Closet Lutherans do not believe in pilgrimages but …
Prelude:
David Butland will be away …
… and not replying to emails from 21st October to 2nd Nov.
“Where will he be?”
“On his bike”
“But where?”
“Somewhere between Bridlington and Prague and Wittenberg, with touches of Doncaster.”
“Where’s that?”
“Foreign parts.”
I had wanted to go direct from Bridlington-Hamburg, and then cycle along side the Elbe to Wittenberg in time for 31st October. It cannot be done, as they have not yet worked out how to sail in a straight line East. (and left hand down a bit). If the Vikings had the same lack of imagination, the world would be a different place.
However, you can fly for tuppence from Doncaster to Prague, and they will take a bike … so here we go.
It’s a bit scary not being able to pronounce any of the place names on the map, or to ask politely “where may I chain my bike up for the night” in Czech or German, but Mongols did the trip from Mongoland some time in the past, so it can’t be impossible.
“But why Wittenberg on October 31st?”
Have you no sense of history?
How it started. An account of the Journey.
In about 1960 I read a book “The Path to Rome” by Hilaire Belloc. Not my favourite author, but I’ve still got it and am committed to reading all my books. Either that or give them away. It is about a journey on foot from Alsace to Rome, and is intended to be amusing. However, I can remember clearly planning an alternative journey to Rome by bike in some detail, only to be confounded by the fact that it would cost money, however simply you managed to live
I did manage to cycle about 250 miles from home to Manchester for an interview in early September 1961, sleeping rough. At the end I was glad I had done it once in my life, and had no desire to do it twice.
Re reading “The Path to Rome”, it all came back. This time not Totnes, but my present home in Bridlington, and not Rome, but Wittenberg – wherever that is. And I was delighted to find that Wittenberg is about 150 miles from Hamburg which is just across the N Sea from Bridlington. Hey, I can do that. This year. Not next. And realising that October 31st was going to crop up again in about 3 weeks time, set off ordering maps and finding a skeely skipper to sail me across to Hamburg. If I couldn’t find a skeely one, I would manage with an unskeely one.
It cannot be done. No-one sails from any where near Bridlington to anywhere near Hamburg. The woman at the harbour master’s office in Bridlington was very sniffy, and the people in Hull Docks were no more helpful. I had cycled down just to see that I could manage 40+ miles a day without ill effects still.
However, you can fly from Doncaster to Prague for less than £30. I immediately emailed a cycling firm in Prague to ask about hiring a bike. They did not reply. They still have not replied.
Mulling things over, I thought that if I can travel for £30, perhaps they’ll let me take my bike. And they would. £15 each way as “sporting equipment”. So that was it.
Monday:
Doncaster’s best kept secret … where is the airport? Not in Doncaster, and no-one I asked in Doncaster seemed to know. I then realised that if I was having some difficulty finding out where to find the airport in Doncaster, where people speak a kind of English, it might get grim later.
But never mind. I found a Scottish Policeman, who gave me correct instructions as long as you disobey the one-way signs, but at least told me correctly to make for the race course where discrete signs to the airport began to appear.
At the airport – 8 miles out of Doncaster – they required me to take the front wheel off the bike to get it through the X-ray machine, and to deflate the tyres because of air pressure in the luggage compartment of the plane. But it worked.
The rules of the journey were …
1. Do not ask anyone “Do you speak English” until the end of the journey.
2. Never go back
3. Stop cycling and get a train as soon as you are not enjoying it.
It took nearly an hour to put my bike back together again in Prague airport, as they took quite a while to find it. I then discovered that there was no way of getting out of the airport without joining in on an 8-lane super highway. So I went to the information point and asked “Do you speak English?”
Yes, the lady did, sort of. She was very patient, and told me to try a bus. I think the bus driver wanted to refuse to let me get on, but it was obvious that he was going to have a bit of a problem negotiating, so I parked it in the bay for wheel chairs. The bus was almost empty. After ages, the bus arrived at a railway station in the centre of Prague, and I got off. It may not have been the right railway station, but I went to the Information Centre and asked “Sprechen sie Deutsch?”. “No”. “Do you speak English?” “No”. A passing stranger asked very politely if he could help, and I said that I wanted to take my bike out of Prague to start cycling to Berlin. I thought that Berlin would be more easily recognised than Wittenberg, considering I hadn’t known where Wittenberg was.
