"My Holiday Work"

Our convoy left at 5-30 a.m. In fact it was the fastest passage I have made through the Canal. Of course we were lucky. Some may take two days, as certain convoys have to anchor in the Bitter Lakes. There were thirty homeward-bound ships there when we passed through. Our troops control the two ferries, and you see lots of our troops and camps around Ismalia. On the whole it was quiet when we passed".

The ship is now on charter for six months to a New Zealand firm. After discharging part cargo at Sydney, she left there on 15th January to complete discharge at Newcastle, N.S.W., which is less than one day's steaming away. Completion of discharging and loading part cargo there took till 26th February, and then she went back to Sydney to complete loading. This took a further 18 days, and she finally left on 15th March for Lyttleton, where she arrived on 22nd March.

The chance remark at lunch towards the end of the Easter Term that the author intended to cycle from York to Cambridge in one day and thence on the succeeding day to Hastings, brought forth the inevitable rhetoric : "Do you really think you will get there?" "What, on that old bike?" Being rhetorical, these questions did not require an answer, but some qualification was necessary to the presumed answer, "Yes". The first proviso concerned the strength and direction of the wind, the second the absence of mechanical trouble. Now, the wind prior to the day of departure had been steadily from the north, as the athletes and spectators on Sports Day well knew, and by good fortune this direction with a quantity of West in it persisted, and so it happened that the perpetrator of this ride, or the victim, or what you will (at any rate, the author), set out at 6 a.m. on a cold and frosty morning and set his front wheel on the road to Selby. The wind struck across and, while seeming to oppose, was in fact not unhelpful. 14f miles to Selby in exactly one hour, 19-f to Doncaster and 711 to just outside Bawtry by 8-23 a.m., where a roadside café produced a most welcome plate of bacon and eggs and three cups of really hot tea. After leaving the main road at Bawtry, in order to keep to the flatter country, Gainsborough (12-f miles) and Lincoln (19 miles) were the next stages, and Lincoln was reached at 12-8 p.m.

Up to this point, and after deducting time spent in resting and eating, the riding time was 5 hours 36 minutes for a total of 72 miles, or an average speed of just under 13 m.p.h.

After Lincoln the road ascended a long and .tedious hill and went on its dreary way to Sleaford and Bourn in long ups and downs, there being one such wave in every mile. The 35 miles to Bourn took 37

three hours, which made an average speed of just under 12 m.p.h.such is the effect of an undulating landscape. The ups of these waves, however, gave the author a chance of reflecting on many things concerning travellers and above all on the mysteries of the sign-post and milestones.

Now who are the authorities who can put up two sign-posts within a mile of each other which read "Lincoln 7; Sleaford 10" and

"Lincoln 61-; Sleaford 10", the latter being the further from Lincoln? It is a puzzle and only one of many puzzles, all of which are a source of amusement to the motorist and of great depression to the traveller on two wheels or two feet. In France they order these things better, if not too well, for all roads except the most humble have not merely kilometre stones, but every tenth of a kilometre (for the unmathematical, 100 metres) there is a little stone standing clearly above the grass for all to see. In this country milestones are a rarity and are often so hidden in the grass verge as to be invisible or illegible. Now it may be thought that this matter is of little consequence; but for a cyclist who has the (mistaken?) ambition to cycle 150 miles in a day the passage of milestones is as important as the passage of time.

After Bourn and Peterborough came Farcett and the only wrong turning of the day, which gave the author one extra mile. Then Ramsey on the fascinating fenland of black earth and dikes, and presently St. Ives (7-30 p.m.). From St. Ives to Cambridge was 13 miles, of which 11 miles were straight. Now the last 15 miles or so were done with lights on and the possession of a dynamo set provided yet another soliloquy. A situation might easily arise after dark in which the rider desires to look at his watch to discover the time. Now, with a dynamo and no torch or matches, how is he to do it? He may risk his neck by leaning over the handlebars while on the move and hold his wrist in front of the front lamp—a procedure not entirely to be recommended—or he may dismount, lift the rear wheel from the road and with one foot spin the wheel and, still holding the wheel off the road, hold his watch in front of the front lamp. Simple as this may sound it is in practice well nigh impossible, but has one thing to commend it : it will discourage the rider from being too timeconscious.

For what happens? The rider seizes the cross-bar near the saddle, lifts—and, dear reader, do not forget those heavy saddle-bags which are a necessity for the touring cyclist—he spins the back wheel and gently leans forward holding his balance. At this point one of four things will happen; first, the wheel will have stopped turning before he sees his watch; second, he may inadvertently lower the back wheel to the road with similar results; third, and very probably, the bicycle with rider on top will collapse in a blaspheming heap and in the mêlée all thoughts of time will have vanished from the rider's head; and fourth, and most improbably, he will be successful. 38

Another entertaining situation arose along those 11 straight miles into Cambridge. It is known that drivers of cars will usually dip their headlights when approaching another car, which promptly returns the compliment. But does the driver of a car dip his headlights when approaching a cyclist? Oh dear, no; probably because the cyclist cannot reciprocate, though his need is the greater, in view of the weakness of his single light. The author of this article, who for reasons of security must remain anonymous, developed a retaliation which proved remarkably successful. On the approach of a dazzler, and having determined that the road behind him was clear, the author wobbled precariously into the middle of the road in front of the on-coming car; result : headlights dimmed immediately and a very quick return to the correct side of the road. Simple but effective.

Cambridge at 8-30 p.m. and heaven. A total of 160 miles in 141 hours, including rests, makes a riding average of about 13 m.p.h.

After a day's rest in Cambridge a slightly less early start was made for Hastings and alas ! "the best-laid schemes of mice and men gang aft a-gley", for the wind was now no longer North-West but due South and straight in the face. Each mile seemed like two, every ascent had to be walked, every down-hill stretch had to be pedalled— lack, lack-a-day. Saffron Walden, Thaxtead, Great Dunmow, Chipping Ongar, Brentwood, Tilbury Ferry. Across the ferry to Gravesend and on the road again at 3 p.m. Then the few weary miles to Rochester and the few very, very weary miles to Maidstone. By this time it was raining and the time was 4-55 p.m., a truly depressing record for the 80 miles travelled.

Noting that the 7 miles from Rochester to Maidstone had taken exactly 1+ hours, the author rightly decided to bite the dust and, relinquishing his machine, to avail himself of the accommodating local bus company which had the foresight to have a Hastings bus on the point of departure. And so to bed; the only sequel being the rather ironic fact that two days later, after returning by bus to Maidstone and retrieving his bicycle, the author took three hours for the hilly ride to Hastings, which was only some 20 minutes more than the door to door trip by the bus.

To recapitulate, the whole journey was 273 miles and it took one long day, one shorter day and an afternoon, and it gave a great deal of pleasure and more exercise.

Post scriptum. Writing at Hastings, the author has now the anticipation of a return ride of similar length and intends to cheat to the extent of taking the train from King's Cross to Hitch in. 39