Month: March 2022

The Red Lion, Earlswood, West Midlands

Pub #2484:

The run had gone well despite the pedestrian-UN-friendly track Google sent me down. When the Red Lion emerged about 5 minutes earlier than I thought it would I was pleased not only that there would be an extra 10-15 minutes to enjoy my cider but that it was, eh, not warm but not too cold to sit outside with it.

An electrician (or someone who arrived with a couple of other guys in an electrician contractor van) with neck tattoos covering one whole side and creeping up into his face creeped over and smacked his glass on the table and said something jovial but in that impenetrable Black Country dialect. “Dude. I did not get a fucking word of that.” His smile dropped slightly and he said, in almost Received Pronunciation, “sorry, mate, I thought you were someone else.”

“Thank God. I thought I was having a haemorrhage.” After a pause which told me he didn’t get a fucking word, he said something else in Brummie and made his way back to mates he seemed to know. Pity. I could probably have been convinced to have a session, here.

UK Shawarma, West Bromwich

Jackie spent a spare have day of her annual leave on some Jackie time Friday afternoon and when I checked the phone for messages had one from her at 3:45 saying that she just finished lunch so I would be fixing supper only for myself.

Instead, I bailed out of the bus home at UK Shawarma and picked up a #7. It was okay but the chilli sauce was a little sweet.

I feared digestive repercussions but it sat very well and was very surprising unsalty. There are a bunch of tables at the back and the place was packed and a steady stream of takeaway orders like mine kept turning. Friendly guys, too, so I see this as a regular haunt in future.

Rail Run #51: To Wolverhampton via Compton Lock

“This bridge replaced the original structure in 1974. The lock seen from here replaced a lock reputed to be the first built in the Midlands.”

The plan: run minimal mileage to count Coseley Station in the Rail Run Project, ride to Wolverhampton, then run the canals counter clockwise to the Compton Lock and head home from there.

Rationale: good mileage and new canal furniture to add to the map. Especially compelling is the Compton Lock which the fellow on Canal Boat Diaries insisted is the first of the narrow locks in the British canals system.

What went wrong?

I planned the route to Coseley Station to leave me about 5 minutes to change into dry kit (I sweat like someone who drinks heavily) then dicked around the house 5 minutes too long and was heading down the ramp to the platform as the doors were closing.

So, I would have no rest after an initial 5 miler at pace. Shit. But, the sun was up and the wind with me and I decided to make my way out to the canal by dead reckoning.

It went surprisingly well except for the water tossed on the ‘first lock of its sort’ claim. The canals sections of the run are covered in a separate post.

I overshot the turn to Wolverhampton Station and had to loop back around a mile or so out of my way. Still sticking with dead reckoning, I discovered the above footpath adjacent to the rails and, through dumb luck, they carried me almost directly to my target. Eventual success!

Compton Lock to Wolverhampton Top Lock

The canal run write ups are as tedious to write as they are to read (sorry about that, Chief). For this one, the map is linked to the picture of the map (above) with the colour coded pushpins for bridges, locks, graffiti, etc clearly marked (all the photos are there and the ones I didn’t think I’d necessarily want to see again bunched into galleries in this post).

My path joined the Staffordshire & Worcestershire Canal’s at Compton Bridge, above. There is a plaque on the bridge which casts some shade on the idea that the first ever narrow canal is the (still fab) Compton Lock, here:

From the junction with the Birmingham Main Line to the Wolverhampton City Centre there is a flight of 21 locks, some of which were atmospheric:

Others sported graffiti or interesting hazard markings:

There was the obligatory Beatles earworm prompt (Number 9 Number 9 Number 9 Number 9 …):

The Wolves Top Lock has a house (the toll keepers?) and a marker:

And, the other locks did nothing for me but here they are if you are that sort of anorak:

There were also some impressive bridges and other structures. Tettenhall Old Bridge put the new bridge to shame:

These older two rail viaducts are massive:

There’s a low head space tunnel under another set of rail bridges:

The junction between the two canals is signposted…”I went down to the crossroads,” was the earworm that Revolution 9 later replaced:

And, finally, some interesting weirs that also served as footbridges were served up in the first few steps beside the waters:

And, to finish off, here are the other pics from this run:

Rail Run #50 To Earlswood

Outrageously busy all week, Friday seemed to pick up speed all day. Skipping lunch breaks to get on top of things helped me justify slipping away just after 3:30 and I used the Sun to keep my shadow mostly in the quadrant defined by due left (approximately bearing south) and straight ahead (more-or-less heading east). A couple of familiar landmarks along the way got me as far as Whitlock’s End Station but my target for the day — Earlswood Station — was in unknown territory. I fired up Google Maps and looked for a pub close enough to allow me to enjoy a pint and still make the 5:55 toward Kidderminster.

The pub was the Red Lion and the route the app sent me along was about 75% narrow country lanes with no pavement and little verge. Shit. The going was slower than planned but the Lion was splendid and, before the pavement yielded to minimal, soft verge I spotted two postbox pillars capped with knitted postbox cozies. Posh people are weird.

The traffic from the pub was lighter and less aggressive than the traffic to the pub and the verge on the last half mile was firm and had a worn path in it allowing a little more attention to be paid to the country side.

With this station, the only three termini remaining on this effort are Wolverhampton Station, Dorridge Station, and Coventry Station. I’ll probably do Wolves tomorrow and Coventry, the longest slog, in a few weeks once the boss’ cat has her kittens (they live near the station).

This is moving along pretty well and the main conceit — that it will force me to cover new territory — seems valid.

Date Palms

Not a euphemism for solo workouts of a lascivious nature, I am actually growing some palms from date pips. Hopefully I can keep them dwarfed and free of infection but bonsai methods will make the pneumatodes especially susceptible to fungi.

The first green shoots sprung from roots and not from the seeds in March (the seeds hanging off the side of this new structure):

2022 Commute #9

The trams are down, again, so I’m doing more of my commutes with partial runs. With my big-boy-clothes stashed at the labs left behind for last night’s effort, I was compelled to run in but didn’t plan a proper, countable commute run until I was informed a carpenter needed access to the FTICR lab early. Not at any specific time, just early. So, I waddled out of the house and through the barely waking West Brom town centre and dragged my ass in just in time to meet the carpenter who told me he’d be back mid-afternoon to do the work.

But, it is warmer than it has been and Brum is in bloom so I’ll set the whinging aside for now. 9 miles, this route, and 1 h 15 min including taking a moment or two to fertilize some daffodils along the canal banks.

RR #49 from Dudley Port

The first day back to work after a long weekend is exhausting but I really wanted to knock out the Dudley Port Station Rail Run and, with the trams shut down for the 3rd time in less than a year, I caught the Wolverhampton train up there and slowly soldiered through it.

Nice afternoon out. Low 60s Fahrenheit, sunny, couples and other families out enjoying the waterside. Still home just after 6 but in bed by 9 (and still quite sore from the last weekend of house physical improvements.

The Fountain, Tipton

Pub #2483:

A good week of runs or a week of good runs…either way it seemed spoiled by the floundering/foundering and frankly flailing effort put in Sunday. What could make up for this shameful effort more so that a beer?

I entered the Fountain to find a group of four lads squidged together in front of the bar. The only glasses were empty and the barkeep was filling a Doom Bar which she handed over to someone off toward Stage Right. Then, it was my turn because these boys were just hanging out, in the way. For fuck sake.

Out by the canal, a woman tried to entertain her baby with some video on her phone and every time the kid took the phone he’d look at it for a little less than a minute and throw it on the ground. He should join those dickheads in the way at the bar.