Day 48. Portsmouth. Sept 23 2001

What a way to wake up. Leaping up at the first sign of light, exhausted from a night of nightmares, frantic to pack up a tent before you are noticed, so far from where you planned to be that you’re not even sure how to get back.

Neither of us slept much last night. I was plagued the whole night with terror dreams and thoughts that brought so much stress I was amazed the tent did not pulsate in rhythm with my heart. If we couldn’t find a campground last night what made me think today would be any different? Or tomorrow, or the day after? Would the rest of the trip be spent furtively setting our tent up after dark only to hurry away when people might be around?

Yesterdays events had shattered my morale and not only was I not eager to be biking, for the first time in the trip I was well and truly ready to go home. But having a ticket in hand is a powerful motivator and we had a ferry to catch the next day. So reluctantly we set out retracing our route back to Portsmouth.

The day loomed gray and cold ahead of us with chilly winds cutting at us. We stopped to break our fast at McDonalds .

While we ate, outside lest the unkempt appearance of unshowered bikers cause problems with the management, a great gray cloud blew over us, certain to bring rain and misery. But within seconds it had passed us by entirely and blown itself out to sea. One great thing that affects this region is weather that shifts so quickly you can watch the transformation with your own eyes. You can see a storm cloud build itself out of nothingness far out in the water. You can watch it blown in and buffet the shore and you can see the sunlight beyond. In Calgary we joke that “if you don’t like the weather wait five minutes” but compared to the rapid changes they experience here, our weather is tame.

After a breakfast made of bacon, buns, hash browns the size of my hand and, on Heather’s part, eggs, we set out once more. We had decided to head towards the second of our target campgrounds of the previous day. It was marked on Portsmouth’s eastern shore and by looking at the map I realized we had come nowhere close. So off we went, more cautiously this time and took a left turn I had dismissed the previous night because it seemed to lead into an industrial area. Fifteen minutes later, voila, we were on the eastern harbour. But the eastern road, on which the campsite was marked, was right against the water, no place on its eastern side for camping. So we set off south, very excited, as you can imagine, to find a sign announcing the south sea caravan park. Unfortunately the name proved to be accurate, it was at the far southern tip of Portsmouth, nowhere near where the campground we were heading to was marked.

After an extra hour or more following the elusive grail of a campsite, we found the south sea park, set up our ten and went to sleep.

We slept until noon, until the building heat in our tent forced us to go outside. The day was very windy, whipping the tent about dramatically but the wind died as the day advanced. Though tired we decided to go for a walk to see Portsmouth before we departed on the morrow. Portsmouth is a strange town, not sure if it is a tourist destination or a working harbour and not really able to reconcile the two. The innards of the town are the worst gray that England is famous for worldwide. Rows and rows of industrial housing stretch for miles, straight streets with high walled buildings and no breaks for greenery make parts of Portsmouth seem more like a prison than a city. Electrical wire and telephone wires tangle overhead like a net to keep even the birds from fleeing the monotony.

The first question the streets of Portsmouth raise is "how?" How can people choose to live stacked in cartons with no parks, no trees, nothing joyful at all? But then, very suddenly, you break out of the straightjacket streets and find yourself on the waterfront. Here are all the missing parks. Ponds with paddleboat, parks with trees, buildings with elaborately carved masonry, a sunken garden protected by a wall of hedge, a rose garden surrounded by ramparts and even now, in the chill of autumn’s beginnings still in bloom.

The people of Portsmouth must surge out of their homes and workplaces down to the waterfront, running to escape the cage that is the city.

We walked most of the waterfront, pushing our bikes beside us. We halted for a rest at the harbour castle where Henry VII is said to have watched his prize ship, the Mary Rose, founder before him. From here we has an easy view of the strange circular forts that Henry had sunk into the waves to protect the port. Each was a tiny self contained little isle, roofed over to keep from being washed away shore side to break waves and invaders that never came, at least not in Henry’s time or for many hundreds of years after. How foresighted of Henry that he provided England with perfect antiaircraft defenses for the Second World War, the only time his forts fired their guns in anger.

I would like to have gone to the maritime museum but we were both too tired and I had seen it on previous trips. With rigging looming before us we turned back and returned to our camp.

I could not help thinking of Edna and her dream to be a helmswoman, stuck in landlocked Calgary. She would not have been able to resist the lure of the rigging I’m sure and can see how it would have been a magnet to those wanting to escape the dreariness of city life. How shocked they must have been to discover that ship life was no better, only different and in most cases worse. I wonder, do recruits to the world militaries now discover the same thing?

We pedaled home slowly, painfully but delight to actually have a home to go to. Strange how hedge walls and a paid fee can make an empty pier of land seem so secure and strange too how the rules of society have been so ingrained in both Heather and I that to stop outside sanctioned boundaries should make us so uncomfortable. Why should that be the case? How we are sleeping tonight is really no different than the night before, we are ensconced in a tent and sleeping bags, people can still wander about us all night and despite our fears no one is likely to disturb us outside campsite boundaries, pounding on our tent and demanding that we leave. They are probably more scared of us than we are of them! Everyone we have spoken to here says the police too are unlikely to bother us, at least not for a single night and we were so hidden that they would scarcely have been able to find us. But a campground stands for a public sanction of our activities, a guarantee that society will enforce our security. Even if the guarantee is only thought and has no real force it builds mental walls that shelter us…or do they trap us as well.

Next Entry: Day 49. Cherbourg. France!!!
Previous Entry: Day 47. Bedhampton

Day 47. Bedhampton. Sept. 22 2001

Today has been the worst day of the trip so far. How to convey exactly what plagued us will be a challenge, not to simply list the events but to convey the rising stress.

The day began easily enough, with only a few protests about waking up from me. Tessa, Megan and Thomas stopped by to help us with the cleanup. Actually I think they were expecting us to have left already but it was nice to see them one last time before going. Then, with much ado, we loaded up our bikes and left.

The first half of the day was beautifully simple, our fears about losing our biking edge seeming to be groundless. At one point I wobbled on my bicycle and looked up to the sound of a car frantically sounding its horn. I was a little confused, thinking indignantly “I didn’t wobble that much” only to see Kerry and Simon’s little white car barreling towards us with all aboard waving frantically, so we got to see them before leaving too.

It was once we got to Southampton that things began to go astray, though so slightly that at first we scarcely noticed. I bought the Michelin guide for France, delighted that I had finally found a map with the campgrounds marked. Only after I had spent an enormous amount on the map that I realized you needed another expensive guide to go with it. Also, because I needed a new journal I bought this one, so expensive that you would think the gold trim on the edges was actually gold. These two things alone blew our budget for the day, making me less than excited about going on. But as they were necessary for the trip I was willing to put up with the cost.

We left Southampton gaily until the road I had chosen to follow out of the city was closed due to construction, forcing a long and uphill detour. Still we had faced worse obstacles and even when Heather’s leg began to cramp so much we were forced to stop our spirits did not flag too much. The first time morale began to seriously flag was atop the next hill from where we had stopped. Suddenly, and without warning, Heather’s rear tire went flat. We pulled over and flipped Heather’s bike to remove the tire when Heather noticed her recently fixed pannier rack was broken. I hastily fixed it using duct tape and we patched the inner tube of her tire, never having done it before.

