Weston-super-Mare is blessed with two special transport museums. The nippy Lambretta Museum is in town while on the outskirts, The Helicopter Museum houses a more substantial type of vehicle.

Now the world’s largest dedicated helicopter museum, it has been growing steadily since 1958, when the founder Elfan ap Rees, an aviation writer and historian started to collect rotorcraft. Now here's where the vocabulary gets interesting - rotorcraft is a complex famlly of vehicles including helicopters, autogyros (same as gyroplanes), gyrodynes and tiltrotors. It became the British Rotorcraft Museum in 1978 but that wasn’t so catchy. Whatever it’s called, every variation is here, from bizarre early prototypes to hulking military beasts. There’s even a Gyro-Boat. Either way, it's a wonder any of them got off the ground. It just doesn't seem natural.

The early days of flight are marked by the Cierva Memorial Building, named after Don Juan de la Cierva, the designer and founder of the practical autogyro (as opposed to the impractical autogyro, of which there were many). The collection contains many rare and delicate vintage craft with great names like the Thruxton Gadfly and the Campbell Cougar as well as the modern superstars of the helicopter world - the fearsome Russian Army Mil Mi-24, the G-LYNX world record speed holder and royal helicopter The Queen's Flight. And it’s not just helicopters - Helix, the only teddy bear to have completed a round the world helicopter flight is here too.

Beside the shop and cafe there's an excellent display of models (some pretty substantial) and toy helicopters including Budgie, created by Sarah Ferguson, the Duchess of York who trained as a pilot in the Navy. He's all but forgotten in most households, but is fondly remembered here. Kids can take a ride in a miniature Budgie, or play around in the cockpit of a proper helicopter firmly rooted to the ground outside. The museum runs a number of special "Helidays" throughout the year where vistors can enjoy helicopter rides from the beach, as well as Open Cockpit Days where grown-ups can pretend to fly too.

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Posted by Anne on March 08, 2009 | Permalink | Comments (1)

Only the truly hard-hearted can clap eyes on a bubble car without breaking into a smile. These days it's rare enough to see one never mind 70 in a row. So the fact that the National Bubble Car Museum exists at all is cause for celebration. Here it is in Byard's Leap in deepest darkest Lincolnshire, second only to the Bruce Weiner Microcar Museum in Dubble Bubble Acres, Madison, GA.

Inside a huge barn there are bubble cars or to use the more accurate term "microcars" everywhere. Their cheery countenances give the impression that they might get up to mischief once the visitors have left for the day. They're safely behind ropes lest they break free and run amok, parping out the Benny Hill theme on their horns. A colourful symbol of the freedom and optimism of the post-war era, they're just made for jolly jaunts with a wicker picnic set and tartan travelling rug, provided there's only two of you and you're not over 5'6".

The Register of Unusual Microcars (yes, there really is one) defines microcars as "economy vehicles with either three or four wheels, powered by petrol engines of no more than 700cc or battery electric propulsion, and manufactured since 1945". So within the world of microcars there are bubble cars - the ones that look particularly bubbly, either in shape or personality. The most iconic are here alright. The Messerschmitt, with its strange hammer-headed bonnet and tall bubble canopy has the air of a distinguished gentleman. It looks like it should be wearing a monocle. The cheeky Isetta, the bubbliest of them all has an unusual front-opening or "suicide" door. Funny how that didn’t catch on. They might look frivolous but they come from a prestigious background. Isettas were manufactured by BMW and Messerschmitts were made by, er, Messerschmitt famous for their WWII bombers. The bubble canopy wouldn’t look out of place on a fighter plane.

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Posted by Anne on September 27, 2008 | Permalink | Comments (3)

Officially, the Leadhills & Wanlockhead Railway is Britain’s highest narrow gauge adhesion railway reaching almost 1500 feet above sea level. It runs from Leadhills to Glengonnar near Wanlockhead which is Scotland's highest village. Unofficially, it's an incredibly dinky big little railway whose charm lies in the incongruity of a brightly painted Trumpton-esque train chugging its way through a particularly bleak part of Scotland. That and the delightfully slow pointlessness of the journey.

At Leadhills there’s a lovely little station covered in signs reclaimed from defunct railways. Inside the shop there are things to delight serious trainspotters and for the amateurs, Thomas the Tank Engine toys and Ivor the Engine fudge. There are only two stops on the line (two ends, basically) and the journey from Leadhills to Glengonnar takes roughly 10 minutes, running every 40 minutes or so. It’s not far and you could probably walk it quicker but that’s not the point. Travelling at such a leisurely pace is so relaxing, and there's plenty of time to enjoy the (lack of) scenery. It’s beautiful in a strange, rugged way. Due to the altitude and exposure nothing really grows apart from heather and gorse and there's nothing else here apart from fragments of the old lead mines that gave the railway its original raison d'etre.

