To Lincoln

August 10, 2024

Rest day! We’ve got an easy half mile ride to the Skipton station where we’ll catch the train to Lincoln, and then a less easy half mile from that station to our next hotel once we get there. We’ve booked a three legged journey with transfers in Leeds and Doncaster, arriving at 12:44. Rachael’s booked us at a restaurant for lunch, where we’ll hang out until our room is ready.

The first leg is a snap. We bike down early because I have to pick up physical tickets for the journey from Leeds to Lincoln (but not the first leg, which we got scannable tickets for). It’s overcast and feels like it could drizzle soon, but we stay dry and have no problem collecting our tickets. Were on the platform waiting for our departure nearly a half hour early.

Leaving Skipton. It looked like it might rain a half hour ago, but it’s lightened up.

The train we’ve booked originates here and there aren’t many folks getting on so there’s no issue with getting aboard. We’ve the only bikes, so we just lean the bikes against the flattened seats by the wall of the train without removing the panniers. As we move south the train starts filling up and at one stop a guy with a bike shows up and needs to share the space with us. I reshuffle ours and remove a couple of panniers and then he leans his against mine and then cinches them all up with a seatbelt like strap I hadn’t noticed was there so they won’t fall over.

Further on another couple boards and Rachael strikes up a chat with them. They’re on their way to London for some sort of getaway and concerned about it because they’ve heard their train will be delayed.

On the train to Leeds. Our bikes and one other are leaning against the wall behind Rachael. Two others boarded at a later stop and their owners are just standing up holding them in the aisle.

Leeds is of course a much larger and busier place, with many arrival and departure platforms. Our next train stops at Doncaster, but that’s not its final destination so we figure out which train is probably ours by its departure time: it’s to the Kings Cross station in London. The platform hasn’t been announced yet though, even though it is described as on time and departs in half an hour.

I walk over to the information desk to confirm that’s our train, and am told it is but that in spite of what the departure board says it’s been delayed. When I go back and look at the departure board again I see something I hadn’t noticed before: there’s an earlier train to Kings Cross that’s due to leave any minute that hasn’t been assigned a platform yet either; and a still earlier one that’s overdue by a half hour already. So something’s gone wrong. This must be the delay the couple on the last train were fretting over.

Leeds is the hub of a very complex rail network with lines radiating everywhere. I browse rhe schedules to see if there might be some other way to get to Lincoln and am surprised to see that there’s a direct train to there that leaves in fifteen minutes - no transfer even! Perfect. I rush back to the information desk and he confirms that we can just hop on without reticketing for a changed itinerary, so we rush over there to join the others waiting for departure. The train is already in station being cleaned, and they’re just waiting for the doors to open.

It’s a surprising scene. The entire platform is crammed with 100 to 150 or more people lined up two deep for the whole length of the train. It will become apparent soon that these are all folks like ourselves, trying to get south because the Kings Cross service is down. Still later we’ll learn that there’s been a major mechanical issue, a failure with the overhead line apparently.

So boarding is a complete madhouse. We let most of the other folks rush in first rather than try to wedge in among them with our bikes; but it’s SRO by the time Rachael boards. There’s a scare when it looks like I won’t be able to board too and I’m just about to holler to Rachael to meet me at the hotel later when I manage to get in somehow - and then so do three others. A completely crazy scene. We spend the first half hour standing, Rachael leaning against a wall with her bike leaning against her, and me standing in the center with my bike in front of me and balanced against hers, surrounded by other folks standing and crowding us on all sides. It’s awkward, uncomfortable, and we feel every swerve and jerk of the train.

When we approach Wakefield there’s an announcement that folks trying to get to London could get off here and pick a more direct train that leaves soon. Many elect this option, and afterwards the pressure has eased up some. We’re still standing, but there’s more room to maneuver now. Then there’s a second big exodus at Sheffield, and suddenly seats free up and we can sit for the final hour to Lincoln.

The route through Sheffield doesn’t involve a layover, but it’s a longer distance than the one we booked through Doncaster. As a result it’s just after one when we arrive in Lincoln so we’re fifteen minutes late for our reservation when we pull up to Wildwood. It’s only a flat quarter mile away, but we’re held up when I throw my chain as soon as we start up; and surprisingly it happens again as we pull up to the restaurant and I enter needing to wash the grease off my hands.

We’re fast eaters, so by two we’re ready to head up to our hotel. It’s attached to a cafe, so if the room’s not ready yet we’ll just hang out there until it is. It’s right up the street the restaurant is on, Market Street, only about five blocks away; but the entire distance gets pushed - first because Market street is dense with shoppers and tourists, and then because the now renamed street is surfaced with bricks and is much too steep to bike. It’s like we’re back in Yorkshire again.

On High Street, with Lincoln’s famous cathedral poking up ahead.

We’ve wondered many times what possessed us to book a place whose address is on Steep Hill Street.

Fortunately our room is only about a third of the way up Steep Hill Street. It looks just as bad if we’d had to continue on.

There’s only one key to our new digs, so I hang around until she’s gotten a walk in and then go out on my own - but don’t take the key with me, for reasons that escape me now. I’ll just give her a call to let me in when I return. I climb a few blocks up to the crown of Castle Hill, and when I look right toward the cathedral I decide I need to start there. And that’s where I stay. One of the oldest and largest cathedrals in Europe, it’s a stunning thing that compels you to keep looking and seeing new and wonderful details. And we’re seeing it at a privileged time, with the restoration of its western facade finally complete - apparently it’s been under scaffolding for many years and was finally exposed again just two years ago.

I spend a lot of time just staring at the facade, and then when I move to go inside I see that there’s an Evensong service with a choir due to start in a half hour. I’ve got the time and think I’d enjoy hearing a choir in this majestic space, so after looking around the interior a bit I take a seat in a pew and wait. While I’m waiting though I pull out the phone to silence it and see that the charge is down to 11%. Crap. That blows the plan to stay for the service, because if the phone dies I’ll have no way to contact Rachael to let me in to our apartment. I make my excuses to the usher who admitted me and rush down Steep Hill Street back to our room.

So, it’s been more of an adventure today than we anticipated, but we’re in. But all’s well that ends well, as much as we know anyway. What we don’t know about can’t trouble us - yet.

Castle Square, and the Exchequer Gate to the Cathedral district.

The massive Lincoln Cathedral is a wonder to behold. Begun in 1072 under the authority of William the Conquerer, it was at one time the tallest building in Europe.

It’s a gift to see its recently restored western facade in all its glory. The longer and closer you look, the more there is to see.

The two Old Testament friezes are especially remarkable. Some of the panels are painstakingly restored originals, and others are recreations to replace the more damaged ones that have been moved to a museum.

The grotesque artwork here is fantastic. Its graphic enough to convince those tempted into sin to think again.

The vast interior would be worth many shots here too, but better ones than I’d come up with are available if you look.

So, no Evensong service for me unless I want to risk getting locked out. I do have time to stop for a quick shot of the castle though.

Today's ride: 1 mile (2 km)
Total: 3,181 miles (5,119 km)

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Graham FinchI can suggest a couple of pubs if you're still there... The Strugglers is one of my faves!

It's not very far from your room.
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3 months ago

Bob DistelbergCliffhanger. I hear ominous music playing in the background.
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3 months ago

Scott AndersonTo Bob DistelbergYup. Keep ‘em guessing.
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3 months ago