Day 20. Bath August 26 2001

Less than impressed would describe my reaction to this renowned place of leisure. Bath, as a city, seems to be very aware of its international reputation and pricing things accordingly and giving little in return.

We began our day in Bristol, wakened by the loud voiced announcer of a regatta taking place. For the first few waking moments I could have sworn we were about to be crushed by a cruise liner gone astray.

Oxford, hard to port! Hard to Port!! PORT, PORT!!!!

We ventured out to watch the races for a while, delighted by this free amusement provided by Bristol. Then we set off for the Bristol and Bath railway path. This too was delightful, though it had its moments. The path traveled through some very seedy areas that made us very uncomfortable and it had motorcycle barriers that made it almost impossible to to get our own bikes through.
We stopped to purchase food and I had a chance to try my hand at writing. Then we proceeded on only to be confronted be a dark dank tunnel fit for the imagination of H.P. Lovecraft.
We hurried through to emerge in enchantment. The lush green foliage was all we could hope for in southern England and the occasional church spire or crenellations of a great estate made our ride something from a fairy tale. Then we would pass the canals with their long boats plying the waterways and suddenly we were in Britain’s romantic period, fancying ourselves one of the rich, making our Grand Tour of Europe.
Our dream was cut short by our descent into Bath. The path became less maintained until it was mere dirt along the canal. The canal, actually the River Avon, became more and more industrial, a strange scene with tour boats from Bath moving through the tangled pipes as though showing off great antiquities.
Biking to the heart of downtown, a gray place with swarms of people and plain buildings, we asked for information at the train station. They charged for maps that advertised local businesses. Such is their confidence that the tourists will pour in and, unfortunately, they are right, we will.
The nearest tenting pitch was on the outskirts of town, back the way we had come. We traveled through what must have been the industrial centre, even the fast-food restaurant was ugly, to find a campsite that charged more than any other we had seen so far, had less amenities and placed us in a tent city surrounded by hundreds of other campers.
I can only hope my assessment of Bath is biased and will be overturned, as was my view of Bristol. But we arrived here fresh and unhurried, the sun was shinning and still I was unimpressed! Tomorrow should be a day of rest, then we shall see.


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