By the time we had finished the sun was getting dangerously close to the horizon and we were still miles from our campsite. We pushed off feeling the strain of biking and getting very eager to settle into a campsite. Heather’s strength began to fail her and she kept on only with the constant refrain that the campsite was just a few miles away. We passed the city of Fareham excitedly because, according to our map, the campsite was between Fareham and Portchester. We picked up speed, sure in the knowledge that we were near to the nights stop. Then suddenly a sigh loomed up before us “PORTCHESTER”! We had missed the campground.

With a sigh and groan we turned around and pedaled back only to reach the boundaries of Fareham with no sigh of the campground. We stopped at an inn to ask directions. The innkeeper was very confused because he knew of no campground nearby but after Heather asked several people we were able to get directions to an enormous golf club nearby that had a campground behind it. Or so we were told.

After another twenty minutes on the golf grounds we found no site but got directions to a park behind a crematorium, a bit morbid I know but we were getting pretty desperate. Heather was tired and cramped and I was getting very worried about a place to stay. Heather’s rear brake had seized up and we were forced to disconnect it, making it hard to bike even in the daylight and there was precious little daylight left. We had not eaten since the stop just outside Southampton and were feeling ravenous, with the headaches and grumpiness that comes from too little food. By the time we arrived at the “park” it was dark and it turned out to be a mobile home park, no place for campers.

We turned back angrily and stopped at a gas station that doubled as a supermarket. Heather got groceries and directions while I checked the map. The nearest campground was on the other side of Portsmouth and the only person willing to give us directions was incomprehensible. Reluctantly, after eating very greasy chicken to tide us over, we set out for Portsmouth.

Barely had we gone a mile when a hard bump blew Heather’s rear tire out once more. That was it, the final straw. We agreed that, although we had already gone over budget for the day, we would spend the night in a hotel. We walked the two lonely and dark miles along Portsmouth Harbour to the nearest hotel complex. Heather walked in to book rooms, anger and depression giving way to nice thoughts of hot showers and comfy beds. Five minutes later she was back, in a worse state than before. All the hotels in Portsmouth were completely full! A boat show had filled Portsmouth to capacity.

We had been turned away from the inn and the only refuge was an isolated campground on the other side of the city. We flipped Heathers bike upside down to fix her flat only to discover the other pannier rack was broken as well. We set out with heavy hearts. The night was beginning to feel chill and our muscles were cramping. It is almost impossible to describe the next few hours. Endless streets, close packed with buildings and wan yellow lights shinning down. A cold breeze seeping its way through the weave of our clothes as we become more and more tangled in a labyrinth of streets. No signs for camping, no signs for inns, no streets that matched our map. Until, suddenly, with gut wrenching horror, we found ourselves right back where we had started with no idea how to get to our goal. We were frozen, anguished; angry and so stressed our stomachs heaved every time we thought of what could happed if we found no site. Hesitantly I brought up the idea that had been preying on me since we began in Portsmouth we would have to sleep outdoors. Heather was adamantly against it. She stopped at a McDonalds and asked directions to the campground. They had never heard of a campground in Portsmouth. She asked directions to a hotel that might have vacancies. The nearest away was miles away in Bedhampton. They gave us directions and we set off, confident that we would find it.

Heather pushed on like a woman driven; we pedaled what seemed an eternity. After an hour I suggested that we stop and settle in behind bushes. Heather pretended not even to hear. The suggestion was unthinkable for her. Finally we reached Bedhampton only to find a roundabout that gave no sign of the direction we needed to take. Heather, who only moments before had been so excited to see bright lights shinning, was devastated. We were both on the verge of exhaustion, too cold to feel the ache in our muscles. We had been biking for over 12 hours our first day back on bikes. The only option left was to find a secluded spot and pitch our tent. We found a place between the road and some apartments, sheltered by trees.

It is hard to convey what sleeping outside a campground was like for us. I had been so confident in my ability to find a site and now that was shattered. We both felt insecure and unprotected with every noise a potential threat. We were so tired our minds were blurry but could not sleep; afraid every person was the police, or hoodlums from the local bar being let out. It was like sleeping naked in a roomful of enemies and hoping they couldn’t see you. Never before had we felt so vulnerable.

Next Entry: Day 48. Portsmouth
Previous Entry: Day 46. Holbury

Day 46. Holbury. Sept 21 2001.

Cold is much better, getting ready to go. Today is to be, though I don’t know it at the time, the last day at Brian and Sylvia’s. We plan on leaving tomorrow but don’t know if my cold will allow it and Heather seems to be catching my illness.

We went to Kerry and Simons for dinner the night before and being around Sam (the dog) exacerbated my cold until death seemed like a nice alternative. Too bad really because I really like Sam. I have no idea what kind of dog he is; he looks like a golden retriever whose legs have been shaved off until he stands no more than a foot from the ground at the crown of his head! Great dog but really easy to trip over.

I woke up this morning feeling very sick and wanting to delay our departure still another more. But Heather had booked our crossing to France for the next Monday and as today was Friday I thought it prudent to begin preparation, all right, Heather started and I felt stupid not keeping up so soon exceeded her and had everything packed.

Packing was an interesting prospect. Once you stop moving you find it very difficult to get going again and once you unpack you find it impossible to remember how you got everything into such a small space. I kept stuffing shirt after shirt after shirt into my pannier. Why I brought so many shirts I’ll never know, I didn’t know I had so many to start with, Most of them are simply extra weight that will never be worn. Once we set out I generally wear my biking shirt and the Nark shirt Chris gave us until they are both too rank to allow my entry into polite society. Then we try to wash it and start again.

As we packed we tried to clean. Man in a sedentary mode is an expansive animal. As soon as we stop we spread out until we fill every available space. From the second day we spent here parts of Brain and Sylvia’s house were impassable to all but the smallest of animals. Cleaning was very challenging task.

A side note to the cleaning is the fact both Heather and I have noticed, that food spoils much quicker here than at home. We would be able to keep bread no more than a couple of days before it began to grow moldy and meat was nearly as bad. It must be all the moisture in the atmosphere. Katherine, who was from Victoria, had said she was forced to move to Calgary because of mold allergies, but unless you spend some time in a consistently damp area it is hard to really understand what she meant. The place I have noticed the dampness most is in the books we carry with us. Some of the pages have mold spots on them even though I carry them wrapped in a couple layers of plastic. How the British manage to preserve libraries and rare collectible books with such a climate working against them is a puzzle to me. I’m afraid I don’t pay much attention to my books and assume that they will be ready for me whenever I want them, what a rude awakening. I will be in for it if we ever move to the coast. The logic of keeping valuable in a salt mine is made much clearer when you see the effects of moisture speeded up.

Kerry and Simon are reviving the dead fashions of the seventies by going to a seventies theme party. Actually it is very strange to see how the fashions of the seventies are becoming the fashions of the early aughts. Except for a few differences, most especially the sequined pattern on the front of her shirt, Kerry’s outfit wouldn’t look out of place at any mall now.

Farah Fawcett hair, shiny stretch pants, disco music and flashy lights, old fashions never die they're reborn when the new generations run out of ideas, or perhaps it is because the teens of now have never seen their parents in disco outfits and so are not revolted while they see eighties as the lowest form of life. Heather was delighted by the costumes and her eyes light up when she see shiny sequins and fabric. I think in a previous life Heather was perhaps a crow and lined her nest with worthless but shiny baubles.

The question that strikes me is: did they have forties theme parties in the seventies?

