The Great Dorset Steam Fair at 50

Each August, The Great Dorset Steam Fair takes over the fields of Tarrant Hinton. Attracted by the largest collection of steam engines in the world, 200,000 people swarm amongst the exhibits; wellies on feet, hotdogs in hand.

The collapsed crops are faded by sun and mud, trampled by the public, rolled flat by tyres and steam rollers. In the shadow of fairground rides is an area cordoned off by an ellipse of metal barriers. Spectators perch on hay bales, cameras dangling from necks, waiting for the classic car parade. Strings of light bulbs struggle for attention in the daylight, high up on poles above the fences. Alongside the ring is a silver caravan which stands unnoticed until words begin to leave the speakers paired up on its roof.
“Good afternoon everyone, and welcome to the Great Dorset Steam Fair.”

A threshing machine continues to work, oblivious to the more modern display. Sun-hatted men stand confidently on top of the shaking wooden box, feeding straw in to the chute that begins the process of separating the grain from the chaff. A steam engine works hard to one side, the belt lazily wandering over the fast-paced flywheel. It rocks against its chocks, as eager to work now as it had been when new, when Hardy’s Tess of the D’Urbervilles took in this new technology for the first time in the Wessex countryside, over a century ago.

The phut-phut of the engine is out of time with the ABBA mega-mix exploding from a gold and red organ, adorned with angelic statuettes playing Dutch-made castanets. The exhaust of a proudly polished Austin A40 blows its heady petrol scent towards a cocktail of sausages and onion, coal smoke and dust.

“Now we move on to Number 13 in the programme, this lovely Morris Cowley 12/4 coupé, restored by the current owners and used again since 2005…” A man in a checked shirt stumbles into the crowd, drawn over to look at the car. His vision is tunnelled by multiple tankards of farm-house cider, served up in a green-canvas tent held fast by ropes that flaw its customers on the way out. He leans on the fence as the Morris purrs past, completing its lap to a wave of applause before parking up amongst the crowds of curious holiday makers, enthusiasts and eyes that light up as they exclaim in delight, “My Grandad had one of those!”

Awkward Moment on a Train

Those of you who know me, know how much I love trains. In theory, they are environmentally friendly, simple ways to travel. In reality, they are so expensive that it costs me twice as much as it does to drive anywhere. Over the years I've spent commuting between Cardiff and Dorset, I've been delayed by breakdowns, signal failures, hot weather, cold weather, rain, cows on the line and a malfunctioning steam train further up the line. I've sat with drunk people, funny people, creepy people, a man who re-enacts medieval battles and tells people about them on trains, and many normal people too.

There are advantages to travelling this way. One of the big ones for me is that, although it takes nearly twice as long to get to Wales as it would if I drove, I actually get a few hours of my life back. Instead of three hours concentrating on the speedy lumps of metal zooming by and the myriad of white stripes and yellow squiggles on tarmac, I can read, write, think and procrastinate on the interweb. The only time this falls through is on an extremely busy train, like the one I caught yesterday, which suddenly filled up at Bristol Temple Meads, making turning the pages of my book more difficult than it was worth. So I started people watching.

There were so many people squished on board, that for the most part, staring around the carriage was quite boring. However, the lady opposite me was absorbed in a complicated textbook with brain diagrams dotting the text. I tried to read it upside down, and failed. Something about 'resilience'. No idea. Got bored. Daydreamed a bit. Realised she was having a very important phone conversation and that I'd been bored without realising it. I was curious about her frantic scribbling of notes and really wanted to know what the book was about.

I could just ask, of course, but that sort of question has previously landed me in several hours of dire conversation with no way of escape until Southampton Central. So I chickened out. What I did do however, was Google the name she had written on her backpack in permanent marker. The Sherlock Holmes way of finding out what she was reading, or at least finding out something.

To my amazement, the result brought up an American billionaire heiress to a food company... and an art therapist with an OBE. I was just clicking on a search result which took me to Wikipedia, when her phone conversation ended, and the train jolted. Whoever she was, she had far better control of her personal belongings than I did, because whilst her phone was put neatly back into her pocket, mine leapt out of my hands and landed screen-up on the table between us, proudly displaying her own Wikipedia page.

