Rusty

Rusty

Why a VW T25?
Val and I have camped throughout our lives.  Our kids loved it too, but they are long gone. We have camped under canvas on only a few occasions since we retired in 2004. We planned it this way, see the world, then, when we were older and less willing to put up with cramped aeroplanes and crowded airports, stick closer to home and enjoy camping again in Britain, Ireland and the near Continent.  

I have always wanted a camper of some sort because I have observed from the comments of friends and family that huge high Motorhomes can be a pain.  We tried our sons 1990s Hymer at a couple of festivals and found it comfy and fun, but, a big Motorhome like that won't fit on our drive very easily, so if we wanted anything for ourselves it had to be a camper.  A neighbour has a short wheelbase T5, we looked at it, it seemed very cramped and he admitted it was too, with an uncomfortable rear seat. It put us off looking at Campers for a long time. I got quite excited about Bongos, but they are even worse, the beds are very narrow and they seemed too claustrophobic.

I had Triumph Stag for 10 years and have always enjoyed Classic Motoring, so a Camper from an earlier era rings my bell.  We had a holiday home in Cornwall for 10 years and on our way down there from Oxfordshire we often observed all the old VWs spluttering along at a snail's pace, that and the eye watering prices ruled out splitties and bays.  

We appreciated that might not actually like Campers so we were reluctant to spend from £20 to £50 grand on a T5 or T6 and then sell with a large price drop in 3 years or so. Something decent under £10 grand seemed sensible. Hard to lose lots of money when you haven't spent much.

You can see where I am headed…. the compact, fit in a car park slot, internally spacious Classic VW T25.  My German friend Georg agreed “The T3 Bulli is the best”. When we got Rusty the T25 my T5 neighbour came round got in, tried the seat, saw all the space and said with a grin that he was a bit jealous.  I must add he hasn't been out in it!

So that's how we got here, our next instalment will be the story old Rusty so far (a 1980 T25 Air Cooled Devon Moonraker)

T25 - Space, Grace, no Pace but a bit of Style!

Rusty (he was, but he aint now!)

So, my search for a T25 began in Spring 2017, Spring is the worst time to buy pricewise!  I discovered the 80-90 Club which has a massive Wiki covering every aspect of Vans and the excellent T25/T3 info site.  This armed me with a lot of information on what to look out for. Bodywork was the most important area with specific information on potential areas of rust.  The early air cooled engines were said to be the least troublesome but thirstier. So I started searching on Ebay and Gumtree. I wish I had known about Facebook because that's where most vans seem to get advertised and where owners are proactive in helping one another out.  There were quite a few half decent looking vans advertised at the £10 grand plus mark but I thought this was too much.

Then, I spotted Rusty on Gumtree, a pretty original 1980 Devon Moonraker, bodywork looked good, air cooled engine, great looking interior and upholstery.  Looked at all the points underneath seemed solid enough, started and ran ok, drove ok (it was the first one I had seen and driven). First and Second gears were a bit difficult.  I was told this was the clutch if I was bothered. The previous owner had fitted a reconditioned engine, it had been resprayed a year ago and reupholstered. Rusty had 11 months MOT.

I negotiated the price down £1500 to £6250 which left me with £1500 to sort the clutch with a fair bit in hand. “Hard pushed to find one in this condition at this price” was the Gumtree description.  How right that turned out to be!

Drove Rusty home with little difficulty and rang Dave at the Garage to book Rusty in for the new clutch and a general look over. Dave had been a VW apprentice in 1980, he knows these vans backwards.  Took Rusty in and later got the fateful phone call. “You had better come over and look at this” Oh dear, long faces. “Have I bought a pup? “ Apparently Rusty was riven with rust underneath. “It should never have passed its MOT” said Dave.  “It's dangerous! “ I asked whether I should cut my losses? I was advised that there was a lot of work to do to make Rusty safe and advised to have it sorted it in stages. New Sills, new sliding door track, and a new spring mounting were required at a parts cost of £500. In addition new gas struts for the rear door which could fall on your head, new roof gas struts, flywheel skim, the clutch, pilot bearing, crankshaft oil seal, new ball joints and many hours of welding.  That turned out to be just for starters……

Rusty wasn't too Rusty any more and he was ready to rock!

When I got Rusty back home I set about sorting Rusty's interior.  There was no water from the tap in the sink. This turned out be because there was no power supply.  Obviously water was required with ignition off so I installed a 12v fused power supply direct to the battery complete with some lighter sockets as a power supply to my cool box. I also installed a 240v socket as an alternative power supply to the cool box. I purchased a basket weave square seat from Homebase which was an excellent replacement for the missing buddy seat.  

On a visit to Decathlon I spotted an excellent air tube awning, the Air Seconds Base, quick to pitch and erect it would make an excellent spacious addition to Rusty for longer stays.

We were ready to go, but before we went anywhere I wanted to try an overnight stay somewhere nearby to see that we had all the right gear in place.

Carry on Camping

Rather than charge off camping and discover we had missed something vital we decided to head off for a Sunday Lunchtime drink in Rusty at the Black Horse pub in nearby Checkendon and stay overnight in the pubs field.  So that's what we did. After a generous liquid lunch we drove into the sloping field and put the awning up and spent a relaxed afternoon with a bottle of wine and a sandwich.

Evening meal consisted of a Spag Bol we had brought from home.  We went bed to the sound of a chorus of different owls in this remote country location. All was well.