After we had said our goodbyes and finished cleaning packing, etc. Heather retired to her bed while I, fool that I am, stayed up late and watched TV. Perhaps just to ensure that I would be exhausted for biking the next day.

Next Entry: Day 47. Bedhampton
Previous Entry: Day 46. Holbury

Day 45. Holbury. Sept 20 2001

I am now officially sick.

Looking out at the vast expanse of these two pages I wonder how I can possibly fill them and so develop a new policy that I will write only as far as I can and begin the next days entry where the last one ended. Unfortunately when I bought the journal I labeled each day so I wouldn’t forget, up to 47, so I still have to fill in a couple of pages.

Today was very much a lay at home day. What had started as a scratchy throat and a couple of sneezes soon developed into a full blown cold and I was forced, yeah it was so hard, to sit in front of the television for the entire day. Heather had made plans with Paul and Tessa and so biked off to Blackfield, leaving me alone with my sniffles. Paul had previously fixed Heather’s pannier rack with fiberglass tape but she had forgotten to bring the bolts with her at our last visit, necessitating one more trip. Paul was possibly the most excited Orman about our trip, possibly because he is an avid biker in his own right. He also seems to feel a debt of gratitude to my parents because they hosted Paul and Tessa on their honeymoon. He offered us whatever we needed to make our holiday a success! Pretty generous offer, especially because I think my parents had even more fun hosting the Ormans than they had coming over. I still remember vividly Paul and Dad disappearing one morning in Yoho National Park (I think) only to reappear as tiny dots on the side of a mountain, climbing to abandoned caves.

It is really amazing how open and generous all the Orman’s are. They have hosted us with a generosity that is boundless and they have made us feel like honourary members of their families, even allowing their children to drool, vomit and play all over us.

Heather was at Paul and Tessa’s for a very long time and learnt that my cold was probably distributed family wide at Sam’s birthday party the previous weekend. Thomas was sick as was Nick, Sam, Emily, Imogine, Paul and sort of Heather. At least the family shares everything with their guests.

Oh, I forgot to mention that yesterday was Maxine’s birthday. She was so low key about it that I keep forgetting…. Oh and I think it was Paul’s as well. They were born on the same day years apart. Heather, being the responsible and social member of our twosome gave both cards that we had brought from Canada, beautiful photo cards produced by Dad.

My television watching experience was interesting. The news of course was saturated with events in America and Afghanistan. It is most unfortunate that Bush is president in these trying times. A man with genuine vision could parley the horror that grips the world into a more powerful United Nations, a truly international criminal court system and greater global unity, but instead America concentrates on revenge that will solve nothing, perhaps kill hundreds of innocents and fragment the nations of the world even further along religious and ethnic lines.

Strange how the BBC is held as an ideal that all other news programs should strive towards, a newscaster all others look towards for that quality. Most other British news sources are absolute trash. Reading the headlines it is hard to believe they don’t spark panic everyday. “Terrorists living in our midst” announces one paper when the article describes terrorists catching a connector flight from London. And every page is filled with the minute movements of celebrities. How anyone could care that much is beyond me.

Next Entry: Day 46. Holbury
Previous Entry: Day 44. Marchwood

Day 44. Marchwood. Sept 19 2001

We went to Nick and Maxine’s today in the second to last day in the Orman game “pass around the visitors.” Every family we told we wouldn’t be able to see seemed offended by our desire to leave, until we were forced to relent and visit anyone who asked. We had initially planned on leaving Brian and Sylvia’s after a week…two and a half weeks later here we are still. It wouldn’t be so bad but we did a quick calculation and found that even with free accommodation and lots of food from the generous host families we are still spending almost as much money as we would camping.

Dinner at the Middlesditches was mostly uneventful, a pleasant evening out. Nick and I walked to the local fish and chips shop by a path that left me completely lost and confused. We passed an Islamic shop, at least the owners were Muslim, and the front was adorned with an enormous pair of British and American flags. Even here people are very nervous about world events.

Nick chatted excitedly the whole way. He seems like child at heart who is having absolutely no difficulty adjusting to life as an adult. He chatted as eagerly and as excitedly about stocks and retirement options and the aches and pains of age as Colin did about model planes and Emily does about her Barbie’s. Nick was very excited by the idea of our trip and congratulated me heartily for having conceived of it. He seemed very disappointed that he was not doing something similar until I mentioned the adventure of having a family, he perked up immediately and started chatting about that. He is the most excited father I have ever met and is very into his children’s lives.

The fish and chip shop was very much like every other fish and chip shop in Britain, small, overheated and with a sheen of grease that makes the shop sparkle when hit just right by the too powerful lights. The Chinese couple running it seemed very nervous, hardly daring to meet their customer’s eyes, looking up only to toss a grease-soaked package of paper across the counter.

I am a little surprised at the quality of seafood in Holbury and the area surrounding the Southampton water, or perhaps I should say quantity because we have seen virtually none at all. I suppose with the power station and refinery, along with millions of tons of shipping every year that the fish from this area might be a little polluted, but it seems odd to be within spitting distance (a metaphor that, not tested) of the ocean and to be unable to get much seafood. I have a bit of a craving for crab but it won’t be satisfied here.

After getting our fish we walked back to Heather, Maxine, Sam and Emily, going by another path completely that left me even more lost than before. Dinner was quick and quiet. Emily was very bouncy, eager to show off her Barbie pants and Barbie everything. Not being around very many little girls back hone I’m not sure if there is equal obsession of all things Barbie. Imogine is having her room repainted Barbie pink, a color that strongly reminds me of bubble gum after it has lain on a sidewalk for a few days.

On the topic of toys there was a little boy with a machine gun on the way to the shop. I had never really given my parents “no war toys” policy much thought before but in light of recent events it was more than a little disturbing to see a child running up the street pretending to murder someone. How will people learn not to devalue life unless brought up to it from the beginning? I could be answered that children are only playing and having fun, that child’s games are meaningless and normally I would agree but children can have fun in so many way, their minds are creative and unstructured, so what makes us put guns in their hands instead of cardboard boxes or pens or…anything else? Thoughts that wouldn’t ordinarily trouble my mind have grown dramatically more important in this new state of affairs that plagues the world.

Sam’s toy are for a younger mind and seem better suited, a steering wheel and games with flashing patterns. Both Heather and I were soon entranced. I believe that toys for toddlers, perhaps all toys, are made with the adult buyers in mind. Maxine was very excited by a light sensitive puzzle of Sam’s, every time you put in a piece the animal it represented made a noise because the light sensor was covered. It also made a noise if the house lights were turned off so Maxine kept running between kitchen and living room, to shutting off the lights to hear the puzzle roar. It was bizarre to be sitting in the room with four, sorry three; other adults and listening intently to a child’s puzzle sound off.

Maxine, as a podiatrist, has been writing a series of children’s stories with shoes as their characters. One story was a blatant propaganda piece in protest against high heels.
After dinner it was time for Emily to go to bed, something she could not do without Heather to tuck her in. I’m so amazed at the patience Heather has for children. While I respect children’s role as replacements for dying adults sometimes their minds are more alien to me than the furthest foreigners and I am more comfortable leaving them to others. I am a spectator child raiser. I don’t mind watching them, but I have no talent with them.

After the children’s bedtime it was our own and Nick drove us home. Immediately upon leaving the house, even before getting into the car, they began to bemoan our imminent departure from England, telling us to stay longer and visit them again. It’s nice to be wanted but Brian and Sylvia are coming home soon and might want their own home.

