Forest Row to Hastings (London might be calling but I ain't picking up)

The weather forecast for this part of the world also has been plagued with some rain predicted for today for about a week now (Travelling by bike I seem to pay more attention to the weather forecast than car drivers ;-). Since I have to cover about 60 kms today, which from past experience can easily turning into 85 with a single wrong turn, I also want to leave as early as possible, i.e. make good on the free breakfast with everything already packed and ready to roll out at 7:30 am.

Clouds in the East

Which is why, when waking up yet another time at 4:30 am and my early morning Math tells me that free Hotel breakfast at 7 am is only 2.5 hours away, I get up.
It is dead-quiet when I have a cigarette outside at 5 am, only interrupted by distant church bells (at 5 am !!!) and the occasional owl, pigeon, or cuckoo bird (OK, so Ornithology is not one of my strengths)

The Brambletye Hotel.  Nice; I'd stay here again.

Some early morning internetting also reveals another interesting (?) fact (?).  In Hollywood I stayed in a hotel, which prided itself of having accommodated James Dean and Marilyn Monroe. No, they didn't spend time in my current hotel, but Sherlock Homes and Dr. Watson did when solving the Black Peter case.  OK, I am aware that they are fictional characters.  But Sir Arthur Conan Doyle did stay here, but not in the newly (?) constructed hotel annex that houses most of the rooms ;-(

Even before breakfast, at 6:50 am, I notice wet spots caused by a light drizzle in the smoking area of the hotel. NO NO NO. I can handle a light drizzle, but please hold the RAIN until I have reached today's destination!

Big Ben in October 2013

Some of the readers with higher-than-average geography knowledge will have noticed that I took a plane to London, landed in London Gatwick, but that Big Ben does not appear in this Blog. That's Right! I'm NOT going to London this time.  Been there, done that, don't feel the need for repeat. Maybe again on a future London to Glasgow bike trip ;-) 



At 7 am I'm sitting at the breakfast table and at first think that this breakfast is VERY continental, i.e. just juice, toast, and jam. I don't much mind because I get fabulous toast and my favourite jam, black currant. But then the waiter arrives to ask me whether I'm ready to order. When he sees the the clueless in my face, he suggests 'Full English?' to which I agree. Overeating is OK today, since after an initial climb to an elevation of about 200 meters, the rest of the day's cycling will be downhill ;-)

At 7:30 am I'm heading off into the opposite direction

Instead of the slightly longer cycle route, I take a major road, the A22.  Potential rain is looming and I'm in no mood to get wet today.  The price I'm paying for the fast travel becomes evident as soon as I miss the fast road. The A22 goes around Maresfield and all the other small towns.  Maresfield is pretty ;-)

In Pevensey, site of the Norman landings in 1066, I discover a pub.  The proprietress with BIG white hair (remember Coronation Street? ;-) is cleaning her very pretty Audi convertible outside and when I ask her where in this lovely town I could get a glass of white wine at this hour, she directs me into her establishment though one of the many tiny doors of the ancient building.  Wifi there ain't, but the 4 Pound 40 Pound Sauvignon Blanc I decide on (Need some freshening up after the long ride  ;-)  really has lovely flavour or taste notes.

Not my favourite flavour note is what she sprays into the air a moment later when she storms through every corner of her entire pub.  At first I think she is trying to exterminate me, but it’s only a can of whatever the British use instead of Febreze.

The Smuggler Pub

Pevensey Castle

In the absence of WiFi, I use remnants of the map information I looked at this morning to figure out how to get to Hastings along the water.  I put 47 kms on the day trip counter by 10:30 am and the rain is still far away.  Time for the scenic route; I'm close to the ocean after all !

The road to Norman Bay is lovely and by some quality of the light and the air I can feel the ocean is near.

At some point the feeling is getting overwhelming and only then do I realize that I’m separated from the ocean by only 100 meters.  I park the bike and dip my feet into the ocean.  At first the cold stuff just nips at my toes as if sniffing me, but when it apparently recognizes, three little waves of increasing amplitude engulf my ankles.

