Getting hotter....

It was but a short taste of the Ashby, but Michelle loved it, so it was worth it. The next morning, we winded just after Basin Bridge and headed back whence we'd come. Michelle's knee was a bit better now, but our thoughts of visiting Coventry were dashed when Grace stepped into a space which had previously not been occupied by the end of the tiller and now was. She'd almost certainly cracked her rib, and was in a lot of pain.

It soon became clear that this was going to slow our return to Yelvertoft. There would be things that Grace normally did from the stern that she couldn't do now, so I was going to have to do those as well as my normal routines at the bow - handling stern and centre lines, stern mooring, closing lock gates, that sort of stuff. And she'd need to lie down and rest from time to time, too. Then Michelle twisted her getting-better knee, and that ruled her out of doing too much as well. Coventry was struck off the itinerary.

We carried on to Hawkesbury, filled up with water, and went looking for a mooring. There wasn't the smallest space available this time, so we moved on another mile to Caters Bridge 11, moored, and lazed and watched Wimbledon for the rest of the afternoon.

At this point, my photos become scarce. I guess my attention was on the injured crew now.

The next day, after a bad night's sleep, Grace's ribs were worse, and so was Michelle's knee. We would have to shorten each day's trip now, to allow time for them to rest. Fortunately, Michelle had the whole of the following week off work, so there was no hurry for her to get back.

Continuing through Ansty (why can't boats moor there??) and Stretton Stop, we moored again at Easenhall Bridge 34. Lunch, rest, Wimbledon. Sun, peace and quiet.

Down in the engine compartment, I noticed that the bilge water below the stern gland was deeper than it ought to have been. I'd been pumping it out daily, and that was fine, but I really needed to tighten the gland nuts a little to slow the drip. Also, there was a small amount of coolant in the bilges. I was aware of it, and watching to see if it increased. And we were both keeping an eye on the temperature gauge, too, but I couldn't find where the water had come from, so there was nothing else I could do but monitor the situation.

This decision was to backfire on me later.

We were alarmed by a boat that was reversing in to moor behind us. Not that the reversing was a problem, but rather that there was a very loud bang from the boat, and its engine stopped abruptly. I hopped out to help them back up to the bank. They didn't know what had caused the noise, but thought it might have been a log caught in the propeller. That could be very difficult to remove!

But they must have done it fairly quickly, because they left the mooring the next day, quite some time before us. Newbold Tunnel next, a lovely, sunny day, and a beautiful canal. We were pleased to see Nikki and Ralph on NB Miner Bill coming in the opposite direction, fellow tweeps whose boat we've seen more than once before, but whom we've never met. The meeting was brief, of course, but it's always good to see the faces of Twitter or Facebook friends.

At Newbold Quarry Park, we stopped. We'd been meaning to visit for years. There's no real mooring for boaters who want to visit this park, but we managed, with the help of passing boats that lifted us aground in their haste. Michelle and I wandered through the park for a while, very pleasant but nothing special. We were glad we spent the time there, though.

After lunch, we drove on to Rugby. Michelle sat and read under the shade of a tree while Grace and I did a quick shop at Tesco. Just 20 minutes after we left that spot, an alarm sounded from our gauges panel. The engine was overheating. Both of us had failed to check the temperature since Newbold. Grace steered Kantara into the reeds on the bank, and turned off the engine. Mooring was a challenge. The bank was badly, unevenly eroded, so there was no straight edge. Additionally, there were reeds and weeds galore that hid the water's edge very effectively. There was nothing for it - I had to jump! With the centre line in my hand, I launched myself as far as I could towards the towing path.

I landed on solid ground. Mooring pins had to be driven in amongst stinging nettles and other offensive plants, but a fairly secure mooring was made. There was no getting off for Michelle or Grace, however, so down came the gangplank from the roof - the first time it'd ever been used. Now I had to check the engine. It was hot! But there was really nothing I could see to suggest the reason for the overheating. The pool of coolant in the bilges was not significantly bigger. The water level in the header tank was fine. The domestic hot water wasn't hot, the skin tank was cold, and the filler cap had blown off the header-tank. I could only think that the water pump had gone. Time to call in RCR.

Steve the RCR man arrived within 40 minutes. He discovered fairly quickly that the fan-belt was loose, so the pump wasn't being turned. I was almost right, then. I pointed out to him that the belts had been checked by the RCR man who'd done the annual service back in November. Steve tutted.

He then discovered that the caps for the radiator and the header tank had been swapped, so the pressure cap was on the header tank and the simple cap was on the radiator. This explained to Steve, though not to me, why the header tank was still full. I shrugged. The RCR man had removed the caps back in November, I told him. Steve tutted. What was the name of the idiot who made these mistakes? I went in and got him the paperwork for that job. Steve looked at the signature.