I am a little worried, tonight my throat was sore and I sneezed a lot more than usual.

Next Entry: Day 45. Holbury
Previous Entry: Sitting here, thinking quietly, looking at this pretty flower.

Sitting here, thinking quietly, looking at this pretty flower.

To Everyone:

Well, just a brief (Yeah right) note to let everyone know what is going on here and just what part of the world your Brave Traveller and Fearful Voyager happen to be in.

In fact your overseas correspondents are in exactly the same place they have been for the last 14 or so days. The lesson here is; do not let us into your house lest we get comfortable. We are still enjoying the comforts of Brian (everytime I type that it comes out as Brain) and Sylvia Orman's house. We have plunked ourselves in front of a televison and I think we will never leave one again. Actually the truth is that for recently sedentary travellers we are moving about the New Forest area quite alot.

The day after we wrote last was a terrible day for everyone, the day of the New York and Washington attacks. We spent the entire day sitting at home eyes glued to the television set and worrying about everyone. Britain was as stunned as the rest of the world and is now watching the States' every move with baited breath.

That day also marked the beginning of the Fearful Voyager's new criminal career as Nick Middleditch forgot the keys to his theft proof Club (you know, the thing that goes over the steering wheel) and we got to hack it off with a saw. The ads are right by the way, they do take forever to cut through.

The day after was the day our plans began to change. We phoned the ferry lines to discuss prices. We discovered that not only do they not recognize the Hostelling International discount that we have, they had also never heard of Hostelling International. So, after much discussion with the ticket agents, some of it bordering on rude (we did little for Canada's reputation as quiet and meek that day) we found out that the ferry to Cherbourg (France) was 1 quarter the price. So now we are going to see some of France and none of Spain. We also spent a large portion of the day in Southampton and perused the shopping district. Since we had no money it was a mostly futile excercise but we did get to venture into the adult shops to see if they were similar to ours at home (not like we visit those...ever...really...oh forget it).

Since that day was the first month anniversary celebration of the BT and FV we had a nice dinner with Paul and Tessa Orman, along with their children Megan and Thomas (if you see Amy as she runs around in our backyard remind her that her parents want her to behave). We played Trivial Pursuit, only to discover that, after our bragging, we could answer none of the questions and played another game instead, Taboo. The Brave Traveller and Megan won but Tessa and I think they cheated! Paul also had a topographical map of Europe that showed us just how insane we are, French Alps here we come! The plan calls for a trip to Bordeaux now, but things change too quickly to keep track.

Next day we went to Old Sarum, a great earthen donut on the outside of Salisbury. Kerry Topp was convinced that we would get lost on the way but we found it alright, its the first left after the Electric Circus. Hard to believe that Sarum used to be the seat of royal power, especially since all the walls look like they have melted with age. The groundskeeper was very friendly and kept asking what Canadian winters were like. Since we both were a little tired don't be surprised (Canadians anyway) if you visit Sarum and are asked about Polar Bears in the streets. Sarum has a great view of Salisbury which I would have loved to seen but when they call it Misty England its not some sort of metaphor.

Day after was a trip to Rockbourne Roman villa with Tessa. The villa was great, with many artifacs and surving mosaic floors in the bath houses. They really like to bath those Romans. The museum was intresting too but I couldn't help noticing that the artists who paintined the baths used only naked women, I rather liked them but I kept getting pushed on by my companions. We also spent a tranquil and relaxing time in the village of Fordingbridge before being wisked through the New Forest and going for dinner at Paul and Tessa's again and...wait it was this night that we played Trivial Pursuits. Remember that, there will be a test.


Next day (Its getting dark and we have to bike home from Paul and Tessa's so you'll notice things moving along rather briskly) we went with the Topp family to Hurst Castle. Unless you like large concrete things that look like prisons and require a two mile walk along a gravel bank to get to I wouldn't recomend Hurst. It was built by Henry VII because he was a paranoid git...I mean because all of Europe wanted to kill him. Henry, along with disbanding the monasteries, must have killed off all the good architects and is responsible for the ugliest series of castles anywhere.

Day after, we went to Samuel Middleditches first birthday party where our plans really got messed up. Since we now have plans with every Orman and sundries that we bump into we are going to be in Holbur1y at least until Friday and since ferry prices might change over the weekends we could be here until Monday. If it wasn't for winter it wouldn't be a problem, but hey, we can freeze for friends. We had a really good time seeing most of the Orman (Sorry Topps and Middleditches its just easier to write one family name) and we got the opportunity to see children at almost every stage of development, the best form of birth control in the world. Its not that we don't love the kids but we also love being able to hand them back when they get icky!

Day after, which is yesterday, we did nothing. Hey give us a break!

Then today we returned to Paul and Tessa's where we were fed and fixed, at least the Brave Travellers bike was. We got to learn all the juicy gossip about Megan, Amy and Thomas and...well all the rest of the family.

From here we are going...we don't really know, we might be here when Brian and Sylvia return and we can argue about squatters rights. The plan is for France and soon, but we can't say anything for certain.
Until next time
Lots of Love from
BT and FV

P.S. No, no P.S. this time, sorry.

P.P.S. I really must apologize for my spelling and grammer by the way. I write to quickly to pay attention so it ends up atrocious. I balme Heather entirely.

P.P.P.S The title of this email comes from the muppet version of the Frog prince, watch it, its good.

Next Entry: Day 44. Marchwood
Previous Entry: Day 43. Blackfield

Day 42. Holbury. Sept 17 2001

AHHHHH. A day to ourselves. We did so little today that I’m not even sure what I can write about. We needed a day off pretty badly because we are being burnt out from constant socializing. Not that we don’t enjoy seeing people but after a while we run out of things to say.

It is strange, looking back on what I’ve written to see all that has been left out because of space restrictions. All the tiny things that make up our daily lives; dealing with smelly sleeping bags and laundry that never seems to dry; Looking out over Holbury and seeing the looming mass of the Esso refinery and the lines of uniformed school children walking home; the uncertainty that dogs out plans and the Harry Potter that dogs our sleep as we frantically try to finish the series before we leave England.

I try to capture the essence of each day but so many details are lacking.

We washed out our tent today and aired out the sleeping bags. It will be very hard to get back up on those bike seats again after such a long rest. We really should be getting up and exercising but it is very hard with a comfortable house and food and warmth. I’m starting to get pretty concerned about France. Going to Spain would have solved a lot of our weather problems but France will be the same as here and every day gets a little grayer and colder so I know our tent will be very uncomfortable. Also we now have to bike preferably three or four times farther than we had planned and at this stage neither of us is really getting ready for it. But we told ourselves at the beginning that it was the journey, not the destination and one thing I am slowly starting to overcome is my compulsive desire to over plan.

We watched the original version of the King and I tonight and I am pleased to discover that we both disliked it intensely. At least we know we are on the same wavelengths.


Next Entry: Day 43. Blackfield
Previous Entry: Day 41. Marchwood

Day 41. Marchwood. Sept 16 2001

Samuel Middleditches 1st birthday. Every Orman was invited; Only a few couldn't make it, especially Brain and Sylvia, them being in Canada. It was nice to see all the Orman’s et at. in one cluster.

Paul picked us up in their, relatively, new car. He was absolutely thrilled to get away from their Mercedes; most people are the other way around.

Tessa found it hilarious that she was mistaken for Paul’s mother instead of his wife so that became one of the major jokes of the evening.

