Uncle Phil - Ireland 2010 Day 11

Ireland 2010

Day 11

June 20

I wake up with a bit of sadness this morning, because by the end of the day it will just be me and a hotel room. But Albert is his usual stoic self and just tells me suck it up and get over it. One would think that he has a heart of steel but then I can't be too judgmental - I don't have stand around all the time in a medieval soup can.

After a little exploration of the maze of passageways in the hotel, I find a short cut out the back door to where the VFR is parked. This will make toting my stuff down a lot easier. Running a labyrinth with a lot of gear in your hands can be a bit tricky at times.

Once I exit the building, I notice this really neat kit car parked just outside the door. I've never seen one quite like it and it looks like it would be a real hoot to drive. But since I don't think the owner would appreciate me doing that, I take a hall pass on the idea.

The poor VFR has survived another night outside, and I tell her -

"Don't worry, your days of service to this mad man are about to end. Just a ride today, then you are back at the shop early tomorrow."

With this said, her shock seems to uplift a bit and I could swear that I hear a note of relief from her exhaust.

Once I get her packed up, I head back to the room since I am way early before the others are ready to go. Our plan is to head back to the Lower Lode this morning for final goodbyes, then off the Oxford and then London. Time passes quickly enough and soon our crew is on the road again.

There appears to be a few heads that have aches this morning at the Lower Lode, but I can't image why based on the previous evening's events. But then some things are beyond medical science...

I see Mike with some new sunglasses that he has won, and I prevail upon him not to remove the tag. I tell him -

"It adds a certain bit of style to your appearance."

I can't help but think of the old country music star Minnie Pearl who always wore the price tag on her hat as part of her gig.

Too soon, we are ready to go and I will be leaving many of my UK friends - old and new - behind. But life never stops for anyone so it has to be lived and enjoyed as the hand is played.

Steve leads out with me close behind, Luc and Annie after me, and Derek and Jackie bringing up the tail gunner position.

Traffic is a little heavy as we make our way in to the village of Burford. But Steve has a plan in mind.

Just up the street a bit is a lovely cafe that has some pretty serious pastries. It is right next to the Highway Inn, the oldest inn in Burford. While we are busy destroying the sweet feast before us, Steve gives us some details about what we will be seeing in Oxford.

But the talk does not have much effect on the destruction before us as most plates are cleaned of all the evidence.

With enough sugar to fortify us for a force march safely stowed away, we hit the road again toward Oxford.

Soon Steve guides us through the old streets of Oxford and finds a place for us to park our trusty steeds.

As we make our way into Oxford, we pass the Martyrs' Memorial. It was finished in 1843 to commemorate a group of 16th century men known as the 'Oxford Martyrs', men who paid the ultimate price for resisting the church at Rome. The inscription on the base reads -

"To the Glory of God, and in grateful commemoration of His servants, Thomas Cranmer, Nicholas Ridley, Hugh Latimer, Prelates of the Church Of England, who near this spot yielded their bodies to be burned, bearing witness to the sacred truths which they had affirmed and maintained against the errors of the Church of Rome, and rejoicing that to them it was given not only to believe in Christ, but also to suffer for His sake; this monument was erected by public subscription in the year of our Lord God, MDCCCXLI"

Just a bit up the street is the actual site where the men were burned for their beliefs, as noted on this engraved stone.

And as we look over into the street, we see the exact spot marked in the pavement where nearby people casually sit and enjoy a Sunday refreshment. In my mind, I find it hard to reconcile the present setting with the events that transpired that day on October 16, 1555 though it has been over 450 years since then. I can only conclude that men who are willing to perish for their faith peacefully, gladly and with no resistance are a rare breed indeed.

As we move on, I am fascinated by the various turrets and magnificent structures which ever way I look. Although some are of later construction, I find it impossible to tell the really old from the not so really old.

As we continue, we pass one of the entrances to Balliol College, the largest and one of the oldest colleges in Oxford. It was established in 1263, a couple of hundred years before Columbus was even a gleam in his daddy's eye.

I see these signs for a paid walking tour, but I am personally convinced that the man we are following will do a more excellent job. He is doing it out of kindness and friendship, not to pick up a few extra bucks. A man's motivation always determines the final result in most endeavors.

