(recommended sonic ambience: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ertt3o1x65c )
7th April 2012:
I woke at 7:50 am after a bit of the early morning rebellion and duelling with my lazy self who usually conspires with my duvet.
The morning was dull, cloudy and quite unlike yesterday: which on the other hand looked bright, inviting and fly-able. The bathroom was laid open from an ongoing repair continued from yesterday as a challenge to easy flowing usability. It was 8:10 am when I got out of bed after requesting the Gods for another awesome day and checking train timings using their gift to mankind called Google (with an 'e' for Evil).
Thats what the bike/wheelchair coach seating looked like when I embarked upon the 'bike coach'
So it was Trowbridge, Westbury, Frome, Bruton, Wincanton, Yeovil Pen Mill as I counted down. Now There were two stations at Yeovil and since I was headed down South from Bristol while Yeovilton was to the North of Yeovil, I figured that the first stop might in principle be closer to Yeovilton - which was my real destination for the day.
So I disembarked at Yeovil Pen Mill to be greeted only by a flank of a breeze of desertedness which urged me to find my way into the open and be back on my own wheels as quickly as possible. So as I pushed my way out through doors I noticed a stand with free maps and free tour-guide booklets. I stopped and whizzed through, but queerly - there was nothing that referred to an Aircraft Museum - or Yeovilton. Although I did notice advertisements of a nature park at Yeovil (which was new to me) with pretty pictures of fauna.
I shoved myself forward in favour of fulfilling my mission for the day by shouting "ii kara" to myself numerous times in my head.
I was now just outside of the station premises where I was greeted by a narrow road with traffic flowing in both directions and a signal right where I was standing. There was no board that indicated anything related to Yeovilton (directly). So the logical decision was to wait for the cyclist who I noticed was riding towards me from the station. I excused myself and spoke to the man of my intentions. He said to me that the road was easier from the Town centre (which was the other station at Yeovil) and said he was headed in the direction. I asked if I could follow him and he was happy to help. He asked me where I was from and I happily told him that I was here from Bristol as I wanted to visit the Fleet Air Arm museum of HM Royal Navy and thus use this day of my Bank Holiday weekend well. We spoke as we rode through a narrow path which ran through what seemed like a tree covered hill blaring on one side with scrubs and trees growing parallel to the plain of road i.e. from the steep side of the hill and a heavy slope leading to a pit on the other side. We were away from cars and were surrounded by what seemed like a jungle all of a sudden. Little berries were fallen in the middle of the road and they seemed to have fallen from branches of a tree which were reaching out above us. Squirrels were running across picking on what looked like food to them and scratching about in general. The hares seemed bold enough not to run like the wind at sight of human life, although I'll bet they have grown experienced enough to have a fair estimate of 'safe distance'. I only saw one colourful and slightly unusual looking bird there though - and we rode right past her. And surprisingly soon, it seemed we were at civilisation when I saw steel barrier railings to only allow people and bicycles. And the friendly bloke goes "We're at town centre and you want to go down 'blah blah' road which is down that (pointed) direction and a right turn from the roundabout". I thanked him for his courtesy, he wished me all the best and I was on my way. I admit I did quite catch on that guidance which he provided me with as the names were unfamiliar and interpretations of pronounciations can be devious. His accent was different than Bristolian - which I am fairly accustomed to now.
The catch: I heard him say "Oldchester road". And thats what I was looking for as I rode past the Town Centre - smelling of aromas of Croissants from the bakeries in good business, frying hot-dogs and the myriad spring flowers from stalls on the road. The town centre was bustling with weekend shoppers, children and street artists. The general architechture had an olden day vibe, like a place with a real historical heritage.
It was overall a good vibe. I told myself that I must come back sometime with the objective of feeling Yeovil.