Maxine spent all day frantically trying to make sure everything was perfect while Nick looked a little swamped with all the company.

Colin was bouncing from toy to toy with the rest of the children while Hayley sat in a corner buried under virtually every toy that the kids were finished with.

Nicks sister and mom were there as well but I had little opportunity to speak with them.

The birthday party was an interesting opportunity to study party dynamics. After family pleasantries were exchanged the party seemed to fragment into two groups, those who had children to look after and those who didn’t, logically enough I suppose. We tried to hang out with those who did not have children.

Children seem to react with a strange synergy when together, so that two feels like four and four like sixteen. It was very amusing to watch the parents run after their children and to compare the different misbehaviors of the different age groups. The very young ones are best because their misbehaviors are limited to going where they should not and crying a lot, whereas the older ones can be a tad destructive.

I think Heather and I will keep any kids we have until they are weaned off their milk, then farm them out to nannies. Many older societies, Romans and Florentines come to mind, did so, and it seems about time to bring back the custom. I wish I knew if I was kidding or not.

All the Orman’s have booked times to be with us and in doing so have pushed back the departure date until sometime next week. Only hope we can deal with the cold.

Next Entry: Day 42. Holbury
Previous Entry: Day 40. Hurst Castle

Day 40. Hurst Castle. Sept 15 2001

We decided to visit Hurst Castle today. Hurst is a coastal castle built as part of Henry VII’s shore defenses and I had seen it many times from the Isle of Wight ferry. Heather and I had intended to bike there alone, but the Topps eventually joined us and made the whole day into a family holiday. I was a little worried because the only way to the castle was a two mile walk or a couple of pounds each on a ferry. Accompanying us on our trip were two children, the cousins of the child who was run over the other day. They were very sweet and, I think, somewhat apprehensive.

We ate a picnic lunch at the ferry launch, and realized that is was very far for the children to walk and, for such a large group, the ferry was too expensive. Finally we all walked to the base of the spit where Heather and I took our leave and began walking to Hurst, leaving everyone else behind to play in the rocks.

Hurst was a gray castle that I’m sure inspired many prisons. The original keep was a small rounded tower similar to Calshot, which had been gradually built upon. Calshot castle is a perfect donut of stone, sloping walls protecting a moat with a single tower in the center. Because of Hurst’s late additions it looked to us as though someone had entrapped Calshot Castle in a wall of brick or mortar. Hurst seemed almost industrial in its scale and had little domestic appeal. Only soldiers would have occupied this place, no lords or ladies here.



It was almost a history of cannonry in its emplacements from 10 pound balls to 10 180 pound cannons.

 

Such a heavily armed fortress, protecting the Solent from Henry VII to WWII and it is completely obsolete.

There was also an exhibit of the Solent fortresses, heavily armed and armored circles of cannonry that have been erected in the depths of the Solent, accessible only by boat. Rumour has it that they have been purchased as heavily isolated and easily protected homes for the super rich.

Returning along the spit we walked at the waters edge. The waves were running high in the wind and it was exhilarating to walk beside it, feeling water and salt spray over us.



We ran into Simon and Cameron coming to find us. Cameron was not enjoying the walk and having temper tantrums every five feet.

Despite the brevity of the day we returned home absolutely exhausted. Kids and fresh sea air will do that I suppose.



Next Entry: Day 41. Marchwood
Previous Entry: Day 39. Rockbourne

Day 39. Rockbourne. Sept 14 2001

Tessa picked us up today for a trip to the Roman Villa that had been unearthed at Rockbourne.

 
It was very nice spending time with Tessa. The villa was fascinating, though not much remained. It had been the home of wealthy Romans for hundreds of years and sprawled over a huge area.

 
The layout of the tour was interesting as you were forced to walk out to the farthest corner then back, then back and forth again. But it was fascinating to look at the mosaic floors in situ. One floor was in the shape of a swastika and it brought home the fact that Hitler had appropriated roman symbols wholesale to try and give his third Reich legitimacy as the heir to the Roman Empire and hence to Europe.

 

Strange that most of Hitler’s Germany had never been a part of Rome.
The villa also had a large quantity of archeological items. Most of them lost millennia ago or thrown out with the trash. Spring shears and buttons and strigils, all a cross section of life on a very wealthy farm, wealthy enough to boast two separate bath structures. The first was obviously built in haste, to give the property legitimacy as a roman dwelling. The second was obviously the product of wealth.

 
With the possibilities of Rockbourne exhausted we went with Tessa to the local town of Fordingbridge, a beautiful town on the river Avon.


We stood on the bridge watching the water swirl beneath us as Tessa told us tales of their family trips on the canals in narrowboats. It sounds like enormous fun but a little expensive for our style of travel.

From Fordingbridge Tessa took us back to their place with a new route in the New Forest. We passed by Pig Bush where the Ormans had once lost a dog, only to have him walk home, many miles away.

Tessa had us over for dinner, which we shared with Paul and their children Megan and Thomas. Their daughter Amy was in Canada. Thomas went to bed early and Paul was tired from working night shifts at the esso plant at Fawley. But Tessa and Megan stayed awake quite late and we played games. Heather and Megan won but Tessa and I were only a single point behind in a game to fifty points. I must say that we went home very tired but that the day was one of the most exciting and fun we have had since we’ve stopped in Holbury.

Next Entry: Day 40. Hurst Castle
Previous Entry: Day 38. Old Sarum

Day 38. Old Sarum. Sept 13 2001.

Kerry came early this morning and we climbed into the car for a day trip out to the ancient town of old Sarum. It was a nice, relatively tranquil, drive up through the gray mists of a south England day and it was nice to be able to talk to Kerry.

The day dawned bleak and gray and it remained that way throughout. At times the wind and rain was so powerful it seemed to push us along the drenched grass.

 

Old Sarum rose like a great grassy donut out of the northern side of Salisbury. A steep hill rising in a circle to a great flat plateau that had once housed the entire town and now had only a lawn in the center.

  Rising from an excavated moat was a great grassy wall that protected the ancient seat of royal power for Britain.
Inside, the ruin had been so long abandoned and quarried for the nearby city that the walls of the ancient building seemed to have melted under the weight of ages. The shape and power of what must have been an amazingly powerful place was almost impossible to see from the remains.

 
From the walls we could see a panoramic view of the entire Salisbury area. The cathedral rose like a threatening needle that captured the grey clouds as they went racing by.


We both felt nostalgic looking at it, remembering our last trip and our climb inside the tower. The cathedral at old Sarum was little more than rocky paths in the outline of the ancient walls. It was hard to believe that something so large, so grand, had stood for only a few years before being demolished and then rebuilt and then completely moved.


As we walked around Sarum’s walls we wondered if we could see Stonehenge in the distance. We could not, but it graphically illustrates the tourist dilemma. We wouldn’t mind going to the monument but neither of us really wants to fight the crowds of other tourists.

After touring Old Sarum we were picked up by Kerry and returned home.
The return trip was less tranquil than the one going out. Imogene was rather bored with the car and determined to stand up and walk around with Heather frantically trying to convince her to sit down.

Our day ended, I’m afraid, on a very sad note. After eating dinner with Kerry and Simon we walked home only to find our way blocked by police tape. A local man had backed out of his driveway without realize that his daughter was behind him. She did not survive.

Next Entry: Day 39. Rockbourne
Previous Entry: Day 37. Southampton

Day 37. Southampton. Sept 12 2001.

