All aboard, we’re off to Stockholm, by rail this time.

Following my Liverpool trip in a previous blog, this time I recall a trip to Sweden. 

By rail, not air, which has lost much of its allure.

I like an airport where you can walk across the tarmac to the sleek flying machine. Now, airports have become garish shopping malls and  restaurants. 

Oddly, you need to pass through passport control and customs to get to the shops.

After a while you move into a large room with other people, and from there down a windowless corridor  to a doorway into a small cylinder packed with rows and rows of seats.

Last time we flew we waited 90 minutes on the runway because of violent thunderstorms! Did wonders for the nerves.

At last, the captain announced that the tower had told him they could just about see a hole in the storm clouds, big enough to get through. But that we had to be quick before it closed!!!...GO...GO...GO.

Great roaring sound and we are pressed back into the seat as everything tilts upwards and we are catapulted into the sky and through that hole, presumably. Exciting bit over. 

Then there is silence, stillness, no sense of movement through the motionless sky. And then everything happens in reverse. Great noise, bump, and then out of the cylinder, into a corridor and voila, another shopping mall where all the signs are incorrectly spelt.

Next time we went by rail and spent two days travelling through northern Europe: four changes of trains in all.

                                            Changing trains at Cologne.

This was a 2,000 kilometres (approx.) rail journey from Surrey to Stockholm, located in the south of Sweden, on roughly the same longitude as Edinburgh.

Whereas Edinburgh is at the northern end of the UK, Stockholm is at the southern end of Sweden, which stretches a further 1000 kilometres north into the land of the reindeer, across the Arctic Circle.

Long hot summer days in Stockholm (18 hours of daylight at the June solstice) brings the mozzies out by the water and contrasts with very cold long winter nights (18 hours of darkness in January) when the ice breakers go to the work in the Baltic.

I recall an earlier visit at Christmas when everything was a glistening frozen white

beneath a blue, cloudless sunny sky.  It was minus 17c and that was at midday!

Although flying is quicker, it still takes the best part of a day to get to Stockholm with all the faffing about getting to and from and in out of airports.

Rail is city to city and you have a sense of place because you get to look out of the window at the world going by noting the subtle changes in landscape and buildings as you go.

At 09.35 we depart our local station for London Waterloo and take a taxi from there to St Pancras International, admiring the beautifully restored 19^th century Midland Railway terminus with its blue painted roof curving high over the sleek 18-car Eurostar trains.  The roof boasts the largest span of a railway station in the UK.

There we board the 12.57 Eurostar for Brussels in Belgium, a 2 hour 11 minute ride for the 232 mile journey, at a top speed of 186mph!  At Brussels we change trains and take the Thalys express to Cologne in Germany, a 1 hour and 45 minutes ride.

From Cologne we board the Night City Link, a sleeper, for Copenhagen in Denmark, arriving there the following day, Sunday. This long train has connections for Berlin and Warsaw, and suffers delays on its journey. Instead of nine and half hours, it takes 13 hours!

Finally, from Copenhagen, we are due to take the X2000 express for Stockholm, the Swedish capital. But because we are late, we must rearrange our booking for later in the day.  So we take a local train to Malmo, just across the water in Sweden (via the spectacular 7.8-kilometre long bridge over Baltic Sound), to enjoy a splendid late lunch in the station. Finally we join the inter-city express for the final 500 kilometres to Stockholm, arriving Sunday evening, some 32 hours after setting out.

It amused us that during this great trek, the mobile phone services of each country kept track of where we were, sending us text messages of “welcome” to punctuate our journey across the borders of five countries.

“Welcome to France,” as we popped out of the Channel tunnel, and soon after that. “Welcome to Belgium”. Later that evening, “Welcome to Germany”. At about 8.30 the following day, “Welcome to Denmark”. Finally, that afternoon, “Welcome to Sweden”.

But therein lies a rail traveller’s tale, of a mixture of emotions. The excitement and anticipation interspersed with anxiety at the prospect of missed connections. There were four changes of train across Europe, in Belgium, Germany, Denmark and Sweden.

The longest delay came on the second day, in Denmark, when just after 9am the engine failed at a place called Vojens. We were told another loco would be despatched and in the meantime, why don’t we stretch our legs on the platform and enjoy the sunshine.

I recall one guy who was wearing a tee-shirt with a most appropriate message across the chest: “Where’s my train?”…!

Did he know something?

        An unscheduled stop somewhere in Denmark: Where's my train?

Eventually the new loco turned up and our overland rail adventure, now considerably delayed, continued.

All made possible by the Channel Tunnel, at 50 kilometres from end to end - thirty seven of those under water - the longest underwater tunnel in the world.

Takes the train thirty five minutes to get through, at 160kph an hour.

