Tags
bridges, cowslips, cycling, dragonflies and butterflies, filming, flowers, food, herons, moorhens, the royal canal. barges, the yellow bike, tree's.
Whenever I head off on my yellow bicycle along canals or on small country roads I don’t expect much to happen and except for describing the nature I am passing, I don’t expect to have much to write about either. But inevitably things DO happen. Sometimes big things. Sometimes small things, but they are usually a reflection of the goodness of humanity. And in a world filled so much with hate and fear and war it is good to be reminded that there is lots of ‘ordinary’ goodness out there.
It was an early summer morning, the sun was out, the birds were singing and the gorse smelled of coconut.
I pulled my small camper off the main road and down a slip of a boreen looking for a place to park.
Jostling along the potholed lane which ran parallel to the canal I came to a lock with a small house beside it. Probably once a lock-house but now renovated into a pebble dashed bungalow.
With shallow pitched tiled roof and windows too big for its size, it had lost its traditional simplicity. The only redeeming factor were the roses growing around the door.
Pale pink and entwined with honeysuckle, unkempt and straggling against the otherwise pristine neatness, they scrambled up over the tiles in search of a foothold.
I wondered if the owner was too afraid of heights to climb a ladder and put a halt to their waywardness.
The smell through my open window was exquisite and outdid the scent of the gorse without effort .
Behind the house and parallel to the laneway was a yard with a farm gate. I pulled in on the grass verge and hopped out to check that I’ve left the gate clear and that other traffic could get by my van.
This was part of the tow path which is open nearly all the way to the shannon.
A wonderful across ireland cycle greenway and I was going to see how far I could go along it within the day at a easy pace with plenty of ‘picnic’ stops.
My camper, a toyota hiace, is turquoise in colour on which I have painted pink flowers.
(I wanted it to look as though I had driven it through a cherry blossom orchard)
I had everything I needed on board.
Fridge, cooker, sink and bed inside and outside on the back, a rack for holding bicycles.
It was always a bit of a struggle to get the heavy yellow bike down. I usually ended up catching a finger in the spokes or mudguard but that day I managed with nothing more painful than a pair of oily hands.
Leaning the bike against the wall, I noticed a face peering around the gable of the house.
It disappeared.
A few minutes later an elderly lady reappeared. She was holding a sheepdog firmly by the collar.
The pair approached me cautiously.
The dog looked more scared than she did.
Keeping its tail tucked firmly between its legs, it had its hackles raised and was growling softly.
The woman was waving a tea towel with her free hand and shouting crossly ‘What do you want? there’s nothing here for you!’
‘Good morning’ I called out cheerfully ‘Is it alright if I park here?’.
Though the relief in her face was visible she still kept a firm grip of the dog and continued to regard me with suspicion.
When they reached me, I held out my hand and let the dog sniff it.
He obviously changed his mind and decided I was not a threat after all and started wagging his tail enthusiastically.
I petted him and he leapt up placing his muddy paws on my chest nearly pulling his owner over on top of me.
‘Get down bruno’ She yanked his collar roughly
‘I don’t mind’ I laughed ‘I’m used to dogs’.
With that she let him go and I watched as he ran off to pee on the wheels of the camper.
I turned back to catch her looking me up and down curiously.
‘You best not park here’ She said and seeing the look of disappointment on my face quickly continued.
‘You can park it in my yard instead. I’ll be here all day and will keep an eye on it. We’ve had a few breakins recently. Traveller’s the guards say! In fact I thought you were a traveller when I saw you pulling up in your van. I’m a widow and my son is no nearer than ten miles from me so I have to be careful’.
She put her hand to her mouth as though she had said too much.
‘Well I am a SORT of a traveller’ I replied relieved to know why she was so unfriendly initially ‘And that would be most kind of you but I don’t want to put you to any trouble’.
‘Ne’er a bit of trouble’ She was already opening the gate.
‘I’ll be gone for most of the day’ I warned her. ‘I’m planning to cycle along the canal as far as the day allows and back’.
‘Alone?’ she looked worried ‘well aren’t you the brave woman! goodness mind yourself now, its a lonely place along the canal’
I shrugged, used to this reaction from women. ‘I’ll be fine’. I said.
She looked doubtful and seemed to be about to say something but instead she called the dog who was now sniffing around the wheels of the yellow bike.
‘Oh don’t forget to close the gate after you’ she waved over her shoulder and disappeared back around the house, the dog at her heels.
~
I loved this part of the canal.
Alder, hazel and plenty of white fragrant lacey hawthorn to one side of me and the calm still water of the canal to the other.
