Oh dear ..... more bike-based birding ... though in at least one way this did have a happy near-ending. Summer holidays, many years ago when I was working in Barrow. Not "a" barrow ... Barrow. My parents had gone to Bacton (Norfolk) with the Significant Otter, and leaving me all on my own and at work. So ... at last work ended ... I stood on the main road in Barrow ( yes, there is one) and hitch-hiked to the house where my parents lived in Lancaster .... and stayed the night there in said parents' house. Then I got up very early + ex-Army crap 7-ton rucksack ( Ruck = back in German) and hitched all the way to Norfolk. That's how it was in those days . So much for the affluent baby-boomer . Effluent more like. But ..there was rather a disaster on the way, involving a bike ... but not a push-bike. I was almost there as well ... on the main coast road of North Norfolk ... and I got my first ever lift on a motor-bike. But I don't think the driver was used to having somebody on the back, or to the skiddy-sand-edged roads, and after about 20 mins the bike went over and we both slid about 40 yards ( old money) down the road, finishing up rather bashed-up, right opposite a cemetery. That was terrific sight ..... rows and rows of graves..... My clothes ,such as they were, were all ripped up, my leg was soaked in blood, I felt like death warmed up .... So, I walked the rest of the way, or rather staggered.... but I was looking forward to a sympathetic reception with coffee and iced buns and the like, but ,er, no. There I was in the doorway, my face bleeding, legs/trousers soaked in blood ... were they interested ? No. Did the Significant Otter run over to me to comfort me ... no. They did mention that I was too late for tea though. The good news was ...at least I would get a lift back ,if I lived out the rest of the stay. But then ... my blasted sister turned up. She had been in France on a cycling holiday, but she had fallen out with her companion and come back ... plus "shopping bike " + an entire tea set she had taken a fancy to in Bologne. This meant, of course, that I wouldn't be getting a lift back. In later years we laughed about this, but I didn't laugh at the time. BUT .... that bike meant I could go places ... and I did. Remember, though, that it had tiny tiny wheels and rubbish gears.. I cycled the 15+ miles to Hickling Broad .... hard work with my lacerated legs and crappy roads ... but amazingly I found the target bird ... Marsh Harrier ... v. rare then they were..... so I set off back in the scorching Norfolk heat quite chuffed. It was indeed very hot .... very very hot ... almost, erm, thunderstorm weather .... and lo and behold, there in the distance was a bloody great thunderstorm. One of the best places to be in a bloody great thunderstorm is, of course, on a metal bike, on a long, empty stretch of open road, soaking wet. Perfect. Wonderful. Reader .. I pedalled like a dervish, sometimes , on this tiny shopping bike, up to speeds of, oh, 7 mph .... easy ! I got back safe and sound, drenched to the skin, totally knackered and all ready to hitch back to Barrow the next morning. Still, I had a tick..... YES ! Marsh Harrier !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! Of course, they're common as muck now. Bah. But now, music ... I think we'll have top French band Dolly with "Tes Cicatrices" ..my face was fairly cicatriced in that crash .... it's a lovely chunky song ... ace bass line too ...
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AuthorThat's the author up there ... I was young and sprightly then. Archives
October 2022
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