Gentleman Cyclist

Day 7 – 11th April 2007

We awoke to another fine day – clear skies and some spilt-milk mist clinging to the valley floor below.

We wanted to buy a replacement spare tyre today, but we drew a blank in Ludlow – even the well-stocked Pearce Cycles, well out of town on the Fishmore Road, couldn’t supply what we wanted.

Again, the day began with climbing. We threaded our way through the end of Wenlock Edge and again our speed stayed down. It was a very pretty ride – one of the highlights was coming upon a trio of donkeys, one of whom deigned to let us stroke his nose. Has anyone ever done LEJoG on a donkey, I wonder?

The downhill towards Leighbotwood was one of the most exhilarating so far. Never so steep that the bike started to run away, and never completely straight. It reminded me of a bobsleigh run.

We arrived in Condover at about 1.20 and Andrea provided us with a good lunch of soup, bread and cheese, fruit cake and apples. An hour later we were on our way, looking for Stan Jones’ bike shop in Shrewsbury. We found it with no difficulty and they had exactly what we wanted – a Schwalbe Marathon Plus in 26″*1.75″. It seems that the walls of the Schwalbe are much more robust than those of the Panaracer Pasela. We had a good chat with the salesman – a friendly and knowledgable guy. I’d rate Stan Jones as “very good” in the bike shops’ league.

There was a grinding climb out of Shrewsbury which lasted several miles up to Harmer Hill (the name gives it away), but eventually we reached the B5476 to Wem. We had to be alert here as the council were clearly intent that everyone should be funnelled back onto the A49 to Whitchurch, and we nearly missed the turning. However, a look at the map soon put us right and now that the roads were generally flatter as we headed towards the Cheshire Plain, we were able to maintain a pretty good turn of speed.

After Whitchurch we were onto the minor roads through to Wrenbury, no longer in the Severn catchment area, but having crossed the watershed towards the Weaver, which is a tributary of the Mersey. These smaller roads were a relief after the 20 or so busy miles since Shrewsbury, in which quite often a queue of traffic would form behind us as we ground up some hill or other at 5mph.

The last stretch into Nantwich was pretty easy, and Jan was able to take a call from her sister Helen as we rode along. How nonchalant!

We found our digs, but were very disappointed to discover that they were not serving food, which I had been told that they were when I booked – something to do with England playing football. We had arranged to meet Alan and Marge Smith for a drink, and we did so, spending a pleasant hour or so, but finally the need for sustenance became a priority so we went to the Chinese restaurant. Very pricey, but quite tasty.

During the meal, I took the opportunity to phone my sister Tricia and to wish her a happy birthday. I won’t say which it was, but I wished her many years’ use of her bus pass.

Day 6 – 10th April 2007

It dawned on me today for the first time that minor roads are invariably more hilly, and therefore lead to slower cycling, than do A-roads. This is quite a shameful admission for the oft-times winner of the King Edward VI Grammar School John Motson prize for the Bleedin’ Obvious. A-roads became A-roads precisely because they were the most popular routes between two places. And why were the most popular? Because people get there quicker!

So it was on leaving Chepstow that we took a left turn at St. Arvans and then did lots of climbing as we travelled over the Devauden Road. It’s not just the slower cycling that slows you down (if you do half your journey at 4mph and the other half at the speed of light you still only average 8mph) but also the need for more frequent rests, and the non-existent, or, worse still, unclear road signs. So it was that the 16 mile journey into Monmouth took us about 3 hours.

It was a very enjoyable 3 hours. Again, the scenery was breathtaking and the Brecon Beacons beckoned from the west. We saw several buzzards and watched one as it soared above us for quite some minutes, displaying the wonderful patterns on the underside of the wings; and another, gliding in stealth mode in woodland before alighting in a nearby tree. Jan took some photos of the wildflowers in the steep bank and as she did I noticed a vole scurrying around above her.

We had coffee and then started the long grind up the A466 towards Hereford. “Light vehicles only” said the road sign, so we half-expected to be turned back by the police. However, we travailed and were rewarded by the rather grisly sight of a squashed polecat, very close to the English border. This was the first I had ever seen, dead or alive.