She was good enough, or creeped out enough, not to say anything. Or maybe she was secretly pleased to get a Wikipedia hit, who knows? All I know is that it seemed an appropriate time to attempt reading my book again, I've banned myself from train travel for the foreseeable future, and I still don't know what she was reading.

The Long Trail

As the idea of walking a long distance trail burns away in the back of my mind, every path and gateway appears as an opportunity. Earlier in the year I read Bill Bryson's A Walk in the Woods, his account of attempting to walk the entire Appalachian Trail. He gave it a fair shot, but its gruelling 2,160 miles eventually got the better of him. I honestly don't think I would have got as far as he did, but still, the idea of completing a self propelled journey of a significant distance is appealing.

When I decided to come to Vermont, I knew that I would mostly be based in the city of Burlington, but budgeted for a few weekend trips in a rental car. Staring at the map or this relatively small state, it became obvious that you could reach any of its corners easily in a day trip, and that there was a nice obvious walking trail dissecting the state down the middle.

The Long Trail is the oldest dedicated long distance hiking trail in the United Stated of America. It runs 273 miles from the Canadian border in the north, down to Massachusetts, and in the southern part of the state actually joins up with the Appalachian Trail. I had to at least set foot on it.

This weekend, we headed to an obvious access point on Route 125, where the signs quite clearly labelled that we had the right trail. All we had to do was pick a direction: North or south? North had the more adventurous feel, looking like it went 'up' rather than stay on the flat. On entering the trail you need to sign in. It enters a wilderness area at this point, and I suppose the authorities want to know how many people they might have lost on the way. Only one other person had set out that day, but it wasn't too surprising considering that it was a very cold day in November and snow was falling.

We only walked for a couple of hours, due to my fingers feeling like they'd disappeared, but it was enough to re-ignite a sense of wonder. 'What would it be like to do the whole thing?' 'Could I do it?' '273 miles is a long way.' These thoughts bounced around my head as we meandered back down the rocky path towards the road. I did, however, make one decision. Nothing would be able to persuade me to walk that trail in November!

Snow in Vermont

It's good to see that weather in New England is as changeable as it is back in 'Old' England. Fall still hasn't finished doing its thing and already we're having dustings of snow in the hills. For these parts, it's only very little, but if we had this in Dorset right now there would be people out there trying to build snowmen. It still has a novelty value for me, and it gives me an excuse to get the Cookie Monster hat out.

These were taken down at Texas Falls in the Green Mountain National Forest. I only had time for a quick potter today, but it's made me want a slightly longer expedition later in the trip. If possible, on the Long Trail. Watch this space.

Fall Foliage in Burlington, Vermont

I arrived in Burlington, Vermont on Thursday. We wanted to see the leaves changing colour, as it's meant to be spectacular over here, but we had been forewarned that we would be likely to miss it.

We were lucky this year though, fall has arrived later than normal. This was the scene in Battery Park at the weekend. Beautiful maples are decorating the floor everywhere we look, and some of the later trees are yet to turn. There are plenty of oaks that are still green in the hills.

So for now, I'm just exploring the city, and appreciating the subtle, and not so subtle differences between my expectations and Vermont in the flesh. I'm relieved to see, at least, that they really do have yellow school buses over here.

Durdle Door, Dorset Adventures

The summer's almost over. I know, it's a terrible thought. My coastal adventure to Durdle Door was supposed to be an epic after work hike to somewhere or other. It ended up being a slump on the pebbles with a book.

I guess some adventures are more strenuous than others.

Scribbles in London

I've found a coffee shop to write in. I'm waiting for my brother to get across the city and find me, but in the meantime I have tea, a notebook and an open window to watch the comings and goings of Holborn.

I wanted to steer clear of public transport after arriving in London, so I followed Google Maps and found China Town and an astrology shop where the proprietor was telling the future of a customer's five year old. She's very gifted and will go on to do great things. I also managed to acquire some semi abusive birthday cards from a quirky bookshop, so apologies in advance if you're expecting a card any time soon...