Ireland 2010
  
 

Day 10

June 19

  
   
I wake up when the sunlight peeks through the curtains of my room - which is pretty late for me. But we are not starting early this morning and it will be a while before breakfast is available downstairs in the dining area.  
 
I decide to go out for walk and explore the town of Tewkesbury. Arthur gives me his approval for the plan in his usual quiet way. Never the expressive one, he has much gravitas and sometimes can be a bit stiff and standoffish.  
 
I notice on my way out that this building has some interesting history attached. Seems as if Charles II suffered a pretty bad defeat at the Battle Of Worcester and actually hid in a compartment in this building to escape Mr. Cromwell and his army.  
 
The VFR survived the night, so I unlock it and stow the chain in the trunk and commence my gadabout.  
 
I give my best wishes to the local Miss Cat as she is also out for her morning constitutional.  
 
Tewkesbury is an interesting village with lots of history, located where the River Avon flows into the River Severn. There are an array of canal boats on this section of the River Avon, also known as narrow boats.  
 
I continue my journey down High Street to get a better look at the town. It is a eclectic mixture of old and new, butted firmly together. I enjoy the quiet and deserted street, which gives me time to stop and look at various shops.  
 
At the end of the street is a cross in memory of the local men who fought and died in the 'Great War' - WWI.  
 
As I make my way back up the other side of the street, I notice a shop with a feller outside properly setting up the vegetables that he has for sale. I can tell that he is excited by his wares from the comments I can hear from across the street. Nothing like a man who enjoys the particular trade that he is afflicted with.  
 
As I pass what I would call a real estate office, I check out the prices of some local parcels. I guess since they are not making any more land in the UK, they price it accordingly. But it's pretty pricey from where I stand and I wonder just how anyone can actually afford to buy a place of abode over here.  
 
Then I pass by a 'free money machine', also known as a 'Hole in the Wall'. For you colonials, it vaguely resembles an automated teller machine in the State.  
 
Some of the old building along the street have interesting passageways to their inner courtyards, good for parking useful items such as motorcycles.  
 
As I head back to the River Avon, I spy a sign that seems very appropriate. Moff, a dear riding friend from Kent, has a given first name of Nigel and just happens to be a full time policeman.  
 

Nearby, I encounter Steve, who is also out for his morning walk. We both get a good laugh about the sign and strike up a conversation as we continue. As always, I ask what line of work does he do, and he tells me that he is a specialist in languages, focusing on how the human mind learns them. Since I've never encounter someone of this specialty, I have lots of questions. Books are a wonderful thing, but it's nice to quiz a feller that's shot the gun, not one that has read a book about shooting the gun.

"Since I've never met a feller in your line of work, let me ask you a question. Is the rate of the syllables spoken in a foreign language faster or do we just think they're faster because we don't understand?" I ask him.

"No, they are generally about the same" he tells me.

"That's what I've always wondered and though was the case. What about those computer based language programs - any of them any better than the others?"

"No, not really. The ones who seem to learn a new language the easiest are those people who can become like a child and do not get embarrassed easily. They work through the mistakes" Steve tells me.

We continue along the canal path as it is a lovely one with more of the narrow boats in various configurations docked near ancient row houses.

  
 
As we walk, Steve explains that he is also a 'professor examiner' who certifies other professors that teach languages. He operates out of Oxford, but he gets to travel all over the world. He's been to Florinapolis, Brazil like I have and we both concur that it is a very lovely place. As we make our way toward the bridge that will take across back across the River Avon to the hotel, there are even more fancy narrow boats moored. I can see these are sort of like custom cars back home, with each one outfitted with different ornaments and such.  
 
Across the river, two fellers are enjoying a bit of morning fishing as the swans are trying to 'help' them with their catch.  
 
Soon we arrive back at the hotel and breakfast is being set. My friends from Belgium, Luc and Annie are there, as well as Gareth, my roommate on one of my Scottish adventures . Gareth is a true gentleman, a scholar, and quite a rider - not to mention being a near professional photographer. We have a great time as the food is excellent and the company even better. But soon it's time to make our way out to the Lower Lode where the rest of the entourage are camping. I just fall in behind Steve and kick back and enjoy the passing scenery.  
 

It's a short ride and soon we are back where the rest of the folks are. Miss Fi, Miss Annie and Miss Jackie are discussing some serious topic when I tell them -

"Well, at least there are three lovely Roses amongst all these thorns!"

  
 

Peter, who is usually functions as a gracious ride director, lays out what we will be doing today.

"We will cover about 125 miles today at a leisurely pace. We'll take in some of the local sites with stop at a railroad museum. Just remember that this is not a race." he reminds us.

 
 
After all of the pressure and rushing in Ireland due to the unfortunate circumstances, it will be nice just to take a day and kick back. I find a place behind Paul, and I am just as happy as a pig in slop.  
 
Some of the narrow streets that we negotiate make me very glad that I am on two wheels instead of four.  
 
The narrow country lanes make me feel as if we are going to some secret place, as the trees almost form a tunnel overhead. And in a sense we are, a place of friendship, good times, and pleasant memories.  
 
But I do wonder as we thread our way down this narrow alley whether or not our fearless leader, Peter, has been GPSed!  
 
We make our way through another village until we come to our first destination of the day.  
 
We pull into the car park for Bourton On The Water, the Venice Of the Cotswolds.  
 