At the lowest point, you are sitting 75 metres deep below the sea bed and 115 metres below sea level.

Best not dwell upon that!

Upon our return I was struck by how small and claustrophobic Eurostar seemed compared to the larger, more spacious European trains, which run to a wider loading gauge than in Britain.

That wasn't the only difference. 

There were no checks whatsoever  as the train crossed the borders between France, Belgium, Germany, Denmark and Sweden where train staff greeted us with broad smiles and a welcome. 

This contrasted starkly with the  British border control for Eurostar at Brussels manned by unsmiling glaring officials resembling prison officers, waiting to process everyone back into custody in Fortress Britain.

The draw bridge gets pulled up for good on New Year's Eve.

 

Cup of a tea and a slice...

 

I remember when I used to stop at cafes, in the far off days before lockdown spooked us all?

I got to thinking about this the other day when on the TV news I heard how the whole of the South of England was to be relegated to tier three. The presenter listed the counties one by one.  Sounded like the football league table.

There’s a great idea here, for an international best seller disaster novel:  Extinction of the Human Race. 

First signs -  the cafe’s go out of business, snuff it like canaries in coal mines.

I haven’t been in a cafe now for months, even though some are open.

Instead, I comfort myself with memories and wonder will we ever back to normal?

The Eureka café on the Wirral tops of my list because that was first proper cyclists’ café I visited in my early cycling days. I looked them up on Facebook and was encouraged to see

they were still serving teas and refreshments.  They’re open until this coming Wednesday, December twenty third, then closed for the Christmas period, reopening on Wednesday, January 6.

The Eureka, a well-known cyclists’ Mecca, is to be found seven miles out of Birkenhead, direction North Wales and Chester, Cheshire and Shropshire.

Each Sunday on this route groups of cyclists go forth for a day’s riding. And later that same afternoon and evening, return with as many as 80 or 100 miles in their legs. And always there would be a stop at the Eureka for elevenses on the way out and more of the same to boost flagging muscles on the way back. Others from farther afield, they'd stop for lunch.

In my day, the bikes sported names like Harry Quinn, Eddie Soens, SoensSport, Quinn Brothers, Jim Soens, Soens Brothers, Fothergill – all Liverpool craftsmen the youngsters would later discover.   And of a different order to the mass produced models my friends and I rode.

But happily, we were not made to feel like outsiders when we bravely stepped inside the café with its steamed up windows and heady atmosphere from all the sweating bodies crammed in that tiny place. 

These elite bike riders made room for us inside the café. They were all smiles and banter, taking the piss out of each other. One called out to us, “Orright, la.  Wer've (sic) yer been?”  There were shouts of pint of tea and two slices; tea cake with butter and jam.

They made us feel at home.

But sometimes we stopped at the other cyclists’ café, four miles further down the road, just across the Welsh border. This was Whiteheads Café in Queensferry. I had my lamp batteries nicked there.

If the Eureka was the preferred haunt of the time triallists, or Testers, Whiteheads was the roadman’s watering hole. There was probably a good deal of cross pollination, but that’s how it appeared to the young novice.

Those riding deep into North Wales might stop at the CTC recommended Glasfryn farmhouse, Pentrefoelas on the A5, for a magnificent  roast beef dinner with gravy, followed by apple pie and custard!

Far too heavy a meal in the middle of a 120-mile round trip from Liverpool, over the Denbigh Moors, but worth the struggle afterwards! Wasn’t easy hauling yourself over the Cerrigs, then the Bwlch out of Ruthin on the way home!

If we rode east to Derbyshire, we’d stop at the Poplar Café – a transport cafe - close by where the M6 was being constructed, just past Warrington. Or if riding north to the Trough of Bowland via Preston, a stop at Greasy Annie’s just past Ormskirk after 18 miles was a must.

Getting into Greasy Annie’s in the winter was a task.

Two narrow doors made getting in and out very difficult in cold winter months.   Wearing layers of sweaters topped with an army combat jacket could see you wedged tightly in the door frame. 

There are several cafes worth a mention on the North Downs in Surrey, where I live now.

The Barn café at Newslands Corner, the Pilgrim in Box Hill station near Box Hill, Ryka’s – a motor cycle riders’ hangout right at the foot of Box Hill.

At the top of Box is the National Trust café, and a few kilometres further on, along the Prudential road race route is Destination Bike, top bike shop serving wonderful coffee and cake.

A few miles further east, there is Fanny’s Farm Shop, on the Downs above Reigate.

A cup of tea and a slice of Victoria sponge will do very nicely, ta.

Perhaps next summer, vaccine permitting.

Either that or I’ll get the primus stove out for a roadside brew with a home made bacon buttie. 

