England 2009 - Part VIII

England - VIII
Monday, June 1, 2009

I decide to spend another day in Oxford doing not much but writing along with some TV watching. I’ve think that tomorrow I train to Delamere so I’ve purchased my ticket, which reserves a place for me and my bike. I eat dinner at the Y, write a little more ant then prepare for the journey. Now I’m thinking of leaving some stuff here, but think better of it.

Tuesday, May 2, 2009

Moving on means taking a train to a place called Delamere Forest, which according to the ticket I’ve purchased will take three train changes adding up to 4hrs of travel. When traveling by train there is always the change of ending up at a station which requires you to cross the tracks as explained before can be quite nerve racking. Or, there is no “subway” or “lift” and the bike plus everything else needs to be dragged up and down stairs, which means no less than a 20 ft climb. None of the above happened, this trip, and all trains were made in a timely manner. My scheme is to train to Delamere Forest Campground which is supposed to be right next to the train station. From there I would take a train into Birkenhead to look for relatives and such on a day trip.

As the train pulls into Delamere Station the campground is visible through the trees. After checking in up goes the tent everything in my scheme worked out as planned. There is a small store down the road where a few things for dinner are picked up. After dinner it is time to meander through the forest. Now this is a forest a few feet in from the road sunlight is completely blocked by the trees. The dense undergrowth means if you try to get off the path you’d best have a machete. The only sound is the whisper of the breeze moving through the branches. Tree branches are leafless until high up where once again they can find sun. Paths bound as to cycles on what seems to be a daily work up.

My path leads to a lake, as I come closer the noise of the birds is astonishing. It is difficult to get close to see what kind of birds these are. At first they sound like the ducks on the ponds behind my house, but once they come into view they look more like coots yet they are white. The air swarms with these avian and their “song” blocking out any other noise. Further down the path, with thankfully less noise, is a sign featuring “Go Gorilla” path. Upon inspection of the path there is a high ropes course that one gets trained to use then can spend as much time has they like acting like Gorilla’s swing through the trees.

Sometimes realizations come at the weirdest times. I’m suddenly struck with the realization that I’m about in the midpoint of England. From here I’m not far from the Lake District, nor Scotland, nor Ireland however I’ve locked myself in with a nonrefundable ticket with a two day return. Of course there is always lose the money, buy another ticket, or just ride out from here. Tomorrow I’ll head to Birkenhead see what I can see much like puss-in-booths. There are always decisions aren’t there?

Wednesday, May 3, 2009
Delamere to Birkenhead and back

It’s a short ride to Birkenhead on what seems a local train line. I walking today as I’ve been told over and over this is a rough area and I’ve left the bike at the campground. Hyper vigilant I’m off the train to find the bus terminal but, run into this huge market and I’ve got a thing for markets. After roaming around a bit and getting directions to the “Town Hall” it’s time to do some research. At the “Town Hall” the records I seek have to be “dug up and sent over which could take 24 hours or order them online.” Silly me for thinking an in person visit would get me what seek faster.

From the Bus station its bus 407 to Birkenhead and Bermuda Road last know residence for a family. The bus driver drops me off then picks me back up “Might as well ride as we’re going in the same direction.” I’m dropped off at number 34 and I’m looking for number 37 now how is that for service. Looking at house numbers 37 is nowhere to be found. At the end of the block is a pub, what the heck I need a lunch break and maybe there will be someone inside who knows the people I’m looking for. The pub is very large and well lit reminding me of the one in Salisbury. There is a room filled with people, very loud people, all of whom are dressed in black. After finding a table I approach the bar to order “Wake?” I ask. “Yep what table you sitting at?” Since he seems not to be too talkative I order return to my seat and dig out the papers I’ve brought with me.

When done eating I approach two older men who have been drinking at the bar. They tell me no luck on the name but am curious as to how they are pronouncing Cooke. Across from the pub is a Post Station, once inside the lady tells me she doesn’t know them but walk up Bermuda Rd “you’ll find them.” So off down Bermuda Rd I go and still am having no luck in finding number 37. I spy two older men chatting on the other side of the street. They say “the bungalow down there is it.” They all look like bungalows to we, but off I go wondering where they are sending me. See the number run just a bit odd and 37 happens to be across from 12, go figure. After knocking on the Cooke residence door and receiving no answer its back to the bus stop. Approaching the bus stop I’m being waved at by one of the men from the earlier conversation. He wants to know if he’s “gone doffed in the head” or was that the correct house? I assure him he was correct, no one was home and I’m on my way home. He invites me in for a cup of tea, but the bus is coming so it time to head back to the station.

Again I’m mentally kicking myself for not allowing enough time. Spending time with the older man would have enriched us both. On the train back there is time for me to pick up some groceries in Chester which turns out to be quite a large town. Here is how to find a grocery store without asking directions. Wait until you see someone walking with a bag with the stores name on it and start walking in the direction they came from. Soon much like a line of ants you’ll be able to follow the bags back to the store, and it works every time. However, finding one’s way back to the starting point may prove to be a bit more difficult. Back at the station I notice these two guys painting the roof of the train station about 30 feet up. First I think using a brush, don’t see that much. Looking at the roof I notice there are a lot of freshly painted panels. Then it dawns on me that these two men are painting the entire roof of the station by hand. How totally cool is that?