So the time had come to start, after period of organising and going for rides I was ready for off.

The weather forecast was good , no rain ,westerly wind .

I had strapped my paired down belongings to my bike frame and managed to get all the basics in without having to wear a rucksack.That can be a really blessing after a few sweaty miles.

I congratulated myself that I had balanced the various bags well, with bulking clothes in the back and heavier things like locks and tools in the front.The bike handled pretty well until I got to the first minor hill up to the station.

Oh dear,the combined weight of me and my belongings had me rapidly going down the gears to keep any kind of momentum.To be blunt -the combined weight of me and the bike was leg breaking.This was going to be a struggle on the hills.

The train was on time so off we went.

I had decided to start from Rye rather than Brighton,where I live.The reason was I wanted to see some of Kent,rather than Sussex.

All seemed to be fine until I had to change train in Hastings.The Hastings Rye train was cancelled and the next one not for 90 minutes.

After a sharp intake of breath and a curse at British Rail, plan B swung into action.Ill start from Hastings,why not? I got out my large folded map and struggled to fold it to the right page. My last minute preparation, the night before, had been to selotape the relevant pages of a road atlas together to form a long concertina map which I then folded into plastic ziploc bag. It ended up being 15 feet long but at least I would have a detailed map of my route.

“What is that? my daughter had asked as I was taping the map together.

“Its a map and a collage.” I had explained proudly.

“Your mad, Dad” she said.

Having finally decided a route,I folded the map back into its plastic case.I chose a more or less direct route out of the town and onto b roads and off I set off.

I ended up pushing the bike up the last section of a monstrous hill out of Hastings.

To the North of Hastings there is the Kent Weald plateau .After finally reaching the plateau the road went up and down in an alarming way.At each hill I shuttled down the gears to a crawling rate.By accident I rode past Bodium Castle and popped in .A classic moat and castle and very pretty too.

The difficulty of the terrain was partly offset by the prettiness of the country side.I passed an oast house and took a picture.Then several more oast houses.There are a lot of oast houses in rural Kent,they are not just in the tourist brochures.Most seem to have been converted to rural desirable residences judging by the four wheel drives and expensive cars parked outside.After a few more miles I was pleased to be overtaken by a succession of tractors and trailers all loaded up with hops.Presumably going to an oast house that isn’t a “des res”,or perhaps they just dry them in a factory these days. The road continued for a good twenty miles until I arrived at Sissinghurst, my first destination.

Sissinghurst Manor is owned by the National Trust.I has a beautiful garden,numerous oast houses and a tower.It also serves Victoria Sponge as only the National Trust can.There weren’t many people there- mostly grannies being taken out for the day by their daughters or sons . The White Garden, which I had wanted to see, wasn’t very white- wrong time of year .The whole place was delightfully English with only a scattering of tourists.After an hour or so of recovery ,tea and cake ,I was off again hoping that the going would be easier.

The main road from Sissinghurst towards Maidstone looked straight on a map so off I went.To my delight it was also downhill for about 10 miles.The traffic was a bit heavy with some lorries but I was going at a decent speed was great.My strategy when trailed by a lorry with hissing air-brakes was to pull over and let them past.There was inevitably a long queue of cars behind them then the road would be quiet for a few miles.

The traffic got heavier and on reaching Stapleford I turned off towards Marden and Yelding. The road was lovely with little traffic and I was still making progress.

After a while the road started to be lined with placards protesting about new houses.”2,000 new homes to many”.”This road cant take 10,000 extra cars”. “Leave us alone” seemed to be the gist of the messages.There were a surprising number of them and feelings were clearly running high. Marden itself was a nice enough place until I crossed the railway line.It abruptly became a huge industrial warehouse park with lorries and new building everywhere for about a mile, then country side again until the pretty vilage of Yalding by a little river.I stopped at the ancient post office on a one way bridge over the river .The man at the post office eventually served me ,after a long chat with an elderly lady.The pace of life seemed slow and I could see why an industrial estate and 2000 houses weren’t going down well. The river was very prety for another mile then the scenery changed completley. The white sign posts for the next village disappeared and the only signs were for Maidstone and the M20.Not much use if you are on a bike.I repeatedly looked at the my oversized map, not an easy feat in gusty traffic, but misunderstood that the name of East Malling applied to the town at the end of the word rather than the beginning. In short I got hopelessly lost.

An hour later,and still hopelessly lost, I decided to follow the only consistent signs- to the M20.I had hoped to avoid the traffic in Maidstone and now found myself on the commuter belt of the M20 at rush hour.When finally I found the M20 I had to walk across 3 islands, two dual carriage ways and the motor way bridge to finally arrive in Snodland.

Snodland didnt look to promising.My foul mood was worsened by a sign saying “ROAD CLOSED”.

“Now what?” I cursed.

A quick constultatation of the big map was a bit hampered by the buffeting blasts of wind from passing lorries.I took shelter in a bus shelter and revised my plans.By pass Snodland and go to a village called Birling then to Meopham and Gravesend.So much time had passed I had to completely abandon the idea of a visit to Chatam Dockyard by way of a gentle roll down the Medway cycle route.I would probably have got lost again anyway.