Take care.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

One man goes to town

 

Liverpool, Wednesday, April 11, 2012.

Found this story in one of my  old notebooks. It's about a day out in Liverpool eight years ago.

 I catch the number 10 for town from outside the off licence on East Prescot Road.

As luck would have it, the conductor was George. Always had a smile and one-liners at the ready. "Anyone want to pay twice" was a favourite as he squeezed down the aisle.

At the London Road stop in town, for T. J. Hughes store, George would call out: "Shop Lifters Paradise", and receive a good natured slap from chuckling passengers getting off.

I alight two stops later, in Queen’s Square.

I.m checking out a few of my old haunts, pick up the vibes.

Walk via the 1960s-built St John’s Shopping Precinct, calling in at Model Zone – full of models of course.

I’m keen to see what trains they may have.

Nothing for me, as it happens.

The shopping precinct replaced the lofty Victorian covered retail market demolished in the name of progress in 1964.

It was one of the first and the largest fully enclosed roofed market halls when it opened in 1822.

I have only a vague memory of it now.  The front façade of the building was rather austere. Not very attractive to my mind.  But it hid the real gem from the street, the market hall itself. I looked up the facts of the build.  Discovered it featured 16 stone-trimmed classical arched window bays and the roof was supported by 116 interior cast-iron pillars.

It was a huge lofty trading space, full of bustle, the air filled with the aroma of fresh veg, fruit and flowers.

In the Sixties many such places were seen as old fashioned.  The call was for new buildings to represent the modern age. So  many old places were demolished without ceremony and replaced with the simplicity and clean lines of concrete, as architects determined to brighten the place up with a modern building, in this case a garish contrast to what stood before.

Some of the changes were not so well received.

When the new market caught fire many Liverpudlians expressed their regret that the fire service saved the building.

For me it felt like dead air in that place. No energy. I sense that loss whenever I walk into WHSmith today, which takes away my will to live. 

It's all to do with positive and negative ions, the former being bad for our health the latter good. The science underpinning this is fascinating and this walk about town is not the place for it, on this occasion.

Except to say that pollutants given off by many modern materials used in buildings  and by electrical  equipment deplete the high density ionization in the air which is crucial to our well being. This probably explains why those pinned to the mobile phones all day look miserable and only half-awake.

I redress the balance by going a for bike ride in fresh air.

Liverpudlians can dose up by frequent visits to the Pier Head and the bracing Mersey.

Meanwhile, back to the dusty city streets. No dead air there.

I recall a TV documentary about Liverpool comedian Ken Dodd in which he was filmed surrounded by chattering fans, signing autographs near Williamson Square. "And what's your name, "he  asked one lady. "Eileen" she replied (pronouncing her name,  I Lean).

"To the right or to the left", was Dodd's quick response.

Here's Lime Street which besides the magnificent train station also features  two splendid pubs - the Vines and The Crown. Both hotels. I recall their opulent  interiors where masterpieces in craftsmanship.

Just like the more famous Philharmonic pub in Hope Street, a short walk up Mount Pleasant.

Your spirits lift the moment you step inside those places, before you even reach the bar.

Some of course had too much spirit in them and would be required to leave.

I was in a bus queue once when a customer was being  pushed out of the door by a barman, shouting "Gerrout". 

The bus queue all turned their heads to see the kerfuffle. One elderly lady shouted out gleefully; Oooh, a bolshy barman." and we all laughed.

Someone always, always will have something to say in Liverpool for the slightest  reason. Failing that,  your eyes will meet in silent acknowledgement of the event, whatever it was. Maybe someone dropping a shopping bag! You're never alone even when alone.

One man in a newspaper piece explained why  Lime Street peaked his interest every time he walked that way.

He noted that between the two pubs at either end of this section of Lime Street there were number of premises, including a small cinema and a bar, which I think was called the American Bar, plus maybe there was a tobbacanist?

But he could never be sure in which order they fell, whether he could come upon the bar first and then the cinema and the tobbacanist, or was it the other way around.

And that, to him, was key. Because for him, the moment you knew exactly which order they appeared the street would be predictable and therefore no longer interesting.

I liked that. 

On we go, to walk by Blackler’s on Elliot Street. Blackers was once a big fashion store, famous for its lavish Father Christmas Grotto.

When I was a trainee production assistant for Randall’s Advertising Agency on Church Street Blackler's was one of their clients.

So I would regularly visit the store, taking advertising proofs for the buyers to check.

Blackler’s, like many major Liverpool Stores – Owen Owen and Lewis’s - is now closed. The building remains, occupied by several outlets, including the pub, the Richard John Blackler, owned by Wetherspoon, paying homage to its former life. 

They celebrate the founder, with large photographs of the store as it was.

