June 8, 2022
Washingborough to Hemswell Antiques Centre
via Saxilby and Torksey Car Boot
Each Wednesday at the very respectable time of noon, a car boot sale starts in a village called Torsey, which is not too far from my dauhter's home in Saxilby. Armed with my Senior Rail Card that gives me 30 percent off, I ride from Dave's along the path to Lincoln and get a train at 11:22.
Unfortunately Ruby is busy, so I leave the Victorian, grey-brick station in Saxilby at just gone 11:30, ride past a guy who's almost finished painting a colourful, rail-themed mural and take the first left turn that's next to the village hall. It's a lane that weaves through open countryside to Torksey.
It's about a 30-minute ride to the field to the south of the village where the car boot is held and I'm hoping to find at least one old brass light fitting that will screw onto a table lamp - I have about six of them. You never know what you'll find at these places.
It's a quid to enter and my bike gets locked to the tall, wire fence where a guy stands at a booth and collects the cash.
There are about 10 rows, each with about 20 vendors and most seem to focus on one type of thing - either plants, stuffed toys, clothing, cleaning products and curious, or just plain old junk that they're tired of having clutter up their garage or spare room.
One vendor tells me he saw me (with Dave) yesterday in Scothern's garden centre cafe, recognising me from the Black Sheep cycling shirt. He says he used to run a pub and sold a lot of the brew. It's a small world.
Within a few miutes of walking around I've bought a summer shirt for just a quid and begin to ponder getting a 100-year-old, cast iron hopper head. It's obviously a heavy lump, but it'd be a nice addition to Ruby's collection - about half a dozen got passed on after I split up from her mother. Ruby plans to use them, just as I did, as wall-mounted planters once they've had a coat of paint.
I bite the bullet and pay three quid for it, which is something of a bargain. With a bit of luck it'll fit inside my canvas saddlebag OK.
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Nobody has any old threaded bulb holders for a table lamp, and I rest at a food stall and get a burger and a can of Barr's soda. A man about my age sits on the stool next to me and starts chatting about life. I detect a Norfolk accent and he's impressed, as he left the county when he was still young. He tells me he's a retired prison warden and spent 40 years in the service, during which he crossed paths with notorious criminals like the vicious Kray twins and serial killer Peter Sutcliffe. He seems to be very relieved to have retired, but complains about a nasty ex-wife.
As I sit there listening, it seems like a good idea to ride north to a big antiques centre on the off chance there's some threaded brass bulb holders for sale there. It's housed in a few former barracks of an old RAF base near a village called Hemswell Cliff and claims to be one of the biggest antiques centres in Europe.
My detailed OS map shows rural lanes to follow - ones I know pretty well - and it's a decent day for a ride. Besides, I've no pressing engagements.
Ominous clouds lurk over the escarpment as I make my way east in a beeline through Sturton to Ingham, and drops of rain duly start to wet the road just as I enter the village, which I know has a pub - The Black Horse - and is where I pedal fast to seek shelter.
My luck is out as it's closed today and the only spot that looks a bit dry is under a large tree near the village green. Thankfully it's just a short downpour that last under 10 minutes, then the sun comes back out.
I get to the foot of the escarpment and ride up it for about 100 metres before deciding to get off and push. My energy is low and it's a humid day. There's no real rush.
At the top I turn north along what's called Middle Street, but which also goes by the less personal B1398. It's a narrow road that has more than it's ideal share of cars, which zip close by me at a decent speed. It's stressful.
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There are three, two-storey blocks at Hemswell packed with different sellers, but none of them have bulb holders. I console myself with a wedge of warm apple pie and custard in the cafe before heading back.
Instead of risking my life on Middle Street, I drop down from Dog Kennel Road to Coachroad Hill where it crosses the escarpment's edge, heading roughly to a village called Glentworth. It's tiny place and my route skims it's northern edge and takes me west to Upton.
The road towards Saxilby is OK and takes me through a few one-street places such as Kexby, Willingham, Normanby and Stow.
Ruby is home and likes the hopper head that I've been hauling around all afternoon, but she has a parents' meeting very soon and as we chat the first of the women arrive. The kitchen is soon full of four or five chatting mothers and I leave to get the train back to Lincoln.
Ruby says that if I go across the playing field I may see the boys there, but they're not. However, as I get to the train station there dad's van is sat in the parking area and they're all sat inside eating fish and chips. It caps a nice day, but I feel whacked out.
Today's ride: 50 km (31 miles)
Total: 1,054 km (655 miles)
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