MARCH 2018 mbr 45
we found. No agenda; just riding bikes and
having fun.
There’s something about a steam train that
seems to stir emotions, conjure up memories
of watching childhood films and imagining
being a part of them. Walking onto the old
platform was literally like stepping back in
time, like stumbling onto a film set for The
Railway Children. It was a glimpse back at a
romantic bygone era when these grand elegant
works of engineering ruled the rails. Trolleys
laden with ancient luggage, old-fashioned
signs, beautiful hanging baskets, even the
stationmaster and the train controllers were
in uniforms that looked like they had come
from the 1930s. As the train slowly pulled
into the station, it became clear that it was a
good job our theme for the trip was go slow;
this was not a machine built for speed.
Time really did start to slow down as
we steamed alongside the gently rolling
Quantock hills. Watching the scenery and
life outside lumber by, a much-needed
sense of calm descended upon us. Hot
cups of tea formed steam over the carriage
windows, and wiping them clean revealed
a similar level of mist
and moisture outside. Storm Brian
was also along for the ride like an
unwanted fare-dodger.
Our first stop was Triscombe, where
damp tree branches overhung to create
a leafy tunnel up onto the Quantocks.
From the top, trails peeled off in every
direction, criss-crossing each other
through the trees. It was wet and
muddy, and a summer of riding dry
alpine trails left me unprepared for the
slithering of tyres on roots stripped of
their bark and coated in slippery mud.
Low clouds floated through the
forest like mist, raindrops drippedfrom the old man’s beard hanging on the
tree branches, and water droplets glistened
on the mossy blanket of the forest floor.
Twisting trails wiggled amongst ferns,
fallen trees and fungi. It felt like we were
witnesses to an almost magical. This was a
forest enhanced by the rain; the dampness
brought it alive and gave everything a
glittering sparkle.
When we stopped to catch our breath
after swooping gleefully down another fun
trail, I became aware of the sound of the rain
dripping through the canopy of tall trees onto
the loamy soil below. It was soothing, just
standing in silence, listening. It had been a
while since I’d just stopped and let my senses
take over, all other thoughts and anxieties
fading away.MINEHEAD’S TRAILHEAD
As we rode back to the train, it occurred to
me that, for the first time in ages, I had lost
myself in the riding. I’d experienced that
sensation that the rest of the world is standing
still while you flow down a trail. I’d forgotten
about the long list of things I needed to do in
the following week, I’d not looked at my watch
(except to make sure we didn’t miss the last
train), I had no idea how far we’d ridden, just
that we’d had a lot of fun. It was a good start
to the trip.
Our second train journey took us to the
classic British seaside holiday resort of
Minehead, and the final stop on the line. Once
again, the steady pace of the steam train set
the tempo for the day. We were beginning to
remember how to slow down.
Disembarking, we crossed the beach and
began to climb through coastal beech trees
shaped by years of winds blowing from the sea
into strange twisted formations. Wild ponies
sheltered among them, completely unfazedIT HAD BEEN A WHILE SINCE I’D LET
MY SENSES TAKE OVER, ALL OTHER
THOUGHTS AND ANXIETIES FADING AWAY
Slippery trails and
dripping foliage
drench the senses
Exmoor’s exposed
flanks are no place
to hang aroundPine needles provide
the grip to zip