Schools are out, and it’s time for a mini adventure on mini wheels. The Bromptoneers have planned another meetup, so the bags I packed last weekend have been strapped to my bike and I've headed down to the station.
Though it is great to be this organised, the problem with packing so early is that you just can’t remember what is already in those bags, and consequently, you either have to repack them or run the risk of throwing in doubles of everything. I, of course, opted for the latter. But by the time I came to try to close up the aforementioned bags, I was convinced I had packed the cat as well as the kitchen sink. With a little reorganisation and a meow from the other room, I managed to get the bags shut and secured into position, then off I went.
I was really looking forward to this journey. I didn’t often head Romsey way on the train, so this would be a real treat. I have to admit to feeling a little smug when I rolled round to the station's south entrance, having already checked the platform I’d be using. I knew this would save me the hassle of using the lifts.
I was just through the gate when the announcement began. "All trains to Salisbury are cancelled due to a signalling fault; those needing to reach Salisbury will need the…" At which point, the noisiest train I’ve ever heard pulled away from the next platform, and I didn’t have a clue what I needed to do next.
I found the platform manager and asked him to point me in the right direction, but just at that moment, another train arrived. "I’ll be right back, ma’am", He said as he dashed off, wielding a round wand and his silver whistle.
True to his word, he returned as soon as this train left.
"Platform 1, get the train to London, change at Basingstoke", he shouted to me while wheeling a large suitcase and a wheelchair towards the exit.
I thanked him and headed to the lift that I’d just worked hard to avoid.
Ten minutes later, I was London-bound, chatting to a lovely lady from Romsey who was heading to Clapham for an art course.
She had just decided to book a trip to India and was somehow taking great encouragement from my travels, which she interpreted as confirmation that she had made the right decision. We discussed clothing, gear and shop choices until Basingstoke was announced as the next stop.
I was immensely relieved to find out that, although the platform number was different, this meant I just needed to wheel along to the other end of the same bit of tarmac. So no stairs or lifts involved anywhere. My connection was already there, so having quickly located the bike carriage, I jumped aboard. Only to find that the bike space was full of a suitcase and a pushchair. I pushed my bike in front of them, but there wasn’t quite enough room for the bike to stand by itself. Compared to the lovely, clean air-conditioned London train, this was hot, dirty and showing its age. But the other travellers were lovely. One had helped me lift the bike in, another had caught me when the bike and I overbalanced on a particularly bumpy section of track.
By now, I had looked up the trains I needed and knew that this one was heading to Salisbury, but as that was not my destination, I would need to change for a third time.
The owner of the suitcase and pushchair arrived just as we pulled into a station. He was annoyed that I was in the way of his personal luggage space and obviously not organised enough to get here in time before the train reached the platform. He threw the chair at his partner, who built it with one hand while holding a child with the other.
The child was also tired and angry, and I watched the mother work hard to stop him from running towards the track as we pulled away, taking numerous punches from the boy for her troubles while the dad looked on motionless. I don’t think they were headed for a fun evening.
Moving the bike into the correct position, I caught a glimpse of the network map. This accentuated the size of the detour that I had just taken.
Accentuated by the luxury of the first train, it was so hot in this coach, and it was a great relief to disembark when we reached Salisbury. Again, there was no need to change platforms; I had 20 minutes to enjoy the fresh air and sit down before my next train arrived.
When it did arrive, there was no clear bike section, so I was once again standing in the carriageway near the disabled seating. I was slightly perturbed when someone insisted I take her priority seating. I thanked her for her kindness, explained that I needed to stay with my bike, and wept a little inside, thinking that I must look very old!
I enjoyed a pleasant conversation with a three-year-old who had been kept occupied for a long while by reading with her dad. But now, she was showing her two stuffed penguins around the carriage. I introduced her to LC, and the three birds became acquainted while I chatted with her dad. I could see he was quite settled, so must have been on the train a while - the pile of read books was quite large. He confirmed that he had left from Southampton, the signalling error must have been fixed, and this is the train I would have caught had I not been instructed to take the detour.
I arrived in Trowbridge, hot, bothered and somewhat fatigued. I was relieved to see that the route to the campsite was short, straightforward, and mostly off-road.
I was greeted at the massive security gate by the campsite owner, who ran through a couple of details, particularly about the risk of fire due to the parched grass after many weeks of no rain. There would be no open fires tonight, and he wasn’t that keen on the use of alcohol stoves, but Jo had already explained to him that it would be very difficult to knock over a Trangia. Like her, I reassured him that I would have plenty of water to hand in the event of such an emergency.
