cycleboy1957

Sunshine. And, as I have adopted the local lock-down rules, I have not joined my friends for the usual weekly bike ride. So, I decided to do a solo ride while the weather allowed. I wanted to return to the area I discovered just a few days ago; the hills behind Prestatyn. I contemplated cycling there, as our riding group had planned a few weeks ago, but decided against it. Partly because the initial section of the ride would not be particularly beautiful but, if I'm honest, mainly laziness.

So, I drove out to Rhuallt, which is a sleepy little village right on the A55, with a convenient lay-by car park. I've parked there in the past to do walks, so know it well.

The first obstacle was to get out of Rhuallt, as it is in something of a dip. However, once that fairly brutal climb had been done, the ride was superb. Pretty little villages bathed in autumn sunshine Frankly, a perfect way to spend a sunny autumn day.

However, part way round an uncomfortable thought occurred: Did I lock the car? I suspected I hadn't. Worse, I usually put my house keys into the pocket between the seats. No matter, there is nothing to identify my house on them. Then the uncomfortable thought got yet more uncomfortable: what about my insurance and breakdown cover documents? Do they have my address on them? I suspected they did.

I comforted myself in the thought that Rhuallt was off the beaten track and the chance of someone spotting the fact that the doors were unlocked was pretty remote. So, on my return to the car I checked the pocket. The lid was open and there were no keys. Don't panic. Yet. I checked in the glovebox. My breakdown cover does contain my home address, but it was in a folder that was below the owner's manual. So, possibly unlikely that the thief had looked at it. Had they done so and replaced it below the manual, they would surely have closed the pocket lid. Wouldn't they? If they had my address, would they strike quickly, before I returned, or wait for the cover of darkness? What to do? Call the police? Maybe, but without more concrete proof of a crime, I figured I'd get home before any patrol would call. So, I headed back down the A55 at 85, mentally wishing all dawdling cars to get out of my way. And most of them did.

Arriving at the house, I spotted my neighbour out in the front garden. He'd been there all morning and had seen nothing suspicious. Also, both front and back doors were still locked. Things were looking up. I removed the bike from the car and wheeled it to the garage whereupon, I spotted my keys. On the ground. Infront of the garage doors. I had been convinced that I'd put the keys into the pocket in the car. So, how come...?

When I loaded the bike into the car I realised that I'd put it away with a wet chain and rust was showing. So, I wheeled it back to the garage to get some oil. I had indeed put the keys into the pocket, but obviously had to retrieve them in order to open the garage. I'd put them on the floor while I oiled and wiped down the chain (in that order - you don't need or want excess oil on a chain), closed the garage padlock (which does not require the key!) and wheeled the bike back to the waiting car.

When I reported my find to my neighbour, he remarked, "Well, you won't do that again." Maybe not, I replied, but I wouldn't put it past myself to do something else equally idiotic.

Sitting on the observation deck of the ferry back to Oban on the 6th, we could look at the island recede into the distance. It was not a very good weather day, but the clouds almost added to the ethereal nature of the scene. Until the rain cloud we could see to the south came closer and closer until we had to retreat indoors.

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My idea was to drive to Kendal via a slightly longer route that would allow us a visit to the Falkirk Wheel. Unfortunately, we drove too far (Junko’s fault) then missed a signed turning (my fault) and ended up heading towards Edinburgh on the motorway before we were able to leave and retrace our steps. The consequence of this was that, although we did we the wheel, which is as impressive as they say, we could not stay long enough to see it actually working. We had a dinner date with an old primary school friend who lives near Kendal and I had to drive rather quicker than I’m usually comfortable with to arrive in time. Well, almost in time. I had thought of just going to my friend’s house and phoning the B&B. However, Junko argued that they may need to give us a key to get in and that they could be in bed when we returned. So, we did just that. However, driving to the house along Cumbria’s windy back roads, we managed to lose our way. Fortunately, one quick phone call put us right and we were only 10 minutes behind schedule.

On the drive down I hit something on the motorway I had thought would be a piece of cardboard. The thud as it hit the front tyre and then the underside of the car was worrying indeed. The culprit was parked just 100m away; a truck with a completely shredded rear tyre. We were very lucky the piece we hit was as small as it was, but it was frightening for all that.