For the journey itself pick one of the carriages that has closed windows and doors. It can get bracing up here, even in summer. We visited in July and bravely travelled in an open carriage, with our jackets on and hoods up. At the end of the line the track stops abruptly in what appears to be the middle of nowhere. Actually it's the invisible line between South Lanarkshire and Dumfries and Galloway. A modern border dispute characteristic of the Wild West is stopping its extension all the way into Wanlockhead. Instead you need to “detrain” and walk along the track bed past sheep droppings and rabbit carcasses. Once there you can refuel in Scotland’s highest pub, The Wanlockhead Inn, or try gold panning at the Lead Mining Museum which also has a decent cafe.

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Posted by Anne on July 18, 2008 | Permalink

Pity the poor Kincardine Bridge. Long since overshadowed by the more famous Forth Road and Rail Bridges, a fourth Forth crossing is about to cock its snook once and for all. For those who cross it regularly it’s not a happy place, full of traffic snarl-ups, but on a clearer day it’s a majestic part of the Scottish road network.

When it was built in 1936 it was the world's longest single span bridge as well as the first road bridge across the Firth of Forth. Built by renowned engineering firm Sir Alexander Gibb and Partners and manufactured by the Cleveland Bridge and Engineering Co., it’s a solid piece of work. Unlike its grander neighbours you don't see it from miles away, but the closer you get the better it looks. It comes into its own as soon as you start to cross. The silver art deco-style lampposts have a real elegance and shine like beacons on a sunny day. Before you know it you’re passing through the central concrete arch where the mottoes of the neighbouring counties of Clackmannan, Stirling and Fife are carved in Portland Stone. It's all rather grand.

Until 1988 a huge portcullis operated inside this gate so that the bridge could be closed to traffic. When it closed the motto of Clackmannan, "Look aboot ye" was spelt out. Good advice for anyone waiting there as the view either way along the river is rather nice. Once the barrier was in place the centre span was able to swing round to let shipping pass. Along with the nearby Silver Link Roadhouse (now a bathroom showroom) it’s a relic of a more stately era of road transportation - the motoring boom of the 1930s. Constant traffic has taken its toll so when the new crossing opens, the bridge, given Category A-listed status by Historic Scotland will be closed for 18 months for a well-deserved upgrade. Enjoy it while you can.

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Posted by Anne on April 06, 2008 | Permalink | Comments (2)

Portsmouth, or Portsea Island - to give the land mass its geographical title - is most definitely an island, of about three by four miles. It is completely surrounded by water, with sea to the south and harbours to the east and west. To the north is a wide defensive creek. The encapsulating water is bridged by only three roads as links to the mainland. Officially the City includes sprawling suburbs on the mainland, but no local would consider these as part of Portsmouth proper. It therefore has the most clearly defined boundaries imaginable. This gives Portsmouth a unique atmosphere. It is unlike any other place in Britain.

In 1986 and 87, when I should have been at Portsmouth College of Art, I used the time much more fruitfully to develop an understanding of the craft of Urban Exploration. Day after day I cycled and paced the streets of Portsmouth in a quest to satisfy my appetite for experience of the mundane, the forgotten, the empty, the overlooked and the decaying. I craved old-fashioned shops, derelict buildings, odd bits of cobbled street, faded signs, brutal concrete, curious iron rings set into walls, ruins, relics and the obvious hypocrisies of the planning system. All of this is to be found in most places if one just takes the trouble to look - and I looked at Portsmouth. Unfortunately some of these things have now gone, but the strange, unused motorway junction at Tipner remains unchanged some twenty years on.

Until the mid-seventies there were only two roads on and off of the Island. Then came the M27 south-coast motorway, with its spur, the M275, bringing a third connection that penetrated deep into Portsmouth's western flank. The western side of Portsea Island is dominated by the Naval Dockyard, but to its north is the tiny peninsular of Tipner. Tipner is best known locally for the Greyhound Stadium, and a vast scrap yard, not so long ago a treasure trove of wartime military vehicles, tanks, submarines and ships, but unfortunately now largely cleared. There is also ex-MOD derelict land with strange boarded-up buildings, an MOD rifle range, a sailing club and a small council estate - all bleak and windblown by the constant breeze from the nearby water.