“You are crazy”. But he sorted me out. I got some rail passes, understood that I’d have to pay for the bike separately on the second train, and was off. No-one seemed to think it was odd for someone to carry a bike on the tram sort of thing that I got on first, nor on the double-decker train for the second leg. The second train was going nearer to where I really wanted to start the journey than I had realised, so I paid extra, and went on an extra 3 stops, to cycle back towards Melnik which was a good place to start from.
It was raining and getting dark when I eventually got off the train, and started to cycle about 5 miles back in the general direction of Prague, looking for a hotel. In Melnik there was a sort of Salvation Army hostel for lorry drivers, which I could try if all else failed, and then I saw the welcome sign “Hotel”.
“Sprechen sie Deutsch?”
“Ein bischen”
“Ein person, ein zimmer, ein nacht”. We understood each other completely.
It would cost about fifteen pounds for b & b. The room was clean. I had a shower, put on clean clothes, and went for a meal – a perfectly satisfactory thing on a couple of kebab sticks with lots of other bits including gherkins for about 3 pounds. Amazing.
I slept well.
Next morning, it looked as though it might be raining.
As I had breakfast, with gherkins, I could see the rain teeming down.
At that point I thought it would be better to wear shorts, and not bother about getting my legs wet, so went and changed into 4 layers on top, pants and shorts, shoes and socks, helmet and gloves.
I left the hotel in a drizzle, and had hardly gone a mile when the rain stopped, and would not start again until Wittenberg on Saturday afternoon.
The map I was using showed that you took the first right over the bridge at Melnik. I did this, and was surprised to see another road to my right between me and the river. This was the one on which I had traveled to Melnik the previous evening. It is a trick of geometry. However, I could rejoin the right road about 2 miles further on, and cycled along a main road with very light traffic in the right general direction. As long as I kept near the river I couldn’t go wrong. I then wandered through a network of country roads which did not need any signs because everyone knew where the roads went. The surprising hazard was dodging the walnuts and apples on the road. Apart from that, the clouds were lifting, the roads were a bit hilly, but nothing I couldn’t manage, and I was positively gay. And sang. I stopped at a village store and failed to buy a post card, but managed to get a drink, and was off again. All quite straight forward to the next town on the journey-
Roudnice.
This had an information centre, someone who spoke my kind of German, and a free map for cyclists, showing clearly a cycling route that would do me until mid-day the next day (Wednesday). This proved to be not quite as useful as it seemed. It was more an “artist’s impression” of a route, since it showed roads that did not exist, and failed to show roads that did exist, and the cycle way became a muddy unsurfaced road after a bit. But it did not matter.
Tuesday afternoon.
This is the point where I discover there are more roads in Real Life than the cycle map shows. Still, reach Litomerice by 2 o’clock and find an Information Bureau that will sell me cards and tell me where to buy stamps.
It has turned out to be a beautifully warm day.
Litomerice was my original destination for the end of Tuesday, but I’ve got it in me to go on a few miles more, and pick up a brochure of a new hostel for sailors on the river.
It sounds as though it might be OK.
I write some cards, and have a go at using an Internet cafe for the first time in my life. It is not a success. There is no “@” sign on the keyboard, but an awful lot of other characters which make Czech people feel very good. “@” is apparently <Alt>V, but when I try to log on to my email account, it doesn’t like something about the address or password. I give in, and set off alongside the river, having forgotten the name of where I’m expecting to find accommodation. After wandering about a town/village on my bike, I decide to go on another 6 or 7 miles to Usti nad Labem which looks a big town, when I see an arrow pointing to a hotel.
That will do. It turned out to be the one I was looking for. When I got there, it looked as though these “sailors” were not Able Bodied Seamen so much as yacht owners, and I wondered if this was going to be awful.
Fortunately they barely spoke German, so I did not need to socialise. I booked a night’s accommodation and a decent evening meal with gherkins for a very reasonable amount. The room looked over the Marina by a lake by the river, and with the sound of geese and ducks in the background and the rattle of passing trains, I fell soundly asleep at about 8 p.m.. I woke up in the middle of the night to the sound of pouring rain which in the morning turned out to be lapping water.
Wednesday:
It was a beautiful morning. Mist over the water and at the foot of the mountains (well, hills) in the distance, and a clear sky. After another huge breakfast with gherkins, I set off. The trouble was that I was going too fast. At this rate I would be out of the Czech Republic by the night with notes unspent. And I did like the countryside, and really would have paid people more for what they gave me.
