Gentleman Cyclist

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.

Posted on 1 April 2007

Our journeys from Southend to Hartington and vice versa were unexpectedly good, averaging over 50 mph in each direction. Cars were unloaded, bikes fettled, the clans gathered and we all went to the pub for our evening meal on Friday. Here is a selection of pubbish photos:-

 L to R: Clare (overexposed  ) Nicole, Papa, Marge (Mrs Alans).
 

Tom (TBenson of this parish), waitress, Gordy, Joan (Butterfly)
 

Half of Marge, Tony (Toekneep), Gill (Mrs TKP)
 

Clare, Vernon and Jackie (Mrs FB)
 

Joan, Alans, Janet (Mrs Wow)
 

Rhubarb crumble with Custard!

After a – erm – broken night’s sleep (my radiator sounded as though a small electric motor had been attached to it, and whoever was in the room above us sounded athletic, to say the least) the cycling began. This was a tour of some of the finest railway systems which have been dedicated to leisure use. To Biggin at the beginning, we climbed steeply from the hostel and joined the Tissington Trail,
 

heading south to Tissington, where the ladies running the tea shop were on their final day’s service, unwillingly apparently, having been ousted from their posts by a rival bid. Even so, the tea and flapjack were of the highest order. We headed east from Tissington, down a couple of chevrons and avoiding the ford, only to find our bikes covered in the finest sheep slurry, so several of us dunked them in the water to removed the offending substance. We went through Bradbourne and straight on to Carsington Water. This reservoir is a fairly recent addition to the delights of Derbyshire and is now one of its main visitor attractions. There were lots of wildfowl, some pretty good coffee, some barnacle geese, and
 

this kestrel.

Shortly afterwards we adjourned to the Miner’s Arms pub (do ACF rides always end up at the Miner’s Arms?) in Carsington village where everyone else’s food was served, consumed and its devourers ready to go before Jan’s and mine even appeared in front of us. Thus it was that we were even slower than usual up the next hill, which is graced with no chevrons but jolly well feels like it immediately after a large plate of lasagne and chips.

At the top, we joined another ex-railway, the High Peak Trail, and headed roughly north-west back towards Hartington. The scenery was breathtaking at times, but so was the wind, which hampered us accordingly. This whole ride, indeed the entire weekend, was spent in the “White Peak”, based on limestone rock, with its verdant pastures and whiter-than-white dry-stone walls.
 
The “Dark Peak”, to the north, is of millstone grit and peat bogs, and is an entirely different type of scenery. The boundary between the two is at Edale, with its wonderful caverns, and you can tell which side of the divide a meadow is simply by the colour of the grass. In general, the rain water from the White Peak drains south, towards the Trent, whereas the Dark Peak rivers are tributaries of the Mersey.

None of that bothered us intrepid cyclists though, as we battled through a north-easterly, finally emerging in Parsley Hay, the most northerly point of the ride. As a little light relief, Toekneep and Mrs TKP had a try on our Thorn Raven tandem, and seemed to be enjoying themselves.
 

From here, we had the most exhilarating ride down Long Dale, in which Jan & I gave the tandem its head, and southwards aye we fled. We crossed the B5054 before returning to the yout Hostel from the east, our highest speed of the day being achieved on the hill into Hartington, a little over 35 mph.

This post has gone on for long enough, so I’ll report on Sunday’s events later.