Later that week we set off to attend the first night of Dorsets End of the Road Festival for a single night.  That was when the trouble started! Rusty lost his tickover. If you have ever tried driving something with no tickover its a nightmare!  As you halt in traffic the engine dies. You are frightened to take your foot off the accelerator and haul on the handbrake to stop. The engine dies frequently.  Our journey involved the dreaded A303 queue at Stonehenge. The queue was a pain. At last we moved off and got onto the single carriageway but right opposite Stonehenge the engine died and Rusty stopped dead.  Desperately I got my auxiliary battery and repeatedly tried to start the engine without success. Raising the engine hatch didn't help I was unfamiliar with the engine. So we called the rescue. Explaining where we were to Mr Rescue brought forth a groan “ not in that queue! ‘  Meanwhile monster trucks were taking it in turn to get around us. Then a nice lady Police Officer turned up to look after us. I phoned our daughter who was appearing that night at the Festival to say it looked like we weren't coming. But.. Rescue man arrived, towed us up the road to a layby, dived into the engine hatch and found a loose wire “whats this? “. It was the power to the petrol pump! Crimping the spade terminal more tightly and pushing it home Rusty burst into life.  We were off again and reached the Festival a couple of hours late. On the way we noted another broken down T25 at the side of the road with another trying to help. I dared not stop.

Camping that night in a rather dank spot was a bit chilly. Later on that evening after her performance we met a guy chatting to my daughter, it turned out to be Doc Brown the Actor and Comedian who also came in his T25 and also broke down missing his Comedy slot at the Festival.  Fortunately he broke down at a petrol station which harboured a Marks and Spencer Simply Food. I was beginning to understand the T25 scene a bit better…

Later next day we reached home after a fraught journey, throttle and handbrake… I tried my best to cure the tickover but it was no use.  Rusty was off to Uncle Dave’s again…

Rusty's Motor and more stuff. .
The engine was a bit of a mystery to me and the faults were a mystery to Dave too. He couldnt make Rusty tick over consistently. So, the carbs were stripped and cleaned, they were loose with no gaskets, the distributor was actually loose, its baseplate rivets allowing it to move, the throttle cross shaft was broken. So the distributor baseplate was rerivetted as a replacement couldnt be sourced, choke housing gaskets were made and fitted. Ekectronic points were fitted and the engine tuned. It now ran perfectly except the heads were leaking oil. The source of the leak were the pushrod seals so they were all replaced. On this occasion the opportunity to replace the front wheel bearings and the steering rack mounting bushes. There are always things to replace on a T25, another £300 of parts. By now we had a bill exceeding £3 grand in total but confidence in Rusty was growing.
It was evident that getting Rusty's engine easily was important and replacing the rather shoddy collection of plywood that served as a bed base was a priority, so I made this. .

The new series of hatches gave excellent access to the engine and plenty of organised storage in seperate compartments. 

A Salutory Lesson? 

Looking back on it I got carried away with Rusty, I got stars in my eyes and bought the first thing I saw. I have done that before with our house in Cornwall but never regretted it. I didn't look hard enough at Rusty before I parted with my money and wasn't critical enough. Rusty had obviously had some TLC, a paint job, re upholstery but had had extensive fibreglass to get through an MOT. The seller seemed nice, genuine, was he dishonest or not very mechanically minded I shall never know? Judge for yourself Here's the original ad With a T25 you obviously have to go armed with the right knowledge and spend time making yourself aware of potential problems.

However, I know from owning my Stag that you have to be prepared to regularly spend money on any Classic, its the equivalent of what you spend on depreciation on any modern car. Also, theres a lot of extra expense in a bare Camper, all the bits and pieces you have to buy - cookware, cutlery, the awning, a sun canopy, mains lead, a cooler in my case, it goes on and on.

Conclusion?

I am not dwelling on all the trials and troubles but just looking forward to all the trips that together with Rusty we will enjoy. Its been a lot of fun tinkering up til now. I am going to build a decent coolbox this afternoon and I must fix that leak around the skylight!

Dieting is never easy but it can be

"Hmmm..your HbA1c is a bit high at 6.5%, you had better come back and see me in 3 months. If you can't improve it we may have to increase your medication" .. These were the words of my diabetes nurse last December. My heart sunk she was correct, I had let myself go yet again. Since I was diagnosed with type 2 diabetes 8 years ago at the age of 64 I have struggled to contain it by reducing my weight and becoming fitter. At first it worked great. I started a weight watchers diet using a little app on a Palm. I managed to shed 21 lbs over a period of 7 months. I took up cycling fairly seriously joining the CTC, buying a Mountain bike and touring bike and doing some touring in the Hebrides. It worked, my glucose readings came back to normal and all was well. But, the weight crept back on and I yo yoed over the years. So, in January I resolved to do something about it permanently. The idea of taking more pills, the risk of blindness amputation and an early death meant whatever I did had to be permanent.
Over the years I have tried all sorts of diets. Some of them just fads like Atkins, F Plan, 5:2 ,  and many others. The only one that ever really worked for me was keeping a food diary on a weight watchers plan. I started looking around for a solution. If you went with weight watchers you had to join a group and I didn't want to do that. Looking at Google Play on my Android tablet threw up an App called My Fitness Pal. This looked ideal because it combined calorie counting with exercise recording. The App runs on a tablet and phone and a PC, and automatically synchronises itself between all the devices you put it on. Using the App you could consume food up to a set level and it calculates the calories expended in exercise which can be set against the food, thus allowing you to eat more and yet still loose weight. Actually, what I did was to eat up to the level of a 1 lb a week weight loss and use the exercise to shed even more weight. This ultimately led to a 1.3 lb a week average weight loss. Great for me because I am impatient.
One feature of fad diets, particularly stupid diets like Atkins 5 : 2 etc, is that when you reach your goal you probably wish to eat normally like everyone else.  These diets havent transformed your eating habits which any decent diet really should. I was determined to just modify my eating habits which were actually quite reasonable, but eat less and through exercise become really fit and healthy again.
Before dieting I usually ate muesli and a banana for breakfast, mostly a salad or sandwich or couple of rolls for lunch and a pretty normal evening meal of one sometimes two courses. The bad thing that I did was eat cheese and biscuits late at night, probably drank more than I should and ate fairly big portions of everything. Thus the answer was to modify my diet to loose weight without changing it much. The steps I took were:-