My friends, John & Jo, live in a lovely house overlooking the (river) Kent valley and, that evening, it was clear right out into Morecambe bay. However, when Storm Desmond hit a few years ago, the whole valley was under water for days. The other consequence of the location is that there is nothing to protect them from SW winds and more than one visitor has commented on the fact. However, on the day of our visit, the weather could not have been more beautiful and we sat in their dining room, partaking in a fine meal of chicken with fennel and lemon cooked to perfection by my old chum while looking out on the glorious view across the fields lit by the evening sunshine. Despite the fact we’d not met for 20 years and about another 20 before that, the conversation flowed and we probably overstayed our welcome. But a lovely evening notwithstanding.

Our B&B is also located out in the countryside of the Lakes and boasts a lounge with a similarly gorgeous view over the fields and hills. It also boasts a breakfast large enough to have seen me out virtually the whole day. In fact, the only reason I ate anything this evening was that it was there. The remnants of a loaf and some cheese that really did need eating up.

Today, Friday, I drove up to Camerton, which is about as far from out B&B as it is possible to get in the Lakes. Camerton lies on the banks of the River Derwent. Back in 2009, when I was working at the EA, the Derwent had flooded and I had been involved in the post-flood report, calculating the flow of the river. It was a fascinating exercise, in that the flow had been unprecedented (the 1 in 100 flow had been estimated at 300m3/second whereas I calculated 700m3/s in that event). However, until today, I’d not actually seen the location personally. So, we spent a day wandering the fields and church yard that I so well remember from maps and videos at the time. But it did rain again.

Mull is not a terribly big place. On our first morning here, we chatted with a family over the breakfast table. They had rented a self-catering place, so were only in the B&B for one night until their other choice became free. This morning, we popped into the Tobermory Co-op for some bread and were hailed, “Good morning.” by our breakfast friends. An hour later, in the local farmers’ market, our paths crossed again. However, we then drove out to Calgary, on the opposite side of the island. Half a mile beyond the tiny village of Dervaig, we spotted a sign for The Old Byre, that boasted a cultural museum and cafe. It was some 600m off the ‘main’ road and up a rocky track so I was somewhat surprised to see 4 cars in their little car park.. Having watched a video history of Mull, we were browsing the museum when we were greeted yet again by our breakfast friends. I have every expectation of seeing them again before our departure on Wednesday.

The Old Byre Heritage Centre (http://www.old-byre.co.uk/) is worth a little elaboration. Although the cafe and little gift shop is nothing out of the ordinary, they boast a museum on the top floor with a choice of videos; history or wildlife. The videos are both made and narrated by Nick Hesketh. The museum consists of twenty-five 3D dioramas of life on Mull each of which was also made by Nick Hesketh. It must represent years of work. Buildings have every stone modelled in relief with detailed thatching even down to the willow lacing. They really were exquisite and included a very detailed description of the life depicted. There were scenes showing stone, bronze and iron-age settlements, life in medieval settlements, clan wars and crofting, and I don’t think that list is exhaustive. Off the beaten track, certainly, but well worth the £4 entrance fee.

There is little else to report about today. It was rather grey and showery. I’d visited the little cove of Calgary before, but although it was still lovely, the weather was not really conducive to maximum appreciation. We walked along the shore for an hour or so before eating our meal – courtesy of the farmers’ market – then driving back to the B&B along another beautiful, but twisty, section of the west coast.

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Sunday 2 June, 8pm and I can hear the rain drumming on the roof of our B&B. As we set out this morning, it was also raining. However, in between the weather was clement, indeed occasionally glorious.

We drove the short distance from Salen to Tobermory. Tobermory has taken the wise decision not to charge for parking. At Luss, we foreshortened our visit because the 2 hours of car parking we’d paid for was running out. Had we not been so rushed, we would have lingered longer and quite likely spent more. However, in Tobermory there is no such pressure and visitors can wander at will, stop for coffee or an ice cream without the fear of running foul of a parking attendant.

For anyone not familiar with Tobermory (or the TV series ‘Balamory’, which was filmed there) the town looks like something out of a children’s story book. It curves around a sheltered harbour, with seemingly every house along the sea front painted a different, vibrant colour. With the steeply rising hills that surround the harbour, it would be difficult to imagine a more perfect setting.

