Day 11 August 17 2001

First day of biking. Alone just the two of us now and absolutely terrified. We woke up late and finished off our packing. Audrey and Dennis had made us an enormous English breakfast on which we gorged ourselves not too long after waking up. Then we set out.

Leaving was far harder than I thought it would be. Audrey and Dennis have become surrogate parents to us and leaving was leaving behind everything familiar and safe. We read The Hobbit tonight and Tolkien describes Bilbo as half Took and half Baggins, one adventurous the other homey. Leaving brought out the Baggins in me in spades.

Our journey today can only be described as hard. We traveled up over the slope of the Long Mynd. A road so difficult it was amazing. It was like climbing to clouds. But our descent was pure pleasure, the green hills of England rumpled around us, speckled with the white of sheep, the Devil’s Chair looming up at our side.

We stopped for a rest in Bishops Castle, at the cathedral, and were treated to the melodius sound of the organist practicing.

When we left we were once again faced with an enourmous hill that almost broke us. Our trip down was once again amazing with the Castle of Clun looming like a jagged tooth below us.

When we finally arrived at Clun it was strangely anticlimactic. I had no idea what to do with myself and would have wandered around aimlessly had we not found a map. We followed it to the hostel,, a quaint old mill converted to a travelers rest. It is stone and wood and comfortable and vastly different that I expected. Of course we have a dorm to ourselves, the hoof and mouth disease that has ravaged the cattle of Britain has done the same to the travel industry.

We found on our arrival here that a few things had not happened as planned, most especially my water bottle had broken, filling my backpack with water and drenching my map. But I am tired enough to overlook small problems. Tomorrow we will face the consequences of today and we will decide were to go. I only hope that with experience the fear that knots my belly will diminish.

 

Next Entry: Day 12
Previous Entry: Day 10

Day 10 August 16 2001

A day for goodbyes. Today we said goodbye to the last remnant of our families. It was hard to part with my parents as they left for the south and eventually home. Never before have I been so completely cut off from familial support. Dad was stoic with a curt goodbye and a quick run to the car. Mom lingered longer. I will miss them, a lot.

Audrey and Den have, in the meantime, assumed a role as temporary parents, making sure we know correct routes that, we eat properly etc. Audrey has even sown flags to our panniers.

I saw Caer Caradoc today. I had envisioned it as a small fort atop a little rise off east of Church Stretton. Instead it is a great ring atop a rise more mountain than hill. It looks like a green crown atop a mighty rampart and except for the straightness of the ring walls would seem to be a natural feature of the landscape.

I am tired tonight and apprehensive about tomorrow. How will we fare when testing our mettle against the pavement? We will grow from the experience or merely see it as another trip? Will we last or fold? So many questions that can only be answered by testing. At least we have packed and are ready to begin. The waiting becomes unbearable. What will tomorrow hold? I can hardly wait to see.

Next Entry: Day 11
Previous Entry: Day 9

Day 9 August 15 2001

Yesterday we planted a tree on the back forty of Parkgate, a beautiful red tree of unknown species and leaves that looked maple. We placed it almost on the very spot we exchanged vows. It is our hope that it will grow to shade the place with the best view from the entire farmhouse and that future couples may exchange their vows beneath our wedding tree.



I finished my narrative last night by going to see Dennis’s painting. They are marvelous. The paintings seem to come from someone intimately familiar with his subject. The hills seem to show a lifetimes knowledge. The trees and bushes appear as things of beauty that also must be tended carefully, fought with and sometimes even destroyed. There is a truth in Dennis's paintings. Reality is not shied away from, to cloak fact with beauty. Instead truth is part of the beauty of an image, making the contrail of a passing jet as much a part of the natural scene as the hills and shrubs.


Today we traveled into Shrewsbury to begin our goodbyes. Arnold purchased, in his own languid fashion, plants for Parkgate, as a thank you to Audrey and Dennis. Then we took him to the station and saw him on his way. He is off to explore on his own for a while.



Tonight we sampled Den’s liquor cabinet, amply stocked but seldom touched. Dennis served with his perpetual good cheer but even fortified by the laws of hospitality I could not bring myself to drink whiskey neat.

I must not forget the torrential downpour of the day. The little brook through the middle of Parkgate was changed to a raging stream and the gravel on the country roads was washed away. Jake found the weather to be a great game of fetch with the gods of the sky and chased every drop in a primeval dance.

 

Next Entry: Day 10
Previous Entry: Day 8

Day 8 August 14 2001

The day of setting out on our own rushes towards us. We thought to begin some preparation today but got a little sidetracked.

We went to Shrewsbury, to the Kings Head pub, a beautiful ancient place jutting out into the streets, where we met Rick Phillips, the man who had catered our dinner. We have been so lucky in our friends here. All of them have been wonderful beyond belief.