Reduce portion sizes to reduce calorie intake to My Fitness Pals recommendations
Add in a very low calorie soup to evening meals to reduce evening hunger
Always have a lowish calorie desert of some sort
Control the booze
Leave room for treats like chocolate, steak and chips etc so that it didn't feel like a rigorous diet
Make sure that each week there was several thousand calories of exercise thrown in to speed up weight loss.
I was very lucky because my wife saw that I was making good progress early on and decided to join me. This made dieting very much easier for me and ultimately she lost almost as much weight as me.
To make sure that I stuck to my diet I told friends and family what I was doing which was an added incentive to stick at it. Ultimately I reduced my weight from 15st 6lbs to 12st 1 today, a total weight loss of 47lbs over 36 weeks. At 5ft 10 my BMI is in the region of 24. My waist has decreased from a tight 40 to 34. I may possibly go on to loose another 1/2 a stone to place me more comfortably in the normal BMI range. Its now easier to climb hills on the bike, tie my shoelaces and walk without my knees aching.
The exercise I did was 70% cycling, 20% walking and in the cold weather a bit of rowing on our rowing machine. I try to do at least 25 minutes walking on the days I don't cycle which is three days a week, 11 or 22 miles at a stretch with some decent hills.
If I wanted to I could stick to this diet for ever, but I would turn into a stick. My Fitness Pal allowed me about 1500 calories per day and I should consume about 2000 to 2200 to stabilise my weight. I have yet to work out how to do this, but I think it will consist mainly of what I now regard as treats, an extra glass of wine, an extra piece of chocolate, a chippy, a takeaway, extra restaurant meals etc
Now for a few details of what I actually ate:-
Breakfast
40g Muesli, 25 g frozen berries, smallish banana coffee
Or..
1 egg, 1 slice of lean bacon, two tinned plum tomatoes, smallish banana
..About 260 calories
Lunch
A gammon ham salad with 60g ham, rocket, tomatoes, red onion, cucumber, sweet peppers, radish, salary, beetroot, pickled cucumber, and 100g of cold baked beans, plus a small apple or pear some days.
Or..
A single roll about 200 calories with ham, slim slices of cheddar and salad stuff plus a large tomato.
..About 300 to 400 calories.
Dinner
A filling, low calorie soup (details follow)
Meat or fish and 2 veg with potato rice of pasta, chilli con carne, curry, liver and bacon, stewing beef etc etc all the things normally we eat in England except that potatoes are limited to 150g, rice noodles and pasta are just 50g.  This is much less carbohydrate than we used to eat and much less than most overweight people eat. Its not necessary to eat a lot really I now realise. You don't need lots of carbohydrates and lots is bad because we found it only makes you hungry later.
A dessert of fruit, often fresh pineapple, rhubarb, etc with one desert spoonful of ice cream or two of low fat yoghurt.
400 - 700 calories generally, sometimes more offset by exercise when taking you over the limit
In addition to the above I drank about 6 or 7 cups of tea or coffee with skimmed milk every day and always a glass of wine or whisky.
Once a week we always have a treat. A 6oz sirloin steak, 100g of 5% fat oven chips, fried onions, and mushrooms. We also have a 150 calorie chocolate bar, but never more than 2 a week. To maintain a diet you have to have some relief. For us its this treat, the odd restaurant meal, the wine club we go to once a month, and our diet period was actually 40 weeks, but we were on holiday eating whatever we liked for 4 weeks of that. You have to give yourself these breaks if you want to succeed.

The soups
1 onion, 1 stick of celery, 1 400g tin of chopped tomatoes,  2 large carrots small handful of red lentils
To this you can add basil, or curry powder or paste or any other low calorie flavouring you fancy. Don't cook down the onion and celery just put it all in a saucepan with water salt and pepper and boil if up for 20 minutes. Don't use any oil, no need to sweat onions. Then whizz it up in a liquidiser finally adding water to get the consistency you like. This will make about 6 portions.
Or..
1 large leek, 2 large carrots, 200g potato, 10g butter, water, seasoning
Again boil for 20 minutes and liquidise 6 portions
Or..
1 onion, 1 stick of celery, 100g of peas, 1 large bag of spinach, veg stock cube, seasoning. Boil for 10 minutes and liquidise. 4 portions.