There seemed to be a distinct pub dearth in this route, so we dived into a village shop in St. Weonards (where do these saints get their names?) and cleaned him out of flapjack. Suitably refreshed, we carried on.

Several times along the way I thought I detected some unevenness from the rear wheel. I checked the spokes – all OK. The brakes were working perfectly so the rims must be fine. Yet the nagging doubt remained that not all was right.

We joined the A49 for the last 5 miles into Hereford. It is a horrid road, but on this particular stretch it is virtually all downhill so we managed as many miles in 15 minutes as had taken us at least an hour earlier in the day.

On leaving Hereford we found some pleasant, and mostly flattish, minor roads through Sutton St. Nicholas and Bodenham. We then spent about 3 miles on the A417, which was OK, but the point at which it joined the A 489 the traffic was nightmarish We ended up pushing the tandem along the grass verge, but it was less than half a mile before we turned left into Leominster.

Our stops were becoming more frequent as Jan was suffering from saddle-sore and was also suffering from cramp in her right calf. As she was indulging in a little relieving yoga, I inspected the rear wheel again as it was still worrying me. The problem was immediately obvious: a tear in the wall of a brand-new Panaracer Pasela tyre, no doubt as a result of cycling on the dreadful sustrans route just north of Bristol.

The remainder of the journey was slow and uneventful and when we arrived at the digs at around 7.45 our host immediately gave me access to the garage for fettling purposes It was at this point that I realised that I had never actually removed the rear wheel from this bike. It was all pretty straightforward and within 20 minutes or so I was test-driving the tandem. A quick shower later and we were foraging for a pub that still served food at 8.50pm.

The first pub we tried sent me somewhere else and the second was no better, at least, from the food aspect. However, they did serve Black Sheep and Timothy Taylor landlord, as well as a bitter called Hobson’s. With a choice like that we had to stay for a drink and we were soon chatting to two very pleasant ladies about the best place to eat in Ludlow.

Now I’m not normally that adept at chatting up strange women in bars, particularly in my wife’s company, but in the end we joined Sharon and Jane (for that is who they were) for a second Indian meal on successive nights, and a very convivial evening it was! So, thanks, ladies, for your company and if you are ever unfortunate enough to stray Southend then please be our guests!

Day 5 – 9th April 2007

We awoke this morning to grey skies – something of a shock after the treat we had enjoyed over the previous 4 days. Again, we had a splendid breakfast – we seem to have been as fortunate with our B & Bs as we have with the weather.

This was a morning for long trousers and a warm top, and the flat countryside enabled us to keep up a good speed, covering 10 miles in the first hour. Shortly after crossing the A39 at Shapwick we met a group from the Somerset CTC who had been on a 4-day tour. Almost all were riding Argos bikes – no, not bought from a well-known purveyor of household goods, but a renowned local builder of the finest riding irons. We chatted briefly and they passed on some useful info regarding Cheddar and the Mendips. Also, the Severn crossing: cycles on the north side, apparently.

We stopped at Wedmore for some coffee, which is where I have scribbled these words. So far, 19.53 miles at 9.6mph – 2h 1m 9s.

Cheddar Gorge was rather fun. There were lots of slow-moving cars, not enough parking spaces, and it’s really not the place to visit on an Easter Monday bank holiday. But here we were. We earned many admirers and one round of applause when we cycled up only getting off to push for about 200 yards and that at the steepest section.

Once we were over the Mendips, lunch became a priority and the Blue Bowl, near the Chew Valley lake, provided a very good “ploughmans”.

From here, there were more hills than I expected and when we found our way into Ashton Park I was very cross to find that we had somehow missed our way and had to climb a very unpleasant 1 in 7 to get to the Clifton Suspension Bridge.

As cyclist we had no toll to pay, and it was from here that Sustrans, and Route 4 in particular, proved useful. Finding our way through Bristol was easy. Unfortunately, once we started heading out of the city towards the Severn Bridge, we were taken through all sorts of outlandish places, so desolate and deserted that one could easily imagine gangland murders occurring. Worse than that, I reckon that Sustrans added a good 3 miles to the route I had planned and it was a matter of some regret that I didn’t pay more attention to my own route planning sheet.

