Re: Bob's Bits.

Entry:-240415
Interesting outing today, left the car at home and took the bus to Worksop. It took over an hour to wind it's way round country roads and housing estates. After enjoying some lunch; Greggs style, I picked up the towpath running alongside the Chesterfield Canal and followed the six mile route to Kiverton Park railway station.



The weather was sunny and warm, and once I had left the hustle and bustle of the town, I took the time to reflect....



The walk was slightly uphill and for navigation of the canal, I lost count of the number of locks required to raise narrow boats over the hill.



After reaching the end of today's walk at the railway station, I had a couple of miles of road walking to Dinnington where I would find a bus back to Doncaster.
I arrived at the busy Interchange in Dinnington.

Re: Bob's Bits.

Set Alarm for Five and was out on the road for 5.45am. Not only is it a special morning because I need to get back in time to watch the London Marathon, but I decided to run my eleven mile course, it's one I haven't run for over two years. I took it very cautiously, and arrived home with some to spare. My time was a lot slower than in the past, but with the sun rising in a clear blue sky, It turned out to be one of the best runs this year. I can now sit and watch other runners enjoying their special day without feeling guilty.
This was my special day on the London Marathon in 1989.....seems like yesterday.

Re: Bob's Bits.

In 1777 James Brindley constructed the Chesterfield canal to carry coal and other minerals the 46 miles to West Stockwith on the River Trent. It was the greatest engineering feat attempted at the time. The narrow boats that worked the canal were called Cuckoo's, and a 46 mile walk that traverses the length of the Chesterfield Canal from West Stockwith to Chesterfield to commemorate the canal was called the Cuckoo Way. Sadly, after the Norwood tunnel collapsed in 1907 and the coming of the railways [which took all the traffic] the canal was never used again. Some sections have been restored, but some have not. But the walk continues.

Re: Bob's Bits.

THE CUCKOO WAY - KIVETON PARK STATION TO CHESTERFIELD.

It had been two years since I walked the Cuckoo Way from West Stockwith to Kiveton Park Station.
I had read somewhere that the last section from Kiveton to Chesterfield was overgrown and undefined, so left it at that. During a recent spell of fine weather, I decided to walk the section from Worksop to Kiveton, which I remembered as being the most scenic. I enjoyed it so much, that I would complete the final section all the way to Chesterfield.

After driving to Worksop, parking the car, and purchasing the appropriate provisions for lunch later, I boarded a number 19 bus that would take me as close as possible to the start at South Anston. The driver decided that; at 9:25 it was five minutes too early to use my concessionary pass, so it cost me three quid.
He dropped me off half an hour later in South Anston, and I jogged and walked the mile or so of road down to the station at Kiveton Park, and the start of the walk at Dog Kennel Bridge. It’s still a proper canal here with a kissing gate and a finger post directing me on to the ‘Cuckoo Way’ The sun was shining with fluffy white clouds gently pushed along by an icy cold breeze, and although it looked tranquil, it was not warm enough to stand and stare for too long. So I shuffled off along the canal bank, passing the occasional fisherman with the odd good morning. It’s not long before the canal runs out, and you are faced with a stark brick wall blocking the way: This is the entrance to Norwood Tunnel, sealed up now after it collapsed back in 1907 and was never reopened. It was 2880 yards long, so for the next couple of miles I take a track overland and through the old workings of Kiveton Park Colliery, closed in 1995 and turned into a nature reserve. Because so many people use the park, paths are abundant, and it becomes difficult to find the correct one, but after a few navigational errors, I manage to exit the park at the other side and spot the underpass on the M1 a couple of fields away.

I emerge from the underpass and I’m once again following the canal towpath. Behind me is the sealed up entrance of the Norwood Tunnel, but the canal [although stagnant and full of debris] is again by my side to guide me over the next few miles. The views over the surrounding countryside are spectacular, and because this is a high point of the canal, the remains of a series of staircase locks can clearly be seen as I pass them on my descent. After having to leave the canal as I skirt round some private property, I pop out on to the busy A618 Mansfield Road, I turn right, but after a few hundred yards, realise it’s the wrong way, so I jog back and find a small bridge and a finger post directing me once again on to the Cuckoo Way and by the side of the water filled depression that was the canal. I now find myself walking along a raised bank in a tunnel of bushes, faraway from the noise of the road, the canal has turned into a series of small ponds on my left, and just over a fence and through the bushes on my right is an industrial estate, it seems deserted. Walking out of the sun under the canopy of the trees I begin to feel cold, I grasp the straps of my rucksack and start to jog, after a mile I can feel the warm blood reaching my extremities, a pair of gloves would have been a worthwhile addition to my accessories. The trees and hedges have given way to houses at the edge of a large housing estate, the canal has turned into a dried up bed and is gradually overcome by back gardens from the houses.