As we follow our intrepid guide into the bowels of this learned city, I can't help but notice that Steve is even wearing the correctly labeled suspenders.

As we enjoy the beautiful day, we pass by the Sheldonian Theatre. It was built in 1668 from a design created by Christopher Wren, one of the most famous English architects. It was named after Gilbert Sheldon, who was Chancellor of the University at the time the construction was funded.

Steve then leads us into the old school quadrangle which gives us view of the Old Bodleian Library. It is known informally as "The Bod", and was opened in 1602 by Thomas Bodley with a collection of 2,000 books. In 1610, Bodley made an agreement with the Stationers' Company in London to put a copy of every book registered with them in the library (nowadays, each book copyrighted must be deposited). Today, there are 9 million items on it's voluminous shelves.

While we are in the quadrangle, a neighborly passerby offers to test a camera to see if will stand up to the punishment. My personal suspicion is that the only reason it does not explode is because of the two lovely roses amongst the three ugly thorns somehow offsets the damage.

On another side of the quadrangle is the tower of the five orders. It is named such because it was constructed with columns in the style of each of the five orders of classical architecture - Doric, Tuscan, Ionic, Corinthian and Composite. It's a relatively new construction, having been built around 1613.

As we walk into the Radcliffe Square, we see the lovely Radcliffe Camera . It has nothing to do with photography at all, but was built originally as a science library and reading room. The word 'camera' in this usage simply means 'room'.

Also, from the square we get a lovely view of the University Church of St Mary the Virgin. It is the largest of Oxford's parish churches and the center from which the University of Oxford grew. But it shares a sad bit of history with the Oxford Martyrs as part of each of their trials were held within its walls.

As I look in another direction, I see the ornate towers of the All Souls College. It has a fascinating history of currently having no undergraduates and a very difficult entrance exam to become a academic member.

Soon we drift away from the lofty halls of academic exertion and into an area that mere mortals can relate to - a local market area where the biggest cranial activity is perhaps determining the proper price of local turnips.

It reminds me a lot of the Arcade back in Nashville, which was an innovation for its time when it was built back in 1902.

And of course Luc immediately gravitates to the place that holds his primary interest.

As we leave the market, we spot a street musician on the opposite corner. Steve lets us know that he is a regular of the area and he actually quite good. But the dog sings a bit off key when asked to join into the melody making.

We pass by St. Michael at the North Gate, the oldest building in Oxford. The original tower was completed somewhere around 1040. It also has a connection with the Oxford Martyrs, as they were imprisoned in nearby Bocardo Prison.

Further along are the city council offices, which look like a castle to me. Perhaps this sturdy structure is necessary to protect the politicians within from the citizens without.

Just past the council offices is the old Oxford Prison which is now a hotel. I guess it made it convenient if the citizens did manage to get to the politicians, lock up was not too far away.

I notice behind is a marker that denotes where John Wesley , the famous Methodist preached. It is the location of the first Methodist meeting house in Oxford.

But the clock waits for no one, and I must get back to London and Luc and Annie need to get back to Belgium. So we make our way back to our ever faithful, waiting iron horses.

Steve leads the way out of Oxford to a nearby petrol station where we can all get fuel for our final dashes. Like many people I meet in my travels, I have really enjoyed Steve's company and look forward to spending time with him again somewhere down the road. Since he'll be splitting off to head to his house just down the road, we say our goodbyes, and I get in one more bear hug.

This part of the trip I was not really looking forward to originally because I figured I would be making my own way back into London. But Derek and Jackie have graciously decided to guide me back to my hotel and plan on giving me a little more opportunity to see part of England's rich history in the process. Soon Luc and Annie break off onto M25 to head for the ferry that will take them over the Channel. We wave good bye, and then another set of friends disappear from sight - but not from my heart.

There is nothing that compares to riding with folks that have local knowledge. It is a real blessing just to be able to follow their taillights through the back streets.

Derek guides into what appears to be a good place to park our bikes. The Hampton Court Palace and Gardens are near by, which will be a real treat to see. Little do I realize that on the walk to them, I will be taking a stroll through the neighborhood of some of the most well known Brits - at least to me. Michael Faraday, was a chemist and physicist who discovered major insights into the fields of electromagnetism and electrochemistry. Since I once studied to be an engineer, I am very familiar with his contributions to the creation of the electric motor and other significant achievements.