We did eventually find our way onto the bridge, and were rewarded with a fine sunset. We finally reached Chepstow around 8.30pm and found our digs with little difficulty The tribulations of the day were almost compensated for by the excellent Indian meal we enjoyed, prior to a romantic stroll down to the river Wye, and a less romantic night snoring and spluttering.

Day 4 – 8th April 2007

What a difference a day makes! Yesterday was as hard a day’s cycling as one would ever hope to meet; todays was a dawdle by comparison. Our attitude had changed as well. In spite of eating breakfast at 8am, we were not away until 10. A good deal of the late start can be accounted for by our hosts: former Essex residents (Radwinter) whose son did the end-to-end 16 years ago, in 8 days! Dad operated the support vehicle, so 130 miles per day, although extreme, is doable for a fit teenager without luggage who sticks to the A roads nearly all the way.

Apart from the early walk up the steep hill from Chulmleigh, we had a very steady day’s cycling. Navigation was straightforward as the first 19 miles, into Tiverton, were along a B road, almost all easterly so that the outside of my right thigh became sunburnt. We also found the canal towpath with ease, but Sustrans, as ever, came up trumps: the gates were locked and it was impossible to get a fully laden tandem through the labyrinth barrier. After a little exploration and asking passers-by, we found the canal basin and we were away It was not fast cycling, but at least we were free from hills for 10 miles or more. The canal was interesting too: at one point a large fish swirled on the surface, and later we saw a beautiful little perch.

On leaving the tow-path, we kept to Sustrans route 3, and it led us quite a dance. The road signs were all pretty unhelpful but in the village of Greenham, we found a man with a 1:50000 OS map. That sorted us out for a while, but around Langford Budville the doubts set in again. We muddled through somehow but I am not sure even now which roads we took.

On reaching Nynehead we found ourselves climbing a delightful little sandstone gorge and not long afterwards we were in Taunton – to think that we were here a few mornings ago wondering when the train would set off.

I have decided I don’t like Taunton. To an extent that is self-inflicted because I failed to plot the route in sufficient detail and we got lost. I asked a couple of old geezers and they were no help. We were looking for the Taunton and Bridgwater Canal, but ended up finding Junction 25 of the M5, with its extremely unpleasant roundabout intersection with the A38. We had no choice but to take on this maxi-roundabout and were finally relieved to find ourselves on quieter roads and heading into Rushton.

Even on arriving in North Curry, our guest house eluded us for a while, but we were eventually rewarded with an elegant red-brick former doctor’s residence.

Our bike was stowed away, baths were had, washing handed to the landlady and then we were off to the pub. We had the restaurant to ourselves as there was a noisy and inaccurate quiz going on in the other bar. The quizmaster told everyone that the circumference of a circle was equal to pi r squared.

I actually turned the television on in our room and sneaked a look at the weather forecast for the next week. It’s looking pretty good for the foreseeable future, if it isn’t tempting providence too much to say so.

As we walked the 100 yards or so from the Bird in hand to Trevarrick House, we benefitted from the absence of street lighting. The stars were far brighter than we ever see them in SE Essex, although we had to be careful where we put our feet.

Day 3 – 7th April 2007

We really rated Lyndon House as a B & B. Nothing seemed to be too much trouble for our landlady – I gained the impression that she was perhaps rather new to the hospitality business and was maybe trying just a bit too hard, but we weren’t complaining. The room was comfortable and well-appointed, the shower was very good indeed, the breakfast was generous, consisting of cereal, fruit compôte, yogurt, scrambled eggs, smoked salmon and toast washed down with lashings of tea from bone china mugs that appeared to be hand-painted. Whilst we ate we admired a picture-postcard view across the valley. The only possible drawback here was that Jan does not like smoked salmon. Of course, it would have been rude to say anything or leave it on the side of the plate, so I was obliged to eat it, and there was a lot of it. That left me feeling a little queasy for a good deal of the morning…

The morning was perfect cloudless and unusually warm for early April. There were more hills than I knew existed anywhere. we climbed and we climbed and we climbed and as we climbed … we got off the bike and pushed on more occasions than we cared to mention. On the smallest, steepest, most remote road, a BMW driver followed us up the hill. We were pushing the bike and there wasn’t room for him to overtake. When he did get teh chance, he wound down his window and kindly advcised us that we were meant to ride it. I hope his piles give him 1000 years’ agony.