I headed off toward Birling down a lovely country road,then had to double back having left my helmet in the bus shelter.

The loveliness of Birling ended abruptly as the road curved ever up ward.There was a large hill not far away but surely the road didn’t go up there.It did.I later discovered Birling Hill is one of best known in Kent as the views are great.It is 2.9 km long, average gradient 5.6 percent , with a maximum of 12.5 percent. That is steep on a laden bike.I walked the 12.5 percent bit.

When I finally arrived at Meopham ,I joined the main road and had to turn on my bike lights as the light had started to go.Panic set in as the light went down and I shot down the gradually downhill A227. Then, all of a sudden, I was at the A2, round a roundabout and arrived at the Gravesend Travelodge ,my destination for the night.

I had a quick shower and then went to get food.Armed with a Subway foot long sandwich and a few cans of beer,both from the garage next door,I then collapsed on the bed, put on the telly and took stock.

Some thing had definitely gone wrong.50 miles-my phone had measured 75.No big hills? HAHAHA.Good food?-Subway.

Name of the day-Snodland.

Food of the day-Victoria sponge.

Sight of the day-Kent countryside(not near the M20).

I went to sleep almost immediately and woke at 2 am, in my clothes, with sore legs and took some paracetamol.I hoped to recover by the morning.

Sore legs in Gravesend.

After a shower ,cup of tea and a biscuit,I packed up with remarkable ease-one of the advantages of “travelling light”! I eased down the hill into Gravesend in the rain to search for the ferry across the Thames to Tilbury.

The ferry goes every hour so I had a bit of time to spare.The ferry takes foot passengers and also bikes-saving me a huge detour to Dartford.Gravesend is not the nicest place on a wet and windy morning ,and now feeling a bit peckish I retreated to Macdonalds for a bacon sandwich or two.The sandwiches won’t make the list of excellent food I had on my travels but there was no alternative and they filled a yawning gap.

The rain stopped soon after breakfast but the day was grey and windy.Mercifully the wind was from the soutwest not the north.There were about 10 people on the ferry and it was suprisingly quick.I had hoped for views of vast container ships and docks but the picture says it all.Welcome to Essex.

Tilbury was grim a sort of semi-ghost town of bleak council houses. I consulted the map and headed off determined not to get lost. A few hundred yards later I asked the way from two women with push chairs.After extensive intructions I turned around and went on my way.

The wind stayed over my left shoulder. The traffic was moderate then heavy as I approached Brentwood with lots of speeding 4 wheel drives.Why do you need a 4 wheel drive in suburban Essex?There was a trafic jam of them in Brentwood which I undertook smiling widely.Things were going really well, no huge hills.I reached Chipping Ongar at about 11 and pressed on.After another few miles I joined an A road and found Bishop Storford to be only 10 miles away.Things were going great-until they weren’t.

There is a term in cycling called “the bonk”.It is also known as “the hunger knock” or “hypo”(glycaemia). Basically when you do a lot of exercise you burn sugar in muscles as well as some fat.Now muscles have limited stores of sugar ,especially if you burnt lots the day before.Fortunately your liver also stores sugar, so it can release more as the level in your blood gets low.Once the supply in your liver is exhausted the level in your blood falls until it it becomes critical.Unfortunately your brain cant metabolise fat or store sugar so once then blood levels get low your brain starts to malfunction and this is what started to happen now.

I felt weak vaguely and nauseous with an empty feeling in my stomach. Then I started to feel dizzy and slow down.It had been a long way since the early bacon sandwich. I realised what was happening and stopped to have a drink of water and a biscuit but it wasn’t enough.My hands were shakey and vision a bit blurred.I didn’t have anything sweet on me.After a brief pause, I cycled slowly to a garage.Racing cyclists have energy gels for such occasions -they taste disgusting.I have discovered a better alternative-Jelly Babies and flat mineral water-available in garages up and down the land.

About 15 minutes and 1 bag of jelly babies later I started to feel better . I knew that I needed food and rest so I cautiously cycled to a cafe and had a late lunch and a sit down.

After lunch and recovery I was happy to find I only had a few miles through Bishop Storford to reach Stanstead Montifichet.I pulled up at he Toy Museum and discovered there was a whole castle, gardens, mock Norman village, horror show and dinosaur experience to see.Bizarre is not the word-not what you expect to find in a village near Stanstead airport.

Limited for time I only went to the Toy Museum.It was certainly packed with stuff.Shelf upon shelf of toys of all ages,bits of military stuff and rock and roll memorabilia.It was mostly behind glass cases,and though the sheer amount of stuff was impressive,it was a bit poorly presented and jumbled.After about half an hour it started to feel like the endless trays of plastic toys at car boot sale. I,m sure it is great if you are an anorak for that sort thing,but I’m not .

So I left to find a cup of tea.

I had intended to visit Saffron Walden to see the Fry Gallery which has lots of early 20th century British Art.When I googled it on my phone I found it was shut that day.I was starting to get a bit tetchy,possibly the bonk or possibly a bit disappointed.Anyway, I hauled my self back on the bike and covered the few remaining miles to Duxford in no time.