Kerry and Simon dropped us off in Southampton today as Simon had to visit Colin to have his teeth done. We didn’t go expecting to find much of interest, mostly a day of browsing through shops and strolling casually. I’m afraid the city lived up to our expectations. The whole day felt very grey.

We visited the town quay and ate a packed lunch on the Southampton waters, watching the ferries to the Isle of Wight dock. From there we walked to the maritime museum. Southampton’s past contains an era when it was a great port for cruise ships and this was showcased in this small but intricate museum. Now, few major cruise ships dock here, and almost none for a transatlantic crossing. It's sad really that such an elegant way of traveling must be lost from the world. Southampton was also the major departing point for the Titanic and so there was a Titanic exhibit.
What it is about the Titanic that captures the human imagination is so intangible it eludes me. Eerie to see the collection of titantic items from surviving passenger’s pockets. I know that people steal from hotel rooms; great liners must have been the same. But who does it when their grand hotel is sinking?

From the museum we walked along the old town walls, disappointed that the museum of archeology was closed. These we followed up into the central shopping district, which surrounded the main surviving gate of Southampton, the Bargate. We browsed through some bookshops and Heather bought herself an introduction to yoga. We tried to buy a good road map of France, our new destination, but we couldn't find one that showed us the location of campgrounds, kind of important information the way we are traveling.

Finally we were picked up by Kerry and taken home. Tonight we dined with Paul and Tessa and Thomas and Megan Orman and stayed well into the night.


Next Entry: Day 38. Old Sarum
Previous Entry: Sept 11. 2001

Yachts Anyone?

Greetings and salutations to all:

We are now safely ensconced in Brian and Sylvia’s house in Holbury, as they visit our parents in Calgary ironically enough, and we thought that we’d share our most recent news with you while we have the chance.

We left Colin and Hayley’s in high spirits, glad of our rest and eager to ride forth on our bikes once more. A mile later we were less excited and already moaning for the comforts of Rolls Mills farmhouse. That day I’m afraid we both earned the title of Fearful Voyager. The first day back on the seat of a bike was more painful than the day we left Audrey and Den’s; Colin and Hayley had let us relax too much (yes, that’s it, its their fault) so we had lost whatever biking edge we had developed.

We stopped that first day at a place known as the Badbury Rings, more from exhaustion than any real desire to explore. But it turned out to be a fortuitous stop. The Rings were the defensive fortifications of an ancient town that sat at the cross roads of four major Roman roads. Most intriguingly, for the Fearful Voyager at least, was the fact that the Rings were a candidate for Mount Badon, the place were King Arthur defeated the invading Saxons and united England for a time. Since the Rings could hardly be classified as a mountain the association is unlikely, but it was neat none the less.

We carried on from there to the town of Wimborne, where we found a small, out of the way campground that had, wonder of wonders, a swimming pool. We immediately determined to stay an extra day in the place, our sore bottoms playing only a small role in our decision.

The next day the Fearful Voyager magically transmogrified into Dr. Colin Orman, while Heather, the Brave Traveller, became Mrs. Hayley Orman. Using our new alias’ we gained entry to the National Trust Property of Kingston Lacy, a manor house that would be a little beyond the price range of all our friends…combined I’m afraid.

We toured the inside of the magnificently decorated building, The Fearful Voyager being a bit snobby about the paintings of Greek legends and the Brave Traveller gasping loudly at the paintings she recognised from her years of attentive study. Unfortunately the Velasquez was a copy but the Titian and the Van Dyck were genuine (Don’t worry if that is meaningless to you, it was to me). The Fearful Voyager also found the fact that the dinning room was adorned with paintings all depicting famous cases of sexual assault somewhat suspicious, but who can understand the super rich?

That night we retired to our campground and the pools. Ah yes the pool, how we longed to bath our sore muscles in relaxing warm waters. Warm…like Canadian winters perhaps. The Brave Traveller well earned her title this day by plunging head first into the subzero waters and paddling about like a contented polar bear. The Fearful Voyager earned his title as well, taking a good three quarters of an hour to get into the water up to his knees! What an insane wife the poor Fearful Voyager has!

From Wimborne we biked a long trip through some really twisted, not mentally, roads along the British coast and entered the New Forest, new as in 900 years old. Heather was delighted by the heather and Brendan was …nope shouldn’t say that! The heather was a purple carpet coating everything except the New Forest ponies, and sometimes even them.

After passing Bealieu Heath, possibly the windiest place on earth, we stopped in the small town of Bealieu, near to the birthplace of the Fearful Voyagers grandmother. Here we called Kerry and Simon Topp, who lived nearby in Holbury, to arrange a time to meet them…no answer. We called again…no answer. One ice cream cone later we braved the open heath land of the New Forest once more and pedalled to Holbury where at the first phone we called again, only to have their son, Josh, step of their house and wave us over. Kerry and Simon quickly escorted us to their parents house, hand over nose, so that we could shower, and then proceeded to stuff us with food.

The next day, or soon thereafter (days kind of blur for us) we were taken to Portchester Castle, to see our very first medieval tournament. Heather was enthralled by the archery and falconry displays, while I enjoyed watching idiots on horseback run at each other with long pieces of wood and expect to survive. Our guy won, even if we were only cheering for him because we happened to be standing by his tent, but hey, take your wins were you can. Kerry and Simon became the Bravest Travellers ever by purchasing their three children wooden swords and bows! We took a side trip to Portsmouth Ferry terminal where we were told a trip to Spain would cost around £250, only five times the expected price! After leaving and reading the companies brochure we discovered the price to be £44 so now we must work that out, but it gives us the opportunity to stay for Sam Middleditch’s birthday party, next Saturday.

The next day Heather and I took advantage of significantly lightened bikes (dropping our panniers off at Brian and Syl’s) and biked down to Lepe Beach. For those who are not British I should clarify that anything called a beach in England might qualify as a gravel road at home. The Brave Traveller was delighted to see her tree still standing, the one in the picture titled "Roots" for art enthusiasts and proud print owners.

Today we are being hosted by the Middleditches (I remind Nick that all names are spelt phonetically!), Nick and Maxine, who have kindly excused my eccentricity as I got over to their house and disappeared from sight into the computer room.. I’m not a recluse, really. Maxine, the decorator of our cake by the way, has promised to show me to a photo developer so I can send pictures home (I’m getting pretty anxious to see my fingerprints enlarged fifty times). We have also been promised a visit to the local candy store. I think Nick and Colin have an arrangement on the side. Nick rots our teeth and they split Colin’s dentist fee!

Next on our agenda is Spain, with a week or two rest and argument with P&O ferries first, but at least the ferry terminal is only a bike ride away. So until the next time I can write, hope everyone is well wherever you happen to be, and we will contact you as soon as we can again.

Love

The Brave Traveller and the Fearful Voyager

P.S. If anyone owns a really big yacht could they please ferry us over to Spain? Or maybe we can hook pontoons to the bikes, hmmm……

P.P.S. If anyone see’s Brian and Sylvia while we have switched places, Nick gently reminds Brian that he was given a single, simple, task to do from Canada

Next Entry: Sept 11. 2001.
Previous Entry: Topless Women Ride Free

Topless Women Ride Free (not a porn offer, Brendan swears!)

An email out of sequence:

Hello Everybody once more.

I just thought I'd relay our adventures here at Rolls Mills Farmhouse before we moved on into that strange dark land where we have no idea of the locations of any computers.