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Posted by David P on December 27, 2007 | Permalink | Comments (6)

The Thames is a dead river. Save a stray tourist boat, and the Tate ferry that goes from one branch of Nicholas Serota’s World of Adventures to the other, London’s huge, majestic river is totally unused, and even in ‘Docklands’ it’s difficult to find any sign that it ever was. There’s one major exception to this, and that’s the Woolwich Ferry.

Not only is this a strange fragment of a past in which the river had some sort of function rather than being the backdrop to the ubiquitous ‘stunning developments’, it's also gloriously free. Just queue up at either side of the river : Woolwich SE18 or North Woolwich E16 – there’s a concrete shelter in case of rain – and at no point will anyone ask who you are or what you’re doing there, let alone ask for money.

The Woolwich Free Ferry was introduced in the 1880s by Joseph Bazalgette as one of his ‘improvements’, and the current terminus and ferries date from the mid-60s. The terminus is in shuttered concrete, with an angular staircase poking out, while the boats themselves are named after local politicians: all of a Leftish bent, given Woolwich’s history as a socialist stronghold. One of the three, marvellously, is called the ‘Ernest Bevin’, after the union boss and Cold Warrior foreign secretary in the Attlee government.

Go in the daytime or the weekend and the ferries are bracingly empty, with lines of benches sitting forlorn, while red-walled rooms labelled ‘SMOKING’ have their doors definitively locked. The ferry fills up at rush hour with people getting off at the DLR station on the North Side, going to the (until 2008) tubeless South. You can also stand on the traffic deck and gaze at this desolate stretch of river: the Tate sugar refinery (ironically enough) and the Thames Barrier dominate the riverscape here, with the leftovers of industry now overwhelmed by those riverside flats that cling to even the poorest stretches of Thames, with Canary Wharf (or ‘Thatcher’s Cock’ as it was once known) looming in the distance. At the front of each of the ferries is a little cylindrical lookout pod, creating a peculiar arch framing Woolwich Reach.

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Posted by Owen on June 19, 2007 | Permalink | Comments (3)

The B7076/B7078 is literally the road less travelled. Starting at Gretna near the Scottish-English border, the B7076 runs north before the B7078 takes over, carrying on to Lesmahagow 23 miles south of Glasgow. Or the other way round if you're heading south. We often take this route from Glasgow down to Dumfries & Galloway. There are definitely more scenic roads in the UK, but this is my favourite.

There's something about it that doesn't quite add up. It's very spacious for a B-road, with dual carriageway in parts and generous verges. Traffic thunders up and down the M74 which runs alongside, but this is usually empty. It feels like discovering a secret passageway in the British highway system. It has the feel of another country like America or Australia - somewhere that has great open roads but hardly any traffic.

Like Miss Haversham, it has an air of faded grandeur. This is what happens when roads themselves get overtaken. Until the 1990s this was the A74 which was the main route between Scotland and England. Thousands of vehicles thundered up and down this every day until it all got too much and the 6-lane behemoth, the M74 was built. I thought road classification had something to do with size as B-roads are usually little things, but in this case it just means no one cares anymore. It had been superceded and is now demoted, put down a peg or two thanks to its shiny new neighbour.

Continue reading "The B7076 and B7078, Scotland" »

Posted by Anne on May 27, 2007 | Permalink | Comments (1)

It goes against the crowd to stand still in New York's Grand Central Station but if you stop for a minute in the right spot you might find a little bit of magic. Underneath the main concourse, on the way to the historic Oyster Bar, there’s a special place known as The Whispering Gallery where the faintest murmur can be heard 40 feet away across the busy passageway.

There are no signs to the Whispering Gallery but look for a place where two walkways intersect, and a vaulted roof forms a shallow dome. Look up and admire the herringbone terra cotta tiles - designed by Rafael Guastavino and Son and found in some of New York's finest buildings. Take a friend or sweetheart and pick diagonal corners. Then turn your faces to the wall and start talking. It feels a little odd at first, but even though you’re a long way away you should hear every word.

The phenomenon is fairly common, usually found beneath domes or ellipsoid surfaces. Sound "telegraphs" along the line of the curve to reach the other side. Other famous examples are found in St Paul's Catherdal in London and St Peter's Basilica in Rome. I've tried things like this before and stood talking to myself like an idiot, but this one definitely works. It's a popular spot for marriage proposals - word has it jazz legend Charles Mingus proposed here. It can get busy so pick your moment carefully to avoid embarrasment. If he/she says yes, head straight to the Oyster Bar and celebrate in style. It also has Guastavino ceilings so be careful where you whisper your sweet nothings if you don't want the whole place to hear.