The countryside in South Cambridgeshire was a little hillier and more lush than Essex.I started feel I had escaped the London/Essex urban sprawl and the traffic wasn’t so manic on the little B roads I followed.

When I reached my travelodge for the night I collapsed in a heap for an hour or so before hunger got the better of me.

I found a nearby gastro pub on my phone and went there. There seem to be lots of gastro pubs around Cambridge .Maybe things are looking up.

After a large Barnsley Chop,chips, onion grary and several pints of beer I felt much better.

I swore to do less cycling, see more good stuff and make the trip more pleasurable.Still I had only a short day tomorrow and lots of things to see.

Best place name-Chipping Ongar

Best food- Jelly Babies

 Best sight-lush Cambridgeshire countryside.

I awoke in the night shaky and hypo.More jelly babies and Hobnob biscuits.

Note to self-eat regularly.

Surprisingly, I felt fine in the morning.A bit stiff and not strong but functioning.

Breakfast consisted of a Greggs bacon sandwich cup of tea.Nicer than MacDonalds I decided.I was in no rush as my first destination was just down the road and didnt open until 10.Strange how blood sugar , light and a host of other things affect your mood.After a good ponder and another cup of tea I felt positively optimist for the day ahead.

Having packed up I cycled 15 minutes down the road to the Imperial War Museum at Duxford aerodrome.I managed not to get lost with the help of the big map and lots of AA signs for Duxford aerodrome.I hesitantly joined the queue which seemed to consist of older ex-military types.I not a big fan of wars or aeroplanes so I think my hesitation was appropriate.

The visit did not disappoint.It was a glorious September morning.The aerodrome seemed oddly familiar with its old hangars and nissen huts.Old planes were scattered about .The sense of scene became like deja vu when an old flying fortress waddled in to land trailing smoke from one engine.I almost expected the crew to bail out onto the grass carrying their wounded.I felt positively scared with a knot of fear in my stomach just watching.

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See for video https://photos.google.com/share/AF1QipO8tig6B4Vbv-l0i9-KRGJIhxRCAPXeRmo61b09AznytWNYiuMLFqtKfyQxnGtNqw/photo/AF1QipPAAYHkB-KEqlbQGHf0-9UyhFSAA9gGUqN62Tve?key=R0R6ckkyR0VjR1JHYmNZSGEzcHJOeElxRFVRazl3

After tea and cake (keep that sugar coming),I set off to explore the hangars.It was still early and few people were about.You could just wonder into the working hangars following a cordoned off route.There were people taking things apart and more vintage planes than you could imagine.

In one hangar there was a video about the airfield.It was used in ww2 and after the war it was used as the set for the 1969 film the Battle of Britain.There was a very ironic commentary explaining that the film crew caused more damage to the airfield than the Luftwaffe ever did. During the filming they burned down one of the hangars and exploded all sorts of things in the grass for the action scenes.

No wonder it seemed so familiar, that film must have been one of the first I ever saw.My granddad Joe took me to see it at the Odeon at the Bullring in Birmingham.Granddad knew all the names of the planes because he spent half the war driving round Britain in a lorry picking up the wrecked bits of planes for salvage. Not a very savory job.

In another hut at Duxford was the preserved flight control room.There was a background tape of crackly radio messages and instructions to give it a real atmosphere of tension.They were staffed with men and women of the RAF.The bottom picture shows the 40s styleand wicker chair for seats.

I visited the main modern hangar which houses Concorde, a Lancaster bomber and many other planes .Some were suspended spectacularly from the roof .The inside of Concorde was tiny compared with modern wide bodied jets.

The was a guided tour of the Lancaster bomber so I signed up.The tour was full of facts and information most of which I cant remember but some of it stuck.I was struck by how huge the bomb bay was .The amount of explosives they could pack in was huge .Pity the people on the ground in mass bombing raids.The poor souls with terror raining down from the night sky.

The Lancaster was designed to carry a bomb load as large as possible -up to 8000 lbs long range.To do that they had to have minimal armour.The adapted Lancasters for the Dambuster raids could carry about 20,000lbs but did away with the top gun turret and bomb doors.In comparison the more heavily armoured American B17 daylight bomber could carry 4,000lb long range but had many more guns and armour.

The Lancaster was apparently very reliable and manoeuvrable which is as well as that was its main defence. Little thought had been given to the well being of the crew.There is one entrance on the side-to bail out from there you would immediately hit the tail.The front escape hatch was at the bottom of the aircraft and you would hit the non- retractile rear wheel.For the rear gunner to bale out he had to open the hatch from his turret,put on his parachute(no room for it in the turret),then clamber back into the turret,shut the door, turn it all the way round,open the door and fall out.

The only heating was a hot air jet from the engines to the pilots area.The other 6 crew literally froze at altitude at night.The only protective armour was an armoured plate behind the pilots seat.The guns were inadequate and were apparently only used as a last resort at close range(ie 150ft) where they were effective.They gave away the planes position and had minimal effect at longer range.The front top and rear gunners were effectively look outs to allow the pilot to take evasive manoeuvres. The rear gunners often removed the glass plate on their turret so they could see better.They would of course get even colder.

