Biking Birder I - 2010 January 7th Still in Snowy Hemel Hempstead

 7^th January                                                                      South Side of the Sky                                               Yes

               I know what I will do. I will pack, go to Asda and then set off. So were my hopes when I awoke early, two hours before my B & B breakfast was due. Then I looked out of the window. Even more snow had fallen overnight and the bike out the back was covered in it. It was time to reassess my plans.

The 2010 itinerary needed to be changed, thought out carefully to alleviate the problems caused by the extreme weather. This would involve postponing the visit to the Essex RSPB reserve, Wallasea Island, until December when I would be close to the area whilst visiting Old Hall Marshes and the Stour Estuary RSPB reserves. That would give me an extra five days now to get through this harsh period of weather. I wrote down a list of all of the problems, away from the immediate weather ones. The bike was in desperate need of repairs, especially the gear changing lever. My clothes, especially a large yellow coat which was supposed able to let out moisture and prevent the same getting in; breathable, whatever that means, it said on the label, were causing problems through the build-up of sweat. Despite the weather I was sweating profusely when cycling. This made me feel very thirsty most of the time so down on the list of necessities went fruit juice and honey. Shame I forgot to buy the honey later on. Crows were cawing outside the window as I wrote. Birds! I had almost forgotten about them. 

At breakfast, taken as usual at a round table in the living room, the TV still switched onto a German channel, Mrs Peters started to talk of her life during World War II. Before the war, her father had been a well-known ballroom dancer. She, with her sister and abusive stepmother lived near the Polish-German border. After the war she came to live over here to work as a house housekeeper seven days a week. She told of how shocked she was with the animosity the girls she met displayed towards her.

Back in 1945, when the Russians arrived in her village, the soldiers were given leave to do whatever they wanted for two days; loot, kill. All the men in the village over the age of forty-five were taken away, transported to Siberia the rumour went, more likely shot. Anything of value, bicycles, radios and even sewing machines, were taken. A 6.00 p.m. curfew was put into place and all the food that the Russians could find was taken. Hidden away the family had a few potatoes, carrots and beetroot and a bottle of cod liver oil.

Soon rationing was started; two pounds of bread and five pounds of potatoes for the family for a week. If anyone complained, they were shot. A couple of old horses were shot and made into rissoles, tough but sweet meat. The family were made to live in the cellar with no heating despite the Polish winter cold. The rationing queues would take anything up to three hours to get a loaf of bread.

After three months of this, the Russians moved out to be replaced by Polish soldiers. Things did not improve for the family and villagers. There was still no food so the family sold their Dad’s ballroom dancing suit on the Black Market, which paid for a little butter and some potatoes. She then spoke of being forcibly removed from her village in cattle trucks. She spoke of Polish retribution yet admitted that there were atrocities committed by all sides. There was torrential rain when the transports came for them. They were searched by the Polish soldiers and anything of value was stolen. They even took her comb, her most precious thing. On the Russian border, near Breslau, they were all sprayed with DDT powder and given a little maize and a small piece of bread.

She told of being moved to the American sector where the American soldiers mistreated her and others. At this Mrs Peters broke down in tears in front of me. Moved yet again, her family came to be in the British sector and it was here that they were finally treated kindly and with some dignity.

Eleven O’clock in the morning and no chance of moving on as the snow was still thick on the ground and the roads were still very slushy with only car tracks to show where the roads actually were. I went shopping, riveting read this bit is it not? Then I took the bike to a local cycle shop to get repairs, Leisure Wheels of Hemel Hempstead. Now I will admit I had a wonderful time there for as they, Dave and Dan, worked on my bike, I was allowed to ‘watch’ the live text of the last day of the England versus South Africa cricket test match on the BBC website. The tension from the match was tremendous. Would England get the draw? In the last three overs I could not stand waiting for the statistics to come up on the screen so I phoned my Dad for him to give a running commentary from the TV. Even Dave and Dan heard my shouts as the last balls were bowled and we survived to get the deserved draw. The headline in the paper the next day read, ‘Onions reduces South Africa to tears.’ Chris Onions, the English fast bowler, had batted through the day.

On the way back to my digs, I enjoyed yet another snowball fight with a group of children on the way back to the B & B and gave the victorious kids a variety of RSPB stickers and badges. Do not worry health and safety fans, the snow was fluffy light.

On the news that evening was the fact that the temperature had been minus eighteen Celsius in Benson, Oxfordshire the night before. The rest of the news had articles about Sri Lankan executions, ASBO thugs smashing someone’s car, attacking the family and throwing a brick through their lounge window and the general chaos that the winter was causing. I felt tearful. What with Mrs Peter’s stories and the news, as well as being stuck in Hemel Hempstead, it was all a bit much. Twenty-two people dead because of the atrocious weather in the UK. Were we ever colder on that day!

