Day 7: Lucky escape (Jan)

Day 7: 105km

Garstang to Penrith, via Lancaster, Carnforth, Kendal, Shap Fell

Very luckily for me Jony realised before we set off this morning that actually Kirkstone Pass is twice as high as Shap, so he didn't drag me off through the Lake District afterall. Shap was perfectly sufficient: we are definitely no longer practising - legs are being well-worked, thankyou Sarah!  I love this scenery. The wildness of the hills and the blasted trees; the tilted bedding planes where the rock is exposed. The wide valleys and looping brooks. And great, sunshine-and-cloud skies. At one point I came round a corner to a brilliantly-green field with two cartoon sheep sitting side-by-side. They watched me as I progressed up the hill, two fluffy heads following me in unison. So funny.

 Early this morning , we had a short respite, having picked up the Lancaster canal, through Bolton-le-Sands to Carnforth. It is a really pretty route, with glimpses of Morecambe Bay and the Lake District to the west/northwest and the Pennines to the east. Strange that I never rode these towpaths when we lived here, but I didn't use a bike much in those days. Had a Honda50 (not much more than a bicycle!) and I don't think I travelled much beyond Carnforth and Morecambe, except for one day when I did a loop through the Lake District, panicking the entire time that I would run out of fuel because the petrol stations were so few and far between. 

We met another cyclist on our way up Shap Fell today. She was riding LEJOG in sections (currently doing Bristol to Glasgow). We have decided we definitely need to join the End-to-End club when we have finished. Jony also wants a reception party (preferably in every town we pass through). So greedy!

We have rolled up at the Wayfarers Independent Hostel in Penrith tonight - really well-appointed and very reasonable. Only opened this year, after a thoughtful conversion. Good kitchen, sitting space, ensuite bunk rooms, drying room - although we only need it for our washing, having again escaped the rain, arriving just ahead of it.

No puns today! Very disappointing.

Day 7. Rock on! (Jony)

Look, I know I've gone on about how hard this is and I don't really expect much sympathy from the great working public since we are, essentially, on a jolly. But somewhere up near the Lake District is a big old hill called Shap Fell, or maybe Shap Moor. Even in a car on the M6 it's a bit of a climb, though the scenery is classic hills, sheep and stone walls. Our route took us up the A6 which, unregarded, criss-crosses the motorway in different places but follows more or less the same route up the Fell for several miles and about 350m, say 1000 ft, of vertical climb.

I genuinely did not think I had the energy to cycle up this monster and was dreading a very long walk. Until, that is, I put on the headphones and fired up some classic Supertramp. I have written elsewhere of the amazing motivational power of music: something with a bit of a beat can quite simply make it possible for me to keep going, even to speed up, when my body is saying No - stop!

I think that Jan was really quite surprised at how I leapt up the road from my customary position half a mile behind her. We reached Penrith in fairly good time and now have only one more leg to ride before having a well-earned rest day at Clare's on Friday.

We saw this little poem at Lowther Castle where they had an outdoor poetry installation wittily entitled  [Add text here]. 
I must say, never has a poem 'spoken' to me quite so powerfully...

Day 6. Ooop north (Jan and Jony)

Day 6. 125km Cholmondeley to Garstang, via Weaverham, Warrington, Wigan and Preston

Well - a day of surprises! Surprise no 1: that it is possible to pass through the conurbation of Merseyside without even noticing! One minute you are crossing the Manchester Ship canal, the next you are over the Mersey and back out into countryside. Very neat navigating, Jony!

Surprise no 2: that you can get from mid-Cheshire to mid-Lancs without hills.

Surprise no 3: that all the green-route planning is undone on the approach to Preston. I was completely taken aback by the vast network of dual carriageways that we got sucked into - had to weave our way across - once to the left, then back uphill and across to the right, with all the traffic that was churning off the M6. Fairly scary.    

