Gentleman Cyclist

Despite the foul weather, I’m really glad I made the effort to get to this ride.  I suppose the conditions could have been worse, but my initial reaction was that the event was going to be a poorly-attended damp squib. I couldn’t be bothered with a feeder ride and took the train straight to Lpoo St and made my way to Hyde Park Corner and then found the Animals’ War Memorial. There was no-one I knew there so I carefully ate the marmite sandwiches I had brought with me in anticipation that a few of us would have lunch somewhere. I also ordered a coffee and waited, unimpressed by the group of cyclists around the Speakers’ Corner café that remained disappointingly small. YACFers arrived in dribs and drabs: MarcusJB and Teamonster, the latter on the front of the most amazing recumbent tandem. One lovely surprise was a text from Nutkin, who was to put in a appearance. Charlotte arrived en Brompton and I still can’t get used to Jurek on a fixie with mudguards.

After loads of hanging around we set off and then, five minutes later, we stopped again so that the organisers could make speeches that perhaps the 200 people at the front could have heard. We were not far from the amplifiers and loudspeakers, but I could not make out anything intelligible. Anyone behind us, which must have been about 90% of the ride, would have been able to hear nothing. Some of the more svelte forummers were beginning to feel the cold.

Eventually we made proper progress, but mostly it was a test of slow cycling and balancing for as long as possible before putting a foot down. Two Flat Erics and Domestique came and had a natter: the hardy pair had caught the train from Westcliff to Barking and come in on that feeder ride. Just as we were being led into Temple Station, the official ride finish, Notsototalnewbie had a better idea and we left the Embankment and returned towards Charing Cross because she had the facility to buy cheap food at a particular café so we went there to find it shut. Luckily my calorie radar was active and I’ve noticed an “All Bar One” a short way back in Villiers Street so five of us settled round a table there. Almost simultaneously a few of us noticed that we had missed calls from Charlotte, whom I had last seen pointing her big one at people. I hastily texted a reply but by that time she was on the tube heading for Julian, who was returning from a triumphal overnight ride to Hull.

Whereas initially there were five of us there (Nutkin, NSTN, Rob, Parsley and myself) we were joined by Butterfly and Clarion, fresh from their travails to Hull, and, later, Andrij, who had been purchasing exotic velocipedes from Mike. We had a good lunch (the minted lamb burger seemed to be a favourite) and the profiteroles went down well, washed as they were by Doom Bar, merlot and latte.

My one regret was that I hadn’t taken with me the small gift I have for Nutkin. However, we have agreed that we need another ride some time in the not too distant future so that I can offer her some balls to suck whereas she’s going to give me a good fudge. It’ll be sweet, there’s no doubt of that.

Southend to Maidstone via the Tilbury ferry. One of the shittiest rides of All Time. The forecast was for fairin’ up but it lied.

I left Southend via a short off-road section through Belfairs woods and past some very expensive-looking ponderosa style houses which were probably built by wide boys and city slickers during the Thatcher era. From there I headed down the 14% hill past Thundersley church and on toward Sadler’s Farm roundabout where the Highways Agency have financed an enormous hole in the ground. A spiteful squall had me scrabbling for my waterproof and after that I walked for a while until I had crossed the new bridge over the enormous hole, at one point finding myself almost ankle deep in water where the surface is decidedly temporary. Eventually I took to the road again and then took a wrong turning in Pitsea. Next was Vange, possibly the most unpleasant town name in the UK, evoking, as it does, a revolting disease, or, at least, its byproduct. If you are in Vange, then Fobbing and Mucking are never far away.

I expected, once I had crossed the A13 at the Five Bells roundabout, that the traffic would become less, and indeed Stanford le Hope was rather more pleasant than I remembered it, but once I joined the minor roads towards East Tilbury and Tilbury Town it largely became worse. I had forgotten that Tilbury has, since the Victorians built a large sewage treatment plant there, been the Anus of London, and other forms of waste treatment now appear to nestle cheek by jowl with the plant dealing with the human kind. By this time it was blowing a gale and the rain was torrential and huge lorries bearing delightful substances thundered past. One appeared to be labelled “Meat recycling” (yum) but I couldn’t be sure as my glasses were streaming with rain, my eyes stung with the sweat washed into them and I was struggling against the headwind at about 4 mph.

None too soon I arrived at the ferry terminal and the ferry boat lay in the slip and I boarded, took my bike into the sheltered area and dripped. I was in good company as the shelter’s roof was leaking and towels had been distributed to soak up the water. £3.50 later and I was in Gravesend, wondering how to escape. At least the rain had stopped but now I had to contend with hills. After a bit of an effort I passed a huge building reminiscent of Brighton Pavilion and, given that the Guru Nanak Football Club had its playing field in front and the adjacent St. Michael’s C of E Primary School had a handful of turban-wearing lunchtime parents, my guess was that it was a sikh temple.

