More Steps

Last Friday morning was a good one. I was running late for work. (I say running, of course, I’m on Betty – but you know what I mean).

The station where I catch the train has four platforms. Two are accessible by road/pathway and two you need to climb steps to get to them. Or, as in my case, cycle to the entrance at the far end of the one platform (where there are about a half dozen shallow steps) and travel the length of the platform to access the other platform that I need for my train (I think that's right?). And, as always, I don’t do things by half – I have to travel to the far end of that platform, to get on the end carriage, so that when I arrive at New Street I’m ready to go.

Occasionally the trains are late. This is not too much of a problem as long as I’m not so late for work that I have a class room of students twiddling their thumbs more than usual. Oh, by the way, thumb twiddling has come on a long way since I was their age (more on this in future posts).

So I’m running late. This is partly because I am taking a number (quite a number) of books back to the library and taking advantage of the relatively easy way to transport these books – heavy books ­– and partly because I fixed a puncture.

I take my usual route. Peddling much faster than usual (I’m quite surprised at how quick this actually is). I’m down the shallow steps with the heavy load on the back. All seems well and I manage to get to my ‘boarding’ position before the train arrives. I knew I was cutting it fine, but relieved to see that I hadn’t missed it. I folded down Betty in preparation for boarding. And waited. The train was late. I waited some more.

Very occasionally the trains are so late that they do not bother with the stage two part of the journey and wait at the opposite platform in readiness to return to New Street. This was one of those occasions. Of all days. The day when I have a bag full of heavy books. So the shout goes out from the opposite platform.

“All aboard for New Street!!!”

I look up. There’s a mass exodus of New Streeters clearing my platform and climbing the steps (all forty-eight of them). So I pick up Betty and start to carry her (and all the heavy books on her rack). Hang on!! I’ve got wheels!! I unfold Betty enough for the wheels to alleviate the load. Much better.

As I’m trotting along the platform towards the steps, I’m assured by the train conductor that he will wait for me. Thanks.

I get to the steps. Ordinarily, Betty is no trouble when climbing steps. Today though, she was fully loaded. And one could tell. But I persisted. Quickly climbed the steps – up. Quickly climbed the steps – down (this was much easier). Wheeled her along the platform to the end carriage (yes, my mild OCD was kicking in again) and boarded the train. Then re-folded her once aboard.

I am very grateful to the train driver for waiting for me. After all he was late. I’m not so grateful for the station to not have lifts, rather than steps. Apparently, they are going to put lifts on the station at a later date. To my mind, that’s at least a day too late.

After all that extra fast peddling, climbing steps with additional kilograms of load and trotting to the end carriage, I’m knackered. Only now, sitting on the train, are my legs starting to ache. They tell me it’s good for my heart.

Yeah. Whatever…