My Fitness Pal

This App takes a bit of setting up initially. You can put in your own recipes. There is a database of millions of foods and all the normal stuff from British supermarkets is already in there. There is also an incredibly easy barcode scanner. Just scan a barcode and it will recognise practically anything and give you the calorie value and nutrition details. If you put in your favourite breakfast as items you can save it as a meal that you can then retrieve with a single click. The brilliant part is that it draws your attention to high calorie things and makes you modify your intake to stay within the calorie limit you need to observe to achieve your weekly weight loss target. There is also a weight tracker which gives you a graph of your progress, a great motivator. Your nutrition can be observed in the form of pie and bar charts. You can link it to Strava and other things like that too that will pass in your exercise calories.
In conclusion..
What I am very pleased with is that I managed to diet on meals I enjoy and never had to resort to starving myself by fasting or eating mountains of fatty foods instead of carbohydrate foods that I really enjoy. I have reached my diet goal in a measured way over a reasonable period of time without any anguish, seldom feeling hungry or deprived.
Our local Sue Ryder home now has 5 dustbin liners full of my old clothes and my wife now look terrific. Its been a great experience for me personally. I am no longer ashamed of having an overweight fat bellied shape and I am fitter and healthier. I went to see my GP who congratulated me on my HbA1c of 4% and told me I no longer have to take any diabetes medication. The diabetes has gone! Just shows what you can achieve when you get in the right frame of mind.
Being overweight is not much fun. I really hope that these details of my diet and exercise programme helps anyone that reads it.l

A day in the park...

As a boy I knew the huge marshalling yard behind Stratford station in London's East End very well. On Saturday mornings I would often go there with my dad, a steam train driver, to collect his pay. It was an opportunity to see the locomotives up close, to stand on the footplate and wonder at the vast array of mysterious levers and dials and to peer into the raging heat of the firebox that seared your skin. We deftly stepped across rails dodging hissing engines, trucks and carriages on our way over to the pay office. Over the years the yard deteriorated into a weed covered wasteland as the steam sheds were demolished with the arrival of soulless oily diesels. Now, 60 years later, that yard is the Olympic Park, packed with gleaming buildings, elegant walkways and right now teeming crowds.
We attended a morning Paralympics session in the Olympic Stadium. Fearing a paralysed transport system on the first day back to school we left early, but we need not have worried, travelling from Limehouse we were in our seats in the stadium within an hour. The greeters and security staff were friendly and efficient whisking us through. It was all so easy. In the stadium the atmosphere was electric. At the entry of the first athletes a massive roar went up that reverberated around the Stadium. We watched shot put, javelin, long jump, and wheelchair and running events on the track. That particular day many blind athletes were competing. In the long jump blind athletes were lined up with the run in and the athletes assistant then stood at the jump off line and called and clapped. The athlete sprinted towards the noise and jumped as he sensed the line which was a slightly raised board. The whole stadium had to go quiet for each jump so that the athlete could hear his guide, and we did. It was amazing, everyone seemed full of admiration of such pluck determination and skill.
Later we were to see blind runners in sprints and longer track events running with the assistance of sighted guides tethered to them at the wrist. There were single legged shot putters and javelin throwers throwing from a metal stand which they sat on. They all seemed to be achieving quite respectable distances. The 800 metre wheelchair races drew a huge roar from the crowd especially when a GB athlete was competing. As the wheelchairs circled the track the crowds roar travelled with them. Even the lone stragglers, trailng hundreds of metres behind, got a rousing cheer and round of applause urging them on in salute of their dogged determination. The athletes showed such spirit and courage that you felt you had to give them all the appeciation that you possibly could. It was a salutory masterclass demonstrating the very best of the human spirit and to us a humbling experience.
The atmosphere in the stadium was happy and relaxed The crowd consisted of all age groups from toddlers to ancient pensioners all drawn together in a celebration that was a living proof of how disabled people can overcome personal challenges and enjoy sporting competition in spite of terrible disadvantages. As the session was about to finish we made our way around the middle tier of the stadium to photograph the cauldron. Then we meandered through the rest of the park which is dotted with fast food stalls and gift shops. Everyone was enjoying the hot sunny day and the stunning surroundings. Banks of flowers in full bloom alongside varied foliage made an exhuberant and colourful display contrasting with the hard landscaped paths and awesome modern buildings. The warm friendly atmosphere of the stadium pervaded the picnic tables dotted around. Grassy banks beside the river Lea, which meanders through the park, provided a natural amphitheatre to sit and watch events on big screens. The river and its tributaries which weaved through the park was a haven for marsh plants insects and birds. Background music drifted from speakers and small groups of street entertainers bands and singers all added to the festive atmosphere. It was a pity that you couldn't enter the velodrome or pool building just to look. From the outside the Velodrome is beautiful as well as being impressive. The pool building is similar but presently cloaked with rather ugly seating extensions.
With our wagons dragging we finally made our way home. The trains were not crowded, at least the ones we took, but we did ignore the official advice to walk to West Ham or take the DLR. That's the advantage of being a Londoner and knowing the tube well.
Reflecting on our day it was happy, inspiring, and spectacular all at the same time. It took me back to a place that I knew so well in early childhood. I wonder what my Cockney dad would have made of the wonderful transformation of his workplace? I am sure it would have been something like " Cor, love a duck, that's class boy!".

"The Staaag...."
Thats what Jeremy called it. "The best car British Leyland ever made".
After I drove my sons Stag I just had to have one. In March 2008 I acquired DR J, an Inca Yellow 1972, Mk 1 1/2 Stag from a lawyer in Tunbridge Wells. He had had it 'restored to order' in 1996 and since then it had only done 6000 miles. The engine seemed good, the bodywork reasonable, it was all in period not having been modified out of character, and affordable. A perfect bit of 1970's nostalgia, whats more it was road tax free.

Dr J at 'Camp Paton in the heart of Normandy!

