Magic Roundabouts

Whilst I was visiting my friend Jennie in Swindon, she took me to visit one of the well known locations in Swindon.

The fact that she was willing to do this riding pillion on the back of my motorbike shows a lot of trust, or craziness.

I will let the pictures highlight this one.

Imagine coming up to a sign like this at an intersection without being warned of it's nature first....

If you are anything like me, at this point you would be a little concerned. I of course had been warned, plus I had a local sitting behind me to give me advice, loudly.

This is what it actually looks like...

There are about 30 places within this intersection that you have to give way to other traffic also within the intersection. Oh, and with the direction of flow for the five small roundabouts, that big one in the middle, flows the other way (counterclockwise). To get to the other side, you can go all the way around, through the middle, or for the bold and skilled local you can do S bends and figure 8's all the way around and back again.

Or you can try this to see if you can make sense of it.

I was told on approach, "follow the sign to Stratton, there are two of them" (meant as two possible exits). With so many exits and possible destinations there were two signs like the first image on the approach to the roundabout(s), so I assumed the comment related to the two signs, yet neither of them mentioned Stratton. The signs for Stratton were at the exit options, not on the way in.

So at this point I am moments from entering this intersection with absolutely no idea which way I need to go or which exit I'm taking.

This prompted me to shout, "the signs don't mention Stratton, where the bloody hell am I going?" The response, a few (very unhelpful) seconds of laughter, followed by, "take the second left".

I was later to revisit this roundabout solo and had no problems negotiating my way now that I knew the way it was done, and which way I wanted to go.

Not satisfied with just one of these monstrosities, the English have built a second (bigger) one at Hemel Hempstead (which I found myself encountering later in my travels).

Wanting to be bigger and better (or scarier), the Hemel Hempstead version has not 5, but six tributary roads and mini roundabouts.

It is however a much less daunting intersection. Instead of 3 lanes of traffic throughout, there are only two, and the centre circle is actually a small hill covered with trees, and thus blocks out 2/3rds of the intersection from view, so it becomes a circuit of roundabouts rather than one enormous mess.

But seriously, how can this possibly be a good idea? Apparently it works (or at least is better than what was there previously). The locals know what to do, and most visitors are scared off by the approaching road signage.

I was told a funny story about the launch of the Swindon roundabout. At the start, instead of white lines, they marked out the lanes with safety cones to direct traffic and make sure it all worked. After a few weeks the locals seemed to have the hang of it, and the designers were happy the flow worked as planned. So they painted all the white lines and arrows and took the safety cones away.

That night it snowed, heavily, and the lines were covered and there was no safety cones to guide the way. I can only imagine the havoc at this point. 

The closest I know of in Australia is the Melbourne Haymarket Roundabout on Elizabeth street.

With 5 roads, 3 tramlines, and 3 pedestrian crossings. I always avoided this one when cycling into Melbourne to university.

Manifesto

Last year before I set off on my trip to Africa, I looked up the website of Robyn Scott, the author of Twenty Chickens for a Saddle (a great read about her family growing up in Botswana).

I was looking to see if she'd written another book, what I found is that she has much higher aspirations than being an author and is managing far more worthy projects. I also found her Manifesto, which I found very interesting, and being a very personal thing was not quite the same as how I would approach this, and so I was inspired to write my own.

(Check out Robyn's website for her Manifesto, and details of what else she is doing [http://robynscott.org]).

And now, the point of this post, here is my Manifesto, which took a long time to start, and months for me to complete to a standard I was happy with. And an awesome friend to make it look interesting.

Savoury Cheese Sauce on Toast (aka the rare Welsh bit)

After leaving Swindon I set off west skirting Bristol and on towards Wales. First I had to cross the Severn River Bridge. This is a toll bridge where you have pay to get into Wales, though people have suggested the toll should be higher to get out of Wales. 

Motorcycles often have reduced tolls, and in some cases are exempt altogether, as was the case here. However being exempt from the toll did not mean the guy at the toll booth boom gate controls would just open up and let me through. There was apparently a narrow gate through which motorcycles could pass, and presumably be counted, which had no gate. I would have to turn around, in the tight one lane toll area and go back (against and across the flow of a number of lanes of traffic) to the (poorly signed) place I was allowed to use if I wasn't going to pay their toll.

As I approached Cardiff I realised I had ridden off the map that was visible in my tank bag, however the edge of the M4 is not an ideal place to stop a bike to fiddle around opening bags and changing maps around. So on the vague memory I had of which part of Cardiff I wanted to get to, I guessed which exit to take, and then when I found somewhere suitable to stop, set up my ipad with the free sat nav program I was using (nav free) and realised that I had come two exits further than necessary, but Cardiff being pretty small, this was only going to mean an extra 5 minutes in town on top of the extra 5 minutes spent on the motorway.

