday
Hydration proved essential as the apartment lay at the top of 66 steps and we perched over a narrow street at a great height. Anna had taken over the search and booking after the three of us, earlier in the year, had drawn a blank on finding an affordable apartment with three bedrooms.
Checking in took 40 minutes. Andrea let us in and then began extracting further money. I had known this was coming. Sadly, our team bursar, Neil wasn’t arriving until later and the administration fell to me whilst Paul took photos and had hysterics as we progressed onto the next payment.
Andrea and a bemused victim of VRBO
In short there was a cleaning fee of just over £96 (yes, I know daylight robbery), a damage deposit of €150 and a city tax of €6 per person per day. All this required bringing up website links and the tapping in of credit card details that serially failed until the umpteenth attempt.
With Andrea considerably richer and gone we decided to procure some groceries and get another drink!
A nice drop of Baccanera
Grocery shopping needed to be thorough as living at the top of 66 steps would have had Sherpa Tenzing and Sir Edmund Hillary drawing lots to see who was popping out to get the milk. Eventually Neil arrived after being delayed by the scene of a car crash on his way. His appearance initiated the tricky allocation of rooms. Two were large with double beds and the third was adequate but more accurately described as a hutch. I’d found a random number generator on the web and we decided that the lowest number would be the loser. It was a best of five competition. (Sadly) Neil was eliminated early on leaving Paul and myself to ‘fight it out’. I’m pleased to report a happy ending with Paul securing the hutch.
Dinner was around the corner where Paul set about a steak so inadequately cooked that a good vet would have had the cow running around in no time. Neil ate the first of his several pizzas on his brief stay in Italy and my dish was so remarkable I’ve completely forgotten what it was. Sleep didn’t follow quickly as the town was buzzing and the narrow street amplified the revelling crowds below through our windows. Paul’s hutch was insulated by an internal wall and was no doubt looking at the inside of his eyelids shortly after his head hit the pillow.
Secondo Giorno
Fortified by our breakfast we ventured into the rain to find the Pantheon. This is a former temple and is a remarkable structure. It seemed the site had a few incarnations before it appeared in its current form in AD 125. The engineering blew me away as the symmetry and design given it antiquity were exceptional. Paul quickly identified the real achievement: with a nine metre round aperture in the self-supported roof the light inside the building was just about adequate on its own. Latterly it had a Christian adaptation but the scale and magnificence showed the ambition and confidence of the Romans millennia ago.
The Pantheon
Our two heroes start the video…
If we’d thought, foolishly, that visiting Rome in October would be a time of year when tourism may have abated we were oh so wrong. The city was heaving and there were a mix of Far Eastern tourists, usually wandering around with their face lit brightly by their phones as they photographed literally everything, burly Americans finding it hard to navigate the hoards due to their bulk whilst attempting to follow their tour leader who was babbling into a microphone about the finer points of the Roman Empire and South Americans who, I suspect, were here for the religious significance. And some of the Brits were struggling to cope with the concept that falling rain made you wet.
From here we dodged the raindrops and headed to the magnificent Victor Emmanual II monument. Vic was the first king of the united Italy and was a relatively recent installation; only completed in 1935. After visiting the church behind the monument, we saw where the Forum and Colosseum were before heading across the Tiber for a Vatican tour.
Scaffolding is a common sight!
As we approached the meeting point Neil received a call to say it was cancelled! There wasn’t sufficient capacity in the attraction to cater for all the tourists. It wouldn’t ‘dismantle’ our visit with disappointment but there were lots of foreign Catholic worshipping tourists who I’m sure had come to Rome as a literal pilgrimage. This confirmed how busy Rome was as a tourist destination. No matter, we absorbed the blow and pacified Neil with more pizza.
After this fine dining we were still bemused by the cancellation and visited a local ticket booking agency to confirm this was true. The Indian proprietor confirmed ‘absolutely’. He also said Rome was inexplicably busy! He recommended we wander down to St Peter’s Square and join a queue. In the continuing rain we did as he recommended. Neil was now wearing a pullover that absorbed the rain perfectly. Here we looked at the queue and spent 15 minutes trying to find the end of it and then spent 90 minutes in it. The visit to St Peter’s Basilica was worth the wait.
(Note Paul’s flat hat. Whippets were not allowed in the basilica)No sighting of Il Papa at the St Peter Basilica
It’s a remarkable structure and the marble, gold leaf and paintings are sumptuous and it must be the ‘Disneyland’ of cathedrals. Around every corner there’s a new amazing sculpture or painting. Sadly, a trip up the cupola wasn’t possible due to a service taking place.
So, as we wandered back we had a beer and Paul reviewed his restaurant options. John, a well-travelled friend of Paul’s, had given him a list and we hoped, without an earlier booking on this Saturday night, we’d be lucky.
Paul still wearing his coat (but not hat)
We were fortunate and bowled up to Hostaria Farnese. This wasn’t before confirming that Paul’s multi-tasking skills needed working on. He can either talk or navigate, but not both! We were heading in the wrong direction initially. On arrival, after photos, we had three delicious courses and a fine bottle of wine. I had a tomato and mozzarella salad followed by some roast pork and finished with some pistachio ice cream. We were asked to part with about €190. On discovering that Neil had forgotten to pack his Marigolds we had no option other than to cough up.