Once I found the right road I continued to climb and I had numerous competitors for the pinch-points in the form of impatient motorists. I climbed to the roundabout junction of the M2, A2, or A2(M) and then crossed the bridge over the railway line serving London, Brussels and Paris and then, suddenly, I was in the country. The headwind was still there as I was now heading mostly south, but with some meandering to circumnavigate the highest of the hills. The showers were fewer and lighter and I was treated with occasional sunshine. Most importantly, the traffic had almost completely disappeared, although what little there was drove too fast. One 4 * 4 driver slammed on his brakes and skidded towards the hedge, so slow was he to realise that he was no longer on a motorway.

The contrast with my morning riding was striking as now I was in beautiful wooded hills with scenes, farms and a variety of farm animals, including some fairly young pigs rooting around a muddy compound. I climbed above 600′ and when I was least expecting it suddenly the trees thinned and I had an absolutely amazing view from Holly Hill down towards Birling. I was unable to let the bike go on the chevron as there was plenty of detritus on the road and a stonking sidewind, but in the distance I could see Bluebell Hill and, beneath it, Maidstone. A bit more faffage through the Mallings and Barming and I was on the A26, scene of the first stage of the Tour de France some years ago. I arrived, sweaty and exhausted, but now mostly dry, to find Jan and Martha building towers with bricks.

So I’ve realised an ambition: to ride from home to my daughter’s house, but I don’t think I’ll be repeating the experience in a hurry.

Posted on 9 April 2012

Sunday 8th April

This was possibly the best day’s cycling of all. We left The Croft at about 10 a.m., walked up the track to the road and spent the first half-mile or so climbing to about 980′ and that was the highest point of the day. The next 8 miles, to St. Boswells, were the cycling equivalent to a bobsleigh run. The wind was behind us and the gradient was with us. 45 minutes later we stopped at the Buccleuch Arms for very good coffee and shortbread. The sun was putting in an occasional unexpected appearance and the A699 was so innocuous that we eschewed Sustrans’ finest and went via the direct route to Kelso. We had some lovely views of the Tweed and the Teviot and I photographed the confluence of the two. A pair of goosanders was diving for food. We speculated that if YACF named a river it would be called the Deviot.

In Kelso we walked, to avoid the discomfort of the cobbled streets, around the large and impressive town square until we found a very welcoming pub called The Cobbles. We had not really intended to have a particularly large lunch but to ther cyclists were tucking into what looked like a very good ham salad that we followed suit, and I had a portion of chips as well. Jan had tea, but I ordered a pint of Tempest, a very hoppy golden ale which was just perfect.

The two other cyclists had been slogging their way over from Berwick, fighting with their headwind which was our friend, heading for their B & B at Inverleithen. They left the pub a little before we did but the Cobbles is a real find: friendly, excellent food and even better beer. I must go to Kelso again.

Encouraged by our morning A-road experience, we decided to used the A698 out of Kelso as it involved less climbing than the Sustrans route and gave better views of the Tweed. We turned off a mile or two before Coldstream and joined NCN 1 and it was shortly after this that we were overhauled by a group of cyclists and had a quick chat with them. They were staying at a private school near Berwick which does accommodation for cycists at £40 dinner, bed and breakfast. I think the place they mentioned was Longridge Towers and it seems to be worth investigating. One of the chaps, who originated from Grays in Essex, was a cyclechatter and was familiar with Arch, also of this parish.

By this time the weather had closed in rather. The skies had become leaden and the wind was up but, fortunately, still favouring our direction. Jan was beginning to struggle on some of the climbs so we decided to miss out the chain bridge and honey farm and head directly into Berwick. We found the B & B with no trouble, taking care to photograph the viaduct from the road bridge. From our room we have a lovely view of the viaduct.

So, we have just about finished our quirky coast to coast. It’s been fantastic fun and I’m really proud of the way Jan has taken to solo touring. Some of the terrain we have tackled has been quite tough and on one or two days the weather had been challenging as well, yet she has done exceptionally well. Today’s average speed, in favourable conditions, was over 9 mph and we managed a 40 mile day with no trouble at all.

I suspect that we will do a little unladen cycling tomorrow, probably out to the honey farm for tea and cake. The afternoon looks as though it’s going to be wet so we will probably walk around the walls, never before having visited Berwick other than as a spectator on a train.

The highlight of the day was undoubtedly the surprise meeting with GlasgowDave & Perkygirl* at the cafe overlooking the Loch o’ the Lowes. I’m not sure what Lowes are, but there are some more at a Loch of the Lowes near Dundee, where we saw ospreys in the summer of ’93. In the 2012 version, Jan and I had just partaken of burger and chips and we were onto the tea loaf and a second pot of tea. I became aware that a couple in the queue seemed to be looking at us and having asotto voce conversation when the chap walked over and said to me “Excuse me… are you Wowbagger by any chance?” We spent a happy time having a natter about various stuff and then we went our mostly separate ways, although their car overtook us a little later. The meeting was recorded for posterity but the evidence, which is on my camera, will have to wait until we arrive back in Southend.