Biking Birder I - 2010 January 6th Snow Prevents Progress so Bike Repairs and Newspaper Interview

 6^th January                                                                          Sunday Papers                                        Joe Jackson

              Hemel Hempstead was actually on the itinerary because of a stupid mistake on my part. One of the previously unstated aims of the tour was to visit schools around the country, spreading both the message that cycling was good for you and the environment-Climate Change message. As part of the Keep Britain Tidy group, there is a superb school-based project being carried out by hundreds of schools across the country called Eco Schools! Back when I had first drawn up the itinerary for the Biking Birder year, I had contacted Eco School's HQ and asked them to assist in contacting schools over the possibility of me visiting and taking lessons, giving assemblies or being shown what the various Eco Schools schools were doing. Now the stupid mistake had been because I had placed Hemel Hempstead on the list sent to Eco Schools instead of the town that was actually on the route, High Wycombe.

Eco Schools had contacted the many schools in Hemel Hempstead that engaged in the Eco Schools project. Before I noticed my error on the spreadsheet, three schools had responded by saying they would love to have me visit. I could not back out now from my mistake by saying “sorry but I meant High Wycombe,” not after such a positive response and so Hemel Hempstead was where I was. The problem was that there was now thick snow on the ground and all of the schools were shut due to the snow and I could not cycle anywhere.

Early in the morning one of the school’s head teachers, I do not know which, had contacted the local newspaper of my being in town and told them of my reasons for being here, you’ll be able to read about them in the Sunday papers!

So it was that I was phoned by the newspaper and asked whether I was willing to be photographed and interviewed and if so, could I bring the bicycle down to the nearby offices. Down the hill, trudging through fresh snow six inches or so deep, I soon found them and after the interview with yet another young, enthusiastic lady, I was outside on the bike shaking a bit, cycling past the photographer. 

Now without all the panniers, the bike had a different centre of balance, much higher up and I did not feel too safe wobbling precariously and holding onto the handlebars for dear life. The photographer’s request that I turn my head towards him when I passed did not go down too well with me but I did my best. I wonder if the published photo shows the craven fear in my eyes.

As there was no way I could escape from Hemel Hempstead because of the snow, I went into the town library next, where I met a keen birder who was behind the desk. His name was Roger Prue and he talked of his recent trip for a Smew at Grafham Water, stating that Rutland was as far as he would go for his birds.

One pint of water drunk given to me by Roger, as I was quite dehydrated by yesterday’s efforts and an hour was spent on the internet, after becoming a new member of the Hemel Hempstead library. I used the time to answer emails, write the blog and in trying to find out how I could say thank you to the incoming donations where the kind donors had used the website ‘JustGiving’ via links on my blog. I also sent an email to Dawes, the cycle manufacturers from my home city of Birmingham, requesting a new bike. They did reply but no help did they offer.

Back outside the snow was falling heavily again and after having great fun throwing snowballs with a gang of local kids, the rest of the day was spent either talking with Mrs Peters or sitting in my room watching news bulletins on the TV telling of the snow chaos across the country. The worst snow for thirty years was outside the news said, reminding me of the worst snow I had ever seen back in the infamous winter of 1963. The trouble was I really needed to get going again. Itineraries so carefully worked out would have to be changed, and routes altered. There was no way I could cycle on the slushy snow-covered roads. It would be lethal! Also, there was the need to get the bicycle's gear system and lights repaired. Another day would be required in Hemel Hempstead. I felt trapped but at least I was comfortably trapped.

In the evening I phoned Lee Evans, the famous birder, not the comedian. I wanted him to offer a settee for a night; my intention being to push the bike as far as his home and then continue the push to Hedgerley the next day. Hedgerley, near Slough had the next RSPB reserve on my list to visit, Church Wood. Well, Lee was immensely helpful with his advice over the state of the roads but he could not understand why I wanted to go to Church Wood. “You’ll only get Lesser Redpoll there and a Lesser Spot if you’re lucky.” He must have said this three times. “Yes, I realise that but it’s an RSPB reserve and I’m cycling to all of them,” I said more than once. Now I must say that I have only met Lee to talk to a couple of times, though I have seen him on more occasions than that at various twitches. So, I did not feel confident enough to ask the ultimate question, can you put me up for a night? He did not offer it so I said thanks for the advice and we left it at that. Now there is a diversity of opinions over Lee Evans. Throughout the phone call he was most helpful and very conversational.