The crews and ground crews must have had a special relationship with the aircraft and each other,which would have been torn apart when a plane failed to return.  

After a very informative morning, I pedalled off for Cambridge on the back roadspassing a delightful sign for a village called Shepreth Frog End.The delightful ,sunny, green country side had me thinking that the staff at the airbase must have travelled through the same benign,unchanging countryside each morning to their crazy airbase full of danger.The locals in Kent,Cambridgeshire and Lincolnshire must have found it even stranger in the 40s when their rural haven, where nothing much had happened for centuries, was suddenly transformed by numerous airfields , personnel ,planes and war.The contrast between the rural peace and ongoing war must have been hard to grasp.

 

Rolling towards Cambridge,I started wondering about people and their relationships to machines and tools after seeing the planes and history at Duxford.Of course ,I have a very good relationship with Edoardo Bianchi(Ed for short) my bike.We have done lots of things together and I literally don’t know where I would be without him.I sometimes talk to him, especially after a few days on the road but he never replies.I’ m sure he understands though.

Edoardo was certainly doing well this trip , no punctures, no mechanicals,smooth pedaling after a bit of pampering with wd 40 in the morning.Ed seemed to be enjoying the day to purring along the flat country roads.

When I got to Cambridge I remembered my oath to eat more often ,so I popped into Fitzbillies for one of their delightful Chelsea buns.I would normally find them a bit much but after a few miles cycling they really hit the spot.

Suitably refueled I went and parked Ed in one of the colleges.He looked suitably impressive with his sleek lines and touring bags amongst the rusty student bikes .My next visit was the Cambridge Archeology Museum.There was one interesting thing I had come to see-the West Toff hand axe.I wandered around and couldn’t find it.I found a huge hand axe from the Oldovai gorge and a case with piles of them in but not the one I was looking for.

In desperation I asked the lady at the gift shop checkout.

“You wouldn’t know if the West Toff hand axe is on display?” asked hopefully.

“I certainly do.” she smiled and took me to the case with lots of hand axes in a jumble.”Its the one on top.”

There it was.Dated somewhere between 150,000 and 400,000 years old  it is similar to other hand axes of the time with the exception of the fact that it contains a fossil shell.

So what you may ask..Well so very much.Whoever made it to use as a skinning /butchering knife knapped it with the fossil in the middle.The making of a hand axe is not a random process,the choice of the fossil in the middle is deliberate.So they were  making a bling hand axe. It is a stone tool but its also art.It is at least a thousand years older than the oldest cave paintings and figurines.This object is one of the oldest known where the maker wasn’t just making a useful tool but a personal decorative possession as well. It seems ironic that it sits in a corner of  Cambridge Archaeology Museum on top of a pile of other hand axes and you wouldn’t know it was there ,unless you ask the lady at the gift shop.

The hand axe was one of those rare objects that tell a story.A chink of bright light illuminating the dark past and turning your assumptions on their heads.Whoever made this wanted a special, personal knife they could be proud of-how very human.

Outside the sun was shining and the wind was a gentle cross wind as I headed for Ely. The distance is only about 15 miles and the B roads not busy.The countryside changed from rolling to pan flat .The fens have ditches rather than hedges and the sky on a sunny day is enormous, making the landscape seem huge.The fields of vegetables go all the way to the horizon,which is broken only by an occasional church spire.I could see Ely coming from miles away as its Cathedral stands on a hill.

Having reached Ely quicker than expected I went straight to the cathedral to have a look around. Ely is a lovely old small town with lots of old quadrants and houses round the cathedral.

After a quick look in the cathedral I went upstairs to see the Stained Glass Museum.I was pleasantly surprised to find some of the stained glass was rather attractive and the setting in a balcony down one side of the cathedral was lovely.There were also some hideous gargoyles on the walls.

After the cathedral I went for a wander down by the pretty river.I had fish and chips sitting by the water and watching the boats and barges.

At dusk I headed off to find the inevitable Travelodge.

When my son was young he used to race a bicycle.He was very keen and rather good at it.My wife or myself used to take him to a race or a velodrome every other weekend.The cheapest place to stay was always the travelodge, because of that I feel completely at home there.They are cheap the rooms are identical/familiar, you can have as much tea as you want and they let you keep your bike in the room.They feel like a little bubble to me, where I don’t feel out of place because it is so familiar.After a day cycling unknown roads and new places they are a little haven of relaxed familiarity.

Food of the day- Chelsea bun.

Place name-Shepreth Frog End.

 Sight of the day -West Toff handaxe .

 

I had slept well during the night and my legs felt strong.

Note to self-30 miles good ,60+ miles bad.

The previous day had been really enjoyable but now faced several harder days.I was also a bit worried about the weather,light rain and win from south west.Deliberately, I set of early as I knew it was about 70 miles to my destination.

It rained for about 1 hour but I wasn’t to wet in my water proof and “rainleg” breeches.There were no hills in this part of the world.The wind wasn’t to strong and started as a cross wind but then shifted to a cross tail wind.The change in direction had a profound effect.In the wide open fens I positively flew along.There were no hedges or trees to shelter from the wind , few road junctions and little traffic until I got near Boston.I was able to cruise along in a big gear.