I wonder what happened to the attractive atrium, allowing shoppers to gaze upwards to the two galleries above and ascend to the first on a central staircase. Gone, I suppose.

Opposite is Yates Wine Lodge. I remember one day how a well-oiled customer staggered out into the fresh air with the urgent need to prop himself up against the wall  outside. But even that proved too difficult. Gradually his knees would buckle and he  would slide down the wall and only with a mighty effort would he slowly hoist himself back upright, only to slide slowly down again, head nodding up and down and to the left and right before falling to his chest, his limp arms dangling by his side.

 It was a losing battle. Eventually a police van turned up and the officers stood by for a while, bemused and observing his plight.

After several more performances, the officers brought down the curtain on this street entertainment, and ushered the fellow into the back of the police van.

On I go, up Bold Street, to the very top, for coffee in Tabac.

Refreshed I continue  past the bombed relic of St Luke’s Church, a scar from the Second World War when German bombers targeted the nearby docks but often flattened wide areas of the city miles from there. For years large swathes land lay waste across the city.

Then right turn into Seel Street, where the Blue Angel Rock club looks unchanged, outwardly at least, in the 40 years since I last stepped into its dark interior to have my hearing bashed by rock bands.

China Town is around the corner, celebrated with a beautiful Chinese Gateway of dragons and serpents in bright yellows, gold’s, reds and blues across the roadway.

Into Duke Street, then right turn to thread my way back to Bold Street, once home to Cripps and other high fashion stores.  Pit posh, back then, was Bold Street.  

Today, there’s a Bohemian feel to the street, with specialist bookshops, varied cafes, a fine artists shop. On I go, down to Church Street, one of the main shopping streets, pedestrianised now and better for it, the sound of people's voices happily replacing that of traffic.

The times they are a changin’

I note the changing face of the city in the four decades since I left.   Many older buildings remain.  But many have come down.

I think our early years are often the most impressionable.  During this time the illusion of your home town is one of permanence.

The face of the city presented to your eyes remains unchanging in all but small ways.

This is how it will always be,  you imagine.  Well, some places don't change while others parts do. 

Even rock solid structures can be removed without trace – Central Station for instance.

Replaced with a tacky modern shopping centre, to compliment the dodgy build which replaced St John's Market Hall a couple of hundred yards away.

Permanence is an illusion.

So it is old streets become modernised.

The old disappeats, except for some buildings of historical merit, we hope.

They remain, lodged among the new.

These step changes in the look of a road, of a whole area, combine over years to transform the whole.

And then there are major changes which completely transform places. Such as, I imagine, when

St George’s Hall was built in the 1800s, for instance, a neo-classical grade 1 listed building. 

What a splendid sight this is now for passengers emerging from  Lime Street Station opposite.

Yet when Lime Street was opened in 1836, the vista greeting arriving passengers was one of green fields! The city had yet to spread that far from the river front.  There was no St George’s Hall! No big iron casts of Lions guarding the imposing pile.

Lime Street Station.

Building work on St George’s Hall began six years later, in 1842, and it opened to the public in 1854. And the grassy area behind it was transformed into gardens with pathways and seating overlooking the city gradually extending its reach.

Out of those same green fields to flank and complement St Georges Hall sprang William Brown Street,   the Walker Art Gallery, the museum and The Crown Court. The whole vista of this impressive pile gave rise to Liverpool becoming known as the Florence of the North.

The splendor of St Georges Hall.

Some 90 years later, a few 100 yards away, a giant hole became the Kingsway entrance to the magnificent engineering feat, the  Mersey Tunnel, which opened in 1936.

Meanwhile, dring my time,  on the waterfront, the Albert Dock development brought derelict, historic riverside warehouses and dock back to a different life.

Albert Dock is now complimented by Liverpool’s latest development, the Liverpool One shopping area
which has transformed a bomb site into a 21^st century pastime – shopping and eating out.

Everton Football club have a supporters shop  here. The address: Everton 2 Liverpool 1.

Geddit?

It's all nicely done.  Up the steps is a small park with a pathway leading directly to the Albert Dock across land which had lain waste since the War.

For me, reflecting back on 40 years, the Albert Dock and Liverpool One are perhaps the two major developments to have dramatically, changed the face and character of the city during my time.

Subtle changes

But smaller changes also occur, and always, somewhere, a treasure has been allowed to remain.

I notice the changes. But to younger people this is how it has always looked. 

Until they too observe, over time, the slow, gradual, unstoppable, subtle changes to the same canvas, this picture in their minds.

But I must press on, for lunch in the attractive bistro at the Bluecoat Chambers off Church Street. Built in the early 18th century as a charity school, The Bluecoat building presents three sides to a gated courtyard and opens out to a small garden at the rear.

