The outlaw run
It is always good to run somewhere different. Fresh sights, alternative
places to explore/get lost in, and a new perspective. This week I was working in
Nottingham and so I made sure there was a gap in my schedule I could fill with
a run.
I was staying in a hotel, let’s call it Lenny’s place, in the city centre. The dining room looked out over the canal and the tow path called my name. I laced up my Asics and off I went. I chose to head south into a strong wind which was part of Storm Ali counting on it being behind me on the way back. The canal soon met the River Trent and turned to the west heading through the aptly named West Bridgford.
Branches littered the path and I kept as eye and an ear out for the sound of wood cracking as I passed underneath the beech trees. Canada Geese huddled together to shelter from the gusts while a family of swans floated by, necks plunged beneath the waves that crested on the water’s surface.
After following the river path for a few miles I was diverted onto a main road and then took a left onto the Trent Valley Way. This signposted route continued away from the city centre towards Attenborough Nature Centre. This contains a series of lakes created from gravel extraction and then filled with water.
Before I reached the lakes, I realised I should probably have eaten something before starting. I was now 6 miles out and in the middle of the country and, as usual, I was craving crisps with no shops in sight. This seems to be happening to me far too often.
I took a right towards where I expected to find signs of civilisation and was soon skirting a business park albeit trapped in an alley between two six-foot-high barbed wire fences. It was like the Maze Runner only in Lycra. Finally, I emerged from the suffocating confines of the alleyway like a convict escaping the confines of the prison yard.
There before me was a beautiful sight. A word hung in the air, glinting in the sunshine and shining with hope and promise…. It said Subway – other bread and fillings-based food eateries are available. I didn’t know what to do but the guy behind the counter took pity on me and talked me through the process which resulted in me receiving a flatbread stuffed with everything that wasn’t meat, plus salad, plus sauce, a packet of crisps and a cookie. Bliss.
Precisely 20 seconds later I screwed up the napkin I had used to wipe my mouth and threw my wrappers in the bin. Re-energised I was ready for part two. I realised I was just around the corner from Nottingham University – or Beeston Tech as those of us that went to the more refined Nottingham Trent University used to call it.
The grounds are something else and I entered Highlands Park and skirted the lake. I pooped my head into the Lakeside Gallery before carrying on along the tram route into town. At this point I had done 10 miles but wanted to visit some of the places I remembered from my uni days a few (cough) years ago.
First stop Hyson Green, ground zero of the turf wars back in the day, when gangs from Radford and St Annes would fight, gun shots would ring out in the night and there was a drug dealer on every corner. Happy days.
Up the hill from there I paid a visit to the Arboretum. This is another park that had a lovely pub at the top of the hill where we used to ‘revise’ in the summer. All gone. Not knocked down, not replaced, all gone. Not even a trace that there had been a building there at all. Gosh.
Down the hill to Shakespeare Street. Ah yes, the hub of uni life, the grubby student union bar, the dingy library, the 1960’s brick monstrosities, the……..gleaming six story modernist halls of residences!?!? Golly.
Thankfully the old Arkwright and Newton buildings are still there, as is our old drinking hole, Russells now renamed The Orange Tree. Not a sticky carpet or karaoke machine in sight. Instead well-dressed students reading text books while they sip their Frappuccino’s. Hard to imagine the raucous sounds of England fans singing Vindaloo that used to emanate from the smoky interior during the world cup in 1998.
I turned back towards the Market Square and took in the new shops, bars and restaurants outside the theatre. Kylie Minogue was due the next day. In the square fountains arced through the air before plunging into a still pool, rainbows shimmering in the spray. Giant robins dressed as characters from Robin Hood stood like sentries at various points as part of a treasure hunt.
My final destination was Ye Olde Trip to Jerusalem, reputedly the oldest pub in England opened in 1189, and built into the walls of the castle. A pint to toast years gone and better forgotten! A quick stop at the Contemporary art gallery on the way through the Lace Market meant that I returned to the hotel as my watch clicked over 13.1 miles.
The city remains a special place for me. For three years it was my home. It has so much going on and is a vibrant and exciting place. Much has changed since I was last there and yes, it is for the better. I remember my time there fondly but more for the people than the place. That has all gone, just memories. Some I would like to forget while others I savour. It was good to go back and even better to run there.
