A thrilling day out
7.00am Tuesday 5th February: I awake with a tingling feeling of
anticipation and prepare myself for a very special day out. Showered and smartly dressed for the grand
occasion I shovel my porridge down quickly and check that I have everything
ready for the journey of a lifetime.
9.25am: With
my documentation pocketed I set out for the first stage of my trip. Who knows what dangers I might face and there
is the daunting prospect of being left stranded if my carefully planned time
table failed. It is very cold, there is
a bitter wind blowing, but the sun is shining.
9.55am: My
first carriage arrives, 10 minutes late, in the form of the No. 19
Stagecoach. Shivering I show my boarding
pass and step into its luxurious seating area.
10.20am: Arrive
in Corby after travelling through Desborough, where four passengers alight but
no one boards, and Rushton, where no one does either. The driver maintains a sedate pace in order
not to cause discomfort for remaining few passengers. I now have a 40 minute cold wait for my next
conveyance so decide to enter the imposing Cube and examine their public toilet
facilities. These are adequate and clean
but the hand dryer blows only intermittently.
I am not impressed by the public library which is on a gradient
alongside a sort of multi-storey car park ramp.
11.10am: My
next carriage arrives, also 10 minutes late, and I become involved in a
conversation with two ladies who consider the Internet to be one of the roots
of much evil. The carriage driver takes
us on a tour of half of Corby, including the Asda superstore for non-Internet
devotees. Several simple country-folk
board here for the remainder of a bouncing ride over humps and holes, with
which Corby is plentifully endowed. The
driving technique for these is high speed and almost no braking.
11.25am approx: Disembark
at Rockingham and enter tea room to be greeted by large assembly of cyclists
some of whom will endeavour to beat my next vehicle to Gretton. Rockingham is no warmer than were Rothwell or
Corby.
12.19pm approx: Next
carriage, quaintly named Centrebus, arrives and I join the existing passenger
on board. I fail to notice the sign on
the rear warning me that the driver’s other vehicle is a Porsche. It soon appears that this bus is supercharged
and I’m treated to a hair-raising ten minutes as we career along the valley
road to Gretton. A lorry appears
suddenly in front of us on a blind bend and both vehicles take to the
bank. We are perilously close to the
ditch and I have cause to wonder why I didn’t choose a seat on the offside. Tree branches crash and scrape along the side
before we regain the tarmac. Our demonic progress continues, clods of mud
flying from under the wheels and the bus vibrates alarmingly as the driver
extracts every last watt from the roaring engine. We pass a cycling companion on a bend on
Gretton hill and swerve in quickly in the face of an oncoming car. My low heart rate is probably now dangerously
high at about 50. Centrebus should issue
monitors and smelling salts to fragile passengers.
12.30pm: Quivering
with fright I stagger off the bus outside the village hall and enter for some
soothing soup. Am mollified by winning
a pair of ladies’ mittens and a tube of hand-cream in the raffle. Avoid stacking tables and chairs by having
to leave in time for the next bus.
1.25pm: I
join two ladies in the bus shelter and await the arrival of the 1.30 bus. It fails to appear and I am offered a lift
into Corby by a couple from the lunch.
This is fortuitous since my next bus is on time and I would have missed
it.
2.06pm: I
board the Peterborough express stage and travel in comfort on the lush Italian
leather seats as far as Oundle. The
experience of descending the bends between Upper and Lower Benefield is always
a thrill on a double decker but I have to admit to preferring it on a trike.
2.40pm: Arrive
Oundle and walk through the churchyard and along Glapthorn Road to Abbott House
Care Home. I discover that the derelict
building alongside the road is not it and that the Home lies behind out of
sight. I am taken upstairs to a lounge
where Steve Blyth is asleep in an armchair in front of a TV set with the sound
very low and sub-titles allowing the action to be followed. How considerate, I think. Steve wakes up and I spend an hour with him
recalling the good old days and bringing him up to date with club affairs. For half an hour a snow storm blows around
outside and two silver birches sway wildly in the great wind. The staff, who all appear very friendly,
offer me a cup of tea and biscuits. A
female inmate enters from the adjacent lounge, treating us to her very low
opinion of the armchair occupants within.
I guess she hasn’t been offered a chair.
She manages, with her Zimmer, to safely negotiate me and my jacket,
which is lying on the floor, and insists I have only one biscuit. The staff
tell me I may have as many as I like. I take only one. Steve is very pleased to see me and seems
quite comfortable, anticipating that this may be his home from now on.
4.20pm: Leave
Abbott House and walk back to the Market Place where the X4 eventually arrives
and I get on to begin the two stage journey home. Drizzle is falling and it feels even colder
than before.
5.10pm: Arrive
back in Corby where I decide to alight and catch the direct bus back to
Rothwell rather than continuing on X4 to Kettering. I now have 30 minutes to wait for the No.
19. Macdonalds beckons but I decide that
the waiting queue and a too hot beaker of tea might cause me to miss the
bus. I walk across to the Cube again and
pass the time in conversation with the library attendants. It turns out that the female of the pair once
lived in Mellis and cycled to work in Eye.
Now she runs and may perhaps gravitate to triathlon. When bussing one does meet different and
interesting people, it’s a whole new world.
5.40pm: The
No. 19 arrives and takes on several passengers, so not everyone drives to
work. It’s dark now but I manage to
identify Rothwell when it appears. I
walk home, calling at the Co-op for something for dinner.
6.30pm: Finally
arrive home congratulating myself on completing such a long and tiring journey
without the aid of a minder. Prepare a
hot drink and eventually put my meal on to cook.
12.10am: Wake
up suddenly, remembering that I had watched most of the 10.0pm news and
switched the oven off. The TV goes off
automatically. Forgot about the steamer
cooking my green veg. Remove black pan
from stove, transfer complete meal to a plate and place in fridge for
tomorrow. Stagger upstairs to bed. The end of a perfect day. What a relief and a pleasure it will be to
cycle again.
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