It was “improved”  during my years of absence, and slightly spoilt, to my mind.  The old, musty book shop has gone.  And the ramshackle garden at the rear, made tidy – in other words, stripped of its character.

Still, it’s a nice place to sit, all the same. The lovely fabric of the building is well maintained.

And the craft shops adjacent always a pleasure to visit. Mum bought me a nice China tea cup there.

And I bought some nice egg cups.

On I go again, into Church Street, once choked with traffic but now pedestrianized and so much better for it.

At the cross roads I join the traffic again, into Paradise Street briefly, left into narrow streets leading  to once dingy Mathew Street,  to the site of the Cavern Club, famous for spawning the Beatles. I recall going there once, to the damp cellars with their walls running wet with condensation.

This was in the late Sixties. The Beatles had left town by then, for London and stardom.

I joined a queue in Mathew Street. The doorman was being selective, only allowing in those judged to be properly dressed and turning away those who were not. So I removed my tie and tied it around my head, bandana style.  The doorman singled me out and bade me enter.

Great music down there. Can’t recall who was playing but the acoustics were good. I am told this is  probably due to the vaulted brick roof and the floor space sectioned off by archways. You could take refuge under the arches, give your ears a rest from the NOISE and hear yourself think.

Gone now, the original Cavern, replaced by a fake  across the street!

There’s a Beatles Shop just around the corner, full of 1960’s memorabilia, then onto North John Street, Dale Street, Exchange Street East –Pyke's the jewellers, no longer there. 

The Albany – a gem

Past Albany Buildings in Old Hall Street. Built in 1858, an architectural gem built around a beautiful sunken courtyard.  

It features a lovely wrought iron staircase in the centre, leading up to walkways connecting the upper floor.

Once you could gain access easily through an archway, but today, it is only visible through locked glass doors.

Built to house the HQ for the Liverpool Cotton Brokers, today only the ground floor of the Albany are offices. The other floors are all luxury apartments.

Exchange Flags behind the Town Hall has been surfaced with granite sets replacing the flagstones of the 1960s.

In Water Street Oriel Chambers (built in 1860) has the distinction of being the first iron framework building in the world. Nicknamed the “glasshouse” because of its large windows, modern for that period.

The India Building opposite remains as splendid handsome celebration of Britain’s dodgy days of Empire.

I am pleased to note that the strange “bucket” fountain on the Goree Plaza  is still in place. Sadly, not working today. I used to enjoy watching the water fill up each bucket – there were as many as 15 or 20, each filling up in sequence -  before rudely cascading  the contents splashing into the pool, below.

Close by is Castle Street, one of the original ancient streets of the city and by far the most handsome in Liverpool. You can see it on maps dating back to the 13^th century.

It must have changed a bit since those days! But not much in my time!

Castle Street is top and tailed by the Georgian town hall at one end and the Queen Victoria monument at the other.

I didn’t spot the debtors stone on this occasion, a round stone slab in the roadway.  Looking up local history I could only see reference to the Sanctuary Stone which marked the boundary of the market once held there.

But the little book I had back in the sixties  referred to the debtors stone, where anyone owing money could seek “sanctuary” by standing on it. Perhaps he’d shout“Barley” which in kids language meant they can’t touch  you!  Presumably a mate would go off to get the necessary funds to make settlement, always hoping he would return of course, while creditors stood idly by waiting to grab him if should do a runner.

 

The interloper and the Three Graces

The Port of Liverpool building reflected in the mirror like wall of the new building opposite.

At the bottom of Water Street, we reach Temple Buildings. Ah, ha. I used to work in there, for Millican Advertising.  

And across the Dock Road - where ghost trains rattle above on the long-gone Overhead Railway - to where the imposing River Mersey beckons. This wonderful water front has, for more than a century, presented Liverpool’s face to the world of shipping. Here stand the “The three graces” – an  imposing threesome each of distinctive architectural merit: the Royal Liver Building with its huge towers topped by two 18-foot high “Liver Birds”,  the Cunard Building in Italian Renaissance and Greek Rivival style and  the Edwardian Baroque Port of Liverpool Building.

Those Liver Birds! Big buggers. I knew never to miss the last bus from the Pier Head. Cos I imagined dem birds might ‘ave yer, pick your bones clean.

“What time do you call this?,” my mother would exclaim when I staggered home in the small hours.

The Three Graces are no longer alone. A modern  black marbled interloper has joined them, lined up to the right of them  (as viewed from the River) .  The stranger is next to the Museum of Liverpool - I'm not sure what it contains - but it is huge. One end of it is angled like the bows of huge ship. Not to everyone’s taste. But I like the contrast it provides.