From the harbour car park there is a footpath south along the edge of the bay. We first explored this path but, after ten or twenty minutes, we turned back, as the path was rather muddy underfoot and we were ill shod. So, we returned to the town and wandered the streets, stopped for a coffee, then walked up the hill for some truly glorious views over the harbour and across to the Scottish mainland.

I was keener to re-visit the morning’s path than Junko was, so I, properly shod this time, set out to walk it while leaving Junko to amble around the town. The path runs out at an abandoned pier near Acos Park. It is not much more than 2 miles, if that, but a pleasant walk through the woodland and the views, especially in the late afternoon sunshine, back towards Tobermory are simply lovely.

Back in the town I finally managed to track Junko down, my mobile informing me that it was impossible to connect to hers, despite both mobiles having a full signal and being on the same network. Having provisioned ourselves from the local Co-op with bread, cheese, ham, tomato and fruit, we sat on a picnic table, under a shelter, looking out over the picturesque bay and duly fed our body and spirit at the same time. It is hard to convey the feeling of quiet contentment of such a scene. The warm, but not hot weather, the lengthening shadows, the sound of evening birdsong and the picture of the yachts of the moneyed few bobbing about on the harbour’s pontoon. At one time we heard the sound of a violin striking up a jig and saw a woman dancing to the music on the jetty. A few minutes later, a group of Dutch folk walked past us which included our dancer. “We’re coming back at 10,” she informed us, “there’s going to be a party.” A few minutes later spots of rain began to fall, but snug in our little shelter, we just watched the darkening skies until we had finished our food, then packed up and headed back to our B&B. All in all, it’s hard to imagine a better day.

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Well, we are finally back home in Kobe. Only 24 hours late.

Thursday morning, the day of our departure, it rained. So, having packed up and given the apartment a quick clean (by my standards ;-) ) we went to visit Kirishima Shinsui Gorge. On the way we passed Inukai Falls, which we had visited a few days ago and I wanted to see how the rainfall had affected them. While not quite Victoria Falls, they were certainly a little more active than they had been on our previous visit, so worth the diversion. The route to Kirishima Shrine and the gorge goes along a road with a peculiar ideosyncracy. The road actually turns right, but the centre line goes straight - on to another road. Consequently, our short cut became a rather long cut. Still, we were in no rush.

We'd visited Kirishima Shrine before and had been completely unaware of the existence of the gorge, despite its proximity. In fact, the road actually goes over it and you'd never know it was even there. It boasts some narrow passages, hexagonal basalt columns and rather pleasing rapids and falls.

Even with our detour, we arrived at Kagoshima airport earlier than planned and returned the car without any problem. Once the ground had dried, I had been able to look at the underside of the driver's door and could see nothing. The paint did feel a bit rought where I'd scraped it, but I hadn't gone through to the metal, so great relief all round. In the airport we had a light meal that, surprisingly - given the location, cost less than the o-bento we had been living off for the past 2 weeks, before boarding our 1 hour flight back to Kobe.

After an hour, we were over Kobe, but the pilot made the announcement that, owing to fog at the airport, we would circle for half an hour to wait for a break. After that, we'd have to go elsewhere. In fact, from our vantage point, everything looked peachy; the lights of the city were clearly visible. However, obviously not around the airport, as we headed off. I leant over to Junko and whispered, "Haneda?" which is Tokyo's domestic airport. In fact, Osaka's Itami is barely an hour away by train, so we expected to go there. Unfortunately, the pilot gave the announcement we WERE going to Haneda. "I was only joking!"

As we approached Haneda, we were informed that no arrangements were being made. We would be allowed Y10,000 for overnight accommodation, but it was up to each passenger to find it, and it was now fast approching 11pm. Having picked up our luggage, claim form and a photocopied sheet of possible hotels, poor Junko had to phone around to get a room in the designated price range. On the 3rd call, she finally got one. The young woman sat next to us had accompanied us out of the plane. Her sister had managed to book the last seat on a flight with the same carrier and she was going to spend the night in the airport. Apparently, Haneda International has some rudimentary accommodation especially for single women and she was hoping to be allowed access.