The map came to the rescue. It showed a cycle path immediately along side the river all the way to Usti nad Labem. I come to a T junction, and can go left to the river, and then right, or right away from the river and then left. I go left towards the river then right, and come to a farm track which gets rougher, and then becomes a tractor track, and then ends at the edge of a wood. Applying rule 2 I do not turn back, but push my bike through the wood along a path which runs out. I make my way to the edge of the wood, still under rule 2, and see a half-ploughed field ahead. The furrows are at right angles to the river behind the wood, so I go up the side on the unploughed bit, hoping to find a road and am delighted to see a lorry driving along about 200 yards ahead. I reach the road absolutely filthy, and happy at escaping.
About a mile along this road a lorry driver stopped and probably asked me directions. “Ich bin English”. He thanked me for the information and drove on.
I was now a bit bothered about the air pressure in my tyres. I’d not been entirely convinced that they had been sufficiently inflated at the airport, and after all that rough travel, they felt a bit soft to me. I tried to inflate the front one which felt even softer after pumping for 5 minutes, so gave up and thought I’d hail a passing cyclist.
And then didn’t have the nerve.
After finding a genuine cycle route, I had reached a very steep bit when 3 German cyclists flew up barely pausing for breath, and stopped to let me catch them up. “Haben sie ein pump, bitte. Mein is kaput”. And yes they did, and yes, when they saw what hard work I was making of pumping one of them did my front, then my back tyre. It was a lot better after that. They had come from Bremen, and were going back home after being in the Czech Republic for a few days. All this in German, though I think they spoke English well enough.
I do not go off the road by the river at Usti nad Laben, but sail on towards Decin – the last big town in the Czech Republic. I have decided to gain a day on my original schedule, and find somewhere to stay for the night just inside the Czech Republic. There is a village Dolni Zleb next to the river, but no indication whether I can stay the night there. I go to Decin to ask at the Information Bureau, but fail to find it. The cyclist’s map I’m using shows the profile of the ride to Dolni Zleb which looks pretty steep in places, but I’m now up for anything. Unfortunately, the map does not show clearly which side of the river I’m supposed to be cycling. It seems to be sometimes one side, sometimes the other, and sometimes in the middle of the river. I take the main route out of Decin signed “Dresden” which is my immediate destination in Germany, and ride on the cycle lane until it runs out. Still, the road is not too busy. The hill sides are covered with brilliant red and yellow trees in the Autumn sunshine, I can hear cocks crowing across the valley on the other side of the river, and I’m as full of joy as you can be this side of paradise.
After pedaling hard for about 8 miles, I see a sign “Dolni Zleb” to the left. Yippee. I cross the road, and go down a path which runs out at the bank of the river. Across the river there is a village with a Church and a large building clearly marked “Hotel”. I’m pretty sure that I’ve come up the wrong side of the valley, but there seems to be a ferry boat on the other bank. I shout out. Nothing happens. And again. Still nothing. In the warm afternoon sun I sit at the bank of the river and see all kinds of creatures swimming and leaping out of the river. 2 men stroll across towards the ferry with a dog, and I shout again and wave my arms. They look over, and then the ferry moves slowly across the water to me. It takes about 5 minutes to get across, and I get on. It could take 2 or 3 cars if required, so one bike is no problem. They do not speak my German, but the cost of the journey is about 25p..
The hotel is really just a large farm house. I try the “Ein person, ein zimmer, ein nacht” routine, and the inn-keeper seems to tell me that it will be £8.00 for the night. Mit fruestuek. I ask about something to eat, and am told something, which included the word “Ja”. My room is tiny, but that’s OK, and there is no TV which is even better. After putting my bike away round the back, and a shower and a change of clothes, I ask “Kan ich mein Frau im England telefonieren? bitte”. There is a vigorous conversation between the Inn Keeper’s wife and an older woman who seems to speak German. She certainly knows more words than me, and uses them, but I have no idea what she says. Anyway, I write down the full dialling code for Judy, and after 5 minutes negotiating on the phone, they call me over, and I can hear Judy’s voice speaking to someone. I think it is the Minister of the Interior who has personally authorised the call. This is the first communication we have had since I left Bridlington on Sunday. I cannot articulate well enough how wonderful the journey has been to date, until I come up with “Better than Greek with Miss Jean Brody”. She seems OK, and we are both content.