Because his huge slab of shiny tiled wall offers a perfect, shimmering reflection of the domes and pillars of the classical styled Port of Liverpool Building across the road; and also of the buses at the kerb, and people walking by. 

I wonder if the architect was wary of imposing his modern design on its famous neighbours.

And hid it  behind a huge mirror like edifice, to render his work all but invisible. I wonder what else has changed since day.

 

Cycling UK need to be more open about their problems

 

Hello, Cycling UK, are you receiving?

Good .

Following the last entry in which it was revealed Cycling UK don't have the resources  to tackle rogue Local Authorities who build crap cycling lanes, Freedom Cycle features a fellow member who advises Cycling UK what they need to do to rectify matters.

“I understand Cycling UK’s point about resources and a top-down approach, but they could be more open about the problem they have. And they could engage someone to write about it in their magazine - then in the Leader column they could say it is an issue [and they need more resources]...they could then appeal to local CTC areas for support I guess, or to local cycling campaigns - e.g. Kingston CC. This could be good for stirring up general awareness and publicity about dangerous infrastructure and money being wasted.”

“The 1996 guidance (Cycle-friendly Infrastructure Guidelines for Planning and Design) could be used to frame the regulations, and the government can then oblige LAs to follow it. This is what Cycling UK should be promoting as an approach to making improvements.

And they should be leading a discussion in the pages of their mag and proposing how to tackle the problem.”

Yes, it beggars belief they haven’t shared this nugget with us, that they cannot do the most vital work and engage with Local Authorities responsible for so much shit! Why ever not?

                                           Street scene in Holland, 

                                           where they know how to create safe routes with adequate

                                           segregation from pedestrians and motor traffic

Surely Cycling UK's problem compromises much of their otherwise excellent work to promote safe cycling. 

 Because, let’s face it, there is not much point in lobbying government to provide funding for a national cycling policy if the people tasked with doing the work   are the Local Authorities who haven’t a clue how to do it.

In the meantime, Cycling UK continue to go round in circles by wasting  members time introducing  the Cycle Advocacy Network (CAN) - as if this will make any difference.

 They want to “resource and support people around the UK who are speaking up for change, helping to make things safer for cyclists in their area.”

CAN says we need cycle lanes in place for parents with kids, the over 65s, handcyclists, people with cargo bikes (see pic above) or pulling trailers.

Good luck with that one.

 This has been going for years by local cyclists in most towns and cities.

Councillors and planners pay lip service but mostly do nothing much – a token cycle lane here and there, dodging posts and telephone boxes, bus stops etc.

 There will be little change unless Cycling UK can directly engage with the Local Authorities who cock up what little provision they do provide cycling.

*Finally,  felicitaciones  to Preston’s Hugh Carthy in Spain, winning Sunday’s monstrous mountain top finish in the Vuelta, and moving to third overall.

 

 

Dangerous cycle lanes and why Cycling UK seldom challenge Local Authorities who build them

 

As the late comedian Ken Dodd would say: Well, Missus, I am most “discombobulated”. In my case I am discombobulated to discover an uncomfortable fact about our leading cycling organisation, Cycling UK.

Those defenders of cyclists’ rights, those  leading campaigners to make the roads safer, who tirelessly lobby government to fund cycling adequately – in vain - seldom challenge Local Authorities who build unsafe cycling infrastructure.

Can you believe that?   

Local Authority planners and engineers have turned bad cycle lane design into an art form. There are good works, of course. Some Local Authorities are better than others.

But around the corner you may suddenly find a hazard; a bus stop in the Kingston cycle lane (photo below); telephone boxes;

the cycle lane ends with no warning; switches to across a busy road; and worst of all, the cheap option, cycle lanes on pavements in built-up areas when this facility was only ever intended for inter-modal routes.

The irony is that if ever government coughed up the £billions needed for a national cycling policy, it will be the dodgy LA’s who will do the work, the very people who make a pig’s ear of the small offerings we have to contend with.

And yet these rogues are continuously allowed to get with it unchallenged by Britain’s leading cycling organisation.

This makes me so angry. And confused. Because over the years I have sensed the passion various campaign chiefs have brought to the task of promoting cycling –the many reports on health benefits, economical benefits and so on.

And I have felt their anger at government prevarication, the stalling, and the false promises.

So it follows they must be as frustrated as Hell because not only is government fucking them about, so are many local authorities. They may be well intentioned but with no proper understanding of what is required

When a few weeks ago this blog tore Kingston upon Thames to shreds over their building of bus stop cycle lanes – where bus passengers alight straight into the path of cyclists - I said I felt sure that Cycling UK will surely have complained to Kingston.

At one bus stop Kingston did  get it right, with the cycle lane curving round and out of the way of where passengers alight. But as in the case of the bus stop illustrated above, they simply just drove the cycle lane right through it.