When I get to Bexfield, my bladder is almost full and my battery and stomach both are achingly close to being empty.  It’s always good to run down the stomach together with the battery because they can be conveniently filled at the very same time. At least that’s what I thought when I see an Indian Cuisine restaurant with a Wi-Fi symbol on the door (wife in restaurants is far from standard in the UK, which is quite irritating.  The place is closed but will open in 20 minutes. Time for a walk around town. 

I get back to the Indian place and the waiter is utterly confused when I request a table close to a power outlet.  There are none.  When I ask for a power outlet in the kitchen or at the bar, he actually tells me TWICE that ALL of them are in constant use and that there are NO power outlets for me to use.  His whole body language and facial expression tells me that I am weird for even thinking about issuing such a demand.  I can deal with eating without internet (I type my thoughts and impressions into a Word file), but eating without a power outlet?  NO THANK YOU! I tell the surprised waiter and march out.  Right across the street is a lovely lady in a fish & chips restaurant that might not be able to offer me Wi-Fi, but instantly points out a free power outlet with a big smile. 

When I ask her whether the Rockfish & Chips is really that much better than the Codfish and chips that is 2 pounds cheaper, she freely admits that she is ALLERGIC AGAINST FISH and therefore has no clue.  But an elderly stroke-victim lady (her face deforms unilaterally when smiling) sitting at another table pines offers the opinion that ‘here’ Codfish is actually preferable to Rockfish.

And look at the thing I get:

 When was the last time that you ordered Fish & Chips and they actually brought you A FISH &Chips?  Vancouver is a harbour city but all one ever gets is small pieces of some fish camouflaged in batter.  If one possessed the magical power of healing the fish in Fish&Chips, it would be no use in Vancouver, because what’s the point of reviving chopped-up and amputated bits and pieces.  Here in Bexhill, on the other hand, a magically inclined guest could throw an entire happy fish back into the ocean.

But I digress ;-)

From what?

Where was I?

not my pic but I consider myself fortunate to have been there

Right! I am in Bexhill.  Not a place I will terribly miss once I have left.  I will miss this F&C place, but not much else. It just occurred to me what this place reminds me of.  25 years ago, there used to be a small seafood  place on Hastings Street close to Main Street.  Yes, that is skid row now and it was skid row then.  But my Grandfather would take me down there because the grimy little Asian-operated store would serve you heavenly Fish & Chips for very little money.  It was famous for that.  And people would come from 10s of miles away for that fish. 

No, the sign is gone too ;-(

In my 28 years of living in Vancouver, I have encountered quite a few of that kind of restaurant.  And yes, ALL of them are gone now.  Because in today’s Vancouver the food doesn't need to be good. It needs to be chique.  In today’s Vancouver pride in one’s work and accomplishment doesn't get you anything.  It gets you evicted when your shallow customers go to the chique place next door and your landlord increases the lease rent again.  I miss that old Vancouver and Grandpa and all the other people that made it what it was.  Screw today’s honking ignorant money-idolizing and people-ignoring Vancouverite. Something went seriously wrong along the way and everyone noticed but no-one is doing something about it.

A tall guy comes into the F&C store who apparently can only emit grunting single-syllable noises.  EEEH, UUUH, AAAH. You get the idea.  The owner shouts “Hello James, how’s it going?’  Insert one of the above monosyllabic options. “Where are you going?” Insert a different one and an arm wave.  He orders his food. "Would you like a drink with that?" Insert third monosyllabic grunt.  I so admire the owner of this store and I'm happy the Indian place didn't have any outlets left. When I pay I mention to the owner “It is nice to see that you not only feed this town but also take care of it” to which she replies “Thank you!” with a sad knowing half-smile.   Like the older lady, I would like to eat here every day!  

.

Definitely the correct cardinal direction but too small to be France

Seagulls having fun

Hastings on the horizon

Not sure who lives in these holes in the cliff (dune foxes?)

I get to Hastings around 2 pm and unhappily have to discover that there is no hotel check-in (it's not actually a hotel; it's called a guest-house) between 1-4 pm.  Again it is 7 am Vancouver time and I have to kill 2 hours before I sleep. Fortunately there is a Bistro right across from the hotel, where some white wine hangs out with me during the waiting time.