When I reached the site, I was greeted by Elizabeth, Sky, and Jo, who had already pitched their tents or prepared their camper vans.
Katherine stood next to a gleaming car with an interesting-looking roof rack. I pitched my chair in the shade of Elizabeth’s van and rehydrated before even considering pitching my tent. Meanwhile, I watched on in awe and envy at the ease with which Katherine literally raised her roof, and her sleeping accommodation was ready to go.
It didn’t take too long to pitch the palace. The numerous days of practice during our last trip were obviously paying off as the tent rose from the ground with ease.
Ami arrived from Kent, and we were soon all engaged in conversation around our various burners as we each cooked our own dinners, gleaning new ideas and learning new skills from one another in the process.
We chatted long into the evening, watching black clouds roll in as the sun headed towards the horizon.
A group of children were all playing together near our corral. They were camped on the other side of the hedge on the hard-standing pitches behind our tents. They made full use of the vast field alongside us to play cricket, no football, no flying a glider, swing ball. I couldn’t keep up. But they appeared to be having fun acquainting themselves with the array of toys bought for their use over the weekend.
They each wore the same t-shirt design, ‘Cousin Crew’, and apparently met together at the same time every year to spend time as an extended family.
After celebrating Elizabeth’s birthday with a now customary Freddo, we all headed to bed well before 11 and hoped that the threatening rain would be short-lived.
I was up at 1 for the lengthy stroll to the facilities, then straight back to sleep until 5, when the rising light levels and a full bladder disturbed my slumber. Surprisingly
I went back to sleep, then woke again to the sound of rain on the tent and others trying to convince Jo that it really wasn’t raining at all.
Like me, she was more convinced by the sounds on her canvas than the assurances of her friends. Alas, my bladder dragged me up, and to my surprise, everyone was now sitting outside, and the noise on the tent roof really was deceptive.
I grabbed all my gear and took advantage of the empty shower while I was there.
Breakfast time brought a surprise visitor. Geoff hadn’t been able to make camp, but he was able to join us for the day trip. Jo made him a cup of tea while we caught up on his latest antics.
With breakfast eaten, we packed our bikes for the day's adventure. Did we need wet gear? It was so hard to tell. So it was either worn or packed.
When everyone was ready, we headed to the main entrance for the obligatory group shot, and then we were off along Route 4.
I stopped to take a photo of the canal to my left as everyone else disappeared down a steep path to the right.
The ride along the canal was slow going but beautiful. I had to keep reminding myself to keep an eye on the path surface rather than the fascinating reeds, birds and boats surrounding us.
We had to walk some sections due to the roughness of the path, and while distracted by a man and his dog, I hadn’t seen two other men in front of us, or noticed how wet one of them was. Apparently, in an effort to gallantly give way to our peloton of pushbikes, he had inadvertently run out of bank himself and plunged straight into the canal. His swim was short-lived, and he’d hopped back out by the time we’d all passed.
The scenery was beautiful, which more than made up for the very rough surface. It was hard to believe that this was a main cycle route into London.
There was a sense of relief when we left the towpath and headed on into Melksham. We decided it was time for a coffee stop.
As we drew alongside the local shopping centre, the unmistakable sounds of a brass band drifted towards us. Simultaneous shouts of ‘stopping’ confirmed that we all thought the same - this was a good place to stop. And then the juniors joined in, but we'd already locked the bikes. I particularly appreciated the band's emblem.
We ordered coffee, danced to Batman and chatted to the can shakers. The youngsters were given a drink break while the rest of the wind band played on, which we also appreciated. Eventually, it was time to move on.
We rode the final few miles into Laycock, and it was mobbed!
We had seen signs for a scarecrow trail along the way, but we hadn’t realised that it was here, and it was today. There was a huge queue at the first scarecrow. We went to look and realised that it meant something, but had no idea who it was, or why there was a New Zealand flag. We didn’t know at the time that they all represented Wiltshire pub names. We didn’t have a clue. Any ideas?
Some were quite creepy.
I’ll write the answers at the end.
A couple of us were very keen to visit the museum, and I was particularly eager to find ‘the window’. The original owner of Lacock Abbey was none other than Fox Talbot, one of the inventors of the photographic process. His genius in chemistry gave us the negative, which led to all types of photography, including X-rays. The museum was fascinating and definitely deserves another visit.
The camera (a replica, I assume)
The window. (The real thing)
I didn’t hang around too long, as I was conscious that the others might be waiting, so I headed back to where we had stashed the bikes, and Geoff had graciously offered to sit with them. Living nearby, this was his local National Trust property, and he was more than happy to drink tea and watch the bikes.