Cycling UK, I have discovered,   have not so much as written a letter in protest.

What’s more their excellent bi-monthly magazine Cycle has never carried a story about the Kingston shambles, nor any shoddy work by any Local Authority, if memory serves me.

A picture story would suffice with a caption saying beware, your life may be in danger using this or that cycle lane. 

Why is there only ever cosy news such as the story on the new Cambridge traffic island built in the cycle friendly Dutch style? Good to see this, of course.

But, come on, let’s have some balance.

So what’s going on? What’s the problem?

Because Cycling UK staff were working from home, like many people are during the pandemic, it’s been hard to track anyone down.

Eventually a fellow journo gave me a contact and I was able to put the 64,000 dollar question.

Why do they not grab the LAs by the balls?

Do Cycling UK have any partnerships to promote cycling that might make criticism difficult – such as Grant Application Partnerships?

“No”, they do not have Grant Application Partnerships, a spokesman firmly told me. “Of course, we do have partnerships with various authorities to deliver programmes but that never has and never would prevent us from criticising an authority if we feel the need to do so.”

So why can't they tackle these misfits?

The answer is Cycling UK don’t have the financial resources necessary to go after Local Authorities!

So as well as being mad at the world I’m now both mad and sad. Sad that the defenders of cyclists’ rights are unable to take up the fight with local authorities who mess up.

Duncan Dollimore , Head of Campaigns, explained.

“To answer your specific question, no, I haven’t spoken to Kingston about this, and I’m almost certain that nobody else has spoken to them. In an ideal world, we would have more conversations with local authorities about inadequate infrastructure, but I’d need a much larger team of campaigners to have those conversations with every local authority across the UK about every scheme which doesn’t meet the required standards.

"That’s one of the reasons why we’ve been trying to build up a local campaign network, and better equip and support local people to raise issues locally.

"There’s no reluctance on my part to challenge local authorities, and we have done this, but there is an issue with capacity to do it.”

He added: “The good news is that the Government are planning to create a new inspectorate, Active Travel England, which will have oversight of standards around new infrastructure – withholding future funding if schemes do not meet required standards. They announced this in July, and the months seem to be passing without any sign of actual delivery of this commitment, but we are expecting this inspectorate to be up and running early next year.”

So there you have it.

They don’t have the resources for what is really vital work.

But why didn’t they say. Why have they not told us, the members, and the transport world at large?

Who knows, there might be some rich benefactor out there.

OK, we now know get why Cycling UK seldom directly tackle Local Authorities over such matters. As Dollimore explains, it is a question of money to employ a team to do so.

That in itself indicates how bad the situation.

Sam Jones of Cycling UK press office explained further.

“As a small national charity, it’s not possible for us tackle every single bit of egregious cycling infrastructure we hear about. Instead Cycling UK has focused on the problem behind the mistakes, namely the lack of national design standards, which now we have in England outside of London (and Wales). These standards will ensure councils don’t waste their money on inferior infrastructure, and will also allow local campaigners to challenge substandard work if they do encounter it.

“This isn’t to say Cycling UK is ignoring the problem of poor local infrastructure. We’ve just had to focus on where we can make the biggest difference with our resources. So instead of battling it out at micro level, we’ve geared ourselves to provide the support and tools to local campaigners to challenge the problems they encounter, such as newly launched Cycling Advocacy Network.”

To this I have to say there is in fact a perfectly good design guide. It’s been available since 1996!

It’s entitled: “Cycle-Friendly Infrastructure - Guidelines for Planning and Design.”

It was approved by the DoT (now DfT), the Bicycle Association, the CTC, and the Institution of Highways and Transportation. But universally ignored by Local Authorities.

Every LA in England has a copy gathering dust on a shelf, unless it was chucked out. It's a known fact that local highway chiefs think they know better.

Leaving it to local Cycling UK groups to engage in these matters will only go so far.

If the experience of my local group is anything to go by – and they include a professional engineer - planners listen for a while; go through the motions of listening, then out of the blue put down another crap facility without consulting anyone.

So Cycling UK need to get out the knives.

Just as they did when the Royal Borough of Windsor and Maidenhead threatened Velolife Cafe over the planning application for their premises. When was that, now? Last year, the year before?

Can’t recall. Time flies.

That was a nasty issue which saw the café owner and cyclists stopping there threatened with legal action for just meeting for a ride.

We may never know what drove the council to threaten this course of action, but it was all nonsense.

After a bitter struggle the council eventually backed down, climbed out of the hole they had dug for themselves and apologised to the café owner. But it took a lot of legal pressure from the combined forces of CYCLING UK and the racing organisation, British Cycling, and their legal team, Leigh Day.  

We know that Cycling UK have teeth.