"Oh!" he said, rather alarmed "That was me!"

Embarrassment ensued.

To his credit, having discovered the fan-belt tension issue, Steve then investigated the coolant leakage, and found that the rubber hose feeding the calorifier with hot water from the engine was split. I'd not found that when I was checking for the leak. He cut off the end of the hose with the split in it, refitted the good(ish) bit, refilled the system, tested it all for some time, and urged me to get the in and out hoses to the calorifier replaced. With that, he made his merry way back to his van half a mile up the towing path.

We moved on a short distance to a decent mooring, grateful for the work done.

The Ashby Canal in fab weather

Fab weather is what we awoke to on Wednesday, and fab weather is what we had all day long. Michelle's knee wasn't sufficiently recovered for her to do much walking, so we decided against going to Coventry, turned right out of Hawkesbury Junction onto the Coventry Canal, and set off towards the delightful Ashby Canal.

We'd been warned that the water was unusually shallow there. Would we get far? we wondered. It would have been good if we could trip down to Coventry on our way back, Michelle's knee allowing. Time wasn't critical, so it was a matter of wait-and-see.

The boatyard at Bedworth looked tidier than usual. There was definitely less junk there, and more intact boats that looked as though they were there for work to be done on them. The dressed mannequins that line the bank were fewer, and less of a feature.

Marston Junction, and the start of the Ashby. We were a little dismayed to see the Norwegians turning in ahead of us, but we passed them later as they pulled over to moor. Travel might well have been even slower if we'd ended up behind them!

The canal was shallow, though we didn't think it was more so than usual, and it made passing oncoming boats difficult at times. Bank effect was a frequent occurrence. But it was all very beautiful, peaceful, serene. Lots of boaters were enjoying it with us.

We stopped before Bridge 3 for a relaxed lunch.

And at the end of the day, we moored below Basin Bridge 22. The only disturbance was the distant barking of dog kennels.

Fab!

Starting with a splash

On Tuesday morning, before Grace and I were even out of bed, Michelle fell into the canal. Well, she washed one leg very thoroughly, and badly bruised the other knee.

"It's certainly one way to avoid locking!" I joked. She glared at me. She really enjoys the job, and wasn't going to be best pleased with having to watch me do it on my own - though I can be very entertaining!

It was a day of clouds...

and cows.

We moved on to Rugby, stopping for a short while to shop at Tesco. The stretch beyond, between bridge 59 and the aqueduct, has been very nicely restored where it used to be a badly broken bank. OK, it wasn't possible to moor there before the fix, but it's a shame that the opportunity wasn't taken to make this long stretch into a good 48-hour mooring.

Newbold Tunnel was still unilluminated. They really ought to replace that fuse! We stopped at Easenhall Bridge 34 to eat. Over lunch, there was much discussion about what we'd do when we met the Coventry Canal. Left to Coventry to see the cathedrals and whatever else we might discover Coventry has to offer, or right to the Ashby Canal? Michelle hadn't seen the city before, and would have liked to see the cathedrals at least, but her knee wasn't holding up very well, and there was some doubt that she'd be able to do the walking. I made the executive decision to turn right. How rubbish would it be to do the 10-mile journey in and out of Coventry with Michelle not being able to benefit from being there?

As it happened, we were able to moor at Hawkesbury before the junction. Every time we'd been this way before, that bank was totally full of boats. We moored close NB Ottawa whom we'd moored next to the night before. Another boat filled the gap between us. The young lady from the boat introduced herself as Isabelle, the social media manager of her dog, Tony, who tweets as @tonyonaboat. Tony follows me on Twitter. I follow him now, too. Well, I already follow @BoatHorseCracker‏, the boat horse on the Montgomery. I can't be specist, can I? Not at all PC!

A shout, "Grace and Roger!!" made us hurry to the side doors in time to see Sandy and Dave - the Fairies - go past, waving and calling out. They were with another boat that was ahead of them, so they couldn't stop to catch up, which was a great shame. They were on their way back to Barby from a trip to Leeds. Eleven weeks in total. Lucky them!

We ate at The Greyhound Inn, down at the junction, an excellent meal in a charming old building, then returned to Kantara for a sweltering evening of card games.

A smelly end to the day!

Misty drizzle softened the countryside as we moved on this morning. The Coventry Canal is truly beautiful, except for the bit through Nuneaton, which still has a long way to go even before it can be called attractive. Bedworth, too, Enough said! There were a lot of craft on the move. Hire-boats, owner-boats, working boats, a boat and butty. Many of these will have come off the Ashby Canal, where the Moira Festival had been held over the weekend.