The day began with an interesting conversation with a young chap at the B & B who was exploring Scotland for the Classic Car Club. He was based in London and was really enthusiastic about his work, not surprisingly. Over an atlas, I suggested a trip to Tomintoul & Braemar via the Spital of Glenshee and he seemed very keen on this idea. We set off from the B & B at around 10 a.m. and the first port of call was the Moffat Toffee Shop. I bought a few bits and pieces and I have, hopefully, fulfilled a request made of me some seven months or so ago by a lady of this forum. However, I have been unable to supply the molluscs she requested and I hope that she will be well satisfied by the balls that I can offer by way of a substitute.

As always seems to be the case when we are touring, as soon as we leave the town where we have spent the night we start climbing. The first haul was enough to force us to walk for a short spell but once we got into our stride we plodded on with few rests. We found an open cafe, but it was still too soon after a full cooked breakfast. There was heavy cloud cover and a light rain was falling steadily. Every so often it stopped for long enough for me to remove my waterproof but then a few minutes would elapse and I would have to put it on again. The scenery was still quite spectacular. Some of the hills were in the clouds, but every so often there was enough of a break for us to be able to see the snow that was still lying at the higher levels.

Despite this road being given the grand title of the A708, the most encouraging part is that underneath the direction sign from Moffat is a sign saying “unsuitable for HGVs”. We were overtaken by a few cars, but mostly they were in ones and twos, with prolonged gaps between them. It was a perfect road to cycle and I would love to do it again on a bright sunny day.

After about 12 miles we reached the summit, about 1100 feet up, and then enjoyed the descent to the cafe where, as has been described above, an extremely pleasant surprise awaited us.

The 20 or so miles from the cafe to Selkirk is mostly downhill, and Dave & Perky (how embarrassing: I didn’t think to ask what Perkygirl’s real name is) had mentioned what fun it was to ride on the tandem. The final mile or so is very much up hill and we were pushing the bikes again for some of this. I had to buy some batteries as some of the older rechargeables I had brought with me were not up to the job of providing the garmin with enough power for tasks like increasing and decreasing the scale. As luck would have it, the Co-op were doing a two for one offer and I bought 8 AA duracells  for £4.99.

With our new-found powers we soon reached the B & B which is outside the town and therefore already up the hill we would have had to climb tomorrow morning. We asked the landlady about eateries and she suggested the County Hotel. We went there and the food was OK (I had garlic mushrooms and we each had lasagne) but it’s so disappointing when pubs don’t serve ale. Tonight I was too hungry, and the hour was getting too late, for us to find somewhere else, but I just don’t think it would ever occur to a landlord to try and fob a customer off with corned beef when they had ordered steak.

This morning dawned bright and frosty. The view from our bedroom window showed that all the frost had gone from the southeast-facing hills to our right whereas the grass in the valley bottom, where the sun’s rays struck it at a much more acute angle, was still white.

Filled with porridge (this was The Porridge House, after all) and cooked breakfast, we headed north, for the first few miles following the same route that we did five years ago when our destination was John o’ Groats. We climbed gently and after about three miles headed north-east along a minor road (having said that, the major thoroughfare which is the B7000 only seemed to have about one vehicle every ten minutes on it). The sun was so warm that we both shed layers and it was only after I got back on my bike that I noticed that the shadows were still frosty. I can’t remember a day in which the shade and sun temperatures were so markedly different.

We climbed gently and I marvelled at how Jan’s technique had come on in leaps and bounds in three days. On Monday, she was struggling to keep the bike upright at less than 4 mph and that resulted in her running out of steam long before reaching the tops of hills. Now she was twiddling gently in low gears, keeping a straight course, and expending far less energy as a result. She was amazed when I pointed out that we had cycled at least 200′ higher today than we did yesterday. The differences were that all the gradients were gentle and all the surfaces were metalled. Our average speed was only about 5 mph at this stage, but who cares? We were able to bask in the sunshine, scenery, silence and solitude, all of them balm for the soul.

We eventually began the descent to Moniave and the next 5 miles took us about 20 minutes. It was lunch time and we locked the bikes and adjourned to the rather scruffy pub. We had soup, sandwiches and tea and, even though we were the only customers, were obliged to suffer the enormous plasma screen churning out Murdoch and golf.

After lunch we stayed on the A road, rather than the more direct route which involved chevrons and around 3.30 we arrived at the Gillbank guest house. We took our bikes round the back and stored them in the cellar and then spent the rest of the afternoon in our room where we have an enormous four-poster bed. I think there might be photographs later.

Now, ablutions and laundry.