I stopped for breakfast at a greasy spoon cafe on the main road near Wisbech .I deliberately didn’t eat to much as a full english breakfast and hunching over the handlebars is not a good combination.When I started off again the wind was even more favourable or maybe I was heading more north. Progress was good.Every once in awhile I would be passed by an enormous lorry ,carrying mostly vegetables as far as I could tell.The traffic was light and the road dead straight so the lorries didn’t have to slow down they just whooshed past giving me a wide birth.I managed not to get lost and by 2 0’clock arrived at my first stop.

The Bubble Car Museum is not on the beaten track.It is on a minor road a t a place called Langric a few miles out of Boston.Strangely, Langric also boasts a steam railway but very little in the way of houses. When I arrived I was delighted to find I wasn’t the only person there and the cafe was open.After a bowl of soup and a pot of tea I wandered round the museum.

Bubble cars were in vogue after WW2 because they had tiny motorbike engines and were cheap.Traffic was much slower then so having a top speed of 40 mph was not a problem.They were the sort of poor mans people car.If you couldn’t afford a VW beetle or a Citroen 2 CV,a Morris Minor or Fiat 500 then you had a bubble car.They consist of a motor bike engine and a tiny cab.They can carry 2 people and a friend. Sometimes the door is on the front some, have 3 wheels some have 4.They were particularly popular in rural areas and adapted to be small lorries to take things to market.You can still see them in small Italian towns where the roads are so narrow you can’t get a proper car down them.

Of all the cars there my favorite was the french Solyto 3 wheel van complete with canvas roof,onions and genuine city of Agen parking disk.

I went round the museum ,had another cup of tea ,then went round again.

They even had a mini-shop where I bought a fridge magnet.

Back outside I admired an East German Trebant and one of those marvellous old French corrugated Citroen vans.It occurred to me that the bubble cars were not dissimilar to the gun turrets int he planes I had seen yesterday. Messerschmidt made fighters and bubble cars .

I only had 15 miles to go now and bowled along quite happily.I toyed with the idea of visiting the RAF museum at RAF Coningsby ,which I had to pass, but the afternoon was turning grey.The big sky and open fields had transformed into a grey murk where the horizon was the same colour as the sky.The same landscape was completely transformed from the glory of the day before.

Suddenly there was a huge roaring noise on the road.It was so loud I pulled over and stared around.I wandered what on earth the noise could be, then two Tornado aircraft zipped overhead as they took off and the noise faded to a distant thunder as they disappeared.

I reached Horncastle, my destination, at about 4 pm. Horncastle had the feel of somewhere that had not changed in decades.It had some lovely old shops including a traditional butchers where I bought a large rabbit pie .I checked into my hotel, which was an old coaching inn complete with stables out the back for Eduardo.

I had a shower then sat on my bed an ate my rabbit pie.The butcher had warmed it up for me and it was delicious.I think I dozed for a couple of hours after that.

Place name of the day-Moulton Seas End , near Holbeach by strangely not near the sea.

Food of the day- Rabbit.

Sight of the day-the three wheel Solvyo van from Agen.

It had rained heavily overnight but had slowed to a drizzle by the morning .I was feeling a bit weak after yesterday but after breakfast I felt better.The weather forecast was for wind-south westerly turning west then north.Not good.I had intended to head north along the ridge of the Lincolnshire Wolds as it is supposed to be very pretty.The thought of being on a high ridge in a headwind put me off and I decided to head to Lincoln instead.

The drizzle stopped after a while but the wind was getting stronger.I turned onto my B road alternative and was met by a whole array of road closed signs.Often that means you can wheel past any obstruction with a bike. Two cars came the other way so I decided to push on.The signs persisted then new tarmac appeared for a couple of miles then back to normal.The roadworks had obviously finished .The road was pleasant enough and after a few miles I could see Lincoln cathedral on its hill.

The wind had started to turn and pick up so I had a rest in the shelter of a haystack.

 

I soon arrived in Lincoln and went for a wander about.The Cathedral looked very grand on top of its Hill.The market was open so I wandered round and found a stall selling roast pork rolls, stuffing, apple sauce, a cup of tea and and a sit down I felt fully recovered.

The road up to the Cathedral and Castle was steep and cobbled and very pretty.The cathedral itself was very impressive-more grand than than Ely. I decided not to stay to long as I was worried about the wind.

I was right to worry,as soon as I got out of town I realised the wind was now from the north straight into my face.My destination was Scunthorpe. The country side was gently rolling and there were few trees or hedge rows.I battled on, slowing to a crawl on any incline and still having to pedal going down hill because of the wretched wind.After an hour I stopped at a garage and bought more jelly babies.

After 2 hours I sat by the side of the road for 15 minutes.

After 3 hours I cursed and had a cup of tea.

After 31/2 hours I completed the 28 miserable miles to Scunthorpe. I gave up and rolled into the railway station.