I approached a high bridge and followed the towpath down under it. It was cold underneath with muddy puddles from yesterdays rain and I was glad to come out the other side and back into the warm sunshine.
Plenty of dragon flies hovered over this stretch of water and coots and water hens were busy and noisily taking care of their young.
I could hear the sound of traffic from the main road but that soon faded as I cycled further and further away from civilization.
The scrub gave way to bog and the ground became black and turf like under my wheels. At one place it grew very soft and I got off and pushed my bike for awhile but soon it was firm enough to cycle on again.
And all the time the breeze tugged my hair and rustled through the reeds and the smells of hawthorn and gorse mixed with the slight scent of muddy water filled the air.
I pedalled on, only stopping when something of interest caught my eye.
Which was often.
The carpet of bluebells among a sudden copse of hazel.
Yellow Cowslips on a bank.
A red admiral warming its wings on the flower of a dandelion.
Cabbage whites mating in flight.
The green and blue flash of a kingfisher.
The hovering dragonflies.
A moorhen hustling her chicks along through the bull rushes.
A ripple in the otherwise still water as a pike or perch rose to snatch an unfortunate hatching fly.
A heron poised like statue on the bank or soaring along the line of the canal wings outstretched, a modern day pterodactyl. It’s beady eye watching for any movement below the still water.
A flock of noisy finches swooping by in search a feed of crabapple buds or wild cherry.
These are the wonders I notice when no one else is there to distract me with chat.
This is the benefit of cycling alone.
Of course I should not blame a companion! I am as full of chat as the next.
But it is in times of pure solitary cycling that I really get the chance to note the wonder that is around me.
~
There is no nicer seat to perch upon than a lock gate and no more excellent a table either and the one ahead looked freshly painted and stood fully in the sunlight. I spread my picnic out along its wide timber and poured tea from my battered flask.
Having made my baguette the night before the french way* the flavours had deliciously diffused throughout the bread.
I took a bite, a sup and turned my face to the sun as I chewed.
I was about to swallow when I heard it!
A dull thudding noise, like an old engine ticking over.
I stood and looked both ways along the canal but could see nothing.
Maybe it was machinery cutting turf far off on the bog.
But no! It was definitely coming from the canal and getting louder all the time.
I was puzzled.
This was not a canal that barges frequented.
Unlike europe, Irish canals have been sadly left to fall into disrepair. Choked with rushes and water weeds and farmers letting cattle graze along their banks and causing the banks to fall in they were of no attraction to tourist barges and cruisers. It was to the Shannon and the erne waterways that boat lovers went.
And though in recent years the inland waterways had begun to clear and repair, some stretches remained impassable for boats
I sat and waited curious to see what this noise (growing louder by the minute) was going to produce.
I didn’t have to wait too long,
Around the bend came a huge barge.
So big it nearly took up the width of the canal.
But it was not so much the barge (an old and glorious relic I will admit) that caught my eye but the small motor boat pothering ahead of it.
The water was nearly up to the gunwale and in its well was a full filming rigout complete with film crew.
Luckily for me the cameras and all attention was on the barge.
I quickly gathered up my belongings and shyly disappeared behind some hazel scrub, where I could watch the proceedings unnoticed.
There was much shouting and laughing as they manoevered the monstrosity into the lock where it had to be turned at an angle to enable the closing of the gate behind it. a huge roar ensued drowning out the filmers shouts as the lock flooded lifting the massive boat up the next level.
Then the front gates opened and as it chugged off on its merry way I caught a glimpse of a large bearded man at the wheel.
The process was then repeated as the motor boat was got through and when the last of the engine noises settled to a mere muffled grumble and peace had once more reigned in my little paradise, I realized it was time for me and the yellow bike to head homewards.
It is true that the journey back always seems shorter and I flew along with ease.
There was the first lock and the yard gate. I hopped off still curious about what I had seen.
Were they making a documentary* or maybe a period drama?
I’m sure I’d find out sometime.
Meanwhile I had better say goodbye and thankyou. I looked over at the house.
And there she was peeping out the kitchen window.
I wheeled my bike around to the front door but before I could knock on it, it swung open.
Bruno greeted me first, leaping up on me like a long lost friend.
‘You’ll be stopping for a cup of tea!’. Her smile was as wide as the door she was holding open.
I started to shake my head but through the kitchen door I could see a table laid out with a white dish of crisp green lettuce and slices of home cooked ham and boiled eggs and soda bread and butter and jam and a pot of freshly brewed tea and I knew this table was not laid for a husband or a son but for the woman on the yellow bike who had come back safely after her day of solitary cycling with stories of her day to share.