I read the local newspaper, the Hemel Hempstead Gazette, that evening. The letters page had complaints about the standard of gritting in the town. Well I had not seen any but then again, any grit would be lost beneath fifteen centimetres of snow. There was also an article about a young girl who had devastatingly been found to have cancer of the kidney. This horror was only found out because she was donating one of hers to her ex-boyfriend, who now deciding he was gay, was dying and in need of a kidney. How incredibly sad.

An inspiring page told of an amputee receiving an MBE. He had lost both legs and a hand when aged eleven yet despite these afflictions had helped disabled people to access motor sports. There are some wonderful, brave people out there. Weather news gleaning from the box for tomorrow told of minus five Celsius tonight with still freezing weather tomorrow with a strengthening wind. The snow was not going anywhere fast and neither was I.

More details can be read on the original 2010 Biking Birder blog . . . 

https://bikingbirder2010.blogspot.com/2010/01/tuesday-5th-january-stuck-in-hemel.html 

Biking Birder I - January 5th 2010 - Otmoor RSPB Reserve, BBC and First Fall of Snow and Me!

 

5^th January                                                        Tragedy                                                                     The Bee Gees  

       Now I was really looking forward to visiting Otmoor RSPB Reserve. I had only ever been there once before and that was from a north entrance into the area. This time I was to enter from the south. Otmoor, I had heard said, was famous because the main drains, ditches and meadows had inspired Lewis Caroll's chessboard scene in Alice in Wonderland. Nowadays the scene may be different, as the RSPB have blocked the drains and created a wet grassland paradise for many birds. I wanted to see those birds. 

An early morning start with temperatures still well below zero. At least it was very sunny and almost windless. On leaving the house I saw a couple of Red Kites [61] quartering over some nearby trees. Thick ice covered the approach lanes and I sensibly decided to walk along Otmoor Lane, the entrance road to Otmoor RSPB reserve, pushing an unladen bike. I had left my stuff back at Lynn and Richard’s. I later found out that it had been minus sixteen degrees Celsius the night before. Hmmm chilly! I saw a covey of nineteen Red-legged Partridges [62] and a male Kestrel near to the RSPB car park.

I cycled along the reserve pathways and banks, past a feeding station, five more Red Kites could be seen distantly and a dozen or so Great and Blue Tits that regularly came to partake of the free seed offerings. A super bright yellow male Yellowhammer [63], Reed Buntings and Meadow Pipits [64] were all heard and seen.

At the first screen, which overlooked a large area of reed with frozen pools, I met a Scouse nature lover, Phil Roberts who was trying to get a photo of a Bittern. Phil asked what birds were around and he admitted that these were new hobbies for him: photography and birdwatching. Phil may not have been the best at either, but he was a lovely conversational sixty-year-old whose company I enjoyed as I explored the rest of the walkways. A Raven [65] was heard and then seen being mobbed by a couple of testy Carrion Crows. Then I met Richard, who had left Lynn back home to take part in some scrub removal with other brave volunteers. Over the year it would never cease to amaze me at how wonderfully resolute and enthusiastic the army of RSPB volunteers were. Here they were in such freezing weather, working away together, sharing that special camaraderie that makes arduous work a pleasure. On a small pool of ice-free water around three hundred duck milled around or slept: mostly Teal but also Mallard, Shovelor [66], Wigeon and Pochard. Then twelve Snipe flew over, two Moorhens skated over the ice and a group of four Ravens cronked as they flew overhead heading west.

At the second screen, four Cormorants rested on a tree’s branches close by, including one young bird from the previous year. By now I had started to have very cold fingers and I realised that the cycling gloves so kindly bought for me by the two deputy headteachers of Rigby Hall Special School [assistant heads!], Helen and Linda, were not going to keep my hands warm enough. Memories of reading Catherine Hartley’s amazing autobiography of her becoming the first British woman to walk to the South Pole. Catherine took the wrong sort of gloves and was badly frostbitten. Great read that book, with Catherine not what one would expect an Antarctic explorer to be like, as testified by the cigarettes that were found stowed away on the sledge she was pulling!

At the last reedy area that could be viewed from a screen, a Bittern [67] spent fifteen minutes walking along the reedbed edge before flying over the same reedbed. A superb, cryptically marked bird; its camouflage lost, it stood out against the white ice.

