Bee Network

Beryl Is Dead.

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A scuff along my left inner calf. Just beneath that a short slash of loose skin. A sore knee. The result of a power-assisted pedal down an ill-fitting road. What started as a simple ser if errands had quickly escalated into a farce. All in the name of public and green transport.

Many people that I know argue that the best car driving experiences involve hire cars. The same can’t be said for Manchester’s new-ish Beryl bikes. The bee-crested Bee Network bikes have been around the city for some time. Their yellow livery and solid frames, like bees, give off a sense of warning. Many hit accelerate in their hire cars, and some give little care to how they return them. I pride myself on treating all in my possession as my own. I aimed to take this hire bike back safely.

Departing a bus stop in Ardwick, I ran my first errand, and toyed with the idea of a bus back to town and then across to Openshaw. I passed a rack of yellow bikes. I decided to download the Beryl application. I followed the instructions and was quickly away. I slowed past the site of the former Daisy Mill in Longsight. I sped on, deciding to swing via Gorton and then Openshaw before heading for Newton Heath. That was my first error.

The second error was not locking the bike, despite using the screen to lock it. The screen kept flashing with a lock bike message. Then I slid the black rear lock in place. It said I could park for 15 minutes. I gave myself 5 minutes in the shop. Within minutes, 4 phone warnings flashed up. The reasonable minutes per bike riding were okay. The £25 out of zone parking was not. It had not paused the journey. It ended the journey. I soon contacted team Purple on the Beryl application. Displeased was an understatement.

After some careless negotiation, enraged, with sore cold hands on a phone that refused to steady my nerves, I had negotiated my charges back. Just the charges. Not the journey fee. I left it a few days, and even now, 6 days later, I feel angry at such a poor experience. Use more environmental transport? Hmm. No thanks.

I’d managed a loop and ended almost where I’d started. Racking and placing the two locks onto the bumbling Bee bike, I became infuriated by the complexity of a simple enough ride. I’ve used similar services in Germany, China, Japan, and Denmark, yet here in my hometown, hiring a bike seemed as complex as spliting the atom.

Return of the Bus Journey

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No plan survives contact with the scheduled 76 bus. Nor the second timetabled bus. Arriving late into town meant one of two things. The 192 bus or a train. The train is the quicker option to Stockport. The price, a modest £5.30 one way, demanded a mortgage. The things you do to try to get to work on time. Cycling is off.

Having missed the 0748 Manchester to Bredbury train, I tried to slingshot ahead of the later service arriving to Bredbury at 0835. Sadly, the bus at Stockport’s Heaton Lane bus station was scheduled for 0835, too. Murphy’s Law. My cursed aching muscles and sudden varicose vein development on the right leg suddenly became weighted against a potentially exhausting bike ride to work the next day.

Having rang work to say I’d be late, I questioned how getting up earlier to arrive at work later made sense. This is Britain, formerly Great Britain. The new Manchester Bee Network for public transport is the least integrated and most underwhelming range of services known to mankind. People in Himalayan foothills have more reliable public transport options. Adding a rebrand to buses, trains, and trams in Manchester makes as much sense as being a Public Relations officer for Suella Braverman. Lifestyle choices, my arse.

Better late than never? I want to work. I enjoy my job. Today, however, I still feel worn down, lethargic, and done in. Still, it could be much worse. Jules Verne could turn this morning’s journey into an adventure. Likewise, it could be much better. Here’s to a blessed week.

Good Neighbours

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Philips Park in East Manchester is a gem. The river Medlock flows through it, surrounded by red bricks before flowing under Alan Turing Way and Manchester City’s extensive car parking facilities. Arguably, the park is less cared for under government cuts, but it still maintains a summery charm. Rises of 14 or so metres make for a varied wander. Or you could take a level path that runs the length of the park…

Back in 1846, on a day (22nd August) when Manchester opened three parks simultaneously at the same time, Philips Park was one of the largest municipal parks in Lancashire and now remains so in Greater Manchester. Covering a whopping 31 acres (12.5 hectares) it links to Philips Park cemetery (opened 1867) and loosely to Clayton Vale via a road crossing. Lady Hoghton’s former land at Philip’s Park has long complimented Manchester. On my own travels, the park has held memories of toffee apples on Bonfire Night, the Original Source Urbanathlon run, and kickabouts with mates.

Formal gardens and a bowling green sit near-idle, over an orchard for the community and a dipped-away pond. The grade-II listed site has winding pathways, an allotment, and modern BMX tracks (provided by British Cyling and the nearby National Cycling Centre). Manchester City Council operates the park, which is supported by a Friends of Philips Park group, too. The arches of an old railway display artwork as a south-eastern border to the parkland. The whole park is part of the Medlock River Valley corridor.

Located along Stuart Street and Alan Turing Way, the fields feature football goals, amphitheatre-style bowls, and an array of playground facilities for little ‘uns to enjoy. The historic head gardener’s house (designed by Salford’s Alfred Darbyshire, who helped Jameson build whiskey distilleries in Dublin) stands across the way from the Etihad Stadium and Ashton Canal. Just two miles (3.2km) from the city centre of Manchester, make Philips Park easily reachable by the Veldrome tram stop or numbers 216 and 76 buses. Bee Network cycle paths pass close by, too. Woodland, wild grassland, and undulating bumps are close to the Mancunian urban centre. The Green Flag park isn’t too bad for a picnic, should the famous Manchester weather allow possibility.

The park takes its name from M.P. Liberal Mark Philips (4 November 1800 – 23 December 1873). He was one of Manchester’s first parliamentarians after the Great Reform Act of 1832. Mark Philips was born in a park of the same name in Whitefield, just up the way. Mark Philips and others supported a Liberal form of capitalism known as Manchesterism. Just to highlight one major contribution to socialism too: Philips was instrumental in the creation of a local association of public schools, paving the way for national publicly-funded state schools. A keen supporter of access to education, he backed a free library, too. His statues can be found in the Manchester Town Hall and an estate in Stratford-upon-Avon. A man of the people who helped turn land once part of the Bradford Colliery and Estate into a green space, part of a longstanding green recovery. The park doesn’t take its name from Manchester City’s number 4, Kalvin Philips.