Two Fat
Englishmen's Towpath Foray Eastward.
Saturday 15
April
Ian Maclachlan, HNA
chairman, had expressed a desire to join me on the towpath as I cycled to
Limehouse from my domicile in South Ruislip in order to ride the "Lumpy
Thames" from Limehouse to Brentford. A very pleasant change indeed--not
only would I have company on the way, but, for the first time in many cycle
forays to this destination, I wouldn't have to cycle all the way home again,
covering familiar ground. No, I'd only have to mount up from, at the worst,
Brentford, or, in the best-case scenario, Bull's Bridge. I didn't know what
the exact plans were for the boats and folks awaiting us at Limehouse Basin,
save that the 13:00 tide would carry them [and us] westwards up the river.
Ian, competing with
Barry Trimmer for prompt arrival, was drinking coffee in my lounge by 09:25 and
09:52 saw us pedal away from Queen's walk. I had to school myself to warn
Ian that I might be making some corner-cutting manoeuvres on our initial
trip to the canal towpath. On one's own, it's automatic, but Ian, not being
so used to cycling or indeed so familiar with the environs of Ruislip,
Northolt and Wembley, needed consideration on my part when it came to route
taken, hills climbed and weight carried! Now, I'm certainly no slim Jim at
16˝ stone but next to Ian! Suffice it to say, that on a balance scale with
me in one pan and Ian in the other I would find myself suspended in mid-air!
Anyway, we skirted the
foothills of Horsenden Hill on our way to Wembley, and I knew I would have
to wait for Ian to catch me up at the top before our glorious free-wheeling
descent down Bridgewater road to the towpath opposite ''The Pleasure Boat.''
I just didn't expect to
grow a beard whilst doing so! [Only kidding Ian, there was barely time
to sprout a moustache!]
At this point I should
explain why I choose to cycle this way rather than access the towpath near
the mosque in Rowdell Road, Northolt, much nearer my house. It's because the
state of the towpath between Northolt and Wembley---full of potholes and
muddy puddles. From Wembley eastwards the towpath is smooth, and from Acton
onwards, it's paved because of the 400,000 volt electicity cable running
below it from the power station in North Acton to Hackney in the East End.
10:25 was showing on
Ian's mileometer device attached to his handlebars when we finally
trundled onto the towpath at Alperton. The signpost, newly-erected, stated
that Paddington was 6˝ miles distant and we set off, Ian being very aware
that no more ''Horsenden Hills'' were yet to be faced! The best aspect of
the canal towpath, that of a secretive shortcut that swiftly transports you
from area to area, in perfect peace and quiet then became apparent as
we moved smoothly on through Acton, Scrubs Lane, Harrow Road and Paddington
to emerge into Browning's Pool at Little Venice, quiet now--but soon to
become a site of feverish activity at the end of the month when the Canalway
Cavalcade takes place from 29 April--1 May.
Ian and I wheeled our
way up Blomfield Road and over the Edgware Road into Abercorn Place and
Cunningham Place to descend a steep flight of steps and return to the
towpath which had resumed as the waterway emerged from Maida Hill tunnel.
Past the moorings at Lisson Wide there was no point in remounting the bikes
until Prince Albert Road, as the residential boaters have sensibly built
small humps of concrete across the pathway to carry their service pipes
[electricity and water] to their boats. It has the added effect of making
bikers dismount!
The weather being
reasonably warm, London Zoo was fairly busy--as indeed was the market at
Camden Town. I admired the way that Ian managed to cycle up and over the
flying bridge at Hampstead Road Locks. The advantage of a mountain bike's
very low gearing, my 'Town and Country' one being no match for the gradient.
Threading our way through the milling hordes we soon passed St Pancras and
Battlebridge Basin before having to make an enforced overland trip at Muriel
Street where the Islington Tunnel begins. Ian hung on to my coat tails with
grim determination as we negotiated small alleys, a children's playground,
one-way streets [the wrong way!] and Tony Blair's Islingtonia to arrive at
Colebrook Row where the water reached daylight once more. Ian drily observed
that the overland route seemed longer than the 987 yards of the tunnel's
length. No matter, we were on schedule and it was towpath all the way
from now on!
City Road Basin and
Wenlock Basin passed by in a blur and in seemingly no time we had partaken
of a refreshing drink of Adam's ale at the waterpoint hard alongside Old
Ford Lock. We reminisced about the time we got locked in Victoria Park a
couple of years back [see:-The
Two Barry's Go West, The Thames Epilogue, elsewhere] and
got moving again. The bridge 'oles are to be cycled under with care. Mostly
they are narrow paths between railings set on the water's edge and the
bridge arch and nearly always set 'askew' to the towpath hence a cyclist
enters them 'blind' and very close to the brickwork owing to one's
extra height in the saddle. However, I was not prepared for the sight that
greeted me as I went under the bridge at Mile End Road. A couple were
animatedly locked together, the gentleman [!] with his back to the water and
the lady [!] with one leg on the railing top and one taking her weight [none
too steadily, in the circumstances!] on the ground. I was unable to get by and
the man shamfacedly looked groundwards while the woman, facing the water, was
wondering why the 'action' had diminished, looking round, she had the grace
to say 'Sorry' to which I replied ''That's all right, you carry on!'' and
the woman behind me walking her dog, to say, with a smile, ''You'd
think they'd find somewhere more romantic!"