I smiled ‘I would love a cup of tea ‘ I said.
FIN.
How was I so sure the set table was for me?
Because I had spent enough time in the Irish country side to know how warm and concerned and friendly people were.
And sometimes lonely too.
So in return for her kindness I sat and ate her carefully prepared tea and told her the news from of my day. The huge barge I has seen and she told me how she had heard some man was going to bring an enormous barge that had not seen water since 1923 from dublin to the shannon. Did I not know? everyone was talking about of it. It was called The Rambler and had been built in 1870 something. It was going to be on TV. Then we talked about my family and my work and we discovered lots of things in common. Her love gardening for one. And she told me how her son kept saying he would get up on a ladder and prune her climbing rose back before it took over her roof but how he was so busy with work and family and she didn’t see so much of him anymore and she was afraid of climbing up by herself because if she fell and broke her leg well that would be the end of her and then who would take care of poor bruno.
So filled with an Irish high tea, she reluctantly but at my insistence fetched the ladder from the shed and held it steady while I climbed with the secateurs and got more cuts and scratches then I ever achieved in taking down the yellow bike from the rack on the back of my flower painted camper.
*french picnic baguette: (to be made the day before the picnic)
- cut open one baguette lengthways into two pieces
- rub a garlic clove along each piece.
- drizzle olive oil over the garlic
- place a layer of romaine lettuce on the top piece
- Place a layer of thinly sliced onions and tomatoes on the bottom piece
- place some brie or camembert cheese on the tomatoes.
- Put the two slices together
- Wrap in tinfoil. put on a plate with a second plate on top, weigh the top plate with a heavy stone and put the whole shebang in the fridge overnight.
*http://www.rte.ie/tv/programmes/waterways.html
*http://www.rte.ie/tv/waterways/
jfmward said:
O, I enjoyed that. I do hope they revive the Irish canals: it’s a grand way to travel – the epitome of unhurriedness.
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stephpep56 said:
Indeed it is, what i would love to see also is the bringing back of barge horses to cut to pull the barges (not that I anything against the wonderful engineering feat of an engine) but there is so much feeding for them along the way. imagine tackling up your horse in the morning as part of your journey and then leading him along as he pulls your home. his breath on your shoulder, I love horses, the epitome of plodding ness. I had a beautiful irish draught and others in my previous life, she was such a gentle being. she would have loved such a life…ahhhh I can picture it now. a summers eve. the sun lowering as you find a nice spot to moor for the night……
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aranislandgirl said:
This made me think of a story I was recently told about the Dalai Lama visiting a local college. He was walking the grounds of the campus, surrounded by all the important, and I suppose necessary, people who accompany him on such events, chattering at and to him about this and that….when he stopped abruptly, held up his arms for all to stop as well. Quiet anticipation fell over the crowd when he softly said “We will wait for him to cross first.” There was a caterpillar crossing the path in front of them.
You have the enviable quality of being so very present in the moment, without judgement, believing the best is to come of each situation. Your stories are pure joy to read.
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stephpep56 said:
What a lovely story Melissa, I would aspire to buddhism but my friends say I talk too much (its a kind of a joke among us) and thank you also for your kind comments. I am no saint but find these little occurrences in life so uplifting but also so normal. this is how ireland was always , people were kind and hospitable. these occurrences are true! maybe it’s the yellow bike that draws them to me 🙂 hope you are well 🙂
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farrbott said:
Well said aranislandgirl
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whatsonlaurismind said:
Thank you again for sharing your wonderful journey!
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stephpep56 said:
your welcome Lauri and thanks for reading 🙂
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Jill Printzenhoff said:
I really enjoy reading about your experiences. Thank you so much for sharing your stories.
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stephpep56 said:
It’s my pleasure Jill. Thank you very much for reading 🙂
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farrbott said:
Gorse smelling like coconut is a wonderful observation. I only ever think it smells like gorse! We don’t have the stuff here and now I miss it. The hills of the South Downs are covered in it and the colour and quantity of it is so wonderful. I used to have a little yellow van, loved it dearly and have a pic of it somewhere parked amongst the gorse. Your bike in the daftodills (their heads all bobbing in the breeze, tho mesmerising, kinda looks daft, hence daftodill) reminds me of that shot. I would have got into shot on your bike tho just to see if the voice over on the show remarked on spotting rare canal side wildlife 😉
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stephpep56 said:
Ha Farbott, Like a lot of wildlife I would shy away from the camera. Interestingly though I have a brother who lives outside of Mullingar on a lake. An architect turned baker and boxty maker! When i told him about the barge he said ‘why didnt you tell me you would be in the vicinity. I was on the show, making boxty for Dick warner on the side of the canal. Well I love my brother dearly but knowing there would be no such thing as a quiet cycle if i met up with him I hadn’t announced my presence in the area. He is a wonderful enthusiastic being with incredible ideas but …..! if you read this Louis you will have to agree.As for the gorse its wonderful to eat!!!!