Next is the home of one the outstanding architects of all time - Sir Christopher Wren. His work in rebuilding London after the great fire of 1666 (fifty one churches were rebuilt by him) stands as a testimony to his efforts. The St. Paul's Cathedral in London is often considered his masterwork. We passed some of his work in Oxford, the Sheldonian Theatre, earlier in the day.

Next comes a plaque marking the site of the former Toy Inn, built for no less than Oliver Cromwell and his troops around 1630.

Soon we arrive at the Hampton Court Palace & Gardens, a fairyland like place originally brought into its glory by Thomas Wolsey. He was soon to become a cardinal and Lord Chancellor of London under the reign of King Henry VIII. But in 1528, King VIII decided that it would be better if he owned it so Wosley was relieved of the property in short order.

King Henry then embarked on his building additions to Hampton, and by the time he finished in 1540, it was said that the palace was one of the most modern, sophisticated and magnificent in all of England.

The palace property sits alongside of a lovely section of the Thames River, as it winds its way through the city of London.

This just one fine example of the ornate craftsmanship that went into the building of this lovely place.

As we walk along the river walk, we see this group of dancers, which are a historical enactment group of sorts. With my sore knee bothering me a bit, I'm amazed at the agility and dexterity of some of the older gentlemen. But at this late stage, I don't think I'll take up dancing to improve mine.

Derek knows of a lovely cafe down by the river, so we head that way. It's a beautiful day and wonderful spot to enjoy lunch with my excellent company. When the bill comes, I quickly confiscate it and tell them -

"It's the least I can do after you taking the time and trouble to guide me in. Thank you so very much."

After much protestation, they realize arguing with a determined hillbilly is a futile exercise, so they let me have the privilege.

Unfortunately, when we arrive back at the bikes, the local constabulary have not been so kind to us. I see a little yellow packet that will cost me about seventy five bucks. It seems that we have passed the permissible parking deadline of 4:30 PM which is cleverly noted on a small sign down the road and this is our reward for doing so. Derek feels bad about it and insists on paying for mine. I tell him -

"No way, Derek, I should be paying for yours. You would not be in this position if you hadn't been taking me around. I'll just take care of it when I get back to AboutTown."

Soon we are working our way back through the London streets to Wandsworth and the Holiday Inn Express that I have booked for the next two nights. Since I need to return the VFR with a full tank, Derek knows just the place and I accomplish this mission.

When we get the hotel, I realize from here on out I am basically on my own. But I am thankful that once again my Brit friends have taken excellent care of me and shown me kindnesses far above what I deserve. They need to be getting home, so I give them both big hugs and watch as they disappear. When I go inside to check in, I ask the clerk where would be the best place to park the bike and he shows me a place right outside where they can keep an eye on it. Back in room again, I call Sharyn to see how things are sorting out. I have been calling as much as the time differences and cell signals will allow. But this time I can hear the heartache in her voice as her surgery has been postponed due to suspicion that she has cardiac problems. And here I am far, far away and nothing that I can do. I encourage her as much as I can but my heart is aching really bad at this point. After I hang up, I know the the best thing that I can do is go for a walk to let my mind sort things out.

Since I need to figure out exactly how to get back to AboutTown, I now have a purpose for my walk. It's close by, but with all the one way streets and roundabouts in the area, I want to walk it before I ride it. So with a good idea as to where I need to go, I strike out on foot.

A jet flies overhead and I realize just how much I miss home. But in a couple of days I will be on one of those big birds and be back at my beloved Holler and beside my lovely wife.

I determine that my best path will be around this big roundabout with a funny looking sculpture in the middle. Looks like to me that somebody got quite happy with a metal bender and torch, but one man's art is another man's junk.

With the route now determined, I think about trying to find a nice restaurant nearby. But with the latest news from Sharyn, I'm just not into dealing with people right now. I find a nearby Hudson's, pick a sandwich and a few things and head back to my room. Once I dispatch the fixins, the accumulated fatigue of the trip begins to settle in. I originally had scheduled an extra night in London so Sharyn and I could spend tomorrow doing a little sightseeing. With all of the hassles I had with trying to change my flights on Continental, I just left them so I will have an extra day just chill - which is probably not a bad thing given my prior flying experience with Sharyn. The lights go out early and it does not take me long to reach my destination.