I write up the day’s journey, then go down to the hotel main room which is now full of people eating noisily. I order soup and something which contains the word “Hahn” in it, which I think means “cockerel”. It probably does. The soup is amazing, and the main course is as good as anything I have ever eaten.
I go up to my room, then decide to go back down to the main room which is now quiet and empty. It is heated by a log stove which the inn-keeper fiddles with every so often, and I plan my route for the next few days. This cycling lark is a good one. I’ll go for Dresden tomorrow, and then see how things turn out. I am expecting Dresden to Meissen to be a bit grim – rather like traveling from Manchester to Stoke on Trent. If it’s too unpleasant for words I’ll get the train. I negotiate breakfast for 8:30, later than I would have preferred, but that’s OK. I’m on holiday.
Thursday
This is barely possible, but things get better.
The cycle track into Germany is well surfaced, and takes you by the side of the river which shuffles its name from the river Labe to the river Elbe as soon as it crosses the border. The morning is as bright as ever, the trees are even more spectacularly coloured, and the world is shining. Down to the first real town in Germany, then across the river by bridge to find a cycle track – clearly marked on the map, but not as clearly signed in the street. I almost break rule 2, but stumble across a cycle sign and am off. As the morning goes on, I am joined by scores of other cyclists and walkers. Old cyclists and children of 3 and 4. People with amazing bikes trailing a kind of rickshaw with babies asleep in the back, and best of all – a unicyclist pushing a pram. I speed past a couple about our age with bicycle and tricycle, and almost go back to say “Mein Frau hat ein tricycle auch”, but imagine that “tricycle” has far too few letters to be an authentic German word. I cast off clothes as the day warms up.
Every so often the route on the map has you crossing by ferry to the other bank, and I do so, and am happy.
This is one of the best days of my life so far.
As I approach Dresden, the cycle way seems to stop, but it restarts a mile down stream, and is then easy to follow.
I decide to ride past Dresden, and look for somewhere to stay the night. It is starting to get colder, and I stop at a baker’s for something to eat. I buy a Reformation Kuche which is iced and burnt at the edges. Perhaps signifying the Reformation People they set fire to.
After meandering through the streets for about an hour, I find a Guest House, and put up for the night.
Tomorrow I will cycle on to Meissen and see whether I want to carry on. It has been a glorious cycle ride so far, but the idea of cycling along main roads in industrial (East) Germany does not seem to be a very enjoyable project.
Friday
… and better.
I reach Meissen at about 10:15 after getting moderately lost, and find it is spectacular. All kinds of old buildings with a central market that makes Bridlington’s twice-weekly market look a bit half-hearted. I ask at the information Bureau if they have any information for cyclists (all in my own original German), and after sucking her teeth, the woman behind the desk seems to understand what I want, and produces a copy of the Elberadweg – a cycle route along the banks of the river Elbe from where I have been (and bits I missed) to … Wittenberg and beyond. With a full heart I order a cup of hot chocolate which I drink in the open air and study the route closely. It will be about half as long again as the route I had originally planned, as it follows every twist and turn of the river, but it avoids main roads almost completely. OK this is it. Scrap all previous plans. I’m going to push on and reach Wittenberg in 2 days. It’s near enough (about 100 miles away) and I’ve got a fool-proof map. The map turns out to be as approximate as all previous maps, but the principle is sound, now. Stick by the river. This largely works. The cycle route comes and goes as before – sometimes as you follow it you have the river at your back, and sometimes you have no idea where you are, but as long as you go North-ish, and make towards the river whichever side you are on, you can’t go too far wrong. As the light fades I reach Belgern and find a guest house. The people are very friendly, and let me ring Judy on their mobile phone. Sadly, I don’t know how mobile phones work, and poke the wrong buttons. I will try to find an Internet cafe tomorrow night in Wittenberg.
Saturday
I will do it now. Never mind if I don’t enjoy it (though I do), having got so far I will reach Wittenberg by mid-afternoon.
It is cold early in the morning, and the hausfrau thinks that shorts are hardly appropriate for late-October, but it warms up after a bit and I’m off. Lost within 30 minutes of starting. And Found again 30 minutes later. I’m beginning to get tired, though.
I plan the day in 3 stages. At certain points I can abandon the cycle way route and go the much shorter route by main road. I’m intending to go the pretty route if possible, but am not proud.