The first day here we managed to take in the Dorset Steam Fair, an event that showcased ancient steam tractors. Imagine, if you can, rows upon rows of steam tractors, all billowing black coal smoke and white steam high into the air while steam organs pump carnival music out at unimaginable volumes. Next to that is a flea market so big that it sprawls across several fields and it so vast that you can hardly see the other side, or is that the smoke? Next to that still, is a massive carnival midway, filled with shrieking kids, people vomiting from the rides or is that the smoke? Heather, The Brave Traveller, did not react well when I suggested getting a job with the carnival and she just ignored me when I pointed to one of the rides that sported a sign proclaiming "TOPLESS WOMEN RIDE FREE."

We stayed late into the night and forced poor Colin to fight horrendous traffic just to pick us up. We also got the grand tour of Colin's dental practice, a tour that had us both covering our mouths and racing for our toothbrushes as soon as we got home.

The next day we were treated by Colin and Dave, Hayley's dad, to a trip on their motorboat. Heather, despite being a Brave Traveller was teriffied that she would throw up all over the boat, but she didn't feel the least bit queasy. We shall see how she does on the thirty hour ferry ride to Spain. It was very exciting to be on the ocean, salt spray in our hair, wind upon our face, our spines shattering as we leapt from wave to wave, yeah really exciting. Actually we had a really good time, especially racing around one harbour where Colin did not feel like paying his dues and felt we should avoid the harbour partrol! We also got the oportunity that day to see the giant of Cerne Abbas, though not the oportunity to test out his reknown powers. Picture a chalk figure with a phallus around twenty feet long and you can imagine what goes on around him every night. We also got to watch an important English football match were England smashed Germany 5 to 1. Hayley was so excited she was almost through the roof, she was very careful to put down her tea everytime England got near Germany's goal. She sometimes regretted cheering so loudly as she woke up the baby and got to hear another sort of screaming! The highlight of the day was, of course, the chance to sit down and watch American movies on DVD. Travel across all of Canada, a great big ocean, down throught the hills of Wales and what do we do? Watch American movies!

The next day Colin and Hayley raced us about the local countryside, showing us important sites. We took a drive to the stone age fort atop the hill known as the Bulbarrow and got to smell the wonderful english sheep. we also got to see an incredible view over the area as the Bulbarrow is the highest hill in the region. From there we travelled down to the Mill that once served Sturminster Newton. We got a personal tour from the last Millers grandson and we delighted in everything, leaving poor Hayley and Evie (The Baby) waiting in the car and keeping the tour guide well past his quitting time on what turned out to be his wifes birthday. What can we say, we're tourists.

Today Colin took us up to watch him fly his remote control model gliders. Heather was not too excited about watching someone else fly a something. Instead she would rather have sat in the jeep and talked to Hayley about the differences in Candian and British English. Her attitude changed as soon as she saw Colin launch his glider into the turbulent air and sending in practiced swoops over our head. We now know where the shriek of TIE fighters came from. From there we toured outside the Stourhead Gardens, the house was only about the size of the House of Parliment and the replica Pantheon in the back yard only a little lawn ornament. I will be that rich someday, I will, I will, I will!!! Or probably not!

We have greatly enjoyed our time here, resting from our labours. In fact we are so rested that getting going again might be a challenge. The first night was intresting, the soft bed beneath us kept feeling like the ground giving way and I could hardly sleep. Hayley has been a marvel, though she would deny it, she keeps begging off on meals, saying that the baby makes her too tired to do what she would normally, then she puts a full and beautiful meal in front of us. We have gained back any weight we had lost.

Tomorrow we head one, going to visit the other Orman's and the new Forest. In fact we will be switching places with Brian and Sylvia, Mick and Kath and Amy, so if your in Canada and want to see some of the people we are talking about drop by the Fearfull Voyagers parents place. Try not to take too many pictures of them though, they are people too. We will wait around the New Forest (only four hundred years old the forest is, very new if you ask me) for a week or so. Hayley has suggested we visit a medieval festival in Portsmouth, so we will see if we can hijack an Orman or two to go with us. From there we are off to Spain. Spain!! We can hardly belive it will be us going to Spain, it sounds so exotic, and our stomachs clench thinking of going to a county where we know no one. It will be a whole new challenge. They have a completely new brand of funny money that we have to get used to.

We hope to write before leaving but who can say. We are thinking of you all, except maybe you and you and you, so give thought to us now and then. We will try not to rub in how good of a time we are having.

Lots of Love
The Brave Traveller and Fearful Voyager

P.S. Because we have so many people on our address line some email filters think we are junk mail (I hope my writing isn't that bad) or that we have viruses (I've been vacinated I don't know about Heather) (OOOUCH!) and our letters are shunted to other folders. So if you know someone who should be getting our messages but isn't (Hint: look at the people in the address line and see if you recognize any addresses), let them know and tell them to change their settings, its not hard.

Next Entry: Yachts Anyone
Previous Entry: Day 35. Marchwood

Day 35. Marchwood. Sept 10 2001

Today was to be spent traveling all over the New Forest in the company of Nick and Maxine Middleditch. Unfortunately Nick was unable to get his car fully insure and so we spent the day at their home in Marchwood, a small town in the greater Southampton area.

Before we left Brian and Sylvia's we had the opportunity to meet the neighbors, who commented salaciously on the fact that we have not opened the curtains on our bedroom since we have arrived. The truth is that we couldn’t be bothered to open and close them every day, but now, knowing that all the neighbors are peering into our windows the curtains will most certainly remain closed.

Nick and Maxine house was small, a perfect little place.We got the opportunity to use the Internet and we sent out a mass email. We were lucky to be online at the same time as Edna, and we kind of chatted across thousands of kilometers. It was thrilling to speak to her but sent thrills of homesickness through us.

After Emily and Sam (the children) were sent off to bed and we had chatted awhile with the Middleditches we decided to go home. Nick took us on a little drive into the very quaint town of Eling with it's very small marina, tidal mill and many pubs.

It was lit in a soft yellow light that made it seem like a town from ancient history with flame for streetlights. In Eling we were delivered to an Aladdin’s cave of candy. A store that appealed to sweet teeth with a collection of old style candies and new style chocolate bars. Our purchases started off light but rapidly grew.
We spent the night watching movies and gorging ourselves on our new candy until we were sick and we did it all with curtains firmly closed.

Next Entry: Topless Women Ride Free
Previous Entry: Day 34. Lepe

Day 34. Lepe. Sept. 9 2001

Today was a fairly uneventful and with nothing else on our plate we decided to go for a small bike ride. Kerry and Simon’s children have returned to school so we are free from distraction for a while. We looked at the local map and decided to bike down to Lepe beach. We had been there on our last trip to England and Heather had produced her famous print “Roots” from a picture taken at the beach.


I should preface this by stating that what the British call a beach the rest of the world, O.K. Canada at least, would call a gravel road.

We mounted our unladen bikes and set out, a little concerned because while Lepe seemed close on the map so too had Knighton from Clun. Also we had some difficulty riding. Our bikes without their gear seemed like fragile crystalline things that would snap if pushed too hard.

The ride down was very nice but the wind increased the closer we got to the sea until it was almost a solid wall, which became a little rank as we passed by a hog farm.

The sea, actually the Solent, was beautiful and calmer than the wind would have suggested. We stopped for a long time to watch Heather’s tree. She was delighted to see that it was little changed.