They really need to bite the Local Authorities.

IT'S ALL THE RAGE

 

This edition starts nicely enough. But it ends with a story about a cruel twist of fate – worthy of Tales of Mystery and Imagination – which befell a cyclist at the hands of the law after a serious altercation with a motorist.

I begin with a recent ride of my own, up a very quiet favourite climb of mine. It was a little after 8am, a lovely morning, clear skies, cold, the sun all of a sparkle, blue sky topping the downs. Not much traffic. Then as well as bird song in the air I heard voices.

Looked over my shoulder. Nothing. The voices persisted.  A casual conversation in my head. So this is madness at last?

Then they swept by, three on road bikes, moving at twice my speed of 7.8mph, all chatting amicably.

Good heavens, I thought.

And I called out – for despite my efforts I could, at this early part of the climb, still muster breath to speak:

“I must say I find that really disconcerting,” I said as the third rider hurried by, “for you to be chatting away and yet go past at that speed.”

They ignored me and disappeared around the second hairpin.

When I took the corner there was no sign of them ahead of me on the long, long straight!

Disconcerting!

Perhaps they had stopped talking and started to ride!

Only the day before, on the flat, I had been overtaken by a guy on an electric mtb. Whoosh – probably doing 30mph! This on a two-metre wide cycle path so he was too close for comfort.

Gave me quite a start.

At least I had some inkling of the threesome’s conversational approach.

 

After pausing at the summit to admire the view to the South Downs 30 miles away, I turned and retraced my route.

A rider overtook me just before the long descent and I laid off by some 10 metres. We were doing about 24mph, that’s all.

Then he inexplicably braked almost to a stop and with barely a look over this shoulder, swerved to the right, across my path to make a U-turn!

I think he’d spotted some mates going the other way! Even at 24-25mph I was closing on him rapidly.

I grabbed my brakes while this guy, unable to complete the turn, stalled and leapt off his machine in the middle of the road and I just missed running into him.

I gave him a foul piece of my mind,   *!!!!!*** I probably Breached the Peace.

“Sorry,” he called out.

Then I remembered.

It was a Saturday morning, the start of the weekend, when all the weekend cyclists get out!

Normally I avoid the honey pots at weekends.

I used to think it was good that so many more people have taken up cycling since the 2012 London Olympics.

Not any longer. There are too many unpredictable idiots among them, no road craft, going too fast into bends. Long queues in cafes – when we used to visit them!

Making U-turns!

But I also felt annoyed with myself for losing my rag.

It’s stress. Lots of stress on some roads, and in life generally, especially with the coronavirus persisting, resulting in lockdowns.

When I got home I checked my emails.  There was an awful story from Cycling UK which put my travails into perspective.  I think it’s since gone viral.

Cycling UK member David Brennan was put in fear for his life when a vehicle was suddenly driven to within inches of his back wheel. In the altercation with the driver which followed there was much shouting and swearing and he was punched in the face. 

Months later he was shocked when the police accused  him of a breach of the peace but let the driver off with a warning.

He was astounded. According to Cycling UK, the police had earlier told him they had seen the video (and I presume also heard the colourful soundtrack) - of the incident and were going to investigate ‘further criminality’.

But when they called at his house the police told him:  “We are here to give you an official warning for contravening Section 38 (Breach of the Peace).”

The warning stated:  that he: ‘Did shout and swear causing fear to others’.”

Well, it was strong stuff. But no wonder - he feared he was about to be run down.

Brennan was further shocked to learn that the driver had also been given a written warning when clearly he thought he should be investigated for dangerous driving.

The incident occurred after the rider, who had been following a slow moving line of traffic on his way to Glasgow, decided to overtake a vehicle on the inside.

There was plenty of space.

But no sooner had he cleared the vehicle, than the potentially lethal weapon changed its line towards Brennan – you can see it do so clearly on the film. It came so close as to pose a real threat.

Such threatening moves have been experienced by other cyclists,  as though the driver has taken exception to being overtaken by cyclist.

In this case, cue for the Brennan to slap the bonnet and the very angry exchange which followed.

The pair came to a halt and the driver got out. Both were loudly shouting at the other. The cyclist was shoved and then punched, leaving him with a swollen lip.  Then the driver drove off.

Another driver who witnessed the whole affair came to Brennan’s assistance.

Brennan reported the matter to the police. After a month he hadn’t heard anything so chased them up. He felt sure the footage of the film taken from his helmet camera would confirm the driver had made a dangerous manoeuvre on him.

After several more months he received a late night visit by the police to his home and his world turned upside down. It would seem that the police took no account of the dangerous incident which in itself “caused fear in others” and which had provoked the cyclist’s outburst in the first place.

Cycling UK’s lawyers are looking into matter.