The spring fed River Windrush flows through the center of town. There are numerous pretty bridges crossing back and forth - several of which were built around 1756. The soothing sound of the rushing water is quite enjoyable to my road weary soul.  
 
The average depth of the river is only ten inches, so it makes great wading for the young ones - and for an old one like me if I had the time. Maybe I will on another day and another time.  
 
It is a quiet, peaceful place, filled with the laughter of children and the joy of families sharing time together.  
 
 
 

The village has thoughtfully set up places of rest through the village so if one wants to just sit quietly and contemplate, they can. Sadly, that aspect of our human lives seems to have vanished as we are too busy about being busy. Soon we find a lovely upstairs cafe and enjoy and nice meal. I go for the cottage pie and I am not disappointed. But it does bring up a question and I ask it -

"What's the difference between a cottage pie and a shepherd's pie? They seem about the same to me."

As it turns out, after a interesting discussion, that a cottage pie is usually made with beef and a shepherd's pie is usually made with lamb. Now my brain is wrinkled as I have learned something new. As we head back to the car park, I think this is such a lovely place that I would like to return to one day.

 
 
But we have other places to see on this peaceful journey, so we're off again through the villages and the countryside.  
 
We travel from well marked roadways to not so well marked roadways to ...  
 
hardly marked at all roadways. But it just doesn't matter to me, as long as I don't lose sight of the bike in front of me.  
 
Along the way, we take a brief break so necessary matters can be attend to.  
 
Occasionally we encounter some traffic, but at least for today it is on a well marked roadway so we don't have to sort out who dodges which way.  
 

We wind our way through the narrow streets of several villages like this one in Chipping-Campden. At one point, I hear Dave mention and antique shop that we just passed. He says

"It's run by Mr. Nutter."

I quickly respond -

"Hmm, Dave, that must be your uncle" and I notice Miss Fi shaking with laughter up ahead of me.

  
 
Soon we pull into the Toddington Railway Station which is a live and operating steam railway. It operates a round trip of 20 miles from Toddington via Winchcombe to Cheltenham Racecourse and has several historical engines on display and well as in use.  
 
We are a bit surprised to find that this active train is actually being pushed by what appears to be a standard diesel locomotive but it's still pretty neat to look at.  
 
And the old station is in good form and function. It's nice to see how well trains function over here for passengers and how sad it is that they have fallen into disuse back in the States except for hauling freight. I guess folks are in too big a hurry to use a train so they get to spend all extra time saved waiting in airports now.  
   
  And as Miss Jackie stops admire the flowers, I can't help but think at least this is a Rose amongst the Roses!  
 
There's a nice little cafe on site, so it gives us a chance to get some tea and other delights for those that are so predisposed. And it becomes quite evident that the tea must loosen the tongues and mighty tales are told around the tables.  
 
But our 'train' must pull out if we are to get back at a reasonable time.  
 
Gareth leads Luc, Annie and me back to our hotel so we can freshen up a bit before we head out to the Lower Lode where the rest of the group is staying.  
 
 

After I wash some of the day's stink off, I wander back out side to the patio where Gareth, Luc and Annie are relaxing. We all decide that we really don't want to suit back up and ride out to the Lower Lode, so Gareth goes out on a mission to see if we can book a canal ferry to carry us there. It sounds like a great plan to me, but unfortunately he finds out that the ferry shuts down at 4:30 PM so we are out of luck. But it's only a 10 spot for us each way to take the cab out, so I tell them -

"I'm up for it - sounds like a plan to me."

Gareth gets us booked coming and going and soon our motorized but non aquatic mode of transportation arrives and swiftly carries us to our destination. When we get there, I am just tickled to death to see Keith, who is a dear friend from Cornwall, has come down. We were going to ride New Zealand together, but it unfortunately did not work out. But he has brought me a must have book for my future adventure there - the 'New Zealand Motorcycle Atlas' which also includes 100 top rides in the country. I give him a big hug, and we catch up a bit of what has been going on in our lives since we were last together.

 
   
My friend, SmartHound, is also there and we get to talk a bit. Folks like this I may not get to see very often, but they are never far from my heart.  
   
  But my stomach is sending out signals to see if my throat has been cut, so I figure I'd better tend to business and order some food. I go for the fish and chips and am not disappointed by my choice.  
 

Over dinner, I get a chance to spend a little time with Andre, the ST rider from Russia. I always like to find out what folks do for a living and he is an engineer. He also tells me that home is about two thousand kilometers from here, which would be about thirteen hundred miles. In my brain, I'm thinking that's only about halfway across the States - about Nashville to Albuquerque - which I rode in one long day. I'm still amazed as how short the distances are in Europe compared to back home. I kick my brain back into the present and tell him -

"Let me give you my email address, so that if you ever decide to come to the States I can hopefully be of help to you."

He also gives me a Russian ST-Owners Club decal which I put in a safe place.

 
 
As the evening winds down and we talk about tomorrow, Derek and Jackie have graciously offered to guide me back into London. And then Steve says that he would be glad to take us into Oxford, where he works, for a short walking tour. And since Luc and Annie have to go that way, they will be coming along. It's a great evening, full of lively discussions and getting know new folks like Freddie and Lucy and catching up with old friends like Colin and Bob. But I can feel the tiredness settling in my bones and soon we call for the cab, which Gareth graciously pays for on the return trip. When we arrive back at the hotel, I bid all a good night and make my way to my room. It does not take me long to find that place of quiet rest.