By Train and Bicycle
from The City to Richmond
and Round Back Again
along the Cruel Thames.

Dispatch Number Seventeen

Enjoying
the Simple Pleasures.

DATELINE:
Friday, February 28, 2003.

SPECIAL to corndancer.com

By Mickey Miles

The streets of London are black and shiny from the drizzling rain as I bicycle out of the garage in my flat in Whitechapel early on a Saturday morning. My destination is Richmond, located southwest of London on the Thames, about thirty minutes by train. The game plan is to load my Raleigh hybrid bicycle on the train, pop down to Richmond, and ride back to London along the banks of the Thames.

Probably the best way to do this trip is planning: consult maps, Web sites, call bike shops, etc. Or go with someone who knows the ropes. Or you can wing it and make up your trip as you go along. I vote for the latter.

Whitechapel is located on the edge of the City, the financial heart of this metropolis of seven million. Wearing my rainproof bright yellow reflective jacket and blue safety helmet, headlights and two sets of taillights blazing, I ride past the Whitechapel Bell Foundry, where the Liberty Bell and Big Ben were cast.

A Silver Glow on the Thames.

Traffic is light due to the hour and the fact that on weekends the bankers, brokers, speculators, and just about everyone connected with the financial world has vacated the City for the suburbs. I make my way down to the Thames and cross London Bridge to the south bank.

The rising sun gives the Thames a silver glow as I cross the river. The tide is coming in and you can see the strength of the current on the bridge's pilings. I think for a minute about the hundreds of poor London dockworkers who have drowned in the Thames. Used to, ships were unloaded by hand. Hundreds of workers would walk down planks into the ship's hold and climb back up carrying a heavy load on their back. They had to walk a plank to reach the bank. Sometimes by the end of the day, even strong men, weakened by overwork, lack of sleep, and little food, and burdened by a heavy load, would lose their footing and plunge into the Thames. They couldn't swim and many drowned. Life was cheap here in the latter part of the 1880s. Most of these workers were immigrants with lots of mouths to feed. I imagine how sad it must have been for a family of say, five, to learn that Daddy wouldn't be coming home. Or worse, find some money so we can bury this chap.

Big Ben, ringing the hour of seven, shakes me from my thoughts. It is time to move on. I am trying to get out of the City before traffic picks up.

Some Excitement on the Platform.

I make my way towards Vauxhall Train Station, stopping in route for a cup of coffee and a sweet roll. At Vauxhall, I pay just over four pounds (about five U.S. dollars) for a roundtrip ticket to Richmond. I have to haul my bike up two flights of stairs. Once on the platform I look for a station attendant to ask where I should stand with my bike to load it in the baggage car.

I knock on the door of the attendant's office and two obviously irritated guys are sitting at a table, drinking coffee. One snarls that they aren't on duty yet and closes the door. End of brief conversation.

Oh well, my book on bicycling says to go to the end of the platform, which end I don't know, but I head to the far end. The train arrives and I open a door to load my bike in the first class section.

Now that got everyone's attention.

"Oui!!!!! Oui!!!! Mate, get that bike outta there." Suddenly I have three men screaming at me to get the bike out of first class. They are pointing towards the baggage car.

I pull my bike out of the train car, conscious that I am holding up the train. I head in the direction of the attendants, who are hollering and pointing. One opens the door to the baggage car.

"Bloke, you're holding up the bloody train!"

At Last the Train Is Underway.

People are looking out their windows, staring at this guy fighting to get his bike abroad. The attendant slams the door. Not to worry. The train is underway and I lean my head out the window and feel the cool breeze on my brow. I ignore the stares of the passengers.

I reach Richmond in about thirty minutes time. I offload my bike and emerge into the bright sunshine and head for Richmond Park. A couple of people give me directions and I have little trouble in finding the park. I don't ride long because I think I need the steam to get back to London.

Heading back to the Thames, I ask a female Bobbie for directions to London.

She takes one look at the bike and hears the accent.

"Bottom of the hill, turn left, keep the river on your left."

A Glorious Ride Indeed!

And so my journey back to London begins. It is a glorious ride indeed. The weather is perfect, cool and dry. The path is hard-packed dirt and in some places gravel or concrete. I put my steed in second gear in the big gears and fourth in the small ones, and pretty soon I am trucking along at a nice twelve-miles-per-hour clip.

I ride for about two hours. Just about the time I get hungry and thirsty, appearing like an oasis is The Ship. As my luck continued to hold out, they were just bringing out the day's steak and ale pie. So I have a Guinness Stout and pie for lunch, and that calls for another brew. I sit on a wooden bench outside the pub and rest for a bit.

The beer and the pie have taken the starch out of me and I long for a nap. So up ahead at Barnes Bridge I leave the trail and load my bike into the next train heading for London.

It has been a good day. By the time I get back to my flat I have covered twenty-two miles and seen a good bit of England.

By Train and Bicycle from The City to Richmond and Round Back Again along the Cruel Thames.