My mood recovered a bit as I bought a train ticket to York. There was no way I could have done another 35 miles into that wind.I was cheered up by a rather unusual collage on Scunthorpe station.Sir Isaac Newton made from train tickets.

 

The train came quickly.It was quite a novelty to whisk through the countryside at great speed.I stared out the window and smiled to myself as we passed Drax power station.

When I was little and being driven past Drax in the car,my parents told me that this was where they made the clouds.Seemed reasonable as you can see them coming out of the top of it.I continued to believe this for years-well after I had ceased to believe in Father Christmas.

I changed train in Doncaster and followed a woman on crutches to the disabled/ bike section.We managed to squeeze my bike and her crutches in and started a conversation.It turns out she works as a journalist/administrator and was going to York to do a creative writing course.She was a bit nervous about it as she described herself as not the sort of person who goes on courses.I complimented her on having the perfect icebreaker with her crutches.It turned out she had leapt into the air to celebrate Norwich City scoring against Tottenham and tore her calf muscle.Norwich apparently went on to loose.

She asked me about my bike trip, puncture proof tyres and how I found odd places to visit.I strongly recommended my Gatorskin tyresa and reluctantly gave away my secret research tool -I go to tripadvisor put in the name of a town and scroll to the bottom of the page.All the interesting things to do are at the bottom of the page.Simple.

I felt very cheerful by the time we reached York and realised I hadn’t really had a conversation with anyone(apart from Ed) for a few days.

The train was so fast I now had time in hand so I set off for the York Jorvik experience.

I had never been to the Jorvik centre despite knowing York quite well.The first part consisted of a sort of suspended bumper car ride through a set of viking scenes, complete with back ground noises and clunkily animated figures and real actors -some of whom spoke and gave commentary and information.

I was a bit stunned by it to start with and then got the giggles.

The ride came to an end and I headed to the museum to find what I had really come to see.In a glass case at the back there it was-the Viking Turd.

When Coppergate in York was being excavated in 1972 they came across a fossilised Viking Poo.It is also known as the Lloyds Bank turd as it was found under Lloyds Bank.It is known as a coprolite or fossilised faeces.

Not only is it the eye-watering size that is impressive.It is actually very rare to get fossilised poo.It has its own wikipedia page.It was found to contain thousands of whip worm and round worm eggs.The owner seems to have subsisted on bread and meat.

Paleoscatologist ( fossilised faeces expert) Dr Andrew Jones described it as-  “This is the most exciting piece of excrement I’ve ever seen… In its own way, it’s as irreplaceable as the Crown Jewels”.

The historical insight it gives is amazing. The vikings weren’t just marauding Scandawegians but also loved meat sanwiches and had bad guts from intestinal parasites.Can you imaging the horror of a long journey into the unknown in a open boat for days with abdominal discomfort and an itchy bum.

The story didn’t end there.The coprolite was given pride of place at York Archeological Centre where it was the star of many school trips,until a teacher ( we’ll call her Miss Smith) picked it up and dropped it.It broke into 3 pieces .

Try to imagine the story the year 6 school trip had for assembly.

I suspect Miss “Sticky Fingers”Smith got quite a reception in the staff room too.

The breaks were repaired and it now sits in a glass case.

What did they stick it together with?

Make your own puns.

 

After the Jorvik crap experience I checked the gift shop but they didn’t have any turd fridge magnets.Neither did the gift shops on the Shambles.

I wandered through York to the Minster.What a cathedral .A proper 10/10 house of god.

Apparently the Minster was begun in 1220 and consecrated in 1472.That means it took 250 years to build .That is about 10 generations of stone masons.No wonder they formed a guild.

I headed off to the Travelodge happy that I had managed a long cycle and seen lots of things with just a little help from the train.

Food of the day Roast Pork roll with stuffing and apple sauce .

Place name of the day: A draw between Scunthorpe and;

Sight of the day-York Minster

 

Weather was looking better.Sun and SW wind 5mph.I was heading North West so shouldn’t be a problem.You may wonder why I was obsessing about the wind so much.Yesterdays story says it all.

At a steady 15 miles per hour 80%+ of the work you do is against the wind.If you have a 15 mph tail wind then you reduce the energy you need to keep a steady speed by 50 to 80%.It is also the reason why with a tail wind you don’t hear any wind and all seems tranquil-you are in a bubble of moving air.If on the other hand you have a 15 mph head wind then to keep at 15 mph steady speed you have to overcome 30 mph of wind.The amount of wind resistance rises exponentially with the speed so you would have to put out an increase of at least 120 % to keep your speed.Basically you can’t, so you slow down until your maximum energy out put balances the wind resistance-(ie pitifully slow) and you have to maintain a maximum out put(ie you get knackered).These are also the reasons why professional bike riders have an aerodynamic uncomfortable position(reduce wind resistance by 20 to 30 per cent ) and also why they ride in a peleton(reduces energy needed by 30% if you are in the sheltered middle.

None of the above information is the slightest use or conciliation when faced with a head wind.

My first stop was in York.The York Cold War Bunker is in the suburb of Fulford.It was built in the early 50s as a command centre for the area in the event of nuclear war.