In the year that we have owned it (I say we because the Mrs loves it too), we have explored B road road England far more extensively than Robbie, 4000 miles in all, and had loads of fun. A dash to Brands Hatch with the Stag owners club, the Goodwood Revival, a midweek break to Lyme Regis, and a four day tour of the Cherbourg Peninsular based at the excellent Hotel de France et Fushias in St Vaast. In that time, after some initial tweaking of the ignition and carbs (yes! you can do it yourself), and fixing the wipers, it has run faultlessly. You lope along in 70's comfort to the the throaty beat of the V8. Admiring glances and head twisting from passers by and modern sports car drivers are the norm. Comments like " I wish my car sounded like that!" come again and again. The yellow Stag puts people in a good mood, it brings genuine smiles to lips, and its just a great drive
You tend to avoid motorways (too noisy with the top down) and seek out quiet cross country routes which seldom extend journey times more than 15%. For instance yesterday on the way back from Brands we turned off the M25 at the A3 went cross country to Bracknell and when we got there a Maserati passed us which had previously passed us on the M25 back near the M23, so its sometimes quicker by Stag on the byways!
The overdrive is great. With a flick of the switch on the gearstick you lope along to a moderated beat, the 3 litre V8 is torquey and strong with plenty of power to keep up with today's traffic, and returns a genuine 25mpg. As its a historic vehicle the insurance costs just £130. With the Stags two extra seats in the back, you can thrill occasional passengers, and the voluminous boot makes it a genuine grand tourer that puts most many modern sporty ragtops to shame.
If you are a tinkerer, there are plenty of pleasurable possibilities. You can do your own servicing, no computers needed. So far I have restuffed the seats, refurbed the dashboard, disassembled and cleaned the window lift switches and got the windows working smoothly and there is plenty left to do. Some people spend thousands, but I am happiest just driving.
Yesterday Brands Hatch came around again with 30+ Stags meeting at Clackets Lane Services early and driving to the track in a loose convoy.

Stags for 3 miles!

It was the Historic Superprix with F1 cars from the 1970/80 period, formula Fords, F5000, Junior, sports cars and 1960's saloons racing. 50 Stags parked up together and we enjoyed an idylic English day with thrilling racing. At lunchtime after practice had finished 40 Stags took to the course for a couple of laps..... Magic!!!

The video!

I can recomend the Triumph Stag. Jeremy was right it was BL's best car, a great Grand Tourer and loads more fun than any Eurobox. Properly serviced and looked after its a reliable, cheap and rewarding classic to own. There are many horror stories about the Stag's V8, but simple precautionary regular maintenance and an electric fan sorts the problems. You are stuck with the fundemental lower quality of 70's car manufacture, but that is no problem to anyone with a bit of energy and an inclination to tinker. I am looking forward to many more happy years of rewarding motoring with the Stag.

Its the election here is South Oxfordshire. We keep getting unwelcome 'canvasing' phone calls, so we have both decided that as we don't like our privacy being invaded we are not going to vote for anyone!

Old blokes bike tour of the Southern Hebrides

A soggy morning on Arran

I have always loved cycling, its just that I haven't actually done much of it for almost 50 years. But the weight was refusing to shift and for the first couple of years of retirement I wasn't feeling particularly fit even after quite a lot of walking. Action was needed! So I contacted cycling pal Geoff and sought some advice on the purchase of a suitable touring bike with which I envisaged doing some 'adventures'. I also asked for advice on The Motley Fool's Cyclists Corner. Of course the advice conflicted, but in the end I got myself a Giant SCR 3.0 road bike and added mudguards, a pannier rack, and some clip in pedals.

Geoff and I shared several adventures last year when he accompanied me on my boat, in the Solent, down to the West Country and across to France. Back in the 60s we had been apprentices together sharing a love of cars and jazz. But Geoff had emigrated to Canada where he had developed a passion for flying and returned to England to fly as a British Midland pilot. During this time I had lost contact with him, and it was only a couple of years ago that we met again at an apprentices reunion. On hearing my interest in bikes, Geoff, who has done an 'end to end' ie Lands End to John O'Groats, suggested that we make a gentle 35 miles a day tour of the Southern Hebrides to get me going. For about 3 weeks I trained for the trip cycling the Chilterns and the downs of South Oxfordshire. A lot of puffing and wheezing took place and a very sore bottom made the decision that the Giant's ultra slim arse splitting saddle had to make way for a wider model with nice jelly cheeks. This did the trick. Full of optimism it was off up North, with a tube of Savlon and the bike in the back of the car.

We started in Helensbugh near Geoff's home in Rhu, taking an old puffer across the Clyde to Gouroch and set off on the road south along the coast for Ardrossan, a first leg of about about 24 miles. Quite soon I spotted a cycle path with nice little blue Sustrans signs and bollards. It was actually a converted pavement. The traffic was quite heavy so the prospect of cycling on a purpose built path was very attractive, at least it was until you got onto it! The first thing I noticed was the vibration, the ex-pavement wasn't anything like as flat as the road, it was a series of ridges interspersed with potholes and patches. Obviously the council don't place a high priority on cycle path maintenance. The next problem was masses of stones and grit all over the path, no doubt swept there by the passing traffic. So after 200 yards we gave up on that very expensively created path, and it was back to the very smooth clean road surface and to hell with the traffic. It was a fairly flat route with a short stop at Largs for a sandwich on the sea front. Then on to the Caladonian Macbrayne ferry for the 2 hour journey to Arran. On the whole trip we actually made 7 CalMac crossings of various stretches of water from 1/2 hour to 2 hours. With our CalMac HopScotch tickets the bikes went free, and the whole lot cost just over £30, an absolute bargain.