It wasn’t long before we reached Minions, high up in Bodmin Moor, with Brown Willy, the highest point in Cornwall, showing its head away to the north-west.

It seemed to take an age to reach Launceston. It was only about 17 miles from St. Neot, but our overall slow speed meant that we were there just before 1pm. We decided that the next pub would be Lunch, and it was, but not before we crossed the Tamar. That momentous event took place at 1.20pm, and we finally arrived at the pub in Bratton Clovelly around 3pm, where we had some sandwiches. We carried on from there to Okehampton, just as the greengrocers and the coffee shop were closing, but we did manage some bananas and carrot cake.

We climbed out of Okehampton and on the rebound reached our highest speed to date, 44.9mph. From there, we carried on to North Tawton with still another 10 miles to go and it would be touch and go as to whether we needed to fit the front light. WE finally arived at the Red Lion in Chulmleigh at about 8.15, 11 hours after we set off, 7h 40 minutes of which were cycling time.

Day 2 – 6th April 2007

We bade farewell to Trevone House and Gweek after a superb breakfast. Our landlady had washed and dried yesterday’s clothes, and we were away around 9.15. We made for Falmouth, which was a journey of just under 10 miles, but it took us about 1½ hours.

We had a coffee whilst waiting for the St. Mawes ferry and then joined the queue for the 11.15. Another cyclist, whose plan was to ride along the south coast, helped us carry the tandem down the steps to the boat.

St. Mawes is very picturesque, bathed in glorious sunshine, and we cycled, and then walked, up the steep hill. This is an A road, but pretty quiet, and we kept on it to Tregony. We then made a small mistake, following asign to an “off piste” pub, and after a half-mile diversion, in which we didn’t find it, we retraced our pedal-strokes and then climbed the hill into Tregony village.

The King’s Arms served excellemt beer and the cod & chips were also very tasty. We have learned that every time we leave a pub we immediately have to climb a hill. We kept to the B3287 until it joined the A390 and there wasn’t a lot of traffic about so we decided to stay on the main road into St. Austell – there was a minor road alternative through Sticker. This proved to be a good choice because on the 1 in 12 we achieved 40.3mph. However, we didn’t fancy the uphill section with traffic whizzing past at 60, so we took to the pavement.

We found our way through St. Austell and into Carclaze. It seems to me that there comes a point in every hard ride that you have had enough, and this was it. St. Austell is surrounded by steep hills and you have a climb whichever way you go, unless you go by sea. We got on with it and eventually found ourselves outside the town and heading through Trethurgy and then on to Luxulyan. The pub was open so we had a drink and then climbed yet another hill.

I remarked to Jan that the worst thing about this riding was our inability to get into a rhythm. We were either grinding our way up hills at about 4mph or hurtling down the other side at speeds in excess of 25mph. What I craved was a stretch of nice, flat road, and suddenly, that was what we got! NCN route 3, which we followed for a while, goes through a flattish, marshy area with stunted woodland that reminded me of a mangrove swamp. It was a very narrow road with a lush ridge of turf growing along the centre, and for 4 or 5 miles we kept up a reasonably steady 10mph. This stretch was followed by a wonderful downhill where for several minutes we just flew.

We then reached Fletchersbridge, and lots more climbing. After another 3 or 4 very steep miles we travelled through Mount, and with one more uphill I suffered from the dreaded bonk, and we had to dismount. We each had a cereal bar and struggled into St. Neot shortly after 7pm. We put our booked table back to 8pm, had the most wonderful high-pressure shower and went to the pub for tea.

Day 1 – 5th April

The train arrived to time and after a suitable amount of faffing and photography we were on our way. The weather was glorious: hardly a cloud and very little wind. We found the road to Land’s End with no difficulty, but everything was hillier than I imagined. After half an hour, our average speed was only 6.4mph and I was beginning to worry greatly about the entire timetable. This had picked up a little by the time we reached Land’s End.

This is a perfect example of how to ruin a place. What on earth do Tardis noises have to do with a geographical feature which has a place close to the nation’s heart? This is the sort of crap that belongs on Southend Sea Front.