All too soon we
emerged into Limehouse Basin to see Star [John Boswell steering] and
Lupin [Dave Wright steering] manoeuvring about in the pool. The
eastern wall [visitor moorings] was packed with boats, surely they weren't all
Thames-bound? No, they weren't but it still looked impressive.
When I was last there in my boat, I was the only one there. [see:- Leisurely
Sojourn On The Lee and Stort, October
5-6 2005 elsewhere]
Having safely come
[according to Ian's handlebar device] 21˝ miles in 2 hours 20 minutes, I
then proceeded to fall into a boat well while attempting to get hold of
Lupin's front line, painfully cutting the base of my little finger as I
reached out to steady myself. The owner of the boat, who had ignored my
''Anyone aboard?'' and ''Stepping on!'' unlocked his front doors in record
time, no doubt thinking skulduggery was afoot! I was reminded through
the pain barrier [all together:-aaahhh!] of Jon Pertwee unlocking his 'inner
sanctum' on ''The Navy Lark!''
Lots of boat juggling
then took place as those preparing to 'Lumpy Thames' it moved up to the lock
and those who either had bottled it or were in no hurry that day re-tied
their craft securely on the moorings.
Lupin went down in
the first wave and we, on Star, descended some ten minutes later, alone.
Father Thames was in a benign mood as we came round the wall onto the
tideway, so John Boswell steering Star was caught completely unawares as the
wash from a passing trip boat slammed into Star sideways and gave John's
jeans, along with the back deck, a thorough soaking! Having now done this
journey about ten times, I was very blasé but revelled in the fact that I
had no responsibility for steering or safety, I could merely sit back and
watch the magnificent scenery, of which I never get tired, unfold
before me. Lupin had held back until we could catch her and ride the tide
together. This of course is the only way that you'll get pictures of the
boat you're on, complete with yourself riding or steering. Several swappings
of personnel took place in order for cameras etc. to be trained on various
subjects. Don't think for a minute though that safety was compromised
here, the Thames is an animal to be highly respected and we all paid due
deference.
[ See
a selection of Thames images in "Steerers Chronicle" ]
By the time
that the ''wonderful sculpture'' at the mouth of Brentford Creek appeared
[see:-Spirit
comes honorable third Sunday 27 March 2005
elsewhere] I had proudly been steering Lupin, a 1914 Josher, for
several minutes. Sam, the lockie, was doing the honours at the tidal lock and
in no time we were safely ensconced in ''The Magpie and Crown'' having
breasted the boats on the visitor moorings just above Brentford Basin.
I can remember the pub
clock displaying 16:25 but was amazed to notice a little later that it was
dark outside and that same clock was now showing 21:00!! Ian and I had
planned to get home tonight-it looked unlikely , especially now that we
were having a magnificent Thai meal to accompany the Hoegaarden beer,
other brews being 'investigated' included Sharp's Cornish
Coaster, Grand Union Mild and Hambleden Rose---they all passed their tests!
Eventually, we returned
to the boats and after nattering for some time slept around midnight.
Sunday 16 April 2006
Not the best sleep in
the world, I have to say! I get accused of snoring loudly and yet all I
could hear all night was a cacophony of trumpeting and snorts and snuffles!
I gave up the struggle at 07:05 and blearily looked out into Brentford
Basin. I made myself a cuppa and Ian emerged from his cocoon to say he'd be
up soon and give me a hand to move the boats onward. Being still breasted-up
from yesterday afternoon it was merely a matter of untying from the shore and
moving the resultant behemoth of 70 x 14 feet slowly northward under Star's
power. I knocked on Lupin's cabin top to inform a sleepy Dave that the
scenery was about to change and applied some revs. First thing in the
morning is a lovely time to be on the move, the wildlife is fairly active,
having been awake for some time and if you're quiet enough, there is a lot
to be seen. A magnificent fox ran over the towpath footbridge that spanned
the Brent near lock 99, as if to demonstrate the fact.
Various crew members
were up and about by the time Hanwell loomed ahead and this made the flight
a lot easier as locks were all prepared as the boats approached. Ian
and I left the boats at Norwood, our bikes and our legs groaning in protest
as we covered another nine miles back to South Ruislip, along the Paddington
Arm, arriving home at around noon where I served up some delicious
ice-cold cokes and buttered Hot-Cross buns--it was Easter Sunday!!