Surprise no 4: the surprise that was not a surprise: that when you finally get in there, Preston is pretty small place, so I still don't understand the need for the huge approaches. The sad bit was seeing what has happened to the economy of the city. The recession has bitten really hard here. Even the big stores in the main shopping streets are charity shops, and the market was just one big car boot sale. It was hard to find anything fresh or healthy to eat for our picnic lunch. Jony spotted a park suitable for a picnic - he has very high standards ;-) - and we finally found a good coffee shop on the lane leading to it.

Surprise no 5: traffic wardens have such good local knowledge and are willing to share it. Have you ever tried asking a postman for directions? They haven't a clue. But ask a traffic warden and they are spot-on every time. "Where's a good place to buy local bread and cheese?' (Shrewsbury - by the castle entrance.) 'Where's the Tourist Info Office?' (Preston - in the Guildhall - left turn by Richer Sounds.) I love it!

So, we are approaching halfway now. Time to psych up for hills, and Jony reckons we should practise tomorrow by detouring through the Lake District. We'll see how smug he is after we have climbed up and over Kirkstone Pass. I'm quaking in my cleats already!

Pun for the day: 'Panama Hatty's' - hairdresser or eaterie? Answers on a straw donkey please.

Jony's Day 6.

I take it all back. The good people of Lancashire are not all thieving scousers who would  have the tyres off your bike before you could say "Bill Shankley". My preconceptions about 'oop north' were swiftly shattered as we crossed the  Manchester Ship Canal at Warrington and were back in open countryside by 10.00am, with narry a clog nor a chip buttie in sight. 

Mind you, the distinct shortage of Costa coffee establishments in particular and the general transition away from affluence on the high street was quickly noticed by your two  hardened former community workers, especially when we stopped for essential provisions in Preston, where the goods on sale in the market would not have disgraced a third-world country. 

Preston? How on earth had we got there, I asked myself. Whatever happened to our picnic under Wigan Pier or the hostel in Shaftbottom under Grot that I was assured we were heading for? 'Oh, I thought this would be so much nicer,' came the mischievous response from the team leader. Last time I follow her!

Day 5: Weather forecast (Jony)

Day 5: 140km

Leominster to Cholmondeley, via luverly Ludlow, Church Stretton, Shrewsbury, Wem, Whitchurch 

"Here is the forecast for inland stations from Leominster without an O to Cholmondeley with a U.

Leominster. Rain. 10miles. Fair. 

Ludlow. Half timbered. Hills. 15 miles. Good to poor.

Shrewsbury. Lorries. Rain. Dangerous. 20 miles. Painful.

Wem. Brightening. Confectionary interludes. 10 miles. Painful. 

Cholmondeley. Posh. Isolated. 5 miles.  Improving."

Surreal Stokesay Castle

Day 4: Celtic incursions (Jan)

Day 4: 100km
Bristol to Leominster, via Chepstow, Monmouth, Hereford

Phew! I have ditched the heavy bike and am now flying along on my roadie. Can't carry anything of course, which will be fine until I discover that I need something (anything)! Sadly, we had to leave Jeremy behind In Bristol, so Jony is overloaded with his stuff and feeling the extra effort (I promise that I haven't dropped my bricks into his panniers): Jeremy, we miss you already!

Lovely route today: over the old Servern Bridge into Chepstow then up the beautiful Wye valley to Monmouth. Stopped for breakfast at the disused Tintern Station, which is a great place - very welcoming. And at Monmouth for second breakfast and at Hereford for lunch. Mappa Mundi closed on Sunday ('we only do religion Sunday') so sat outside the cathedral with Elgar and picnic.

Have arrived for the night at Leominster YHA soon after 3pm but all locked up until 5, so sitting in the sunshine to write this.


Nice photo of Jony on the bridge this morning - compared with yesterday's lashing rain on Clifton Suspension Bridge. And, of course, the shock of discovering that the suspension bridge was closed, after I had made both of us cycle all the way up through Ashton Court at the end of 100 miles in 'tropical' storm. Thought we were going to have to ride back down to the bottom and then climb up to Clifton from Hotwells. Nooooo! I could not believe it! Must be some way of getting across. I finally realised that the bridge was open to pedestrians, so we hopped off the bikes and pushed them over. No such crisis today. The only rain so far was at Hereford - perfectly timed for lunchbreak.

