Out of Leicester, and getting stoned at Pochin's Bridge

There was heavy rain throughout the Leicester evening, and the four of us all had a quiet night in, in our own boats. It was cold. A damp cold. We turned on the Alde boiler and put on pullovers. Just before bed, we realised that the boat was listing. I got out to investigate. The river had risen in the rain, and our ropes were now too tight, pulling the side of the boat down towards the bank. Smiling at the driving rain, I loosened them all. And went to bed.

The rain had finished by the morning, and we'd not been swept away by the flooding river, nor even had the ropes got too tight again. White cloud was forecast for the day. Yeah, right. So after a quick trip to Tesco to buy food for the remaining days of the trip, and a visit from an old guy who purported not to be a robber, but homeless, unemployed, not having eaten for two days and in need of some money, but wouldn't let me take him to Tesco to buy him some food instead, because he didn't need it right now, he wanted to buy it himself later, he could be trusted, he wasn't going to spend it on drugs or drink, and he doesn't smoke. I said if he hadn't eaten for two days, why on earth did he want to eat later, and not straight away. He just did, he said. Could he come back later and get some money from me then? No, I said, we're just about to leave. If you can't take up my offer of a meal now, then I'm afraid I don't trust you with any money I might give you, and I can't help. And he left. Sigh. I did try to help.

We set off together, 20 lock miles to Kilby Bridge, which isn't a bridge, but a village. The locks were all in our favour, Sandy and I had our locking routines running smoothly, though the paddle mechanisms weren't always on our side! and Grace and Dave were very slick at entering and leaving locks together. We were a very good team. The weather was just right, too.

The River Soar is very varied, and on this day a lot of it was narrow and winding. On one occasion, just past St Mary's Mill Lock, Grace and I were seriously thinking that we might have taken a wrong turn, and got onto a backwater which was going to shrink to nothing very shortly. Reeds, water-weeds, overhanging trees, and almost not enough room even for ducks as we passed through. It put me in mind of the River Avon as it flows through Rugby. Not exactly what one has in mind when hearing the name "River". In other parts, though, it was broad and beautiful.

Our enjoyment was spoiled somewhat as we passed under Pochin's Bridge, no. 91 - the lock after Ervin's Lock, where two teenagers had unpinned us on the way down. On this bridge stood a gaggle of mixed-sized kids, who peered over as first Fairy then Kantara passed under. Dave said afterwards that he and Sandy had expected trouble from them, but they got none. I, however, wasn't too bothered by them - and we got stoned! A few metres beyond the bridge, a large piece of mortar flew close past us and hammered onto the underside of the open hatch in front of us. Another stone splashed into the water alongside. I turned around to see the perps watching gleefully, grabbed a camera and pretended (it was still in its case) to take a photo of them. They disappeared behind the parapet, but followed us from a distance, leading us to expect further trouble. There was none. It rained hard, and their malicious intentions were thwarted by their dislike of being wet. There was nothing the police could have done to catch them. They weren't near a public road, and we had no descriptions of any of them, but I phoned Leicestershire Police anyway, just so that they could be aware. I Tweeted the details to CRT as well, and my boating followers on Twitter, just in case it might help others to avoid similar problems. There was no harm done, just the tiniest of dents, amazingly, to some fairly insignificant paintwork.

We took two of the last three available moorings at Kilby Bridge, not the most picturesque of sites, but a decent mooring with full services on the opposite side of the river. It was our penultimate evening with Sandy and Dave, and we spent it with them, swapping stories over glasses of wine.

"...not the most picturesque of sites"

Full services across the river before making off into a day of 11 locks, sunshine, showers, heavy showers, wind and still. Odd weather, innit? The new, typical UK summer. We stopped for lunch at Ivy Bridge, it showered as we arrived, poured as we left again. There was very little traffic, and what there was was going the opposite way from us, and leaving the locks in our favour. One such boat was a hire-boat, not long into the crew's holiday, sharing locks with a grumpy, lone male boater in a slum boat, who knew it all - as they do. He had the gall to tell the holidaying skipper to stay where he was in the lock while he, the solo expert, drove ahead of him into the lock we were vacating. This put the poor bloke in the difficult situation of having to cross a fairly narrow pound while our two boats were approaching. I hope those holidaymakers had the sense to stop for a cuppa while the surly bloke put some distance between them.

Dave's just removed a lot of weed from his propellor.

Saddington Tunnel, and a pruning job to be done just beyond the exit, where a thick shrub (which, to my displeasure, turned out to be Hawthorn) was narrowing passage quite considerably, in league with a willow opposite. One much-prickled and torn Roger cut it back as much as he could without falling in. The river is beautiful here, beautiful countryside dotted with sheep, cows, and horses of a very distinctive and unusual type. Ripening wheat stood golden against a background of stormy skies, and trees glowing bright green under the sun.

We moored on Smeeton Aqueduct, just 15 miles from Leicester, where we were two days previously. I'm told the old working boats pulled by horse travelled faster! But then, every minute meant money to them, and they didn't stop, except in dire emergency. And there was no speed limit for them, either. 4 mph for us, it is.

Our final evening with Dave and Sandy was spent playing RummiKub, Greedy and Cribbage.

Our leaking pipe was under control.