 

The idea seems to have been that numerous 3 man bunkers scattered though the country fed their information on detonations and fall out readings to the larger bunkers which could then create a map of what had happened ,where was safe where the fallout was going etc.They were supposed to get this information by phone.Would they have be working?

It was manned, but not all the time, by the Royal Observer Corps.They were a voluntary organisation set up in WW2. The bunker could be sealed , had air filters water and food for 1 month and was supposed to have 2 shifts of 60 people manning it.Quite how they would get there with a 4 minute warning is unclear.

The inside was really quite big,but not for 120 people. They had instruments for radio activity measurements, blast detection etc.The control room looked remarkably like the control room at Duxford aerodrome.After 1 month that was it-you would have to leave.You would probably want to after sharing a bed with the night shift and nobody had washed for a month.The place was a very strange combination of nuclear war paranoia and dads army plans.

The bunker was shut in the late 70s and sealed for 9 yrs.The Observer Corps then got it opened and maintain it for English Heritage.It was originally in the orchard of a grand house used by the government department for listed buildings.When they were moved and the land sold off, the bunker had to stay because they had listed it as a national monument(just like Stonehenge) so no-one can touch it.It now stands in the middle of a housing estate (see PIC)which is incongruous to say the least. The bunker was shut for such a longtime that it remains pretty much as it was and the observer corps ran practice exercises in it when it was re opened. The maps papers lists and plans are all still there. They also sell fridge magnets.

The ride towards Masham was a delight.No hills to start with and lovely sunshine .I passed near Ripon. A sign indicated a village called Wath. What a lovely word-it means a Ford in Old Norse.Them Vikings again .Quite a lot of the roads had been recently repaired ready for upcoming World Cycling Championships based in Harrogate. I made good time and had scrambled eggs and bacon for brunch in the lovely Market Square in Masham..The Market Square cafe was very popular with cyclists, motor cyclists and people on day trips.

My next destination was the guided tour of the Theakston’s brewery.I love their Best Bitter, though you cant get it down South,just that strong Old Peculiar stuff.The brewery was impressively old fashioned and the tour conducted by the inevitable slightly abrupt,dour Yorkshireman. He was very enthusiastic about beer which more than made up for his Yorkshire demeanor.

 

The brewery has huge copper vats and works on gravity- so they take all the ingredients up to the top floor the trickle them through various processes until they emerge as beer barrels on the ground floor.The smell of yeast and hops was fantastic.

The process was suitably low tech. The entire cycle of making a brew takes 8 hours plus settling time.They can work 24 hours a day but don’t as they make it more or less on demand.The keg beer which goes to pubs will last a month before it goes off.Bottled beer will last 6 months as it is sterilised and carbonated.All the left over hops ,malt and yeast is sold as fertiliser or animal feed locally.

After an hours tour we adjourned to the Black Bull in Paradise which is attached to the brewery.Sampling was very scientific with small glasses.The sampling confirmed my favorite by miles is their best bitter, though it was nice to have the other half dozen to compare.

After the tasting I went back to the market square and had some tea and a sandwich.I was gettting tired and though I didnt have far to go that day I knew I really needed a rest day.I had also really enjoyed the days when I had seen more and cycled less.

So change of plan .

Rather than spend the night at Scotch corner then cycle to Newcastle the next day,I would instead cycle to Northallerton and get the train to Newcastle late afternoon and have a rest day in Newcastle.Happy with the new plan I headed off.

There was a huge hill just outside Masham on the road toward Bedale but I managed to crawl up it in my lowest gear.From the top of that hill to Bedale was all downhill and even the Bedale -Northallerton stretch was just rolling.I made good time leapt on a train and before I knew it I was in Newcastle a day ahead of schedule.

Newcastle station was crowded with tired runners from the Great North Run.Some sported achievement T shirts and others space blankets and wobbly legs.I discovered the Tour of Britain finished in Newcastle the next day.Impressive -sporty Newcastle.So the next day I could watch a cycle race as well as visit a few places.Things were looking better and better. There was no rain and I cycled down the riverside to Gateshead Travelodge.The hotels in Newcastle were all full due to the Great North Run but I knew the cycle routes down the river from a previous trip on the C2C cycle route.

After showering I went out to eat and had a couple of drinks. I was heading back to the hotel when I was greeted by a party of  jolly ladies in fancy dress.They had done the Great North Run and then been on a pub crawl to get back to Gateshead.I congratulated them and they whooped and hollered in reply.It was lovely not to be the only one with wobbly legs and exhaustion.

Place name of the day- Pity Me- a village outside Durham.

Food of the day- scrambled eggs and bacon in the sunshine.

Place of the day-Masham market square.

Waking up in the morning and not having to immediately get on the bike was a real luxury.So what did I do-I got on my bike and cycled 4 miles to see the Angel of the North.This monumental sculpture is so in keeping with the industrial heritage of the North East that it has become a sort of emblem.

Unfortunately it drizzled and was dark. The atmosphere wasn’t improved by the distant rumble of the traffic on the A1M. Nobody else was there so I didn’t linger.It was very big but very grey and grim on that day.