We grabbed a takeaway lunch from the NT cafe - I had the chance to try their cheese and onion pasties again, and they were just as delicious as at Bringham Rocks. We then wandered around the village, heading to the churchyard to eat our food. If I had been a film buff, I would apparently have recognised many of the buildings that starred in films such as Harry Potter and Downton Abbey. But as neither of these is on my watch list, I just enjoyed the beautiful old houses.
We were not enjoying the crowds of people or the wasps. Ami explained that the dry spring and early summer meant we had more wasps than usual. They had not found their way to the graveyard, so we sat on the benches and ate our lunch together in the relative quiet.
We gave up guessing what on earth the scarecrows were about, even when the theme was explained to us by a lovely lady in the churchyard. She didn’t know any of them either, so she was taking photos to show her poorly husband, who would definitely know many of the pub names.
I had to wait until the answers appeared on Facebook, and even then, I was none the wiser. Spoilers below.
The first one pictured here is ‘The Beehive’
And the second, ‘The George Inn’
I think the links were purposefully tenuous.
Having had a good wander round, we decided to head back, via a park, to look for ice creams. The van was not where it had been before, so instead, Ami kindly bought us all one from Sainsbury’s.
It was just what we needed to cool us down.
We headed back to the site via a slightly different route that avoided the canal and were soon sitting around chatting, surrounding Geoff for some reason.
Geoff left for home, and we had a delivery of firewood. The campsite owner was happy that the overnight rain was enough to reduce the chances of a ground fire.
Freddo’s appeared again, which were, as always, very welcome. (Though we did miss you bringing them, Jenny)
I couldn’t resist the view from Katherine’s pop-top tent; it was very comfy, and you could see for miles, but the trip back down the stairs was a little scary.
Unsurprisingly, there had been several exhaustion-driven arguments from the Cousin crew next door. But it had all just gone very quiet.
From my rooftop vantage point, I could see why. We were later invited to pull up a chair and join the makeshift outdoor cinema, but we were enjoying the fire for as long as we could.
For once, I slept right through; there was no need for a late-night amble to the facilities. I woke to a wet tent and a sky that wasn’t sure what it was doing. I put on my wet-weather gear, knowing that the ground would be damp and I’d be kneeling on it. But it was hot and I kept being tempted to take the over-trousers back off. I was as unsettled as the sky.
We all took advantage of the brief gap in the rain to pack as much as possible while it was dry. Nearly everything was away by 9. Katherine moaned when she saw the time. She had thought it was much later and had joined us in our hurry to get things away. She pointed out that she wouldn’t usually be awake at that time when camping, let alone all ready to head home.
I’d left my tent up for an extra few minutes, hoping that it would get a tad drier than it was already. Instead, it started tipping down, and I had to drop the tent and pack it, soaking wet. There's no point in kicking myself; I'll just try to learn for next time. A quick check that I’d left no trace - bar the print of my floorprint on the ground.
Elizabeth and Sky headed off first with a long drive to the West Country ahead of them. Ami joined Jo and me for the cycle into town and hopefully a sneaky coffee before our trains arrived.
Katherine followed us up the driveway with a shorter, yet still significant drive ahead of her. She decided not to join us on our coffee hunt.
It didn’t take long to get into town and even less time to locate the only coffee shop open this early on a Sunday. It was just starting to rain, so we quickly locked the bikes and headed in.
Extra-large tea cake? I don’t mind if I do.
We arrived at the station in good time. Ami was London-bound, so rode over the bridge to the other platform. We had just pushed ourselves under the cover as it tipped it down once more.
Our train wasn’t too busy, and we were able to use the bike area for once. The bikes happily balanced against one another for the whole journey. Jo needed to change at Southampton, so we both got off, relieved that for once, the train journey was a relatively easy one. Oh, hold on, was that the Winchester train cancelled? Here we go again.
Jo ushered me away rather than wait with her, so I headed home, getting soaked by yet another heavy shower, which was apparently the first time it had rained since 5am. I wonder how I upset those rain gods?
A huge thank you to Elizabeth for organising the meet-up and inviting us to share your birthday with you. Thank you, Sky, Katherine, Ami Jo, and Geoff, for your wonderful company and all the hints, tips, and new ideas that come flowing out of such events.
And thank you all for giving me permission to use your wonderful photos when mine were lacking.
I'm already looking forward to our next meetup.
Further Information -
Day 1: Trowbridge station to campsite - 2.18 miles
Day 2 Round trip to Lacock Abbey - 18.20 miles
Day 3 Campsite to station - 2.43 miles
Campsite - Yellowtail Campsite £28
Links