Today's pun is for Marie Saunders: not strictly a hairdresser or coffeeshop, it is Ludlow Pie company's steak and mushroom pie, as offered by the Chequers at Leominster (or would have been, except that this was Sunday...): 50 Shades of Gravy. Ha!

Day 3. The longest day: North Devon to Bristol (Jan and Jony)

Day 3: 160km aaaagghh!
South Molton to Bristol, via Taunton, Bridgwater, Weston-super-Mare, Nailsea

The man in the next caravan last night had a pristine, shiny-white 5-yr old Landrover, all tricked out for round-the-world desert driving and whitewater rafting. Which was odd, in deepest, darkest Devon. (South Molton to be precise.) We speculated all evening about the world map on the sidepanels, the widened body, huge jerrycans, roof-level exhaust, winch, canopy, sand channels, and on and on. So useful on Devon's leafy drovers' routes. Even the fords here are gentle trickles that a Ka could safely tackle. And the nearest thing to a desert is the beach carpark at Westward Ho! But sadly the man himself was elusive. Tidied up his map and snuck silently away. 

So how come, this morning, once Jony and I had disappeared (at crack of dawn) Mr Elusive became Mr Effusive? Gave Jeremy the full rundown: how he comes from Botswana, has three of these 'Hippos' and has only just finished buying this one and setting it up, ready for a roadtrip down through South America, after he tests it out in Iceland. Phew! Makes our LEJOG adventure seem tame by comparison!

Nevertheless, we had a good day today and knocked off two more counties. We were both pretty tired after yesterday's monster switchback hills and were very relieved that this morning's ride mostly followed the summits of the hills, rather than hacking over each ridge, from valley to valley. We used great B-roads as far as Taunton, then searched for the Taunton-Bridgwater Canal, thinking this might give us some respite, both from huge climbs and from Saturday holiday traffic. No such luck: we kept seeing signposts to 'canalside carparks', but absolutely could not find the canal! Carried on up the A38 as far as Highbridge then thankfully picked up a very pretty cycletrack towards Burnham. After that, we stitched together as many lanes and cycletracks as we could muster. Bumped into a family on the Strawberry Line who were on their way down to LandsEnd (all on folders, including a folding tandem); and met a cyclist on the Festival Way who had led the ride I did to Nantes last September. Such a small world. 

By the time we got back to Bristol we were soaked and knackered. Have covered close to 100 miles today - rather more than we planned(!) and missed the Harbourside fireworks tonight because it is still bucketing down. 

Jony's day 3
I don't remember the last time that I cycled 100 miles in a day. That's because I never have! I prefer to work in metric units and 100km is just fine thanks, sounding so much more impressive than 65 miles. But 160km - that's just silly.

We were helped by the fact that the first part of the day's ride was along what turned out to be an old drover's road that ran, as best it could, along the top of a ridge of hills, before dropping down towards Taunton and the Somerset levels. So our path towards Bridgewater, Berrow and Weston was either flat or downhill in the main. But even so: 160km!

We were also helped by the weather, which was not too hot. Indeed, as we reached Nailsea, it began to rain steadily and thereafter only increased as we took a series of devious and clever back roads into Bristol, where we arrived far too soaked and  exhausted to take part in any of the Harbourside festival (which had, in truth, been washed out). So we had some chicken and fell into bed.

Day 2. The rolling hills of Devon (Jan and Jony)

Day 2: 110km

St Breward to South Molton, via Davidstow, Wivelliscombe, Great Torrington 

Thanks to the wonders of my satnav, we found our way across Bodmin moor and north Cornwall with remarkably little difficulty. The roads were empty, hills benign and views lovely. Lunch was a pleasant sojourn and all was set fair for the afternoon.
One of those great, unexpected moments in between the rollercoaster hills: we came upon the Atherington scarecrow trail and then met one of the contributors. Apparently the competition was won by Mrs Queen, complete with corgi and Pymms. Pringles n orangina does the job just as well....

