3 Men In a Boat Challenge - Part 2

Chapter 3

Date: 9 May 2008 – Start: Cookham Lock – Finish: Thames Valley Park – Distance: 19 miles – Average Speed: 3.4mph – Fact of the day: Thames Water remove 1 tonne of pubic hair from the River Thames every month.

I was first up, and headed straight for the shower. I am unable to convey the distress I felt upon finding out that it required tokens. Tokens could only be obtained from the lock keeper and he was not due until 9am. None of us were willing to leave until we were clean and left Cookham late but happy.

As we passed through Henley, where they were preparing for the Regatta, our pace dropped sharply and it became like rowing through treacle. It proved that this was the result of the flow of the weir at Marsh lock adding to the already strong current. This poor design makes it precarious for skiffs to enter the lock and I, who had left the boat to use the toilet, had to stand and watch as Paul and Chris were swept around in circles. We had by this time become rather expert in all aspects of sculling and so were most put out when the lock keeper, who was as unpleasant as his lock, made a sarcastic comment about them needing more practice.

The journey revealed to me that despite its high-tech, over populated image there are a number of villages that cling to an earlier way of life. I do not know where Hurley is but it is a one shop village and that shop shuts for lunch. We had to make do with ice cream and cake bought from the refreshment kiosk at the lock but the area itself is so picturesque that we were willing to forgive.

Our calculations showed that the finish of our target 20 miles was the centre of Reading. Keen to avoid this but too tired to go further we decided to stop after Sonning Lock. The lock keeper told us there was an area we could stop and moor by a field only a mile further on so we did this. We had the foresight of not expecting to be able to buy food for the evening and had called our generous friend Paul M, who had agreed to meet us and bring a disposable barbecue, food and beer. He was as good as his word and got everything from our rather long shopping list. We were soon moored, cooking and enjoying the sunny evening but, just as we ravenously made our first bite into the burgers a car pulled up with Thames Valley Park Security written on the side. The dolt of a lock keeper had directed us to a public park at the end of the A329M. The security guard, who actually seemed rather embarrassed did not mind the barbecue or even the alcohol but informed us that we could not moor our boat. We asked if we could move it after we had eaten and thankfully he agreed. He did not return that evening, which was fortunate as we had nowhere else to go.

Chapter 4

Date: 10 May 2008 – Start: Thames Valley Park – Finish: Benson Waterfront Caravan Park – Distance: 20 miles – Average Speed: 3.6mph – Fact of the day: Charlie Brown’s father was a barber

The morning suggested bad weather. We kept the cover up as we rowed through Reading, the drizzle being most apt considering this is the only truly ugly part of the journey. We celebrated getting through the town with a late breakfast just as the sun came out.

The day continued without incident, we had by now essentially mastered sculling, steering and locks so we made good time. The final pull of the day was between Cleeve and Benson Locks. At some 6.5 miles this is by far the longest stretch between locks on the entire journey so we decided to break it up by stopping for a late lunch. There are two pubs by the river during this stretch, both soon after Cleeve. Well, I say pubs, it is clearly the trend for any establishment fortunate enough to be located on the banks of the Thames to become “Country Inns and Eating Houses”, which essentially means “timber-framed pub located in a picturesque commuter belt village that still sells drinks but would prefer it if you ate in our white-washed, table clothed restaurant that has an overpriced and over elaborate menu”. The waiters took one look at us in our rowing garb and made excuses as to why we could not eat with them. The second did let us have some soft drinks so long as we sat outside and did not disturb the other guests. Luckily I don’t feel bitter about these things.

Our original target for the night had been Day’s Lock campsite but the lock keeper told us the site had “dangerous trees”. Drained after the long final stretch we stopped early, at a caravan site by the village of Benson. And, joy, it had a palatial shower block and, joy of joys, we had a key that gave us unrestricted access. A clean and pleasant evening was spent in the Three Horseshoes pub in Benson. This is a friendly local place that served good value food and well kept ale, Country Inns and Eating Houses, could learn a lot from the Three Horseshoes.

During the evening we got into conversation with the fellow who had a permanent mooring space next to where we had left Edward. I cannot vouch for the veracity of what he said but he informed us that he had been filmed for the 3 Men in a Boat television show with Griff Rhys-Jones, Rory McGrath and Dara O’Brien and knew for a fact that they had been towed or chauffeur driven for a large proportion of the journey. We proudly informed him we had rowed every metre of the way and camped out each night. He seemed impressed.

Chapter 5

Date: 11 May 2008 – Start: Benson Waterfront Caravan Park – Finish: Folly’s Bridge, Oxford – Distance: 20 miles – Average Speed: 3.6mph – Fact of the day: None worth noting

Our final day dawned rather cold. We breakfasted early, keen to get underway and complete the challenge. It was clear as we pulled away from Benson that we were running on our last reserves of energy and plasters were not providing adequate protection for the blisters on Chris’s hands (Paul and I sensibly took gloves). However, our rowing technique had been improving daily. We were ready for Oxford.

The first lock was Day’s Lock, where we had planned to camp the night before. It was a wilderness with no building other than the Lock Keeper’s cottage in sight. We had never been so grateful for dangerous trees.

Fate decided we had to face some real frights before reaching Oxford and laid them on for us in quick succession. At Clifton Lock we were half way raised when the keeper lowered us again explaining that some boats had just arrived and he would let them in with us. He had clearly misjudged the amount of space one of these boats required and we had to push desperately at its port side to prevent it from splicing Edward in two. Then, at the very next lock, Culham, having, as is proper, let all powered vessels in first and Paul and Chris (I had got out to stretch my legs) paddled through the gates. With timing so accurate that it is hard to believe it was not deliberate the keeper started to close the gates. Montmorency faced being crushed and Edward would not have fared well either. The crowd watching this scene yelled at the lock keeper, who only hit the open gates button with feet to spare. We stopped for lunch after that to give the remaining lock keepers the chance to get the morning madness out of their system.

By 4pm we were sculling into Oxford. Several university college rowing teams were out. I can only assume these were the less able teams, judging by their inability to row in a straight line. Also, one would guess that the serious teams would not row at the same time as the river is full of leisure punters. It was to Paul’s credit that he skilfully manoeuvred us passed all of these final obstacles, our 5 days experience clearly showing when compared to an amateurish Saturday afternoon punt.

We met Tom as planned, unloaded Edward and that was our row complete. All that was left to do was celebrate our success with an evening in Oxford. We had arranged accommodation as we approached the city. Not an easy task with virtually every hotel full. However, after much hunting we booked a hostel. All that was left to do was shower, change into the sort of attire suitable to now experienced Thames rowers and head out into Oxford. We found a restaurant without difficulty and sat with a view of the town, passers-by celebrate the weekend, although they doubtless did not have aching limbs, a head full of memories and backsides that could barely handle soft cushions. All testament to 5 glorious days on the river, all testament to the fact we could have done no more. With glasses of wine in hand we toasted our success “Here’s to three men well out of a boat”.

And Montmorency, who had kindly been supplied a high chair by the restaurant, sat in silent concurrence with the toast.