6.3 miles walking during the day
Giorno Tre
The sun appeared. Neil chose shorts but Paul still wore his fleece. This definitively proves that when they were youths the climate was warmer in Lancashire compared to Yorkshire with lasting effects. The objective was to get to the Colosseum early and avoid the crowds; we failed. However, we got a ticket, for free, to enter the Colosseum at 1pm. In the meanwhile, we had entry into the Forum. Frankly folks we wondered around for a little while watching all the Far Eastern tourists taking copious photos usually with themselves in the foreground. The area is a confetti of various ruins that span many centuries but mostly excavated in the 19th. After showing willing as to the project I proposed abandoning and getting a coffee that was carried unanimously.
The Forum
Traffic in Rome was predictably hectic and made no easier but quite appealing when about 100 Fiat 500’s drove past. Paul shot the video (sound on).
A noisy Fiat fiesta
The Colosseum did not disappoint. It’s a spectacular structure. It was my second visit and fortunately little had changed (!) as regards the building although the volume of tourists had exploded. Poor Anna languishing in York with her broken ankle did get to share the views as I had a video call with her.
The Colosseum
The Nomads separated (when within) and we met up an hour later to head for the Trevi Fountain and Spanish Steps but not before a drink.
Never alone!The Tiber
On finding a table we got talking to a couple from Essex who were taking time out with a break. Whilst I’m rabbiting to the good burghers of Rayleigh I was being drawn. I was handed a caricature out of the blue by someone who just happened to fancy doing a sketch! Funnily enough I was not impressed by the likeness but Paul and Neil laughed heartily at the uncanny resemblance.
Bastard…
The Trevi Fountain is a wonderful monument built in the 18th Century at the behest of a Pope. Famously you should throw a coin over your shoulder into the fountain, no doubt for luck. Given the crowds who prevented close access to the water you’d more than likely make someone lose an eye if you did this. The total number of coins thrown total over €1 million every year and go to charity. The sceptic in me wonders if it’s a ‘one for you and one for me’ arrangement with the collectors. Fighting our way past the fountain we found the Spanish Steps.
Trevi FountainThis gives you an idea of how busy all of the tourist attractions were in Rome
After reflecting on our future mountaineering when we returned to the apartment we spurned the opportunity to ascend the 135 steps to the church at the top. Despite the name arising from the Spanish embassy at the bottom of the steps the money and design were French and it was completed in the 18th Century.
Spanish Steps6.7 miles during the day
Our last supper was at another of John’s picks at Trattoria Palese. With a pullover on you could happily dine outside and we did and exchanged bants with a cheeky Macedonian waiter. Close to our apartment was an Irish pub. I couldn’t resist a Guinness as our final drink. The next day we all had different flight times and I was the first off. All three of us suffered delays with Paul not departing until the evening. So that was a wrap for 2024. Who knows where the nomads might reconvene next?
So, to complete our odyssey we left Spartanburg and headed north to the Great Smoky Mountains. This is a National Park with mountains/hills, rivers, waterfalls, a wide selection of wildlife (especially bears and deer), trails, history and, in places, lots of tourists. The Appalachians are a vast area stretching to Canada but I think it would be fair to say that when the name is used it registers in people’s minds as the rugged countryside of North Carolina and Tennessee. In the 19th Century there were Cherokees, early white/European settlers, thick forests and wildlife. The people living there seemed to eek out an existence by subsistence farming. Appalachian is also often seen as a variant in certain music genres, whether, americana, folk or roots music (acoustic).
We stayed a couple of nights in Bryson City, the proverbial one horse town comes to mind. It is however home to a heritage rail line. This ran into the park and along the Fontana Lake. This is a reservoir that at one end feeds a hydro electric power station. It looked idyllic with a lot of properties (house boats) floating on it as well as boats. The train ride was a run up the line and back again; why there were so many passengers in the 12 carriages will long remain a mystery as when I alighted I felt it was five hours of my life I’d never get back.
On leaving the town and saying goodbye to the horse we found a hiking trail. After all our city time we were yearning for some greenery away from the crowds. This was a complete tonic. The walk reminded me of strolling beside the River Wharf at Bolton Abbey.
We started to experience crowds when we drove through Cherokee and arrived at the fascinating Oconaluftee visitor centre that graphically explained the history of the park from the time that the Cherokees were the sole inhabitants until the European settlers arrived. Following the Europeans arrival then the loggers came and a major industry was established in the clearing and selling of timber. When this eventually fizzled out in the early 20th Century the area was turned into a National Park and is today a major resort area.
We drove the Newfoundland Gap, which was full of traffic but everywhere you looked the scenery was sensational.