(to be continued)
7th April 2012:
On this day, I finally made my first visit to the biggest Naval aircraft museum in the UK - taking advantage of the 'long' easter weekend. While this visit was about my going there having my mind do some bigtime drooling looking at designs of yesteryear standing dead in front of me - this write-up is not intended at showing-off my superficial, infinitesimal and deeply shallow understanding of complicated aircraft design or to emptily spew specification statistics of beauties that I have never gotten to know nor converse with. It is about my experiences in the day trip in general.
The morning was dull, cloudy and quite unlike yesterday: which on the other hand looked bright, inviting and fly-able. The bathroom was laid open from an ongoing repair continued from yesterday as a challenge to easy flowing usability. It was 8:10 am when I got out of bed after requesting the Gods for another awesome day and checking train timings using their gift to mankind called Google (with an 'e' for Evil).
While I was definitely not going to make 8:23 am, the next one was 9:23 which I wanted to make 'do-or-die'......the reasons being that while the museum ticket was going to cost me 15 odd quid according to the initial information that I had gathered off the internet; the closing time of the museum supposedly was at 5:30 pm.
Additionally, 'the plan' - (of the "MY" kind) was made in 5 minutes and it included my push-biking my way to Yeovilton from Yeovil - a town which is down south from Bristol and into the proper South-West country of Somerset and is the nearest train station from there. Googlemaps showed me the distance to be 7 miles.
(Now for those of us who are experienced with trusting that information know that it is usually accurate for the "ideal" route-knowing and GPS carrying driver - NOT ME! - atleast, not yet.)
So there wasn't time for a shower anyway after 'the intestinal ritual', the brushing, the shave (needed one) and the face wash. I threw on my clothes awaiting 'recycling' prior to a wash - after making sure that they atleast appeared respectable when I wore them and I set off (with bicycle).
Destination: Filton Abbeywood train station.
Estimated Time: 10 minutes (from previous experience)Never before today had I travelled by train with my bicycle for company. I managed to reach the station 13 minutes in advance. Since I had not pre-booked my journey, I bought the tickets off the machine. The journey and return cost me 15 odd quid (again).
I boarded the middle one of a 3 coach train when it arrived. I however was forced to stand by the doors supporting my bicycle which was pressed up against a side wall which bore the entrance to the aisle on side of this coach. I had not done this before and stood there with an unsure feeling. The four people did take their tuns at giving me puzzled looks which I consciously returned with a smile - burning a mild feeling of guilt for not having properly research the booking of a coach space for bicycles on a train (it is a free courtesy in this country). But soon the TTE arrived and adviced me that the bike must move behind the engine compartment when the train shall come to a halt at the Temple Meads station (which is the next station). I exited the current coach and wheeled the bike up to the engine coach, knocked on the engine driver's door and enquired about the best place to put the bike - to which he replied that it was right behing in the very same coach. I then noticed the familiar sign of the bicycle at the coach's doors. I also noticed that there were several coaches in front of the engine coach yet on the same railway line - meaning that this 'train' was going to join up to become a much longer one (with the effective drive power/engine movine to another coach much further ahead). I then boarded my 'new' coach - which was pretty much like the old one, except that it has lengthwise facing seats along one aisle and placed against the walls. One side bore the symbol of a wheelchait, whereas the opposite side bore that familiar sign of a bicycle. So basically it was three seats with loads of 'leg room' in front to leave bicycles or a wheelchair leaned up against seated travellers. The seats next to me were naturally empty. So I decided to place my haversack on the one by and pretend it is a good, adventurous, travelling friend that Ive seldom found. I had passed Keynsham and Bath and the sceneries on the outside were starting to get truly beautiful, the weather had improved and sunshine was smiling - looking me in the eye, a baby was crying in the compartment and an old couple in sight were starting to make an irritated face. But the latter bits were filtered away whilst positive energy of the freshness of the morning south-western entered my aura. And like a pleasant song in a bollywood movie from the sixties, the background on the outside changed to hilly open fields with the occasional distant house, little rivers flowing, spring trees still short of leaves but the occasional butterfly flying by and a farm with Lamas! I needed beautiful music for the sync, and I had three albums that were newly loaded to my phone's playlist. Animal Boy by the Ramones was only semi-loaded for some reason and my charge was being opposed unfairly by the music and thus I decided to move over the album in under five minutes and I had The Clash's London Calling on and I was laughing in inexplicable joy - not caring what everybody around was thinking upon hearing the lyrics sung to a naughtily strummed rhythm of Spanish Bombs - which for some unknown was the first song I played off it. It was just perfect. It was reflective of the contrast between awesome positivity coming in from nature outside of the moving train and the many others inside the train who I figured werent feeling it and seemed unconsciously satisfied with their miserable worries.