After a lazy lunch south of Nuneaton, we moved on past Marston Junction. A small boat turned off the Ashby after we'd passed, and speeded up behind us. Small boats are nippier than bigger ones, and we didn't want to hold him up. We know what that feels like! So we pulled over, and beckoned him past. Mistake! The boat was skippered by a single-handed man, with a restricted view because of a large box on the roof. His steering was very erratic, and he slowed down once he'd overtaken. Very annoying! Now we were crawling, and it got progressively worse. He looked very agitated, and kept peering over the back of his boat. Perhaps he had boat problems.

Arriving at the start of the Hawkesbury moorings, he pulled over and stopped. As we passed, it looked as if he did have issues with his engine or prop. Poor bloke. I know how he felt!

Grace took Kantara around the 180° turn into the Hawkesbury basin, we were now back on the Oxford Canal. Or, rather, we were once we'd been through the very shallow stop-lock. And the Oxford is beautiful, too - after the first half mile or so, anyway.

But then we remembered the problem it has that we'd experienced on our way out, weeks and weeks ago. It has little in the way of good moorings. The banks are often rocky, or have reeds and rushes growing against them. Or both. So we travelled longer than we'd intended - as we had on our way out - until finally we found a stretch or Armco, only long enough for us to moor against after the skipper of the boat in front had moved his craft forwards six feet.

 Back a while, between bridges 19 and 24, we'd been through very polluted water. Very black, with white, bubbly patches, smelling foul. Chemically. And it was leaving a thick, black deposit on overhanging plants. Water birds had deserted it. After mooring, I phoned the CRT emergency line, and reported it. They already knew. Let's hope they got it sorted out before it did real damage.

On through... Nuneaton

The hotel boat moved us before us this morning, leaving us thinking what a strange way that is to spend a holiday. The boat has three guests at the moment; two Australian women and an English man. The boat is skippered by a man. I'm guessing there's one other crew member, probably his wife, who's responsible for the domestic tasks. The guests are encouraged to help at locks, mooring and so on. Five people living in very close quarters. I'm wondering just how that English gent feels. I'm told he makes a habit of going on long walks.

There's a marked increase in ambient noise as you get closer to Hawkesbury Junction, rising to a din. The M6 runs parallel. It's a shame, for most of the journey is visually interesting, if not always picturesque, and the row is an unpleasant distraction. But at least there's no railway nearby.

Arriving at Hawkesbury, we passed NB Takara taking on water, and we descended the very shallow stop lock, pulled over for the few minutes it took me to dispose of refuse, and took the hairpin turn out of the basin and onto the Coventry Canal. I see that the tiny building at the side of the basin is now some kind of CRT museum and information centre. They're now saying it used to be a toll booth, but I'm pretty sure it's been a police station more recently.

The stop-lock

Signs outside The Greyhound Inn

I've photographed and blogged the highlight of the town of Bedworth on more than one occasion, and it features in my book, too, but I have to admit to the pleasure I get from seeing the creativity displayed in the piles of junk along a stretch of the canal here. Marked in our ancient copy of the Nicholson Guide as the home of the Warwickshire Canal Carrying Company, it seems to be nothing more than a scrap yard. The extent of it is hard to put in words.

But what makes me smile are the numerous mannequins positioned alongside the canal, clad in all sorts of costumes, in all sorts of poses, each of them a key player in some kind of frozen drama, a tableau for the entertainment of passing boaters. There's always something new to be seen, and I love it.

Passing Marston Junction, the start of the Ashby Canal, and after stopping for a couple of hours for a bite to eat (and for me to finish yesterday's blog post!), we moved on under sunny...

OK, let's sort out the weather situation. Let's assume that the weather on this trip is going to continue like this...

It's sunny and bright, even warm at times. Then it clouds over, threatens to rain for less than half an hour, then pours with rain for up to 20 minutes. Very strong winds are entirely likely, too. After this, the sun comes out and steam-dries everything, and the pattern repeats.

This has become so much the norm over the past weeks that I shall no longer mention the weather unless something extreme happens. We'll accept the above to be the case every day. OK?

First thing this morning, as far as I was concerned, the Coventry Canal, beautiful as it is, has one major problem.

Nuneaton.

Detritus on the water and on the banks. Graffiti on every available surface. Dog poo on the verges. Sunken, rotting boats in the canal. Flotsam and jetsam. Rubbish and filth.

But today I have to hand it to the people of Nuneaton, their local council, whoever's made the effort. We were pleasantly shocked to find the whole length of canal through the town to be very, very much cleaner. Unbelievable, but true. Almost nothing floating in the canal that shouldn't have been there. Almost litter-free banks and towing-path. And though the graffiti was still there, none of it looked new. All was faded. Nice one, Nuneaton!

The weather was

Oops!

We moored for the night in another lovely spot just above Bridge 27.

I'll mention the wind.

It was very extreme!