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farrbott said:
Boxty? Eat gorse?
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stephpep56 said:
Well well if it isn’t my brother making boxty ! though his is a rather posh version https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=y_gqHLza4Yk as for eating gorse I’ll see if i can find my foraging post.
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stephpep56 said:
https://lifewithayellowbike.wordpress.com//?s=fabulous+feasting&search=Go you might find something about eating gorse flowers in this one 🙂
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Mother Hen said:
I will have to look up gorse? It’s funny that you shared this, as of yesterday I was looking for the home of a woman that I met at a store a few days ago. She invited me to come by and told me that it was a red house. Well I decided to look for it in the general area, so I thought, and stopped at the first red house I saw. I knocked at the door and an elderly women’s voice invited me in. It turned out that she was not the same woman I met but this lady was so sweet and and invited me to visit her again. I will have to try your recipe.. It sounds good!
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stephpep56 said:
The other word for gorse is furze or whins. You can eat the flowers (which, as i wrote, smell like coconut) love your incident of the red house, those mistaken happenings are where stories come from. x
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Mother Hen said:
Thanks Steph.. I will look up the flower as I am curious now…
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preciouspen1955 said:
oh God the tears fall as I came to the end of that wonderful story it reminded me so so much of my dear mom , who always set the table just like you have mentioned here the lady had done for you and I am so glad you stayed and shared your day , oh this really is a lovely lovely story I will read it again when I regain my composure , funny how our memories can be brought to the surface sometimes , I am lucky to have these memories and thank you for helping me remember the memories with this lovely post. Kathy.
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stephpep56 said:
Thanks for reading Kathy and sorry I made you cry:) the hospitality of your mothers generation knew no bounds, what warm wonderful people they were and some are still alive. And now I know I must go back someday soon and see how she is , take care Kathy, I would love to know where you live as I know the west of Ireland so well. Oh and I also have a love of france:)
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preciouspen1955 said:
So happy to meet you, I live in Kilmovee, et j’aime le France , mon grammaire est mauvais aussi my french mais pas de probleme because i love to speak the language , I really would love to perfect my french. So lovely to meet you, I will always know you when I see the yellow bicycle , I love it so much , I was telling my grand daughter Kate today that I would love a bicycle , she is 10 , she thought a yellow bicycle was a lovely idea also. Kind regards Kathy.
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goldwingkk said:
So enjoyable ! … In summertime, we were often taken by our mother for a Sunday walk to visit the cousins a few miles away for tea and play with the farm animals etc., and I always remember thinking the return journey seemed much shorter. I thought it was just me . A perch maybe, but a pike taking a fly ? Did your dad ever land a pike with a fly ?
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stephpep56 said:
Thanks for reading Goldwingkk, don’t pike take the fly? My dad being the purist fly fisherman never fished for coarse fished so I suppose the answer to your question is no he never did.:)
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Roz Hill said:
Hello Steph, I don’t think I have been in my ‘reader’ for months! Too much going on, travelled up the east coast of Australia in a Campervan, got back in March and set up our Glamping site, no tie at alll for blog reading….. but you liked my post the other day so I thought I must find time to read again and what better place than ‘The Lady on the Yellow bycycle’ This canal story( there are so many I want to come back to, it’s been months !) was the one that jumped out at me. We spent 9 years on living on our boats on the Shropshire Union Canal before we bought our four acres and setting up our Smallholding. Dear Lady , thank you for the memories…… my family were members of ‘theee’ camping club. My mum always said ‘ you, Rozy, were conceived in a tent!!’ http://luxuryglamping.blog
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stephpep56 said:
Hi Roz,
thanks for reading and commenting. Your trip along the Australian coast must have been amazing. like you I haven’t been reading or writing as much as I would like as my life too has been so busy lately (though sadly nothing to do with travel). Your glamping site looks fab and has extended since I last read about it? I’m going down to the west of Ireland to stay in a vintage caravan next weekend which I am really curious about. Yes I would love to try barge life for a while some day some day. hope you have a good glamping season. Steph x P.s might well have been conceived in a tent myself 🙂
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