And then we crossed the border into Devon. Rather like the beginnings of a storm at sea, the swell increased only slowly to begin with but soon we found ourselves crawling up some mammoth switchbacks, with 25% slopes. I took to my feet; Jan soldiered on 'cos she doesn't give up. 

Eventually we made it to the tourist info service at  South Molton where it emerged that there was no room at the inn - any inn - due to a double wedding the next day. However a static home, aka caravan, was identified a few miles up the valley and to that we swiftly repaired, legs creaking. 

I'll never be snooty about mobile homes again....it was great.

It was just what we needed but it was in the middle of no-where, with no local shops and no food. However the ever resourceful Jeremy had found a wonderful pub called the London Road which was also in the middle of no-where, though apparently on former stagecoach road. Fab meal and a fab church next door which we somehow managed to look round before terminal fatigue set in. 

As Jeremy commented, it feels like we've been on the road for weeks already! Next stop, Bristol. 

Jan and Jony after a hard day on the hills

Night 1. Yurts on the hillside (Jan)

We spent a great night with Jony's family last night - Jeremy and I stayed in the yurt on the hillside and used the solar shower. Didn't have time to use the wonderful yurt bathroom: clawfoot bath, with its own woodburner for water, and lit by candle-lanterns. The yurts placed in a little wood, so shady and calm: beautiful! Maybe we'll have to cycle back....

Set off this morning across wonderful Bodmin Moor. Quiet lanes, calves and sheep.
Came over a packhorse bridge at one point, so we must have been on drover's ways.
Came over a packhorse bridge at one point, so we must have been on drover's ways.

The view from a packhorse bridge on Bodmin Moor

Davidstow cheese factory not quite so impressive: looks more like an isolated nuclear power station.

Now in Holsworthy, halfway through today's riding, stoking up on coffee and cake. We are collecting coffee shop and hairdresser puns. Best so far: 'Curl up and dye'. Blue rinses only.

Day 1. Curl up and Dye (Jony)

Day 1: 110km
Lands End to St Breward, via Penzance, Hayle, Camborne-Redruth, (Newquay), Wadebridge

Apparently proper cyclists reckon that there's no such thing as a following wind. There's either a head wind or you're having a good day. Well, today was a good day; with no luggage to carry (thanks Jeremy), a pleasant mixture of sunny intervals and not a little determination, we set off from Sunny Bank in Sennen at just after 7.00am and arrived 100km further up the road at....err. Sunnybanks in St Breward about seven hours later. 

Mind you, a least a couple of hours were spent refuelling in various eateries and coffee shops in Wadebridge and in the local pub at St Breward. So we were only actually cycling for nearer five hours on and off (but mostly off) the A30 through some lovely countryside, past St Michael's Mount, via some fairly ordinary towns such as Hayle and Cambourne. 

St Michael's Mount, near Penzance

We passed not far from the Fleet Air Arm flying base at Culdrose where, it emerged, Jan's father worked many years ago, until they introduced a lethally dangerous plane that he, rather reasonably, was reluctant to fly. Common sense runs in the family. 

And 'Curl up and Dye'? Not our end-of-day wish after the ups and downs of Cornwall but a hairdresser's sign spotted in Hayle.

Tomorrow we hope to manage a similar distance over the rolling hills of Devon, to get within striking distance of Bristol's Harbour Festival  by Saturday evening. 

Day 0. Introducing your hosts

Whistling in the wind. A lunch break at Hereford Cathedral where Edward Elgar was, apparently, a keen early velocipedist (? is that  word). Note frozen leg syndrome.

So who exactly are we? Jan modestly describes herself as an unemployed trapeze artiste, currently between trapezes. 

If I hadn't stopped her, she would have turned left and cycled to New York!

Actually she's a bit of a renaissance woman: textile artiste, sometime engineer, not a feminist but not not a feminist, two-wheeled tyro and, importantly from Jony's point of view, 100%  dependable cycling buddy. 

Jony is none of the above but is more than happy with his role as an 'also ran' and delighted to be in a position to tag along in Jan's wake, exploring the many wonderful absurdities of life on and off the road.