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Posted by Anne on December 06, 2006 | Permalink

Eddie Izzard once said of Stonehenge "no one's built a henge like that ever since." As far as a Google search can tell me, he never visited Nebraska. This Americanized henge lies in the middle of a field, mostly isolated but with a few houses in view. A recreation of Stonehenge that used monstrous land cruisers that crossed the highways in the 50's, 60's and 70's as megaliths make up the monument. Cadillacs, Fords and Chevys all have been used, stuck in the earth and painted grey. Creator Jim Reinders was influenced by his time in England, and his automotive monument was built as a memorial to his father on the family's farmland.

The small, nearby town of Alliance has little to see and only a few places to stay, so a visit takes planning. Carhenge signs can be found before coming into town, but missing them can mean incomplete direction, and for us a turn took us far off course. Take care in planning your route. Once there you will find the site has an abandoned and boarded up visitor center and a message board covered with broken plexiglas and faded newspaper articles. Besides the main monument, additional sculptures include a large fish made from car parts, a representation of Summer/Fall/Winter/Spring in the "Ford Seasons", and a car for signing your name, the "Autograph."

But the main purpose for visiting is is to walk the well-worn foot trails that lead to Carhenge. Dragging a pile of large rock many miles made sense to the Druids but here in the states we make our monuments mobile, until they are parked for all time.

Continue reading "Carhenge, Nebraska" »

Posted by Robert on November 30, 2006 | Permalink | Comments (1)

Opened in 1951, the Tyne Cycle & Pedestrian Tunnels join the communities of Howdon and Jarrow on the north and south banks of the river Tyne. At their peak 20,000 people travelled 900 ft (274 m) through them each day to get to work in the nearby shipyards. While pedestrian river tunnels are nothing new this was the first with a purpose-built cycle tunnel - still in regular use today as it forms part of the C2C cycle route running from coast to coast across the north of England.

Above ground at each end there is a dinky red-brick rotunda, quiet apart from the faint whirr and clank of machinery. Going in is like entering a station, but with no ticket office or trains. It's a slightly mysterious affair, just two escalators marked Up and Down that descend, seemingly, into the bowels of the earth. The directions need to be marked because they aren't moving. As you approach, a speed ray regulator powers the one you need into life. Legend has it the more people on them the faster they go although as it was quiet for our visit we didn’t get a chance to test this.

When they were built, they were the longest single-rise escalators in the world at 60m (approx 200 feet). Today they are still the longest wooden ones in the world, and a rarity now that wooden escalators such as those in the London Underground have been phased out. Built by Waygood-Otis, they have a solid charm, each of the 306 steps numbered and stamped, and they make a fantastic noise - a sort of gentle clank. The journey up or down feels like travelling in style.

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Posted by Anne on October 22, 2006 | Permalink

For some buses are an unnecessary evil – late, overcrowded and filthy, but for others they’re a way of life. The bus enthusiasts of Glasgow have taken over the former Bridgeton Bus Garage and turned it into the Glasgow Vintage Vehicle Trust. Make your way inside the huge doors to find a shed full of beautiful old buses – all shapes and sizes, and an overflow area out the back for vintage fire engines, more buses and a rather bizarre home-made Glasgow rickshaw consisting of a sofa with two bikes stuck to the front.

Taking a look round it’s almost impossible not to be transported back to your youth, wherever and whenever that was. Although the Routemaster has become the megastar of the bygone bus world it’s the green and orange Glasgow Corporation double deckers that take me back. The length and breadth of Britain is represented with buses from Aberdeen, Edinburgh, Blackpool, London and further afield. If you’re lucky you might get a chance to get on board and sit in the driver’s seat. Who can resist a shot at the big wheel?

For visitors who are pretty vintage themselves the buses of their youth might be some of the beautifully restored old coaches – wonderful colours, beautiful logos and the odd crank handle on the front. For all the buses that have been brought back to life there are plenty that have seen better days, waiting for a little TLC.

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Posted by Anne on October 14, 2006 | Permalink

This small Mid-Wales town - known in full as Llandrindod Wells - has two superb relics of 20th century motoring.