I was staying in a hotel, let’s call it Lenny’s place, in the city centre. The dining room looked out over the canal and the tow path called my name. I laced up my Asics and off I went. I chose to head south into a strong wind which was part of Storm Ali counting on it being behind me on the way back. The canal soon met the River Trent and turned to the west heading through the aptly named West Bridgford.
Branches littered the path and I kept as eye and an ear out for the sound of wood cracking as I passed underneath the beech trees. Canada Geese huddled together to shelter from the gusts while a family of swans floated by, necks plunged beneath the waves that crested on the water’s surface.
After following the river path for a few miles I was diverted onto a main road and then took a left onto the Trent Valley Way. This signposted route continued away from the city centre towards Attenborough Nature Centre. This contains a series of lakes created from gravel extraction and then filled with water.
Before I reached the lakes, I realised I should probably have eaten something before starting. I was now 6 miles out and in the middle of the country and, as usual, I was craving crisps with no shops in sight. This seems to be happening to me far too often.
I took a right towards where I expected to find signs of civilisation and was soon skirting a business park albeit trapped in an alley between two six-foot-high barbed wire fences. It was like the Maze Runner only in Lycra. Finally, I emerged from the suffocating confines of the alleyway like a convict escaping the confines of the prison yard.
There before me was a beautiful sight. A word hung in the air, glinting in the sunshine and shining with hope and promise…. It said Subway – other bread and fillings-based food eateries are available. I didn’t know what to do but the guy behind the counter took pity on me and talked me through the process which resulted in me receiving a flatbread stuffed with everything that wasn’t meat, plus salad, plus sauce, a packet of crisps and a cookie. Bliss.
Precisely 20 seconds later I screwed up the napkin I had used to wipe my mouth and threw my wrappers in the bin. Re-energised I was ready for part two. I realised I was just around the corner from Nottingham University – or Beeston Tech as those of us that went to the more refined Nottingham Trent University used to call it.
The grounds are something else and I entered Highlands Park and skirted the lake. I pooped my head into the Lakeside Gallery before carrying on along the tram route into town. At this point I had done 10 miles but wanted to visit some of the places I remembered from my uni days a few (cough) years ago.
First stop Hyson Green, ground zero of the turf wars back in the day, when gangs from Radford and St Annes would fight, gun shots would ring out in the night and there was a drug dealer on every corner. Happy days.
Up the hill from there I paid a visit to the Arboretum. This is another park that had a lovely pub at the top of the hill where we used to ‘revise’ in the summer. All gone. Not knocked down, not replaced, all gone. Not even a trace that there had been a building there at all. Gosh.
Down the hill to Shakespeare Street. Ah yes, the hub of uni life, the grubby student union bar, the dingy library, the 1960’s brick monstrosities, the……..gleaming six story modernist halls of residences!?!? Golly.
Thankfully the old Arkwright and Newton buildings are still there, as is our old drinking hole, Russells now renamed The Orange Tree. Not a sticky carpet or karaoke machine in sight. Instead well-dressed students reading text books while they sip their Frappuccino’s. Hard to imagine the raucous sounds of England fans singing Vindaloo that used to emanate from the smoky interior during the world cup in 1998.
I turned back towards the Market Square and took in the new shops, bars and restaurants outside the theatre. Kylie Minogue was due the next day. In the square fountains arced through the air before plunging into a still pool, rainbows shimmering in the spray. Giant robins dressed as characters from Robin Hood stood like sentries at various points as part of a treasure hunt.
My final destination was Ye Olde Trip to Jerusalem, reputedly the oldest pub in England opened in 1189, and built into the walls of the castle. A pint to toast years gone and better forgotten! A quick stop at the Contemporary art gallery on the way through the Lace Market meant that I returned to the hotel as my watch clicked over 13.1 miles.
The city remains a special place for me. For three years it was my home. It has so much going on and is a vibrant and exciting place. Much has changed since I was last there and yes, it is for the better. I remember my time there fondly but more for the people than the place. That has all gone, just memories. Some I would like to forget while others I savour. It was good to go back and even better to run there.
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| My old student house |