We had noticed on the way that there was a café serving breakfastat a tiny hampel called Trevescan on our return trip. What a breakfast it was! Bacon, thick and juicy, still with the rind on, just as we enjoyed in in the 1960s, and sausages that almost squealed when you stuck the fork in them. Moreover, there was a dog with a ball. Oscar, for that was the doggy’s name, dropped the ball at our feet and we had to thro it for him, He would bring it back and the whole ritual had to be repeated ad nauseam. Teh only thing missing was the non-stop manic barking. We ate our breakfast outside and we enjoyed it so much that we each forgot to take our tablets.

Returning to Penzance was a much faster journey and at one point we exceeded 39mph. We found a very useful cycle route all the way through to Marazion, and then climbed to join the A390. Shortly we found a pub in the village of Kenneggy, the Coach and Horses. It had been recently refurbished and we gathered from the very few peoplein the bar that it had just reopened after a long closure. Our meals were excellent, as was the Betty Stogs bitter. They deserve to succeed.

On the way through Helston we left the A390 for a minor roadbut as wilth many minor roads there was a large hill. It was, however, a fortuitous diversion as we saw our first swallow of the summer.

I was very disappointed in Helston. TGhe bits we saw were scruffy housing in the modern style. The main roadwas so steep and busy that we didn’t feel comfortable riding on it, so we got off and pushed. Then we came across the Culdrose Air Base and the road alongside it was fast, busy and nasty. There was, however, a good cycle track that we used. After the air base, of course, the road deteriorated again and the cycle track disappeared.

At the Lizard we enjoyed splendid tea and cakes – I had carrot cake with orange icing and a blob of Cornish ice cream. We chatted to some motorists who double up as cyclists and the were interested in our journey.

We reached our digs just after 6pm – 57.77 miles at about 8.6mph. We decided that where we can, we should ry for an early breakfast, although perhaps we spent more time sight-seeing today than we normally would.

Our hosts provided some very welcome tea and hot cross buns and once we had showered, we made for the Gweek Inn. It was crowded and we were lucky to get some food as we had not booked. That’s a lesson for the future: ask the landlady to book a table for 7.30 at the local hostelry.

We retired at 9.30 and I didn’t emerge again until 6.30 – 9 hours’ unbroken sleep! I’ve not dome that for a while. Jan is still slumbering as I write.

5th April 2007, 2.59am

It is a clear and flagrant breach of the Trades Description Act that this train should be called a “sleeper”. For one thing there is the noise. It isn’t the noise of the rails that disturbs, but what I assume to be the air conditioning system, without which we would doubtless either roast or freeze. Then there is the constant motion. I am not accustomed to dozing off in a bed which is being gently, and sometimes less gently, rocked from end to end by an unseen hand. The fact that the bed is narrow and short has not of itself been a problem: I cannot sue Great Western because of injuries sustained through falling all of five feet to the floor whilst asleep because the primary precondition has not been met. Therefore it will have to be the Trades Description Act.

We have been killing time in Taunton Station for at least half an hour, probably more, but this has now given me the opportunity to explore the little bag of goodies supplied to us. It’s a bit like Christmas Eve, suddenly and unexpectedly finding a cellophane-wrapped present on our beds, and I immediately unwrapped mine to see what was in it. There is a small pack of First Great Western paper handkerchiefs, which are quite useful. There is a razor, which frankly is not, although I have toyed with the idea of shaving off my right eyebrow just to see the reaction of all the strangers I meet over the next three weeks. Then there was something orange whose identity remained a mystery to me until I put my reading glasses on. “Foam ear plugs” the wrapper told me. I tried them I don’t think that they kept much sound out, but I defy anyone to sleep when they have not one, but two, orifices blocked by foreign bodies.

There is a comb, which could prove useful in emergencies (eg my unshaved eyebrow needs untangling) and a rather neat toothbrush which comes apart to make it smaller – now I know where Robin Thorn got the idea when he decided to fit S & S couplings on the tandem. There is a small tube of Colgate toothpaste (good) and a very small cake of soap, accompanied by something that looks like a brand-new mantle for an old-fashioned Tilley lamp, but which is probably a diminutive flannel. The final four items are sealed foil envelopes, two of them containing Refreshing Wipes, one containing Shoe Shine, and the last containing shaving cream. All if these little gifts come in an attractive blue roll-up velcro-fastened container with zip-up plastic pockets.