Across the street at J.C. Pickering Toy Store we did our only real bike related thing, we found Heather a headlamp for her bike. It was a quaint toy shop filled with wondrous toys and an antique old man running it without recourse to electronics and quietly mourning his lack of sons to whom he could pass on his business.

From downtown Shrewsbury we meandered along a strange route, chosen by my father, who refuses to believe he is going in the wrong direction. Hence we were privileged to see new parts of Shrewsbury; the wealthy quarter, the prison; the toll bridge in the center of town...

Finally we found our road and made our way out of town towards Stokesay Castle. We had picked Audrey and Den’s grandchildren up from a vacation bible school earlier and so they accompanied us. Stokesay is a gorgeous old structure, unable to decide whether to be a large house or small castle.
I managed to find it's beauty in the strangest out of the way places: the remnant circles left by ancient barrels in the storehouse, the back of the slate roof, the wooden pegs on the wooden slats that had shelted Stokesay’s owners for unknown years.
The boys, Sam and Tom Phillips, bought wooden swords as though Stokesay had played an important part in bygone wars instead of surrendering immediately the only time it was confronted with hostility.

Eventually we came back to Parkgate and sat down for dinner, followed by a lively discussion on the merits of hereditary authority. Before bed Heather and I were treated to a viewing of Dennis’s paintings.

Next Entry: Day 9
Previous Entry: Day 7

Day 7 August 13 2001

Today was our first real sightseeing day, a welcome relief from the stresses and strains of the past week. We went first to the castle of Acton Burnell, the site of the first unified parliament of Britain. The site itself was mostly unimpressive. A great shell of a building on the grounds of an international school. What impressed upon my mind most was the great cedar trees that grew on the compound. One was almost too high to be measured, soaring far above the castles battlements, with a single branch that was large enough to cover the whole castle in its shade.

It was humbling; a castle raised by the sweating toil of hundreds, crumbling to nothing, while next to it grew, effortlessly, a single tree, to even greater heights, as if to mock the efforts of man.



From Acton we traveled to the ancient Roman center of Virconium. I discovered that my studies had led me to approach such things in a new fashion. While all about me people meandered about the picturesque ruins of the great bath, immediately I was drawn to the stacked tiles of the caldarium. It was as if by a perfect understanding of the minute details of a site the whole would be reconstituted.


A small problem arose while we were here. Dad has aquired an unfortunate habit of starting to drive away before everyone is entirely in the car. There are so many things to see that he is understandably in a bit of a hurry, but I would like to begin cycling with all limbs still attached.

Once the sightseeing was done Heather and I decided to test out our bikes in preparation for the trip ahead.

 
Everyone had some helpful advice, or wise words to add to our planning, until everything was a cacaphony of confusion. We decided to put things away for a calmer day, and went to the neighbourhood pub, the Bottle and Glass, to wash away the dust of the day.

Next Entry: Day 8
Previous Entry: Wedding Day

Wedding Day August 12 2001

The day dawned to a spray of rain. Little wind but the skies were gray. Stayed hidden upstairs as the guest arrived. I would only have been in the way downstairs. Became more nervous than I thought I would as the appointed hour approached. Heather suggested that I picture the gathered crowd naked but there were some very attractive women present…

The nervousness faded once the ceremony began, the rain staying back, outside on the lawn. There was a beautiful view down the valley towards Shrewsbury as we exchanged our vows.


The ceremony was over faster than expected but the quotations from Kahlil Gibran and Corinthians were very beautiful. Pictures, though seeming to last forever were a welcome opportunity to retreat from the crowds and have an excuse not to mingle.
Strange how a wedding is the one real time when a man is expected to cry. I felt no need of tears; the silly smile stretched across my face should have said it all! Heather did shed tears, though not in any sobbing fashion that would justify her many apologies.
The winds began to pick up as the night grew old, until a virtual tempest raged outside. Heather picked up a faithful companion, Emily Rose who followed her everywhere. I was not included in their group until Emily followed me to the barn to say goodnight and I carried her out of the frightening darkness.
All in all today has been the best day of my life.


Next Entry: Day 7
Previous Entry: Day 5

Day 5 August 11 2001

A day of racing clouds and events. The sky has been grey all day and the clouds have sped across the sky as though pursued. Rehearsal day. One day before the wedding. The clouds began to mist even as we walked out to begin the rehearsal. It was a beautiful, misty rain that hugged the ground and cast a fine spray in your face, as though you're standing on the prow of a ship. But beautiful as rain may be we can't hold the wedding in it. So we moved inside. Low slung oaken beams and stone wall will most likely frame our marriage vows.
The rehearsal went as smoothly as possible I suppose but my place isn't in the spotlight. I am disappointed in the vows that I have written, I wanted a spartan simplicity, an elegance that speaks of clean lines and clear purpose and yet they feel full of trifles, ornaments that serve no purpose.
I find writing today difficult, as thought the effort to write vows has drained my creativity whilst the rehearsal dinner and the expectations of the guests has drained me of my will. I cannot help but wonder where my enthusiasm has gone.