The day was going to be incredibly special. As I said before, the BBC was going to make a short film to present on the local news programme that evening. Right on cue, a small green car arrived and out stepped an extremely attractive young lady. She introduced herself and explained that before interviewing me over my future endeavours, she wanted me to cycle along the same icy lane, over a small rise, down to the five bar gate, dismount, negotiate the kissing gate, lift my binoculars and pretend to birdwatch. Now to do that once on the ice was tricky enough but to repeat the process three times would be, I thought, suicidal. Nevertheless, I managed to get through it unscathed, just. Obviously, my cycling balance skills were improving, or so I thought. The interview went fine. Well, I say fine; at least this time I was not in a radio studio with my son, Joshua, heckling behind me. “Don’t be so nervous, Dad,” was the advice given whilst on the Joanne Malin early morning radio show on BBC WM before Christmas 2009. Good advice as I was extremely nervous and not knowing the name of my favourite Cadbury’s Quality Street chocolate did not help.

You may remember that Cadbury’s, a proud Birmingham company, was being sold off in 2009 to new American owners, Kraft and the view at the time was “no thank you.” The BBC radio and TV programmes at that time carried news and discussion platforms on the topic of the sale and hence, on arriving within the studio, I was given a choice of chocolate.

This time though, I was in my element; outside with an extremely pretty interviewer, who had stunning green eyes, just like my wife, sugar to miss, Karen. I was at a superb RSPB nature reserve in cold, calm weather and quite a few birds were around, including Red kites, Ravens and two Bitterns.

Eventually happy with my efforts over the introductory cycling and posing, the interview took place at the entrance to the reserve once the interviewer had put me at my ease by chatting about her passion for cooking before recording.

“Why are you cycling to every RSPB and WWT reserve?”

A question I was to hear a number of times more over the year! Good question. Before leaving, during the planning stage I wrote myself a letter to remind me exactly why I was doing this. It is a bit pompous for which I apologise but here is the original: - 

So, the day which began with a walk in the rain, ended with a bus ride and an idea buzzing around in my head.

A bike ride? Warwick to Coventry and back had seemed far enough but what was I contemplating? A maths teacher at the school, Ernesford Comprehensive in Coventry, where I had just done a day’s supply after cycling there from my then home in Warwick, had talked over coffee of his cycling trip across both North and South America. “The Argentinians are wonderful people.” He had said. “Chile is so beautiful” I can still see him in the small teacher’s sanctuary, talking with such enthusiasm and humility about travels that seemed beyond my capabilities but not beyond my fantasies.

The bus moved on towards Kenilworth.

By the time I got off at the bus, for another evening at my brother Paul’s house, I had decided that I would cycle to each RSPB and WWT nature reserve in Britain, Cornwall to Shetland, Kent to Uists; see as many birds as I could and cycle the whole way, 4,500 miles so I thought at the time.

Right, the decision was made, now for the planning.

A notebook and road atlas of the UK accompanied me on the many train rides to supply teaching assignments and soon became the focus for jottings and thoughts. Equipment, costs, contacts, ideas. The large road atlas became a ‘must have with me’ companion. It took a few weeks before the first route was indelibly red inked onto the pages. (West coast of Scotland – get me there; those boat trips look relaxing!). Then, in the middle of March I thought,  Why? Why am I going to do this?

I had written equipment lists and costed the trip up. I had contacted the RSPB with the idea in order to start to think of sponsorship in order to raise funds for the charity, as I had the Wildfowl & Wetland Trust and Asthma Association. I had emailed Birdguides to ask about whether anyone had done anything similar. Surprisingly to me, no one had. I had discussed it with my children, Rebecca and Joshua, Mum and Dad, brother Paul and sister, Donna.

Birding friends had listened but were credulous. Why do it?

Why spend 365 days cycling with bins around the British Isles? Why not do the same in Greece or Spain. At least it would be warmer there and the bird species there would include my favourite - vultures!

No, it had to be done for charity. It had to be done to show that one did not need to travel by car to see 250 bird species. It had to be done to say thank you to the late Sir Peter Scott, my boyhood hero and it had to be done to show that an ‘old man’ could still dream. 

Well the poor girl, a beautiful jade-eyed interviewer, must have drawn the short straw to be out at this time in such extremely cold weather but she was genuinely interested.

Now it must have been that I was still lost in the, have I already said it, interviewer’s beautiful green eyes, for not ten minutes later after the conclusion to the interview, I had come off my bike, somersaulting over the right side, landing on the ice-covered verge. Along a section of the lane the ice was in hard ridges where previous car tyres had moulded the ice and it was one of these ridges that unbalanced me and over my shoulder I went.

Ouch! The bike was severely damaged and the gear changing mechanism on the handlebar was hanging down disconnected. Five days into the year and now the bike was broken.