So, having found hotel, we then found a taxi and thus arrived at our hotel around midnight. Actually, I was watching the world outside the taxi and was struck that there were quite a few single women walking about at that hour of the night. Clearly, just on their way home, chatting on phones, carring work bags etc. I confess, I don't often go out in British cities at that hour of the night, so cannot really tell if this is unusual, but I've often seen women out alone at such an hour in Japan without, apparently, any fear.

A word about Japanese taxis. They are superb. All taxi drivers wear white gloves. When you get in, the driver opens the rear doors automatically from his driver's seat. They all have sat-nav and a display telling you exactly what is being charged, showing how the charge is varying between idling and driving. When you stop, you are charged exactly what is on the meter and you will get the exact change and a printed receipt. DO NOT TIP! It is neither expected nor appreciated. Actually, by simple force of habit I reached for the door handle when we stopped, but nothing happened. You are trapped until you pay. Which is fair enough, I guess. So, it was not until almost 2am that we finally were able to get some sleep.

Before bed, Junko had tried booking a seat on a 3pm flight to Kobe and had been pipped at the final step, so our return home was at 5.35pm. Consequently, after availing ourselves of the hotel breakfast, we then had quite a few hours to kill. Being some distance from the city centre and not being in much of a mood for endless pavement-bashing, just wandered around the local area. We happened to pass one office just as it disgorged its personelle out for their lunch - and we followed. I've mentioned o-bento before, the neat packed lunch boxes which could have sushi or curry-rice, a portion of white rice with pickles, cooked vegetables some meat and a little salad with prices varying from £3.50 to £7. Some restaurants had tables outside with piles of such boxes where the salarymen and women would queue up to buy their lunch. In other places there were different stalls with similar piles of boxes, some basically of one sort, others with a selection. It was fascinating to see. I'd heard about such a tradition, but never witnessed it.

One thing that often strikes the visitor to Japan is how many people will be wearing face masks, not unlike those worn by surgeons. To keep the bugs in or out? Both, it seems. What you do not see, however, are foreigners using them. Today I did see a gaijin wearing such a mask. I can only assume he's been living here long enough to become acclimatised and not feel self conscious about it, as I certainly would.

As I said, Junko had booked us a return flight to Kobe. My own suggestion was to go by Shinkansen, the high-speed train. True, we'd hve to get to the centre of Tokyo, but there was a rainway station not too far from our hotel. My idea was that the train would take us into Kobe, so the connecting train would be that much easier. Flying would entail the horror that is the big airport, with lots of mindless trecking to check-in and gates, security checks and the like. The train would involve none - or little - of these. However, this was vetoed. I've only been on the Shinkansen once or maybe twice (it is a little costly), but Junko assured me that they never have enough luggage space. For an inter-city train this seems like a terrible shortcoming, but she was adamant; we'd go by plane.

Although Haneda Domestic did not have passport control, it is still a big airport and still has security checks and was still a fairly unpleasant experience. "Was this better than the Shinkansen?" I asked. "Absolutely!" was the firm reply.

Speaking of airport checks; Junko carried through a pet bottle of green tea. At the exist of the bag scan they had a little unit into which they placed the bottle which then gave a red/green light to determine whether it was OK to go onto the plane. I've never seen these before and do not know what they test nor how they work.

So, finally, at about 9pm - 24 hours late - we arrived back at Junko's Mum's apartment.

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Last night we had a thunder storm the likes of which I've only once or twice experienced. I did not really hear the rain, but Junko said it was torrential. However, I did hear the thunder. Not being aware of the lightening, I've no idea how close it really was, but it sounded close. The boom literally shook the building. Lying on a futon on the tatami, I could feel it through the floor and the sliding doors rattled with each rumble.

As our plan for today was to visit a cluster of waterfalls, we approached each with eager anticipation for a real spectacle. While none were disappointing, I got the impression that last nights rain had not made much impact on the flows. At least, not yet.