I am ejected from the quiet towpath into a street surrounded by houses; This is Killamarsh and maps are no good here. There are new builds that won’t appear on my map, and re-routed footpaths through the maize of streets. I take out the route description and follow the instructions that lead me down numerous ginnels and alleys. Sometimes you can see the remains of the canal, overgrown and mainly used for tipping, and sometimes there is no evidence whatsoever of this once great industrial highway, where barges laden with coal, stone and other minerals would make their way from Derbyshire to the river Trent where it would be loaded on to large ships and sent round the world.
I eventually reach the outskirts of Killamarsh where I am pleased to see the small iron finger sign telling me that I am following the Cuckoo Way and it’s ten miles to Chesterfield. I disappear through a kissing gate and into the bushes to regain the towpath and dried up canal bed. The small overgrown path I have been following runs alongside a much wider and well used track, this is the Trans Pennine Route that joins Hull on the the East coast, to Liverpool on the West coast , and is used mainly by cyclists and horse riders, with the occasional Runners and Walkers. Every half mile or so there are picnic tables, so I take advantage of the amenities and despatch a Greggs Club Baguette [one I purchased earlier] washed down with a bottle of Buxton water, delicious. I trudge along the long straight cinder track, passed by the occasional cyclist, it seem to go on forever, so I jog a couple of miles. The canal runs to my left and contains water, albeit full of weeds. Once in a while it leaves the cycle route and cuts off through the country, I follow it on the small path that runs along side, this is the true Cuckoo Way. The forestry that has surrounded me for the last few miles now gives way to arable fields, Lapwings circle and dive overhead with their distinctive cry, and the canal has disappeared having been filled and ploughed over. It is while on one of these field side paths that I spot another walker up ahead, a young chap with a small rucksack clamped on to his back. His pace is slow and meandering, so not wanting company, or a reduction in pace I jog past, and keep jogging until I reach the trees in the distance.

I jog into the outskirts of Renishaw and slow to a walk, the clouds that had congregated in the sky for the last five miles had now fragmented, allowing the sun to break through and I was feeling uncomfortably hot, so off came the thin jacket which was unceremoniously stuffed into my rucksack. The canal was once again by my side complete with water and lily pads, however, large new three storey town houses lined up along the far bank, Jaguars and Mercedes adorned each drive, and mown grass descended down to the waters edge; there was a distinct smell of money here, and the canal looked more like a well manicured pond.

The path wandered away from the Trans Pennine Trail again, and I was back in the open countryside following the dried up bed of the canal. I was fast approaching Staveley and caught sight of the jumble of housing estates on the hillside, I could hear a busy road, and a railway line barred my way. I followed the steps over a bridge, straddling the railway line, through an underpass and the noisy road, and noticed there were signs of new construction everywhere. As I rounded the bend, lock gates came into view leading to a large new canal basin. Construction workers with hard hats and brightly coloured hi-vis jackets were stood in groups or leaning on shovels, and a large sign announcing that this was the ‘Chesterfield Canal Restoration Project’ The canal had been restored for the whole five miles to Chesterfield.

The new bit ran out after a mile, but now I was alongside a well established, clean and navigable canal, complete with a tarmac towpath. Joggers, Cyclists and Dog walkers adorned the banks as Staveley gave way to the outskirts of Chesterfield. Still feeling good, I joined the joggers and shuffled on for the next mile until the path ran out and I had to cross a road. The ‘Cuckoo Way’ sign beckoned me to a path leading back down to the canal on the other side of the road, but now the canal was sad and overgrown with empty plastic bottles and algae floating on the top. The path was deserted and overhung with brambles and Elderberry bushes, but there were some satisfying views of the twisted spire of Chesterfield Cathedral, they were satisfying to me because they heralded the end of my seventeen and a half mile trek along the Chesterfield Canal known as the Cuckoo Way.





The Blocked up entrance to Norwood Tunnel.



The view that awaited me when I exited the M1 underpass.



An abandoned section of the canal.



Steppin' out.



Restoration is coming.



some friends who accompanied me for a while.



The disappointing bit in Chesterfield.



The end is in sight.