At mid-day I am about 30 miles away from Wittenberg. Then the cycle way plays a cruel trick on me. At a crucial point I reach a main road, with no signs indicating which way to go. With no other information, I cross the main road and continue on a by-lane with less and less idea where I am by the mile. Looking at the map a day later, it seems as though I had crossed the main road to Wittenberg, and was now cycling West, away from the river. I reach another main road with a sign to an angling festival. Angling means river. No it doesn’t, it means lake, and my route is getting increasingly bizarre. I eventually come across a cross roads with no signs, except that the way forward is closed. I turn left, and find that the way behind me is sign posted to a town that is well out of my way. I cycle on about a mile and find the name of the village I am entering. By coordinating the 2 pieces of information I’ve now got, I can see that I am going in entirely the wrong direction. At this point Rule 2 gives in. But I know where I am, and am now going towards Wittenberg again. After cycling for about 4 miles, I reach another town on my route. This is 15 miles by main road and about 25 miles by cycle way. I can do 15 miles in 90 minutes easy, so there goes the cycle way.
Miles get longer when you are tired, and when cars speed past you, but the road is well signed now, with the distance to Wittenberg posted at regular intervals. At a town on the way I get out the map to see how long it will be before I can go off on to a side road, and am approached by the Oldest Inhabitant, who corrects my pronunciation of Wittenberg (very short final “e”), and advises me to take the fork to Wittenberg ahead, and not the one to Leipzig. I thank him, and take his advice.
I’m now very weary, and sufficiently close to my destination to be disappointed not to be able to see the town yet. The land is very flat with plenty of clumps of trees to prevent you from seeing very far.
And then, after turning away from the main road to the old Wittenberg road, there it is – about 2 miles away, and clearly recognisable from 16th century wood prints. These last 2 miles are longer than any other 2 miles so far, but once I’ve found the cycle route over the river it’s straight forward. It is now cold, and starting to rain. I go straight to the hotel that my son Phil has booked me in to. I try to explain that I have arrived 2 days early, and now want to stay for 3 nights. They give me a key to my room. I park my bike in a shed, and go to find a phone to ring Judy, and to find an Internet cafe.
No problems logging in to my email account. I read the outstanding messages, reply variously to those needing a response, and ring our son, Phil, who works in Berlin, suggesting that we meet tomorrow and not Monday evening as previously planned. “What a good idea”. He will ring the hotel with details of when he will arrive.
Wittenberg seems to be largely shut on a Saturday afternoon, but the problem may have been that I had managed to miss the tourist centre, and had wandered out into the run-down city.
Well, rule 3 was still intact at the end.
Sunday 29th Oct: Reformation Sunday Wittenberg
Have just attended morning service at the Schlossekirche which was once attached to The Door which is now missing, believed to be lost in battle, and which may be a myth anyway.
BUT I MADE IT. PRAGUE to WITTENBERG for Reformation Sunday. Celebrated all over the world, but chiefly in Germany and Bridlington.
There I was in my Sunday Best of sorts with a white shirt and Sunday tie brought for the occasion and carefully wrapped in my saddle bag. May be a bit incongruous with my ladies’ threequarter length golfing trousers with added velcro to serve as cycle clips. But I was at least there with a white shirt and tie. And polished shoes of a sort. They were filthy after the journey, but I washed off the worst of the mud and dirt, and polished them with a pair of frayed pants that had been my constant companion in the saddle. I felt about them as I put them to this final use much as I did when slaughtering a friendly old hen. “You have given me good service for which I gave thanks, and I continue to give thanks for this last contribution”.
And we sang “Ein feste burg ist unser Gott” with added notes, and a most curious rhythm with all kinds of chirpy stops and starts. I had wondered whether sitting and singing the familiar tune to the old ponderous rhythm would be too much, and whether my eyes might leak, but it was so full of joy that there was just no time to be sentimental.
For other hymns I developed a strategy. The hymn books gave the melody and rhythm with the words of the 1st verse under the notes. The other verses were printed separately. I sang the first verse 3 times over to get the hang of the tune and rhythm, then tried out the words of the 4th & subsequent verses with the tune now learnt.
This is all too wonderful.
There was a message at the Hotel that Phil would arrive at 12:30. That will be good.