The last falls we visited posed something of a puzzle. At the top of Sekino Falls was a construction that diverted some of the flow into a channel. This channel flowed along the footpath and had a side weir that discharged excess back to the river just below the falls as Odaki (Male Falls). However, a short distance downstream of that the channel simply discharged as Medaki (Female Falls) - again, back into the river. The only explanation we could find that Medaki was the intake to the Kitamae Barrage. In a leaflet, there is a picture of the barrage, but as far as I could see, there was nothing at the level of the channel. If anything, whatever this barrage was, it was more or less at downstream river level. Consequently, my question was: why go to the effort and expense of cutting this channel through solid rock merely to discharge the water back down to river level again? No doubt there is a logical reason, but not one I could see.

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Near Maruo Falls, which we visited the other day, is a nature trail that simply winds through woods, though not that far from civilisation and roads. Junko spotted one fallen tree with not just one, but a host of curious fungii growing on it.

At the end of the walk is the oldest stone hot bath in the region. I was imagining a large stone carved to receive water and was surprised to find an indentation in a rock at the edge of a stream. It turns out that the stream is not your usual feature and was quite warm to the touch. Clearly, the ancients had simply enlarged a depression in the rock so it could be used as a hot bath. Though we didn't actually take our boots off, we could have eaten our lunch with our feet in warm water.

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Cars
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The car we rented last week was a little Daihatsu 'Thor'. It is very boxy shape and has a tiny boot, though it is pretty big once the rear seat is folded down. The nearside read door slides electrically and a door not fully closed pulls itself to automatically.

Sitting in the back seat, I discovered more leg room than in any car I've owned and even more than most luxury cars I've been in.

You don't have to be in the country long before you become aware that there are 2 types of car numberplate: white and yellow. The yellow plates are reserved for 'Kei' (mini) cars. This was a category started by the post-war government to encourage manufacturers to make cheap runabouts for the hard pressed population. They had to be within certain emgine and body size limits, had lower tax and insurance and, at least in rural areas, were exepmt from the regulation that stipulated you had to prove you had adequate off-road parking. Our current rented car is one of these and has a 650cc engine. Mind you, many have both turbo and super-chargers to get the maximum 'umph' from their limited cc-s, so quite what the life expectancy of these overworked machines is, I don't know. That said, in places like Yakushima, where the maximum speed on the whole island is 60kph, they are probably the dominant vehicle.

Fruit & Veg.
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On my visits to Japan I've often commented about the huge fruit and how they are always perfect. Surely there must be some less than perfect things grown here, you may think? Well, you do see TV programmes where fruit growers individually bag fruit to protect it and, I'm assuming, discard the small ones so the big ones can thrive. Even so, there must be the odd one with a blemish - surely.

Today we discovered where all the less than perfect fruit goes. We are staying near the small town of Hinatayama. There we found a ram-shackle building packed with mis-shapen fruit and vegetables. Boxes of marked and bruised apples you could pick from and fill a large bag for Y500, which compares rather well with the usual price of ~Y100 each. While 70p might seen steep for one apple, they do weight about as much as a small horse and could feed a family of four.

Blasphemy, blasphemy, they've all got it blasphemy
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I feel I must apologise in advance to my religious friends for this next section of musings. I hope no one gets personally offended.

One of today's visits was to the local shrine. There are shrines and temples. Temples are Buddhist and shrines are Shinto and where God resides. They are fantastic structures, with exquisite carvings and elabourate joints in huge baulks of timber, often cleverly flexible to withstand earthquakes. And they have to be because the roofs can be very weighty constructions of multiple layers of tiles or copper shingles.

Watching people visit a shrine, I'm always struck how they bow at the entrance, clap to call God's attention, put their hands together in prayer and bow when leaving. Also, when watching the priests, they wear complex hats and robes made from exquisitely woven textiles and you see them holding elabourate sticks, which they wave in the direction of the worshipers. I cannot but be reminded of scenes I've witnessed in Catholic or High Anglican services and I have to ask the question: "What is religion and what constitutes a 'True' religion?"

It seems odd to me that a culture that grew up with almost no influence from the Middle East (at lest, not initially) has some very similar rituals. Or maybe they didn't have, but the Shogun had them adopted when he banned both Budhhism and Christianity in the early C17th. But then, what is the nature of God? Of course, the Christian will say that Jesus was God's son sent to Earth. But why only to one small place which, as 'Jesus Christ Superstar' so aptly put it, had no mass communication? What about the natives of America or Japan? Why were they so ill-favoured? And I'm sure the Shinto priet is as wedded to his calling as the Christian priest or Imam is to theirs. So, whose God is the 'true' one? Of course, some schools of thought have it that they are all just different facets of the whole diamond that is God. There's no conclusion to these musings, just more musings...