Our first night was to be spent at Whitesand Bay about 8 miles south on Arran's East coast. As we cycled out of Brodick we met the first real hill, a 2 mile 1 in 8 pull. Toiling upward and wheezing heavily I glanced at Geoff' ahead and noticed something strange. His pedals were going around considerably faster than mine despite me being in the lowest possible gear. The SCR 3.0 is obviously a road bike aimed at younger, fitter cyclists pelting along with no mudguards and panniers, not fat old blokes approaching their 64th birthday. A quick examination revealed my smallest chain ring had 30 teeth and the largest rear sprocket had 26 teeth. On Geoff's trusty Dawes Tourer, it was the other way roung 26 teeth on the chainring and 30 teeth on the sprocket. Fit Geoff was sailing up the hill like a breeze while I puffed and wheezed along barely able to make the pedals turn even on the granny ring. As there isn't one bicycle shop on the islands we were visiting, it seemed I was doomed to a week toiling up the hills. With evening approaching and a light mizzle falling, we finally arrived at our small hotel. After attaching the bikes to a handy cast iron downpipe with my new superlock, a welcome shower preceded a stroll around to discover the delights of this small resort. Surprisingly there was an Indian, a Chinese bedecked in coloured lights and and 'oh joy' a pub where we tucked into a supper of Curried Parsnip Soup, followed by a heaped plateful of Haggis Neaps and Tatties, an eclectic but satifying mix washed down by a couple of pints of the Heavy. Later I fell into a deep satisfying slumber secure in the knowledge that I wasn't actually going to be much of a burden on Geoff.

Next morning in a light rain we set off for a spin that would take us 3/4 of the way around Arran. The hilly part came first. Geoff disappeared down the first hill like a speeding bullet, but as I followed him and the speed built up to about 25 mph I became aware of a new, and frightening problem. The back of the bike began to gyrate from side to side under the weight of the rear panniers rather like a crazed metronome, as the speed increased it got worse and worse, and I descended the hill in a series of long S shaped ever increasing gyrations. My engineering knowledge rang alam bells, as I realised with horror that I was on the verge of a unstoppable harmonic gyration which would doubtless end in disaster. I frantically hauled on the brakes and came to rest at the bottom thankfully still in one piece. It would be 25mph max with panniers from now on. The rain had now settled into a steady patter and the hills gave way to a spectacular afternoon spin along Arrans' western shore on a practically flat road. The shore teemed with seabirds fishing and squabbling, to the right majestic mountains were shrouded in mist and cloud. It was great to be there out in the open air at a pace where you could see a changing land and seascape, and hear the sounds and smell the smells that you are so cut off from in a car. In spite of the steady plop of rain, and the droplets running off the front of my helmet this was all I had hoped that cycling would be and more. At last we rounded the headland with grand mountains to our right and a grey seascape to our left and the small town of Lochranzer hove into view. The Youth Hostel where we would spend the night looked impressive.

Lochranzer Youth Hostel on Arran

After checking in, and changing into dry clothes it was off to the drying room with the wet stuff, including my now thoroughly wet shoes. I made a note to get some overshoes on my return. The dorm where we were billetted was pretty basic and two showers and two toilets to about 20 blokes was a bit thin. The kitchen and dining room were a revalation to me, with walkers and cyclists of all nationalities scurrying around preparing their evening feasts. We would encounter many of those cyclists we saw here later on in our journey. Not for us the culinary art, it was off to the pub for more beer and a hearty meal to replenish us.

Next morning we awoke to bright sunshine and blagged some milk from fellow hostellers to go with the small pack of muesli Geoff had carried.

Lochranzer Castle on Arran

It was a leisurely start as the ferry didn't leave until 11. After a half hour ferry journey to the Kintyre peninsular, we cycled up the hill on one side and blazed down to the Islay Ferry on the other. It was at this point that we met what I can only describe as the human dynamo (from Germany). Peter, had cycled here fro Munster in Germany, cycling across Holland where he took a ferry to Newcastle, then cycling to Glasgow where he had followed the same path as us. He had panniers all over his bike, complete with a tent wrapped in a foam matress on the back. Here was a super young cyclist, not only highly fit, but highly efficient too. He swept past and was soon as a speck in the distance. It was only when we arrived at the ferry that we were able to chat to him and hear his amazing story. The Ferry to Islay took about 2 hours, so we were able to fill up on chips from the CalMac galley.

View of Jura's 'Baps' en route to Islay

As we alighted on Islay a look of horror passed across my face as I spied the hill that lead out of Port Askaig. I actually made it halfway, but then my legs stopped. It wasn't much further to our B&B. When we arrived it was a Friday night, and the first evening of the annual Islay jazz festival. Geoff had booked a couple of gigs, so now we just had to find a way to get the 23 miles to the first one that evening? We had no lights, so biking was out. The plan was to get a bus or taxi or thumb it there, but as the B&B was about two miles up a little side road, a bit of walking was inevitable. The B&B was a tiny bungalow, but it must have had the best view on the Eastern side of Islay. Donald our host introduced us to our fellow guests, a Canadian Barrister and his wife - they had a car! Quick as a flash we casually mentioned that we were going to a Jazz Festival gig tonight. "Well theres a coincidence so are we!" responded the Barrister. "Any chance of a lift?" I enquired. "Sure" was the reply, only it turned out that we were going to Port Charlotte and they were going to a gig in Bowmore... still Bowmore was halfway, and we could get a taxi no doubt? A quick nosh in the Inn at Bowmore with a fantastic view across the bay, then we asked the waiter to order a taxi.

