TPT Day2

2012 04 17 Tuesday Miles+Miriam 2 Happy Anniversary Miles and Miriam! Kerching!! and back to the action. . . Hotel Holland, that's the place to wake: sunshine and a soothing shower and sunny-side-up eggs with a full English. Thanks Jocelyn and John. You made us so welcome. However, the early start was delayed by another flat tyre, mine! Looks like the puncture repair from yesterday didn't take. Also, my spare inner tube valve wasn't fully functioning so rather than have this whole rigmarole again later on I used Stephen's spare. In the meantime, Michael took off to buy sandwiches for lunch. We anticipated being away from shops, and civilisation actually on the aptly named backside of Liverpool when we most needed victuals so it was good to be able to stock up. Finally, photoshoot with the dogs done we were off. A visit to the local bike shop failed when we found it empty but the cycle warehouse on the retail park came to our rescue for replenishing stocks. And finally, finally we were off with the wind on our tails pushing us into the arable area of Altcar (yes, as Michael pointed out, of hare coursing fame of old). The sun was up too. Our sore bits were relieved and all in the world was good. Only half an hour late, we'd made it away by 10:00. Our rendezvous with Dave and Brian wasn't jeopardised but the venue was changed and reduced our day's mileage: under the over-bridge by the sewerage works. Of course, it never is as easy a you hope. There was no access between the two. Lifting the bikes over the stone bridge parapet and scuttling down the steep embankment gave us something to do while we waited. Eventually they arrived like an old stream train puffing their way down the old Cheshire Lines railway track. (Oh, OK! I only said that because it was more literary and colourful than just saying "they arrived!" Cut a man some slack and afford him some artistic license please!) It was nice to see them and finally get going if only to get away from the lingering smell from the sewage works. What we didn't anticipate was that it wouldn't be long before we were stationary again. Dave and the errant dog did it. Michael and I were discussing hare coursing on the very field we were passing when we realised the others were missing. After a wait Brian turned up to report all was ok but Dave had crashed into the loose dog we'd just passed coming off onto his shoulder. Phew, trip to hospital averted! Aaaand, off again. The ride had finally, finally, finally got going! We passed through the arable wasteland to get to the northern end of Liverpool, the sleepy suburbs of Maghull and Aintree . . . and promptly stopped for a coffee! Worse still it was at a Frankie and Benny's on the retail park. The nice bit was sitting outside and enjoying the spring sunshine. . . not watching Dave eating his pigs in blankets! After a little confusion over the route, like, where had it gone? we rediscovered it passing through the very unwelcoming tall spiked steel railings on the industrial estate separating the sheds from the glass and litter-strewn wastes, a sign of things to come. Further confusion a mere few hundred yards further on at an Aintree junction followed by setting off the wrong way on the next part of the railway line added to our delay. Jostling with two scouse ne'er-do-wells careering up and down the cycle path on a monkey bike in a threatening manner then running the gauntlet of loitering, sullen faced schoolkids clearly up to no good added to our anticipated discomfort passing through this notoriously notorious area. At least, we could use these small stereotypical details to draw the dreadful conclusion that we wouldn't survive the day in one piece having been mugged for all out worldly goods. The perfectly timed occurrences would enable us to revel in and thoroughly enjoy the friendly warnings that acquaintances and folklore had bequeathed on us. And, above all, please don't mention Norris Green! Lovely part of the world you come from Michael!!! In fact, that was more or less it for excitement. Riding these converted disused railway line cycleways can be monotonous and repetitive. Trees, cutting, dog walker, bridge, tight-fit gateway; Trees, cutting, dog walker, bridge, tight-fit gateway; Trees, cutting, dog walker, bridge, tight-fit gateway; you get my drift. . . . We passed by a few showers shortly after they'd heavily wetted the ground and got away with the whole day without getting wet. Before we know it we arrived at the gateway to Liverpool, the John Lennon International Airport in Speke, the great Ryanair ripoff mecca and proceeded to derive great pleasure from deriding the first Ryanair plane we saw landing. Oh the satisfaction of cheap pleasures! Arriving at Speke also meant we were nearing de Maaaarsey and our lunch stop. There, I've done it again. I mean dinner break! Someone near and very dear to me is teaching me dreadfully bad southern habits and I must be strong and resist this subtle attempt at conversion. Repeat after me: I am a good and trustworthy northerner. I come in peace with my endearing northern ways. I am invincible. God is Geoffrey Boycott. Hallowed be his name. Criikkkit be his game. Owzat Dicky Bird (and we don't mean the feathered variety do we children?!) Oh . . . oh . . . oh . . . sorry, it's getting late. Did I just wake from a nightmare?! Aaaand relax. . . . . . . Now, where was I? Ah yes, the beautiful Cheshire village of Hale with it's chocolate box thatched cottages. (That should read Maaaarsaysayde village blah blah but somehow that nomenclature doesn't do it quite the same!) A (fairly) quiet country lane later and we turned down a United Utilities riverside plant access road into Pickering's Pasture Local Nature Reserve, through a fledgling woodland and stepped, or cycled rather, out into the stunningly picturesque landscape on the banks of de broad an tydal Maaaarsay: an ideal dinner stop, and so it was. The view included the Runcorn Bridge, and