Not a lot to report today, except for the fact we drove right around the island AND visited a few places on the way.

We drove anti-clockwise and our first point to stop was the lighthouse at Cape Nagata on the western point of the island. At the lighthouse, we were able to look across at Kuchinoerabujima (shi/j-ima=island) and even see a hazy outline of another, more distant island (possibly Takeshima), with a lightly smoking volcano.

From this point south the road shrinks from a normal 2 lane carriageway to a single track with twists and turns. Goodness only knows how they got equipment along that road to build it, especially the long steel beams visible in some of the bridges. Along this road, being less frequented, there were frequent signs telling you not to feed the monkeys and to be careful of deer wandering across the road and yes, we saw both.

Other sights of note were a couple of waterfalls; Ohkonotaki (taki=waterfall) and Torohkinotaki. The first has its river running over a smoothly rounded boulder for about 88m and is justifiably voted in the top 100 mot beautiful falls in Japan. The second is relatively small, but is notable because it discharges directly into the sea. When we got there the sun was setting, but the view point was looking directly into the sun. Consequently, the photos may not be of the best. We may return tomorrow to see if we can do better.

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Well, that was an interesting day. I now possess a bump an the head, a sore elbow and am £320 poorer. Oh, and 3 ECG tags.

Junko sings with a little choir in Osaka led by her old friend, Mariko. As I've met them all before, I went with Junko to their practice session. Afterwards, 4 of us went to a little Okonomiyaki restaurant we've visited on previous occasions. (Okonomiyaki is a type of pizza-omelette that is very popular in this area.) Half way through my meal I felt I was struggling and offered the last quarter to my friends. I began to feel a little ligh-headed and lay down on the bench seat for a few moments, which I initially put down to feeling tired due to jet-lag. I asked Junko if I was looking pale, because I could feel my head sweating. Eventually, I decided a visit to the toilet might improve matters, so got out of my seat. The next thing I was aware of was Junko looking down on me, while I was looking up at the ceiling of the restaurant. The staff were also bustling round and advised me to stay where I was, placing a rolled up towel under my head for comfort. I have to admit that I was happy to do so, as I was still feeling a little woozy.

A short while later the paramedics arrived and I was tested for eye response, blood pressure, blood-oxygen monitor and body temperature. Once my general health was established, they helped me out of the restaurant and onto a wheeled stretcher. It felt very odd to glide through the shopping centre waving at the public like the Queen as they wheeled me to the ambulance. Once inside I was hooked up again, this time to a heart beat monitor and taken - sirens wailing - to the local hospital.

I don't know whether looks are part of the recruitment process for doctors, but mine was particularly easy on the eye and even spoke some English, though Junko helped out when she got stuck. Just to be on the safe side, they took some blood for a suite of tests and wheeled me into a CAT Scanner, to check there was no internal damage, as my friends said I'd hit my head quite hard on landing. Once scanned (there was no wait) I was wheeled back into a ward to rest while waiting for the blood tests to return, which they did about an hour later. I was trying to imagine how long I might have had to wait for those two tests in the NHS. I once had a blood test and had to wait a couple of weeks, but, to be honest, the two situations are hardly comparable.

I have to say I did sleep, which probably did me a power of good, as I was told my blood test showed everything was normal. However, my blood pressure was a little low, which chimes with the last time I fainted. I was driving HGVs and had to surrender my driving licence until they got to the bottom of the black-out, which was low blood pressure. Maybe I need to consult my GP about it again.

Junko went off to sort out the bill; ~£320. Not an insignificant sum of course but, given that I've never taken out health insurance all the times I've visited, is probably good value, given that most insurance policies require the patient to cover the initial costs. Mind you, if I'm going to make a habit of this...

Much later, when I was having a shower, I discovered the ECG tags. The paramedic had stuck them on under my shirt. He'd removed the wires, but I'd not realised he'd left the skin tags behind.