The first, and most obvious, is the Automobile Palace. It was built as a 'Palace Of Sport' in around 1906, and given its current name in 1925. It was a garage until the 1980s and now houses various offices, shops and The National Cycle Collection, a cycling museum. It's on the main A483 road through Llandrindod.

It was built by Tom Norton, an adventurous businessman who arranged commercial flights on the 'Dole' (Welsh 'dol', meaning 'meadow') - a field by the river Ithon/Ieithon. To this day his work on aviation is recorded by the word 'aircraft' alongside 'cycles' and more mundane advertisements on the sides of the building.

The second building is Pritchard's Garage in the centre of town, on the corner of Station Crescent and Temple Street. This is more overlooked but has a beautiful facade which sadly shows signs of decay. Its bright blue and white frontage records the makes of cars once sold there, now passed into motoring history, including Sunbeam and Commer. I believe it still functions as a garage to this day.

Both buildings serve as a reminder that Llandrindod was once a huge draw for tourists in its heyday as a spa town. Though quieter, it's still a lovely place, and well worth a visit.

Continue reading "Llandrindod's Garages, Mid-Wales" »

Posted by Rich on August 16, 2006 | Permalink

Even if you don't normally get excited at the thought of big sheds full of trains the Scottish Railway Exhibition in Bo'ness (near Falkirk in Scotland's Central Belt) is worth a visit. Enter through an old station covered in vintage ads, walk along the platform, cross the footbridge and pass through a sort of railway graveyard, full of old engines and rusting piles of train innards. Before you even enter the exhibition this sets the scene with the real atmosphere of the railways - not some cleaned-up, age-of-the-train marketing ideal but the raw power behind it all.

At the door to the museum the sign says that admission is £1 but if you don't have a pound they'll work something out. It's that kind of place. Inside, it is staffed by charming railway enthusiasts who are in a permanent state of excitement being kept in a giant shed full of trains. They do a very good job of selling the attractions - lots of trains that you can climb on, displays of railway ephemera and for the hardcore, a signal box to play with and something about valves that I'm afraid passed me by.

Over two giant rooms and 850 feet of display tracks, the trains come in all shapes and sizes. There are goods wagons, Army vehicles, brake vans, passenger coaches through the ages and a real example of travelling in style - Scotland's only Royal Saloon which is pretty plush. There are wagons dating from 1862 to 1963 - 101 years of innovation "from solid wooden buffers to self contained hydraulics, from no brake to air brake, from grease axleboxes to roller bearings".

They've made a real effort to create a proper train-y atmosphere with old suitcases piled onto luggage trolleys, rusting station signs and piped in "chuff-chuff woo-woo" noises. You can get onto quite a few of the trains so wee boys (and big ones) can pretend to be the driver. If you're not much of a trainspotter, the old photographs of travellers and stations are really fascinating. The whole place is nicely low-key and thoughtfully put together with expert knowledge and a great deal of enthusiasm. It's hands-on without being all modern and "interactive". Altogether it's well-rounded, getting everything that's great about rail travel, not just the nuts and bolts.

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Posted by Anne on July 18, 2006 | Permalink

This is just about as far north as you can go in Scotland. You have already travelled on a 15 hour ferry to Lerwick in the Shetland Islands. Then taken a ferry from what is called ‘Mainland Shetland’ to the island of Yell. Crossing this you then take another ferry from Gutcher Pier to the Wick of Belmont on Unst – this is the most northerly inhabited island in the Shetlands (and therefore in the whole of the UK). Travel up the road to Haroldswick (the most northerly village in the most northerly island in the Shetlands) and there over looking the Bay of Haroldswick is just about the most luxurious bus shelter ever. There was nobody around when we happened upon this spot – and certainly not a bus in sight. The bus stop fully furnished, stands regally alone by the road; the computer is perhaps not the most modern but the television seems ready to be switched on and the arm chair very comfortable; recently fresh flowers have been arranged in a vase. There is an all round panoramic view, including Muckle Hoeg with its chambered cairn, White Haggle to the north and behind to the east - Haroldswick Bay.

A visit to the Unst Bus Shelter website (address below) reveals that this is the domain of local schoolboy Bobby Maculay who started to make the place a little more like home after a particularly long wait for a bus. Now the island's most popular tourist attraction, It has been featured in Bella Magazine, The Daily Mail, BBC Radio Scotland, The Press And Journal and the Shetland Times five times, as well being voted the best bus shelter in Britain by Buses Magazine (and they would know). What better place to wait for that bus which never seems to arrive and may never come.

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Posted by Rob on June 26, 2006 | Permalink | Comments (3)