We are still at Taunton Staion, and this is bad news. It is getting quite close to the point at which I need to evacuate my bladder and railway companies take a dim view of their lavatories being flushed while the train is at the station. Normally this wouldn’t worry me at all – after all, an emergency is an emergency – but our carriage is being attended to by an efficient and smartly-dressed woman who gives me the impression that in another life she might have been a member of the Gestapo. This is probably completely unfair, but I still don’t feel like having to explain to her that there were no solids amongst whatever it was I just flushed onto the track. This same woman is due to serve me a cup of tea at 7am and I don’t want to do anything to upset her.

The Train to Penzance – 4th April 2007

After some nervous last-minute preparations, we eventually made our way to Prittlewell Station accompanied by Denis. The bike was dismantled promptly and when the train arrived it was almost empty. We stored our steed in the space in the last carriage where the seats lift.

At Liverpool Street, we reassembled the bike, emerged by the Monstrous Iron Monolith and set off along London Wall to a loud shout of “Tandem!” from a nearby youth. The taxi drivers did not all behave appallingly, although one or two did.

We passed the Pancake House, found New Oxford street and Oxford Street with no trouble, then Mortimer Street, Edgware Road and Sussex Place, but I turned right a little too soon. When we hit Praed Street it was still on-way (in the wrong direction). After a short walk, we were back in two-way traffic and riding again.

On arrival at Paddington, we stored the tandem in the guard’s van and met another cyclist with the same intention as ourselves, found our berth and partook of the complimentary coffee, nuts and olives in the First Class lounge.

These words have been scribbled in haste whilst sitting on Janet’s bed. Very soon we will be away, with no more train travel for three weeks. Here’s to good weather!

Posted on 2 April 2007

On Sunday la famille Fatbloke had pressing business further south, so they left our party after breakfast. Rooms were emptied, vehicles moved into the village. Again the weather was sunny, so after discussing the possibility of some kind of internet April Fool on one or other unsuspecting ACFer (morning, Officer!) we didn’t bother and were on our way again.

This time we headed towards Hulme End, which is the northern extremity of the Manifold Trail. This is Derbyshire at its best, or would be apart from one small snag: we had crossed the border and were now in Darkest Staffordshire. We followed the trail, through a tunnel where appropriate train noises were made, and out the other side to Wetton Mill, where we had probably the earlies Elevenses stop in the history of Sunday rides. However, it was well worth it as the sun was shining, the wind had dropped, there were ducks on the water, chiffchaffs in the willow trees and the tea was first rate. Clare bought a large piece of cake and shared it out – very good it was too!
 

My wife decided to find out what life was like as a bike rack.
 

There was method in our Glorious Leader’s madness, as although the 11ses stop had been early, we dallied in the warm sunshine and some of us shed a layer or two. Within minutes of setting off we had put them back on again as Wetton is clearly well sheltered and lots of the ride is not. Shortly after leaving Wetton Mill, we began to climb towards Wetton village, and I think that at one point or another everyone had to get off their bikes and push, so steep was the gradient, with two or three chevrons in different places. It was only about 3 miles from Wetton Mill to Alstonefield, our lunch stop, but it must have taken us the best part of an hour.

We arrived at the George just before it opened for lunch, and had to jockey for position with with an entire trudge of ramblers. The food and beer were worth the wait, as the tomato soup and smoked salmon sandwiches were very good indeed. It seemed to have changed hands since I was last there, about 35 years ago.
 
Before long it was time to return to Hartington, so we did so, up yet another gruelling piece of scenery into the teeth of a playful early summer breeze. As we hurtled down the other side the intrepid tandemists took the lead so we pulled over behind our car in order to dismantle our steed ready for travel, and the entire company came and watched. Fortunately there were no embarrassing moments in the process and within a few minutes we had detached the front from the back, placed the necessary bits on the rear rack, and were interrupted by a pair of cyclists going past on what looked suspiciously like one of these . After that small piece of excitement, we thanked Alan for organising such a superb weekend of cyclosocialising, said our fond farewells, and zoomed off into the early afternoon sun.