The JD bar (not my pic)

Service in the hotel is lackluster but I do like my tiny room under the roof, with tilting windows providing a view of the roof and seagulls jetting by. The last bit of steep convoluted stairs (one pretty much walks them on all fours) reminds me of the tower in Bruges; larger people just don't fit through here.  The house internet does not reach into my room, of course.  How am I going to call Grandma?  

After sleeping for 3 hours I climb down the staircase to a floor where the WiFi network has some bars.  Alas, the password provided in the hotel binder is the WRONG one.  At 8:15 I repeatedly ring the bell at reception (open 4 pm - 9 pm) as she had told me to do if I couldn't get the WiFi working. NOPE, no-one is showing up.  I go shopping (chocolate, cookies, and wine), head back to the hotel and try ringing the receptionista again. NOPE. Fortunately there is a tiny sign by the front door providing the CORRECT WiFi password. Back to the landing on the 2nd floor. Boot up the computer, CONNECT and dial Grandma using Skype.  IT WORKS !

Relieved, I head back to the same Bistro I was spending time at earlier (good internet), and not even a minute after the waitress whisks out some food to guests at other tables she tells me at 8:55 that the kitchen is closed.  Is this what English life is like? A constant battle against the little things in life ?  Is that where Vancouver gets it from?

On other fronts, Hastings has been conquered by HORDES of 15-17 year-old German and Russian youths that roam the streets and bars in packs numbering between 5 and 20. School trips?  This is Europe, so they hit the booze hard, as I did when I visited Barcelona at the tender age of 15 ;-) At 10 pm, the Russian kids in my Bistro have switched to doing shots at the bar and it is time for me to climb back into my refuge under the roof to get some more Zs ;-)

The Hastings Promenade

Overnight in Forest Row (& Good bye, Man with the golden gun)

It seems Christopher Lee died at the age of 93.  I definitely wasn't a fan but in retrospect can't imagine some films without him.  Yet another reminder: 
Do something with your life before it's your turn.

Back to reality: Checking into my hotel wasn't as easy as the previous post probably made it sound.

I left Gatwick Airport at 9 am (1 am Vancouver time) and arrived at the hotel at 11 am (3 am PST), where I was told that I couldn’t check in until 2 pm (6 am PST). I am not too happy with that because I got up in Vancouver at 6 am this morning and only slept 1.5 hours on the plane.  But there seems to be nothing I can do, so I cycle back the 4.5 km to East Grinstead where I spend 2 hours in a lovely pub recharging my laptop and bike battery, completing the previous post, and consuming 2 glasses of wine and a surprisingly good burger.

Khan on the left (not my pic)

When I finally check into my hotel at 2:15 pm (6:15 am PST), it only takes 15 minutes for me to fall onto the bed and fall asleep. 24 hours on my feet and biking 43 kms finally took their toll.  When I wake at 8 pm, I force myself to get up and take a shower, because to keep sleeping now means to be WIDE AWAKE at midnight.  My 9  pm question on the availability of food in the hotel’s pub is negated but the bar tender asks “Do you like Curry?”  So at 9:15 pm I'm sitting in a smallish but BUSY restaurant, Khans Balti. My initial question of whether I was too late for food is quickly answering by the owner clearing used tables in the restaurant and seating half of the restaurant with new 9 pm arrivals.  This place is POPULAR !!

I order a Lamb Tikka with rice and some white wine.  The white wine is good and the food arrives at 9:50 pm.   Maybe I ordered the wrong thing, or maybe I remember the very different lamb curries that the Libyan father of a friend with Danish-Libyan ancestry used to make, but the lamb is a bit tough, which contrasts sharply with the oh-so-tender pieces of lamb in Mirza’s curry that fell apart if one only looked at them.

not my picture

Anyway, I REALLY should not complain.  Imagine an accumulation of about 5000 residents in Canada. What kind of restaurant would be associated with that population centre and what would be its hours of operation?  You get my drift …  

But it’s nice to see the 30-40 year old owner of the restaurant hear shaking the hands of his village regulars when they leave.  While the American Dream has been exposed as a capitalist plot to get the most out of your dish-washing personnel ages ago, the British Dream actually seems to be working !  