whilst we will cycle through under the Widnes end of the bridge it's the idea of being at Runcorn that prevails here. Runcorn, apparently also known as “Woolywood” as so many films and tv programmes have been filmed there, is the home of The Waterloo Hotel aka “The Archer” where Two Pints of Lager and a Packet of Crisps is set. I craned my neck to see it across the water but without success. It's also the home of the legendary poem by Wallace Edgar. I hope the poem is successfully reproduced below (or Google it) as I'd like you to enjoy it. It's part of who I am, my childhood. Dad had the book of Edgar's work and was as happy to put on a northern accent and mimic Stanley Holloway as I was to encourage him, mostly Mr And Mrs Ramsbottom. Truly happy days. Dinner over we muddled our way through the streets of terrace houses, past the charming waterfront Victoria Park, over the mouth of the disused St Helen's Canal onto the pretty Spike Island and the long canalside towpath route to Warrington. On and on it went, through Fiddler's Ferry and past the eponymous power station (oooooh who swallowed a dictionary?!) to the next, equally smelly sewerage works. There seems to be a theme going on here! and to the famous Manchester Shit sorry, I do hate predictive text, don't you?! Manchester Ship Canal. Today we’ve kindly been offered hospitality at the home of my good friend and ex-colleague Dave Wright and his wife Lynne; afternoon tea in Warrington’s leafy suburb of Stockton Heath. What a good lad he is for a scouser! from St Helens. So we duly called and were properly looked after. Thanks both. Lovely to see you again. The final stage comprised a short section by the Ship pp Canal and then a long section of converted disused railway to our overnight stop of Altrincham. Our OLD bodies were tiring but we gallantly managed to drag them the distance past the now pastoral landscape to the mecca of hotel accommodation, the new Travelodge Altrincham Central: a converted 60's office block in downtown Altrincham, fully functional, definitely no-frills, bit like Ryanair really. Now, did you ever see the Fascinating Aida sketch . . . . . ? Last part. We ate out Michelin star Indian cuisine tonight at Dilly. A risky strategy that Michael wheedled his way into after failing last night. As for the repercussions . . . watch this space . . . . . Trans Pennine Trail Day 2 Route: Formby to Altrincham Distance: 51miles Height gain: 1000ft Time: too many hrs Av.speed: too low mph Weather: sunshine and showers Wind: C.10mph souwesterly Route features: the Cheshire Lines cycle route, Great Altcar, Maghull, Aintree, Fazackerly, Broad Green, Woolton, Speke, Hale Village, Widnes, Spike Island, Fiddler's Ferry, Penketh, Warrington, Stockton Heath, Thelwall, Lymm, Dunham, Altrincham. THE RUNCORN FERRY a monologue by Marriot Edgar made famous by Stanley Holloway On the banks of the Mersey, o'er on Cheshire side, Lies Runcorn that's best known to fame By Transporter Bridge as takes folks over t'stream, Or else brings them back across same. In days afore Transporter Bridge were put up, A ferryboat lay in the slip, And old Ted the boatman would row folks across At per tuppence per person per trip. Now Runcorn lay over on one side of stream, And Widnes on t'other side stood, And, as nobody wanted to go either place, Well, the trade wasn't any too good. One evening, to Ted's superlative surprise, Three customers came into view: A Mr and Mrs Ramsbottom it were, And Albert, their little son, too. "How much for the three?" Mr Ramsbottom asked, As his hand to his pocket did dip. Ted said: "Same for three as it would be for one, Per tuppence per person per trip." "You're not charging tuppence for that little lad?" Said Mother, her eyes flashing wild. "Per tuppence per person per trip", answered Ted, "Per woman, per man, or per child". "Fivepence for three, that's the most that I'll pay", Said Father, "Don't waste time in talk". "Per tuppence per person per trip", answered Ted, "And them, as can't pay, 'as to walk!" "We can walk, an' all", said Father. "Come Mother, It's none so deep, weather's quite mild". So into the water the three of them stepped: The father, the mother, the child. The further they paddled, the deeper it got, But they wouldn't give in, once begun. In the spirit that's made Lancashire what she is, They'd sooner be drownded than done. Very soon, the old people were up to their necks, And the little lad clean out of sight. Said Father: "Where's Albert?" And Mother replied: "I've got hold of his hand, he's all right!" Well, just at that moment, Pa got an idea And, floundering back to old Ted, He said: "We've walked half-way. Come, tak' us the rest For half-price -- that's a penny a head." But Ted wasn't standing for none of that there, And, making an obstinate lip, "Per tuppence per person per trip", Ted replied, "Per trip, or per part of per trip". "All right, then", said Father, "let me tak' the boat, And I'll pick up the others half-way. I'll row them across, and I'll bring the boat back, And thruppence in t'bargain I'll pay". T'were money for nothing. Ted answered: "Right-ho", And Father got hold of the sculls. With the sharp end of boat towards middle of stream, He were there in a couple of pulls. He got Mother out -- it were rather a job, With the water, she weighed half a ton -- Then, pushing the oar down the side of the boat, Started fishing around for his son. When poor little Albert came up to the top, His collars were soggy and limp. And, with holding his breath at the bottom so long, His face were as red as a shrimp. Pa took them across, and he brought the boat back, And he said to old Ted on the slip: "Wilt' row me across by me'sen?" Ted said: "Aye, at per tuppence per person per trip". When they got t'other side, Father laughed fit to bust. He'd got best of bargain, you see. He'd worked it all out, and he'd got his own way, And he'd paid nobbut fivepence for three! http://monologues.co.uk/Runcorn_Ferry.htm