View from the restaurant at Bowmore on Islay

He came back a few minutes later and told us there were only three taxis on Islay and they were all booked up all night. So, thumbing it was the only way, we walked out of Bowmore with thumbs held high and after a short time a kind lady stopped and gave us a lift right to the gig where she was going too. At this point, now some 25 miles from our B&B we had no idea how we were going to get back. The gig was Martin Taylor, Britains best Jazz guitarist. Martin and his ensemble were great, it took me right back to my apprenticeship days when Geoff and I had explored all the Jazz clubs in London. Someone had told the organiser that we were looking for a lift, but, she got it wrong and announced in the interval that we wanted to go to the other end of the island. A guy soon approached us and offered a lift but it was the wrong way, he was going to Port Ellen in the south. After the gig had finished it was pitch dark outside the hall and we bravely set off down the road hoping to thumb our way home. The same guy who had offered us a lift to the south appeared in a 4WD. "You chaps sorted?" he enquired. "No we've got to thumb it", we said. "Jump in" he said, and he took us right back to the B&B, then planning to go to Port Ellen at the other end of the Island to catch a bit of the Gina Rae gig which ended at midnight. His generosity was fantastic. He was a Glaswegian businessmean with a second home on Islay, and he was having the time of his life with the jazz and a weekend off from the family.

Next morning was beautiful with warm sunshine so we took the 5 minute ferry ride to Jura. Jura is about 30 miles long, is inhabited by 180 people and 2,500 red deer.

The Baps of Jura (wonder how they got their name?)

There is one distillery, and one narrow tarmac road. We headed for the distillery, stopping a couple of times to watch the deer, buzzards, swans and seabirds. At the distillery we had a wee dram and made some miniature purchases.

Time for another dram! - The Jura distillery

Then it was back to the ferry. In the afternoon there was another gig back on Islay in the Bunnahabhain distillery 4 miles north of our B&B. Out with the thumb again! The gig was to be transmitted live on Radio 3's Jazz Line-up. The atmosphere was great because the gig took place in the distillery's filling shed. A wee dram was provided on entrance because 'Black Bottle' whiskey was the sponsor of the whole Jazz festival and this is where it was made. The main band, Stramash, put together by trumpet player Colin Steele, was amazing. Piano, bass, drums, three fiddles, cello, trumpet, sax and bagpipes playing a potent mixture of celtic sounds and hot jazz! They haven't recorded yet, but when they do I will certainly get a CD. It was fascinating watching the Julian Joseph and BBC guys putting the programme together.

That evening it was off to another gig in Bowmore coutesy of our Canadian pals. Sheena Swanson is a hot local singer with an amazing voice despite having cystic fibrosis. As her guest she had Scottish Jazz diva Fionna Duncan. Fionna must be in her 70's but she can still belt them out. A great afternoon and evening, and a great bonus to our tour.

Next morning was rainy again as we cycled down to Port Ellen to take our reluctant leave of Islay, 23 miles took us over a huge peat bog. The ferry made its way back to Kennacraig on Kintyre from where we we cycled the short distance to Tarbert.

Reflections in Tarbett Harbour

As we entered Tarbert and made our way to our small hotel on the quay, we noticed a pulsing beat coming from a huge tent on the quay and small groups of smokers at the entrances to all the pubs. Strange for late on a sunday afternoon - it was another music festival! This one was all sorts of rock bands. We then found that the last gig was in our hotel starting at 11pm! After a quick shower we headed for the pub. It was then that I noticed the peculiar gait of various people. They all seemed to stagger along bent over to one side, and we watched in amazement as one fellow staggered past us and disappeared around the corner sideways, but still facing the same way. The residents of Tarbert had obviously been 'at it' for some hours. All in all, we had a great evening taking in a couple of free gigs in the pubs where we met a sailing pal of Geoff's and downed quite a few heavies and drams. Consequently the gig downstairs didn't disturb us too much.

In the morning a long day with four ferry rides lay ahead. Across Loch Fyne from Kintyre, then over to Bute, then from Rothesay on Bute back to Weyms Bay on the mainland and finally Gouroch to Helenburgh. Later that morning in a cafe in Tinaghbruich when the locals heard where we were going, they exchanged looks and grinned.

View from the 'top' over the Kyles of Bute

"Its a great view from up there, aye it is!" It was, one of the most challenging rides of our little trip, with a big hill and fine views. At one point a coach party pulled up and it was full of wrinklies just like me. "Am I mad", I thought, "perhaps thats the way I should be doing this!" The rest of the journey was uneventful except for the timely and excellent restored public toilets at Rothesay quay. Here was a sight that took me back to the wonderful marble clad emporiums of my youth. It has won national awards and boasts a full time lady attendant. It's a public coinvenience that the people of Rothesay can be justly proud. Even the 15p entrance fee was worth it. They sold postcards, so I sent my brother one - he likes to record the names of cisterns - "The Deadnought" etc.. Funny hobby?

Taking advantage of the facilities at Rothesay

At Weyms bay we inspected the fantastic old Victorian station. In the station 'The Royal Scot" was drawn up. Seeing a fellow in a smart blazer obviously in charge we made enquiries. Apparently it was on a trip from Edinburgh with a small party of rich tourists. £800 a day per person. We thought of the CalMac Hopscotch tickets and gulped.

It was now the home stretch as we cycled back up the coast, but on arrival at Gouroch there was a 2 hour wait for the puffer. There was another earlier puffer right then to the north bank of the Clyde. "Feeling fit?", said Geoff, who expalined that we could take it, but after that there would be a long ride around Gare Loch to Rhu. Feeling fitter and stronger, "lets go for it", I replied. That day we did 52 miles which is not a lot by cycling standards, but not bad for a fat old bloke who hasn't cycled seriously for nearly 50 years. As we cycled up the hill to Geoff's home at Rhu, the heavens opened, we walked into the kitchen really soaked, but, although it rained on our trip, I was never uncomfortable. We'd done a comfortable 200 miles in 6 days, people easily cycle from Lands End to John O'Groats in that time. It had been an adventure with plenty of uncertainties, but that's what makes life interesting isn't it?