We arrived at Gatlinburg. A place that has a little romance in it for me after it’s the town that “Sue’ found his father in the song A Boy Named Sue. The town blights the image of the Park in the eyes of many as it’s a resort with stacked hotels, fast food, child friendly entertainments, fairground rides, intense congestion and nowhere to park! We drove straight through and onto the other blemish, Pigeon Forge.
This bigger town was full of cheap accommodation, restaurants and some entertainments including the opportunity to dress up in 19th Century garb for a photo! One of the major draws is its proximity to Dollywood. This is a theme park owned and named after Dolly Parton. Despite my affection and admiration of the country artist then wild horses wouldn’t have dragged me in there . After some lunch and a visit to a supermarket we headed to the attractive and quiet Townsend. Our property back up in the woods was a base.
One day we drove to Cades Cove. The advice was get there early to avoid the congestion. This single track ride around a large wooded area was very popular and there were many visitors, even at 9am, cameras with long lenses snapping at anything that moved. I was initially a bit indifferent to the experience in a slow moving traffic jam until we actually spotted several bears. The clue to where the wildlife was, as you proceeded slowly, was the sight of volunteer marshalls in hi-viz , they were usually near bears and attempting to manage the cars. People leapt out of their cars to snap them (and in true US style left their cars running with the aircon working.). All in all we saw eight black bears.
For Anna who visits the North America seemingly in pursuit of wild bears it definitely ticked a box.I was so inspired that I procured one to take back for Isabella.
In Townsend we continued to explore with walks, visiting a local heritage museum and I even found a country club to use their static bicycle in the gym.
As my thoughts turned to home a worrying thought entered my head: the hire car was contracted to be returned to Savannah and not Nashville where we were headed. (The bland Hyundai Tuscon was underpowered and not much fun; I was surprised to see it’s sold in the UK.) This ‘return’ worry was well founded and eventually I spoke to Avis and they, for a fee, allowed me to return it to Nashville. This is what we did and found the airport easily and flew back to Blighty having had a wonderful time but looking forward to a rest!
I’ve always viewed my long cycle trips like a moon shot. On such a mission the excitement is all about being at the moon but much of the anxiety arises in the launch and re-entry. My trips have the same issues. I’m always worried about packing the box, remembering all the things I need to carry, box sturdiness, the weight and not least getting this large package to the aeroplane. When returning the challenge is finding a large cardboard box at the departure town to pack the bike in. On this latter challenge then imagine finding a bike shop with a surplus box and then carrying it 3 miles back to where you’re staying to pack it!
So I was never relaxed about the flight to Sydney. Something approaching relief would have happened when I pushed the box into my hotel room. With the alarm set for just before 4am I tiptoed out of the hotel room at Manchester Airport attempting not to wake my first wife. In the reception I was reunited with my bike box and loading my other bags on the trolley I wheeled the lot down to Check In at Terminal 2.
The bike has to be put on the trolley end ways up to push it through the narrow passageways that litter your route. I got to Check In at around 4.15am in line with instructions for a 7.45am flight (!) The process starts with using those awful electronic stations. They never seem to function properly and an assistant, usually hard pressed as a lot of passengers want his time, has to help due to some malfunction. I overcame the Check In hurdle and was directed to another person at a desk who requested my passport.
I handed it across and literally after opening it up he asked me to wait whilst he hot footed it to another colleague. I was urged to join them where this colleague said to me plainly without any empathy that the passport was damaged and I couldn’t fly.
Weeks of planning, lots of expenditure, accommodation booked, items bought, fitness kept maintained in a rubbish winter now all discarded in a heartbeat. The passport was weary, true. It had been through the wash in Port Douglas, Queensland in April. However, I’d had no problem subsequently in Australia, New Zealand, France, Spain or the UK. Never even a comment made by an airline or border official.
In distress I said that it hadn’t been a problem elsewhere and so was passed to my third person. She advised that the airline could be fined for carrying me to Australia; as I’m talking the tickets were being ripped off my luggage. My interview was seemingly over as they moved onto other passengers.
Stunned!
Back in the hotel room my bride was rudely woken as I regaled her with this unbelievable situation. Following this I ran around that morning getting a passport application form from a Post Office, passport photos from a booth in Tesco and a counter signature from a friend across town and drove to Liverpool to get a passport on a guaranteed week’s delivery. I now await its delivery.
(Note, this new passport will have a new number. I will therefore have to re-apply for an updated Australian visa. Obviously this can’t be done until I get the new passport and see the number.)
Booking.com and Qatar Airways advise that I can reschedule this flight (and my return ones) for an amendment charge. I somehow don’t feel that lucky but we’ll find out.
So that photo of a smug Yorkshireman in a T shirt in front of the Opera House is on hold.
Following this debacle I did contact Simon Calder of the Daily Telegraph on ‘X’ about Qatar Airways. It seems they have a lot of ‘previous’ with this action. In fact amongst their victims is Matthew Parris who got evicted prior to a flight to an African destination.
Check the condition of your passport and don’t fly Qatar Airways.
Lastly thanks to all the sympathy I got from a load of folks on Facebook and Instagram with my video explaining my problems. Hopefully my next social media post will be happier.
Tony Ives’ Blog 