The canal ends and joins the river.

Re: Bob's Bits.

all very interesting OGF BUT:

http://www.dailywritingtips.com/why-we-need-paragraphs/

OGF composition teacher - more paragraphs needed - must do better!



WFGS: someone as got to tell him!

Re: Bob's Bits.

Old grey fox, have you considered collating all this for wider distribution; a book, magazine or periodical maybe. In addition to your, albeit limited, followers in here.? IMHO

Re: Bob's Bits.

Gumbud, thanks for the advice [no, really] but I'm just a poorly educated Yorkshire lad who was better with his hands [just ask my missus] than his English, so I became a Centre Lathe Turner, trouble is, they don't need many turners these days and I got sick of standing behind a machine all day when the sun was out, so I took up some outdoor pursuits.

Thanks for the article, I will certainly take it on board.

But I don't think many readers drift into this little backwater.......

Thanks also to Robert J, I'm pleased that a man of your obvious literary ability even reads my humble accounts, let alone comments on them.

Seriously though Robert, I started writing accounts of my adventures years ago, to remember details and directions of walks and runs. I found that reading them years later brought the experiences back to life, much the same as a photograph. so I decided to keep a journal.

More recently, and with the popularity [with me anyway] of the internet and forum's, I though some like minded people might like to read my accounts. These days, as I drift [kicking and screaming] into the Autumn of my life, I seem to be doing more writing than running or walking.

It seems nice to target the over fifties with my ramblings, we have all been through the rigors of life, and can understand the issues associated with the advancing years.
I will certainly try to make my journal's more readable with the inclusion of extra 'Paragraphs' [ I thought they were some kind of performance records from an elite band of soldiers in the armed forces] in the hope I will attract more readers.

Thanks again for your comments........OGF

Re: Bob's Bits.

Some lovely photos Mr Fox! what with them and your descriptions I feel like I've been there myself.

Guessed I wasn't the only one who thinks you could publish something if you wanted .......................

Re: Bob's Bits.

Thanks Anzac, really appreciate your comments and your confidence.....

Re: Bob's Bits.

Entry:-070515
We seem to have had quite a lot of rain recently, and it has coincided with my weekly runs. I was very doubtful about doing eleven miles on Sunday morning with the rain coming down before I had even started, and after covering seventeen and a half miles on my Friday walk would I have recovered enough to squelch round the longest of my weekly challenges. I didn't need to worry, it went surprisingly well, and managed to make it home with my sodden shorts around my knees.

Tuesday's run was much the same, although it was only light rain, it had been raining constantly throughout the night, and puddles had joined up with neighbouring puddles to make monster puddles that could not be avoided. I had to run a mile further because the lane would have been a river, so I stuck to a road circuit, but it was six miles instead of my usual five. I remained drained for the rest of the day, and a shopping trip to Monks Cross left me searching for places to sit.

Payback came this morning, although warm and sunny and surprisingly dry underfoot, I was struggling from the start. The lane had dried out beautifully, but unfortunately it was a labour of love. So gasping for breath, and with rubber legs, I staggered the last couple of miles home. I may need to re-evaluate my running expectations for the future.

I have read several articles concerning post Heart Attack exercise, and it would seem that shorter periods, and more sessions of running are more beneficial than longer ones.
So by way of an experiment, I shall stick an extra three mile run in on a Friday, and cut down my long Sunday run of eleven, to a more manageable Eight. It may take a few weeks to show any results, but I'll see what happens.

There seems to be quite a bit of anger and aggression showing up in topics just lately, with: 'Would you step in?' 'Bullies' 'Beating the S*£t out of someone' and 'Do you call a spade a spade?' I have replied to a couple of the threads but are we getting a little bit paranoid here? Violent crime is rarer than we think, and most of us will never be in the situation where we will have to resort to intervening. Personally I know where to go if I want to flirt with trouble. Doncaster Town centre on Friday and Saturday nights are full of drunks; best avoided if you are a five foot seven, ten stone, 65 year old Heart Attack survivor. Most of the crimes I read about in the local paper occur after midnight and in the early hours. So it's unlikely that I would wander into that twihlight world, as sleep seems to be high on my priority list these days. And while we are on the subject of newspapers and the media, watching too much news fills you with so much fear, that it sometimes feels that there are villains lurking around every corner. [not the case] but you only have to visit Over50s Forum these days to become aware of how many people are out there waiting for the chance to steal your money or identity and stick a knife into your ribs.....Where's the love people?.....