I was visiting Kerry, a friend I met in Zanzibar last year at Rupert and Kelly's wedding. She is a fun, bubbly and friendly person and I was looking forward to catching up again. That evening Kerry jumped on the back of the motorbike for a ride up to the Castell Coch (a castle on a hill surrounded by forest), however the gate was shut, so we went to the Gwaelod Y Garth Inn nearby, which was our plan for after visiting the Castle.

There was a guy and his dog in the pub that looked like they both spent a lot of time there. In fact there was a sign above his seat declaring it to be reserved, and I assumed he was the named holder of this reserved domain. Every time he returned to his seat with a full pint, the dog would get himself off the floor, and nudge the guys leg, every time he would get a scratch on the ear, and he would nudge the leg again until he received a splash from the pint on the floor (about 10-15%), which he would lick up, then satisfied he would promptly lay down again near the fire and avoiding the renewed wet spot on the floor. The colour of the eyes of both man and dog suggested they partook of this activity on a basis more regular than was healthy for either of them.

The next day I set off into the centre of Cardiff to explore. One of the first things I headed for was the waterfront area and the Roald Dahl Plaza. I read a lot of his books when I was young, and hadn't realised he was of Welsh and Danish heritage. What I'd really gone to see however was the plaza, as it was for anyone who watched the first couple of seasons of Torchwood, the location of their secret underground headquarters.

 

Nearby was also a very large building dedicated to all things Doctor Who which I thought I'd have a look at. However I've never been a particularly big fan, and have only watched a few episodes, so paying £15 seemed a bit excessive, and I was happy to just take a picture of a full sized Dalek made from lego ...

And a Tardis replica outside, above the jetty, so if you were coming by boat you'd know that you were in the right place, in case the bright blue aircraft hangar sized building wasn't clear enough.

On my way back to the centre of town I passed a portable lighthouse, or more accurately termed, a lightship. I found this an interesting concept (which I have since seen repeated a few more times), as I thought the point of light houses was that they were constant, and could be relied upon to be in the same place to warn mariners of hazards and show the safe way to harbour. It was also not going to be doing much guiding to safety whilst in the harbour and attached to the dock. I can only imagine a seaman getting his ship safely into harbour, then seeing the light from the ship, and thinking, "Thank goodness you were there, or I'd never be able to tie myself up to the dock." Or could this be the marine version of the pied piper, and when he turns on his beacon, the ships all follow along merrily?

The arse view of the stone elephant was entirely accidental.

There was a big red brick cathedral that was in some way important to the locals, though not being a churchy kind of person, I always think, imagine how many useful houses could have been with all those bricks.

It does look pretty though, in an over bearing, excessive kind of way.

On the topic of overbearing and excessive though, I was in the land of castles (referring to Britain in general at this point), so I figured I'd take a look. I was once again hard pressed to justify paying the entrance fee, so I again satisfied myself with a few photos and left.

That night I joined Kerry for a couple of her classes. In addition to being a talented singer, she is also a personal trainer and does classes at a gym. I did an hour of pilates, followed by an hour of yoga, and was extra bendy and stretched after this. I was also rather sore for the next two days, but figured this was worth getting in some exercise.

From Cardiff I set off a short distance north into the Brecon Beacons to get a dose of the countryside and do some hiking. My jaunt into Wales was turning into a good dose of healthiness.

From this vantage I felt following this path would be a bit like Alice going down the rabbit hole.

After a few days of this, I needed to leave Wales and return to England. A couple of good friends (of UK origin, now living in Perth), were returning home for a couple of weeks to catch up with friends and show off their daughter.

Going from south to north Wales via London is not the most direct route, but when you are away from home and friends so long, it doesn't feel that much of a hardship. I managed to catch up with 6 good friends that week, one I hadn't seen since '07 when she was travelling around Australia. I also made a few new friends which was going to be helpful the following week when I went to the Isle of Man. One of the guys was also going and another had a sister who lived there.

A week of catch ups done, and I was now on my way to the Isle of Man, with a couple of days in north Wales before catching the ferry from Liverpool. With limited time I stuck to the Snowdonia mountains and the island of Anglesey.

(Unfortunately the photos for this period of time are only stored on a hard drive with a broken plug, and will be added at a later date once they can be recovered, along with any required explanations or stories).