When he arrived, he looked after me in a way that has never happened before. He sorted out booking a reservation on the trains for tomorrow, told me how it would work, lent me some money, and paid for a meal when they wouldn´t accept my Visa card (it did not have an “EC” sign, whatever that signifies). In all he did everything he could to sort me out. And we talked a lot.
Monday 30th Oct
I’m not sure about today. There are a lot of Cultural Events (= fun things) on, and I’m not over keen. The streets are full of people in 16th Century clothes, doing 16th Century things. I may visit the Luther Museum, but am not even sure of that. I’ll hope to get a book, which will do me as much good as anything.
From a halting conversation held in Germlish this morning, I think they think I’m staying at the Hotel until Wednesday. If so, it has been very reasonable, and I will try to trade in 1 night’s unwanted accommodation for a meal, though I have probably eaten more that I need over the last 2 days.
In the end, I paid my money and visited Philipp Melanchthon’s house and then Luther’s house. The revisionists are obviously hard at work playing up the significance of Melanchthon. He was a close associate of Luther who singularly could disagree with him and not be blown out of the water. He was a linguist and a scholar, and I believe, coined the phrase “Ad fontes” – “To the sources” – to oblige people to examine original texts and not be misled by dishonest translations. He apparently revised Luther’s heroic translations of the New Testament, and was deeply involved in the translation of the Old Testament, all with Luther’s approval. He remained loyal to Luther, but deeply regretted the severing of links with the Roman Church. At least, that’s the tale they would have you believe in the museums. I do not know how much truth there is in it, and will find out more.
I lacked the nerve to buy a book. I expected there would be a reasonable number of scholarly books readily available in the many bookshops, but the English language ones I saw looked very slight. I would have said (in German) “Have you any German Language books suitable for a child of 10” (me), but couldn’t bring myself to do it.
Oct 31st 2006. 489 years too late.
Phil has sorted me out with trains. I intend to spend the night in Kralupy, about 30 minutes outside Prague, on the river Vltava, and fight my way to the airport in the morning.
This gives me time today to eat a hearty breakfast, attend the 08:00 English Language Reformation Day service, prepare the bike – scrape off 200 miles of mud, and oil it – pack the saddle bags in rational order, and go for the train to Berlin.
The service in the University Church (the one with The Door) is reasonably well attended, largely by parties of Americans, Scandinavians, and Orientals. And a party of 1 from Bridlington.
We are to sing “Ein Feste Burg” (of course) in English. I go immediately to the last verse. This is the real test of how serious contemporary Lutherans are about being faithful to the text. “Ad fontes”. On Sunday we sang Luther’s original verses in German, and omitted the last verse.
Thomas Carlyle’s incomparable translation (1st verse “A safe stronghold our God is still”) gets it completely right:
“And though they take our life
Goods, honour, children, wife,
Yet is their profit small,
These things shall vanish all,
The City of God remaineth”.
That cannot be bettered.
The words are simple and direct, the phrases short, and the sense plain, leaving us far behind – where we should be – after the first line.
However, we may not sing it any more.
We are to understand that women, gays, children, and widowers are positively unable to sing it, being not very good at metaphors,. This leaves only me and a couple of other chaps still singing – so all kinds of trickery are used to rephrase it simply to avoid use of that word “wife”. Sadly, “wife” is critical in the original since it is at a line end, and demands a rhyme. “Leib … weib”.
So we had this morning:
“Were they to take our house,
Goods, honor, child or spouse,
Though life be wrenched away,
They cannot win the day
The kingdom’s ours for ever”
This is hopelessly inadequate. That “ours” on the last line has no business there. In the end, “we” are of no consequence in Luther’s original version. That is the whole point of the hymn – “The City of God remaineth”. And the new translation still leaves out gays, children widow(er)s, and estranged couples, and now also precludes non-property owners, with the assumption that everyone singing it will be an owner-occupier (“though they take our house…”) . Judy noticed that last restriction.
Anyway, I was amused by the effort, and sang the old version with confidence, relishing the fact that even if they took Judy “yet is their profit small”.
“Thank you for that observation, David”
“That’s quite OK.”
Go to station early to see how people manage with bikes on trains. They find a carriage with a picture of a bike on it, and put it in. Phil already explained that to me, but I just wanted to be sure that they hadn’t changed the system overnight.
It is still reasonably warm, and my 3 layers of upper clothes with my ladies’ golfing trousers are sufficient. I have put on my Sunday Best white shirt and tie in honour of the day.
jbrip 