From there we biked down the beach in the direction of Calshot, the cigarette styled smokestack of the Fawley power station raising like a beacon high above us. It is strange that since being here I have had no urge to visit Calshot considering how much time I spent there in the past. But we have heard too many disturbing tales of the Calshot character for us to want to visit.

Our trip along the beach at Lepe was slow and once we hit the actual shingle we dismounted and walked, enjoying the gentle pulsing of the waves as the lapped at the shore. When we reached the turnaround pint in our walk, about halfway to Calshot we stopped to play. Heather walked all around the rocks eyes fixed resolutely on her feet, searching for shells, while I built a causeway of rocks as far into the water as I could. What it is that compels me to build something every time I’m on a beach I do not know.

After a seeming eternity of play on the beach and in the water the light began to fade so we returned to the green before Heather’s tree. I think that if both Heather and I could spend the rest of our lived playing on the verge of the sea we would be content.

Next Entry: Day 35. Marchwood
Previous Entry: Day 33. Portsmouth

Day 33. Portsmouth. Sept 8 2001

We took a trip into Portsmouth to see a medieval tournament at Portchester castle. It was very exciting for both Heather and I.

Heather was enthralled by the falconry display. To watch a predatory Eagle Owl, with talons as long as my fingers under the control of a slip of a woman was enchanting.

Heather was also very interested in the Archery display, talking about taking classes when we return home.

 
I was interested to compare rates of fire for the difference weapons. 18 shots a minute for a bow to 12 for a crossbow and 1 for a musket. The cannons fired 2 with a crew of three.


The most interesting aspect for me was the joust, something I had never seen before. The rules are different than Hollywood has led us to believe and there were no unhorsings.


Our knight, Sir Edward Stacey,

 
won the joust while another won the grand melee.

 
To see in action things I have studied and in such a setting was almost magical. The castle itself was a solid structure that from a distance looked like the classic ideal of what a castle should be.


It lost little of its appeal close up.

 
From Portchester castle we drove into Portsmouth ferry terminals where we had a long conversation with the Spanish lady at the Bilbao counter who didn’t understand English even though she spoke it and she quoted us ferry prices five times higher than we had expected causing us both a lot of depression that lifted slightly when we read their brochure and saw something like the prices we had anticipated, but we still have to spend time sorting things out.

On the way back we passed Whale Island, where you could still see the ancient submarines askew in the water as they awaited their ultimate fate.

Next Entry: Day 34. Lepe
Previous Entry: Day 32. Holbury

Day 32. Holbury Sept 7 2001

The great pen search continues, oh my kingdom for a keyboard.

Well what a day this has been. It started in relative tranquility, watching The Sound of Music for Heather’s first time and starting to read C.S. Lewis’ “The Lion, Witch and the Wardrobe.”

Intriguingly as we use Brian and Sylvia’s house they are using our place back in Canada. I called home but as everyone was busy promised to call back at 2 in the morning.

We were woken by Brian’s cousin coming for a visit, after which we lounged around in our undress uniforms.

Being in a city once more, coming home to all the lights being off from a blown fuse, and walking along darkened alleyways has made Heather and I feel less comfortable and jumping at every noise. We feel like we want to move on but we are hoping it is merely tonight and that the feeling will pass.

It would be very difficult to give up free accommodation and the creature comforts of a home just because of squeamish feelings cause by phantoms and too long in the county. After all, how can I find the perfect pen is we avoid the cities?

Next Entry: Day 33. Portsmouth.
Previous Entry: Day 31. Holbury

Day 31. Holbury Sept 6 2001

What a long ride today. We slept late, forgoing the morning swim we had planned on and, hopping on our bikes, we were on our way.

The first stage, though a little confusing, passed in relative ease. There even was a path for a large portion of the Bournemouth journey. We biked from milestone to milestone, first following the signs that pointed to Bournemouth then Christchurch then Lymington, Beaulieu and finally Holbury.

We managed to make it to Lymington, with only a brief pause for groceries and a jaunt inside a local library to find a copy of Hesiod, before we truly needed to stop.

Lymington is a beautiful port town with an old quay and high street. I must admit that it seemed to have shrunk a lot since I was last here. How perception changes as you age.


From Lymington we were forced to go uphill, a curse word for bikers, onto the Beaulieu heath portion of our trip. The heath was beautiful, a portion of the New Forest (which is 900 years old, instead of the young 400 I had thought) that was covered in a carpet of heather and dotted with ponies.

Unfortunately it was blasted by a blistering wind. It was, if such a thing is possible, even worse than going uphill. Still we made it to Beaulieu, though Heather, who was in the lead, biked right past the correct turn and kept going, me yelling behind. We will see who leads next time!

Not being able to reach Kerry from Beaulieu we continued on to Holbury and called from the nearest phone box, which was, incidentally, right near their house. After meeting and greeting we were shipped off to Brian and Sylvia Orman’s where we could shower and shave before returning for a pizza dinner.

It was during this respite that we discovered that Heather’s pannier rack had broken. Sometimes I swear her bike is cursed.

The Topp family was a bundle of energy, their littlest shying away from me, their middle child, Cameron, delighting in his ability to pass wind and their eldest, Josh, becoming quite smitten with Heather, a feeling I understand, she being beautiful, foreign and mine.

We stayed up quite late drinking with Kerry and Simon, discussing their plans to move to Australia and stumbling home rather drunk. And now I’m afraid I will be forced to change pens once more.

 

Next Entry: Day 32. Holbury
Previous Entry: Day 30. Wimbourne

Day 30. Wimbourne still. Sept 5 2001

We slept late, as seems to be our want, then, panniers left behind, we biked back to Kingston Lacy.



It’s a small manor house, but new to us, so we explored it quite thoroughly. The detail work on the heaters, the banisters, all the minute parts of a house that plebs and the rich would normally leave undecorated is amazing, but almost saturating, until the whole display is lost in a saccharine coating.

The paintings were on a similar scale. One room, the dining room, was covered in Rape scenes, which makes one more than a little suspicious. We saw paintings by Titian and Van Dyckand a copy or rough draft of a Velasquez that made Heather gasp so loudly people nearby were alarmed.

The paintings of nude women were more than a little disturbing. Proper women did not pose nude so the artist had to use male bodies as their guide. All the women look like East German weightlifters with breasts.

Especially...interesting... was the painting of a woman fondling her breasts hanging in the lady of the house’s washroom.

Many of the artifacts were collected in “Grand Tours” of Europe, which made me think of our “Grand Tour” which will have few such artifacts but hopefully a big impact.

I was delighted to find, in the collection of Egyptian oddities a statue of the god Hetep baqet, a god of the moringa tree which I can add to my collection of tree gods.

In the gardens we we found an obelisk and sarcophagus stolen from Egyptian sands and many pathways.

  The paths in one section were so well set up for enjoying each others company that they must have been designed with that in mind. Though how they managed to get up those in victorian skirts is beyond me. Necessity is (I suppose) the mother of invention.

I have come to believe that the world needs an aristocracy so that people will sponsor the beautiful things. I only hope to be one of them!!!

However, still a member of the plebian class I , with my paramour, returned to the campsite for our much anticipated dip. The water was warm, at least a good half degree above freezing, and my insane wife plunged in head first while I waded in with trepidation. We enjoyed the water, cold as it was, until freezing temperatures drove us to the warmth of our tent.

Next Entry: Day 31. Holbury
Previous Entry: Day 29. Wimbourne