I get more wine and chocolate at a TESCO gas station store that is open after 10 pm ! (Remember the size of the town. This apparently where the town's youth hang out after dusk.  At 11:15 it is time to hit the very comfortable bed again !

On y va ! (An after midnight bike ride in the Shire)

That's French for Let's Go! 

Odometer before departure

It's 8 am in North Vancouver.  I'm reviewing the travel stages that I have to perform today. Today will be a rather long day.

Ready to go ...

On y va !

At 10 am I'm ready to check out.  In line in front of me is Klaus T. from Germany. He is about 50 years of age and sports a gut in a tight T-shirt and a Kaiser Wilhelm Schnurbart. I giggle away until he leaves the room and then say to the receptionist:  If you were wondering about the moustache: That was an Emperor Wilhelm Moustache.  She says "actually I WAS wondering about that moustache!". So I explain to her that during WWI every decent German was trying to copy that bloody thing to show his patriotism for the German Empire but that I hadn't thought people did that still.  When Klaus T. was leaning on the reception it was evident that he thought that he was striking a cool pose. Little did and does he know what the world really thinks about his moustache.

Back to the long day: these 4 pictures should indicate HOW long it will be (The size is kind of proportional to the distance covered).

To Waterfront Skytrain Station

To YVR

Hopefully not the last I will see of my saddle bags (bad memories of Amsterdam Schiphol)

The bike with neither air nor pedals

My ride

to LGW

  The worries were unfounded.  The bike survives and I receive two (2) panniers at the luggage carousel in Gatwick Airport.  Then it's time to get my bearings.

Fortunately on a bridge OVER the motorway ;-)

While I am navigating by the sun (no cell phone signal), I am surprised to see this sign.  In this Old Hollow I lost the bolt that held the pedal that I lost the next day on the trip in 2013.

The bike paths could be MUCH worse.  And what a heavenly quiet; no cars to be heard on these paths!

A bicycle parkade at the train station

Travelling along OLD railway lines with OLD bridges

to some tiny English town some 20 kms from Gatwick

While most British are very helpful in spirit, not many know what lies outside their particular shire.  And even if they do, they say something like "Go to Hobbiton, then turn left at the oak and then the next right". But they are utterly astonished if you don't know where Hobbiton is. By this time it is 2 am Vancouver time, I am getting tired, and the British drive on which side of the road? Correct, not the right side; must be the wrong one then.  Not something one wants when dead tired!

High Street in Hobbiton

An even older bridge

Almost there !

While some of the way points are familiar, others, i.e. the entire chosen route between Gatwick and Mont St. Michel, are terra incognita to me, which leaves me trembling with anticipation.  It all comes back to the line in that song. "See all the things you thought you'd never ever see'.  Some of them have been seen on TV, some of them every child has heard of. The white cliffs of Dover; Passchendaele (I only learned yesterday that this is where Grandma's uncle Leopold died in WWI; seems Great Grandpa and his brother Leopold were engaged to sisters, my Great Grandmother and her sister Charlotte; Great Grandma was the lucky one of the sisters) , Vimy Ridge, Bayeux, Mont St Michel.  These are the way points that every traveller has heard of. But what really causes the trembling right now is that I already know that while these places will generate a tingling to see them in the flesh, there will be other yet unknown places that will really give me goose bumps. I have no idea what they will be, but I know that they are there.  And travelling by bike eliminates the risk of missing them while rushing by them along a highway.

Competent hotel receptionists and earning points for loyalty (NOT)

So I have been staying at this hotel for 3 winters now.  The last stretch was 8 months.  I had to move out 3 days ago because I neglected to renew my room in time and Vancouver is VERY BUSY right now. No problem, mea culpa, mea maxima culpa. I am due to move back into my newly vacated room today.  I left my car in the hotel (Thank you for the parking spot) and during my hiatus in occupancy travelled everywhere on the pannier-rigged bike; might as well do a practice run for what I will do for the next 3 weeks (T minus 48 hours) ;-). 