 Tragedy! When the feelings gone (in my leg) and you cannot go on, its tragedy. I got up and tried to fix it, the bike's gear system but could only get it to give me a couple of gears. Still it was better than just one. My leg was painful but as I had a few layers on at the time I did not check it out too much.

I got on the bike, got back to Richard and Lynn‘s house to collect my things, seeing a Bank Vole under one of their bird seed feeders from their kitchen window. Whilst there, I was interviewed over the phone by the Hounslow, Brentford and Twickenham newspaper before setting off for Hemel Hempstead. I gave my most sincere thanks to this wonderful couple for their accommodation and company and set off.

Down the hill from Stanton St John I came around the corner to see a large group of forty-one deer in the field next to the road, which included a strangely coloured, coffee coated doe. A Green Woodpecker [68] flew over, another bird for the year list.

Onward I went along, thankfully, flat roads and soon I reached Prince’s Risborough and decided that a treat was in order. On finding a small café I ordered a meal of lasagne and salad washed down by a sugar laden, frothy hot chocolate. It was dark when I came outside again and there was a new problem to add to the bicycle woes. Snow! Light at first, it soon got heavier; the snow just made the next part of the journey a tad more difficult. I went south for a mile or so, cycling through the falling snow, and then took a left turn. This was the beginning of the Chiltern Hills. With a large, very steep hill to negotiate, I had no choice but to push the bike up the hill to Loosley Row and ride down the other side to Great Missenden, with the snow beginning to cling to me and the bike. An hour plus of snowy downhill thrills [terrors!] combined with hard uphill slogs before almost reaching Chesham, was not helped by the fact that the front light was not as bright as I would have liked. In fact, it was positively dull! Trying to be as ‘Green’ as possible I had seen a wind up, no battery required, cycling front light with cable attachment for a back light. 

Well the light it gave was poor at best and even then, it would only last for a few minutes. An ambulance pulled over in front of me and the driver flagged me down. “You’ve got no rear lights!” The fall on the ice earlier in the day must have broken more than the front gear lever; the cable to the back lights had snapped. I tried to twist the wires together but it was no good.

I cycled downhill with a passing motorist offering friendly advice over what I could do in my predicament. “Get some ****in' lights!” Thanks! Just the motivation I needed to peddle through the snow like the clappers.

I reached Chesham safely, after having to back track half a mile or so to search for and retrieve a lost skiing glove and found a Sainsbury’s store still open. No cycling gear for sale, I purchased a RAC torch, batteries and a box of ladies’ tights. With the torch strapped to the back of the bike, secured by the tights, I had more hills to negotiate and more snow to plough through before getting to the A41 near Berkhamsted. Whilst pushing the bicycle up a steep hill through the deepening snow, I received a phone call from my wife, Karen. It was great to hear from her. I love her voice over the phone and through my mind's eye I could see her beautiful jade green eyes. I miss her so much but a major reason for my doing a Biking Birder adventure is because of our distant love. That may sound crazy but it is complicated and too painful to discuss here. I adore my wife and always will.

After an hour or so the new back torch light had faded to almost nothing. So much for the efficiency of the torch and its batteries! The snow was falling heavily but I was booked into a small bed and breakfast in Hemel Hempstead and I was determined to get there. The fact that there was absolutely no traffic on the motorway-like three carriageway motorway-like road, the A41, did not stop me. Everyone else was sensibly tucked up somewhere warm as I either cycled or pushed through six inches of snow.

I cycled past a Premier Inn and although I was sorely tempted to stay there, I resisted and eventually got to my destination town. Still, I did not know where the B & B was. I had got the address written down on a small piece of paper but I had no detailed map and neither did I have a smartphone nor SATNAV. I did find the local police station and went in to ask for directions. The kind, friendly and gorgeous police ladies behind the desk joined in my laughter at the abominable snowman dripping before them and luckily my Bed and Breakfast was nearby.

Ten thirty, late evening, on the clock when I got into the warmth of a large, terraced house, greeted by a lovely German accented old lady. She immediately saw the condition I was in and got me a large, hot bowl of mushroom soup with toast, together with two warm mince pies and a chunk of fruit cake!

Nine hours to get from Otmoor to Hemel Hempstead, I felt exhilarated to have made it, despite finding that my left shin had a quite nastily cut and my thighs were both badly bruised from the fall. I bathed, made sure my bloody cut was thoroughly cleaned and a bandage applied. I was soon sleeping soundly in my small, cosy, warm room, despite the sound of a German-speaking TV channel coming from Mrs Peter’s bedroom next to mine.  

42 miles                                                                                                       1566 feet elevation up   1608 feet down