"Work is what people do who don't go boating." (A plaque on the front of San Fairy Ann's cabin)

On into Leicester. Remember Leicester?

It was a short trip from Zouch to Loughborough Wharf, a small, neat basin surrounded by colourful buildings, with space for six to eight boats. There was already a widebeam and three narrowboats there, so we were lucky to get in. We moored at the foot of a tall, colourful TraveLodge, with Fairy next to us.

It was windy and raining, but we ventured out after lunch to buy food, and for Grace to visit a handbag shop she'd discovered on the web (Yes, I know she bought a handbag back in Newark. She bought another there, too). There was a small art exhibition in the Town Hall, which we enjoyed (some of).

The next morning, the rain had gone, and we set off after filling both boats' water tanks. We moored for lunch at Barrow Lock, then carried on through the Mill Basin (it's a sunny Saturday. Watch out for the canoes and pedaloes!). On through Mountsorrel Lock (look out for the dayboats Fumble, Rumble and Tumble!), Sileby and Cossington Locks (look out for the gongoozler who's sure he knows more about mooring than you do!), finally mooring at a very quiet, green spot just past Junction Lock.

It was then that we realised with some dismay that a patch of our bedroom carpet was wet. With engine coolant. We have in the past had problems with a leak in the joint between the calorifier and the pipe which brings hot water to it from the engine. We've had it "dealt with" twice by professionals, but we'd put a drip tray under it for good measure. And forgotten about it. It had overflowed, possibly some days earlier, and the floor under and around the leak was rather wet. No major damage was done, fortunately, but it was more than annoying, and probably means we'll need a new calorifier. 

Our despondency was duly squashed by an evening of cards and wine with Dave and Sandy, and we went to bed knackered after midnight.

The only thing we could do about the leak the next morning was to stand the mattress on its side next to the bed throughout the day, and check regularly to make sure the leak wasn't getting worse, and that the drip tray (a lunch box) wasn't about to overflow. Apart from a small amount of water which collected overnight, there was no further problem. I think we might carry on doing this for the rest of the trip. We anticipate being back in Yelvertoft on Friday.

Sunday's weather started off very much better than forecast, but the weather we were promised duly arrived as we made our way up towards Leicester. It rained, then it rained harder, then it poured. The floating filth increased in density the closer we got, but there's no denying that the River Soar at this point is rather beautiful - so long as you don't look at the water. Winding, often quite narrow, and with large populations of manifold varieties of birds. We saw a pair of Little Grebes. None of us had seen any before, though "the book" says they're not uncommon in the UK.

There were few walkers and cyclists; the rain had deterred them, perhaps, but the weekend boats were out.

There's what looks very much like a very large, inflatable building to be seen by Birstall Lock. Seriously! Unfortunately, I didn't have my camera to hand. 

Five locks up into Leicester, then, and the "official" CRT mooring platform was full. They need to make it bigger. Double-depth platforms like they have on the Trent. We both moored opposite, in the shadow of the DeMontfort halls of residence. It was raining still. Hard. And we were all wet and a bit chilly. It was so bad, even the emergency services weren't out. All the crims and other deplorables were indoors, keeping dry, I should imagine. Sixteen swans massed past us, too cool to be bothered by the weather. Two young ladies rowing backwards at high speed bounced off the side of the boat, too dense to consider the possibility that they might hit something unless they look where they're going. Sigh.

A change of clothes for us next, a quick, hot lunch and drinks, and an afternoon of avoiding the weather. Easily done, though we did need to buy some food. We'll do that tomorrow, then. The forecast says better weather tomorrow. We'll see. No photos today. My camera's not that waterproof.

Leaving Leicester behind for something more beautiful

The next morning's drizzle did nothing to make Leicester look any more pleasant, so we lowered ourselves out of the fag-end of the city, happy to leave behind at last the almost incessant sirens of police and ambulance services which had been with us since our arrival. Slowly, the deserted, derelict mills and warehouses disappeared behind us, and the trees, hedgerows and fields became the scene. The Watermead Country Park and boating lakes were home to a huge number and variety of birds. The best bit of Leicester, I should think. The river got wider, grand at times, and very beautiful, sometimes merging with the River Wreake. There were several locks, remote and quiet. We saw very few other boaters, and those we met commented that they had, too, and were very eager to chat, as if they'd been parted from human company for too long.

After lunch at Sileby Lock, we moved on to Mountsorrel, where we met with a large party on a hire boat. It was all a bit stressful, to be honest. They had no idea how dangerous moving boats can be, despite warnings from others, and children climbed over it and walked up and down the gunnel as the boat was being eased into the lock alongside us. The guy at the tiller was obviously very new to the task, and struck the wall outside the lock very hard, nearly throwing two of the children into the water, and then drove into the lock gate that I had closed behind Kantara. It would have been her they'd hit otherwise.

Wood sculptures at Sileby Lock

On along the wide and beautiful river towards Barrow-on-Soar. A group of twenty or so small children stood by a host of canoes, awaiting their instructors' permission to get in and have fun. They waved their arms and paddles, cheered and shouted enthusiastically, and Grace and I passed, waving like Tim and Pru. At Barrow Mill Basin, we got the last visitor mooring. It's a pleasant, peaceful spot, the only noise being the nearby weir. We tied up for the night.