But again, in all fairness it is inappropriate of me to judge. After all, I was the only person that I knew on the day who for a sure fact had entered the train with "fun" planned for the day - who's to say that I am the same on every other day? 
So it was Trowbridge, Westbury, Frome, Bruton, Wincanton, Yeovil Pen Mill as I counted down. Now There were two stations at Yeovil and since I was headed down South from Bristol while Yeovilton was to the North of Yeovil, I figured that the first stop might in principle be closer to Yeovilton - which was my real destination for the day.
So I disembarked at Yeovil Pen Mill to be greeted only by a flank of a breeze of desertedness which urged me to find my way into the open and be back on my own wheels as quickly as possible. So as I pushed my way out through doors I noticed a stand with free maps and free tour-guide booklets. I stopped and whizzed through, but queerly - there was nothing that referred to an Aircraft Museum - or Yeovilton. Although I did notice advertisements of a nature park at Yeovil (which was new to me) with pretty pictures of fauna.
I shoved myself forward in favour of fulfilling my mission for the day by shouting "ii kara" to myself numerous times in my head.
I was now just outside of the station premises where I was greeted by a narrow road with traffic flowing in both directions and a signal right where I was standing. There was no board that indicated anything related to Yeovilton (directly). So the logical decision was to wait for the cyclist who I noticed was riding towards me from the station. I excused myself and spoke to the man of my intentions. He said to me that the road was easier from the Town centre (which was the other station at Yeovil) and said he was headed in the direction. I asked if I could follow him and he was happy to help. He asked me where I was from and I happily told him that I was here from Bristol as I wanted to visit the Fleet Air Arm museum of HM Royal Navy and thus use this day of my Bank Holiday weekend well. We spoke as we rode through a narrow path which ran through what seemed like a tree covered hill blaring on one side with scrubs and trees growing parallel to the plain of road i.e. from the steep side of the hill and a heavy slope leading to a pit on the other side. We were away from cars and were surrounded by what seemed like a jungle all of a sudden. Little berries were fallen in the middle of the road and they seemed to have fallen from branches of a tree which were reaching out above us. Squirrels were running across picking on what looked like food to them and scratching about in general. The hares seemed bold enough not to run like the wind at sight of human life, although I'll bet they have grown experienced enough to have a fair estimate of 'safe distance'. I only saw one colourful and slightly unusual looking bird there though - and we rode right past her. And surprisingly soon, it seemed we were at civilisation when I saw steel barrier railings to only allow people and bicycles. And the friendly bloke goes "We're at town centre and you want to go down 'blah blah' road which is down that (pointed) direction and a right turn from the roundabout". I thanked him for his courtesy, he wished me all the best and I was on my way. I admit I did quite catch on that guidance which he provided me with as the names were unfamiliar and interpretations of pronounciations can be devious. His accent was different than Bristolian - which I am fairly accustomed to now.
The catch: I heard him say "Oldchester road". And thats what I was looking for as I rode past the Town Centre - smelling of aromas of Croissants from the bakeries in good business, frying hot-dogs and the myriad spring flowers from stalls on the road. The town centre was bustling with weekend shoppers, children and street artists. The general architechture had an olden day vibe, like a place with a real historical heritage.
It was overall a good vibe. I told myself that I must come back sometime with the objective of feeling Yeovil.
(to be continued)