I called reception this morning at 10 am and asked them if it was possible to make my room a priority for cleaning after the strange occupants had moved out at 11 am (check-out time). 

I dropped by in person at 11 am and repeated my request.  I dropped by again at 2 pm and they hadn't even started cleaning the room yet. I'm sure they had cleaned a lot of other rooms, but mine wasn't one of them.  

Since I had to bridge that long wait with three restaurant visits (appy + wine, lunch + wine, dessert + wine) I'm not in the most accommodating mood ;-)

Well, well well.  Thanks a friggin bunch, guys and gals, that's what I call a prime example of rewarding customer loyalty.  Maybe I should be honest next time I fill out that hotel-evaluation form? 

Ah well, no point really, within the next two years my hotel together with an adjoining one and 3 restaurants will be torn down to make room for the definitely newest and greatest in savvy modern urban highrise living  in one of the most horribly traffic-congested parts of North Vancouver.    

There must be some kind of way out of here (A cyclist's rant)

Yes, it's THAT SONG again ;-)

I'm cycling from North Vancouver to East Vancouver.  Not only is Vancouver mind-numbingly boring, as someone wrote in The Economist not long ago, it is also mind-numbingly full of cars and industry and the resulting noise and stench and dirt.

 This idyllic scene is the view of East Vancouver as seen from North Vancouver.  We all know that Vancouver is a GREEN city so I included some shrubbery in the picture as evidence of this city's lovely green-ness.

Please note the immaculately kept side walk in this picture of a stinky and noisy part of North Vancouver. The scene also benefits from the fact that the usual 3 pm car traffic grid lock with its associated noise and stench has not formed yet

Yes, this is the bicycle path one needs to take to cross Second Narrows Bridge (and this is the much-improved cycle path for about 6 months now ;-) The exhaust stench, the noise, and the amount of particulate matter landing on one's forehead are astonishing. Even the presence of a red figure with horns and a trident couldn't really make this crossing any worse.

The only nice thing about cycling right next to Highway 1 is the exhilarating feeling when the bicycle travels faster uphill than the unending caravan of cars.  That is something car drivers don't like for some reason as I noticed on regular roads. Whenever the stop-and-go traffic has forced them to a near or full stop again and they discover a 10 meter gap in front of them and a bicycle passing them, they hit the accelerator hard, even if it just gains them 10 meters and the satisfaction of having passed that pesky bike again.  Maybe it's time to think about requiring a mental assessment before issuing driver's licenses?

Multiply the diameter of the earth by pi

... and what does that get you?

If you didn't come up with the circumference of the earth, it's time to look for your high school math books again!

Fine, so what about the circumference of the earth  (It's 40,075 km, by the way)?

( A quick aside: Friends couldn't believe the number was so small, they thought it would be millions of kilometres.  It is hard to imagine after all; owners of a reasonably new car with 80,000 km on the odometer have to ask themselves:  What have I done? I could have gone twice around the world, but I spent my life sitting in rush hour traffic for the last five years!)

I keep on dreaming !

Well, on my back from Mission, I noticed that the odometer on my bike (corrected for counting double distance for a while) has hit 4500 km.  Not bad for a bike only bought last September. Oh yeah, and that  is more than 1/10 of the circumference of the earth!!!!  

Yes, this planet is tiny!

 It CAN NOT handle 8 Million Tonnes of plastic being dumped into the oceans every year. It can NOT handle the air being polluted by cars, factories, etc etc forever.

And it's NOT enough to just agree with that statement. You have to DO something. Like take a bus instead of your car. Like NOT throw that old stuff into the garbage but keep using it. Not very fashionable, I know. BUT the 'or else' is frightening.

The above picture shows the skeleton of a baby Albatross that dies in its nest. And look what was in its stomach.  Mother went fishing and fed it all this crap, which killed it. Bottle caps, a cigarette lighter, etc etc.

Something needs to change NOW. Do you want your children to inherit the world turned into a Garbage dump?  Actually, that's already the case

To hell in a hand basket ....   OR ?