The enthusiasm has gone to nausea. The Guinness and the rack of lamb that we had at the rehearsal dinner did not agree with me as much as I would have liked. Even as I write the world went into a strange little dance.

I am writing now much later with the ill effects gone. The food in Britain, while not fundamentally different, is richer than at home. The lamb I ate was more fat than meat and difficult to choke down, The Guinness was more like coffee than lager and a single pint was enough.

Next entry: Wedding Day!
Previous Entry: Day 4

Day 4 August 10 2001

Another strange jumble of a day, filled with everything from boredom to exhaustion. I did a practice run on my bike from the farm to Picklescott. The hedgerows close in on you so that it feels like traveling through a chasm or even a tunnel and the wind through the trees rumbles like engines so you are constantly checking for cars. I encountered a truck and backed into a layby to allow it to pass. The surface of the layby looked solid, but it wasn’t! Two days of intermittent rain had transformed the dirt into a thick, soupy, gumbo.

Still, when you burst from the hedges into a clear patch the view was phenomenal, a sweeping survey of the land below, and was accompanied by an almost overwhelming sense of freedom.

Jocelyn’s friends were brought to Parkgate yesterday, eager for showers and food after their hostelling experience. Despite their rough lot they were good natured and happy to chip in. John was never without a smile despite living as the butt end for the jokes of Jocelyn and Rob.


Most of today was spent working around the farm to prepare it for our big day. Flowers, some from here, others borrowed from the town council were laid out. The back forty was mown, mulch was laid down among the apple trees, windows were washed, everyone pitched in.

My sister and Andrew arrived near mid afternoon, fresh from Cheddar and Stonehenge and, after a brief rest, were drafted into the fray. The entire Hill family seems to be contributing to my wedding. Mark and Jane have lent a caravan for people to sleep in. Andrew was here today helping out and all have volunteered to assist in serving for Sunday evening.

So little time left before the day. I have been told that a public affirmation of love will transform me and our relationship forever. But never having been a fan of public speaking does not make me look forward with any great enthusiasm. I shall have to, I suppose, merely suck it up and live through the day.

Next Entry: Day 5
Previous Entry: Day 3

Day 3 August 9 2001

The Third day of this, our strange odyssey, has been a confused jumble of everything, so much so that it hardly seems like the same day. Heather's family has arrived, bringing our strange little ceremony one step closer. Arnold was overawed by being in a garden such as Audrey and Den's.

The view from the back forty is indescribable down onto the Shrewsbury plain. I almost feel as though I’m atop a mountain looking out at the great flat that stretches, in neatly hedged shapes, off to the infinite.

Travelled to Church Stretton once more today and arranged to have Heathers etching framed. The difference between her two etchings is like night and day and while her first is excellent the second declares her talent as a true artist.

I’ve notices, as I write this that my thoughts flow far faster than I can write and my script ends up ragged and my words not fully formed. So frequently my sentences make little sense. Leonardo wrote backwards, I have no such need.

I have dubbed Audrey the Ample Provider and through her hands all of our needs are solved as though by magic. She is an amazing woman, every task she sets her hand to is resolved and always with a smile and a bit of a tale. The work ethic that built this farm is difficult for a gadabout such as I to understand. While I sleep until noon a world is built around me.

I have determined that on the first day biking we will strive to reach the town of Clun. But the names of the towns around us draw my eye like magnets. Who can resist the lure of Caer Caradoc?

Next Entry: Day 4
Previous Entry: Day 2

Day 2 August 8 2001

Day 2 at the Parkgate Farmhouse has come and gone in a flurry of activity. The day commenced with a bracing round of yard work. How different it is to wheel a barrow in your own interest than that of someone else. Everyone chipped in, picking up a rake, a shovel, or labouring in the kitchen.

We traveled to Church Stretton and to Craven Arms and to Ludlow to finish up wedding plans, finalize trivial last detail and put a final polish on things while Heather and Audrey toured the Hill family together. As I traveled I felt renewed freshness and eagerness to be in England and saw the spirit that brings me back. I saw also the nausea that accompanies any travel on the tortured roads of Shrewsbury as they writhe across the landscape.
One source of great intrigue is the dog here at Parkgate. Jake with the one blue eye. Does the grass that he tears and lays almost plaintively before the still lawnmower have significance or are the religious overtones merely in my head?

Next Entry: Day 3
Previous entry: Day 1