On my return back home I can now get up all the local hills with ease, my fitness and weight is on the up, and I think I am going to once again, enjoy this cycling lark.

Cruising to the Channel Islands August 2006











Musketeer tied up in St Peter Port Guensey

The cruise of the Musketeer this year was characterised by sea mists, the absence of one of the crew after day 4, and a record crossing (for the boat) of the Channel from Alderney Breakwater to the Needles Bridge Buoy.

We started from Hamble mostly motoring across Poole bay in fitful winds to arrive at Studland.

Studland Anchorage with Old Harry in the background

After an excellent evening in the Bankes Arms we took a walk along the cliffs to Old Harry Rocks where we could look back to our anchorage. Rising at 5.30 next morning it was 7.15 before we could break the anchor out. It had fouled on a big mooring chain and we had to send the ships hammer down on a line to trip it.

That day we motor sailed to Alderney arriving about 6pm. Finding the harbour pretty full we tied up sharing a buoy with a similar size boat.

View over Braye Harbour

After a quick pint on the deck of the recently refurbished Divers pub we walked to the town finding a very nice but packed Thai restaurant. What an incongruous sight on Alderney! Next morning after a walk up to the town to get a battery for the ships clock we set out for Guernsey down the dreaded Swinge in a fickle sea mist.

That dreaded Swinge

For those who don't know it The Swinge is a rock strewn channel down the North West side of Alderney. When the tide is flowing at full pelt its a scary place for a sailing boat. With 5 knots of tide or more under your keel you have to keep your wits about you. This sea mist was unusual in August and was quite scary.

On then to Guernsey which was similarly shrouded in a mist that came down in seconds and obscured the many rocks in the Little Russell aproach channel. We were glad of the radar and GPS which guided us safely into harbour. Later the mist lifted, leaving a nice sunny evening. After a shower and the inevitable G&T mixed on board, we repaired to a nice Italian hostelry and the yacht club for a nightcap.

Next day one of the crew had to leave us, so we all got on the 'round the island' bus which passed the airport. The driver refused my mainland pensioners' bus pass, it was only 60p anyway! We spent the afternoon shopping, had an early evening meal for about a tenner at the amazing French owned Petit Bistro and it was early to bed for an early start back to Alderney. On arrival we set off to walk to the south of the Island taking us past the Swinge again studded with rocks at low tide. We continued round to the south where we could see the Gannet colony. Every flat space on the guano covered rocks was occupied by gannets, whilst as many again wheeled overhead in a massive cloud.

The Swinge at low tide with Ortac and the Casquettes light in the background

The gannet colony

Then on to Telegraph bay, the only other yacht friendly place in Alderney. A magnificent view on such a wonderful sunny day. This bay is a refuge from the Alderney Race which has even faster tidal streams that The Swinge. The tides in this area have one of the greatest tidal ranges in the world, exceeded only by Newfoundland. This means that in a yacht which can make only 5 to 6 knots you have to go with the tides, otherwise you can easily end up going backwards or risk ending up on the rocks.

At one place there was heather on the cliffs, at another a carpet of succulents with orange flowers. The flora of Alderney is like the island itself, miniature and truly amazing.

Telegraph Bay

Then back to St Annes, Alderneys' metropolis for a well earned late afternoon pint at the Divers.

Enjoying a pint in The Divers

Next day the plan was to head for Cherbourg, but with the wind in an awkward place the day after offering the prospect of having to tack our way back across the channel we set course for the Needles on a nice reach. Our sail was in a force 5, which increased as we approached the Island to a full 6. Musketeer romped along and we did Braye harbour entrance to the Needles in 9 hours dead, a record for us as its about 55 miles, and a pretty good time for any 30 foot yacht. The wind and sea condition were too much for an autohelm (it was broken anyway), and the last few hours were very tiring with only two helmsman. We entered the Needles channel a little early with the tide still ripping out against us past the Bridge buoy and the Shingles bank (the doom of many a yacht), a mass of foaming white overfalls just 50 metres way. One of those anxious moments. But we made it easily in spite of the foul tide.

Approaching the Needles

We tied up in Yarmouth, one of my favourite places in the Solent. After a welcome shower it was off to the Wheatsheaf, a real gem of a hostelry with excellent food and beer, and then off to the inevitable yacht club for that nightcap.

The next morning we headed down the Solent towards Cowes, but we continued to Wooton Creek where we met up with an old friend at the Royal Victoria yacht club . The Royal Vic was actually started by the Queen and her consort because Albert was not a naval man and therefore not allowed to join the Island's most prestigious yacht club, the white ensigned Royal Yacht Squadron.

That night in Cowes was the day of the mass terrorist arrests all over the mainland. As we sat in Murrays restaurant we observed two policeman armed with machine guns walk along Cowes High Street. Quite a shock in a town where the only disturbance is the group of youngsters gathered outside the chip shop. My companion relieved the tension by saying that the armed police were there 'on account of someone trying to get into the Royal Yacht Squadron without a tie!'

The next afternoon we were back out our berth in the Hamble. Our missing companion arrived to collect his gear. After tidying the boat, we sat quietly enjoying a cup of tea, recalling the events of the week. Although we have done this trip and others like it many times together ,we discussed the best moments. The new sights we had seen, things we marvelled at like Aderneys' stange flora, laughed at the sleepless night in Braye harbour where on every yacht people were up hour on hour trying to prevent boats crashing together even though there was no east wind. At last we reluctantly parted leaving our old boat quiet on its mooring...