 

By the time I had reached the Tyne the drizzle had relented.Next stop was the Baltic art gallery which I had never been too.The building was an industrial flour mill by the river.

 

The three galleries I went round were huge , but the contents didn’t quite live up to the building itself.The stairs have a mirror at the top and bottom of the stair well which makes it seem endless.

The view from the 4th floor balcony was just fantastic.

I was delighted to find an Angel of the North fridge magnet in the Baltic gift shop and pleased with my purchase I spent a couple of hours wandering round the riverside.The seven bridges are awe inspiring.

I went for lunch in a pub called the Bridge Tavern. At the bar I was confronted by a line of pumps for various craft brews that I knew nothing about.

“What would you like?”the barmaid asked.

“Err,I dont know.” I replied.

“Well what kind of beer do you like?” She asked.

“Err,not to strong.Not to hoppy.” I answered hesitantly.

She pulled a bit of beer into a half pint glass and gave it to me.”Try that.”she encouraged.

I had a slurp.”I ‘ll have a pint of that please.”I smiled.

I ordered food and sat down slightly stunned at how pleasant the pub had turned out to be.The food arrived -pigeon breast strips and beetroot salad with bulgar wheat.I’m happy to say it was delicious.

The pub was built into the arches of one of the bridges and while I ate I googled the Tyne Bridges.Apparently there are seven at the last count.The major ones in the middle of Newcastle/Gateshead are the Tyne Bridge(looks like Sidney Harbour Bridge), the High Level bridge,the Millennium foot bridge, the King Edward VII railway bridge and the Swing Bridge.The remaining two are the Redheugh Road Bridge and the Metro Queen Elizabeth bridge-both west of city centre.

The Swing bridge was built on the site of the Medieval bridge,which was in turn built on the site of the Roman Bridge- the Pons Aelius(after Emporer Hadrian Aelius – as in Hadrians Wall.). The Bridge was built in 213 AD. Apparently the Roman bridge was made of timber on stone piers.It must have had a few repairs over the centuries but seems to have finally burnt down along with most of the town in 1240.A thousand years for a bridge- roman engineering.The next bridge was stone medieval one built in 1320 and which stood until 1771 when part of it washed away ion a flood. Anew bridge was built with 9 arches in 1781 and stood until it was removed by the swing bridge in 1876.The swing bridge was the largest of its kind in the world and allowed large boats to pass up the Tyne. At its peak it would open 6000 times per year to allow boats up and down the river.Currently they open it 4 times a week.

When the foundations for the swing bridge were dug they dug through the old roman foundations and found two stone abutments and piers.This enabled the archaeologists to estimate the bridge was 234 metres long. Lots of stone inscriptions and two stone alters were also recovered from he mud.

After lunch I hung about for the arrival of the Tour of Britain up a very steep hill to the finish.There were good crowds behind the barriers and a nice atmosphere of anticipation.Two blokes standing next to me were watching the race live on their i phone and gave a running commentary on whether the breakaway would be caught.The breakaway was caught just a t the bottom of the hill before the race swung into view. I was amazed at the speed they went up the hill after 5 hours in the saddle.(I only managed it in my lowest gear with fresh legs the next morning.)Dylan Grownabagen won for Jumbo Visma. He is in yellow in the front 4 as they go by on the video’.

https://photos.google.com/share/AF1QipMf-gLe3kCJJrbPylk8j8XwzYJs-RZu9BbK2DQffhtx_yEMFAUhIczo1kUGJFxmrA/photo/AF1QipNOnicyXl5ewjbp_dJqZ9acTD-6pp72IisXCqXb?key=Vlp1MEpyazctMjgzXzJES1BuMWwzNzY3ZVBGdmp3

As an indulgence for my day off I went out for dinner at a proper restaurant.I had heard of Trakol from a newspaper review and it sounded right up my street.Everything is grilled / griddled over a fire.The menu heavy on the meat and it prides itself on “nose to tail” dining – ie lots of unusual kinds of meat but they also grill veg and potatoes in an unusual way. The restaurant is housed in several converted shipping containers right next to the swing bridge ,which also houses a bar.

I was impressed by the kitchen which was visible from the restaurant. It looked more like a foundry than a kitchen.The restaurant was busy and groups of people were eating large cuts of meat at large tables.It seemed to be the sort of place to go to with a group of cave men or rugby players.Unfortunately I was on my own and this limited my choice of food since most of the main dishes seemed to be to share between 4.

The waitress was very helpful and I managed to chose from the endless list of strange micro-brewed beers.I decided to get into into the spirit of things by ordering pigs tails as a starter and pig cheek for a main.I suppose it should have been pigs nose for main- but that was only available as a whole pigs head, roasted and I don’t think I could have managed that.

The food was delicious.The pigs tails were pork cracking with a spicy coating round sweet bony meat .The waitress warned me not to bite them like they were a chicken nugget as the bones were tough.From her tone I got the impression somebody had done so and done them self a dental mischief.

The pigs cheek was crispy as could be and came with grilled potato, spicy coleslaw and black pudding.I couldn’t manage a pudding.

I rolled home stuffed from end to end with beer and pork.The rest day had been a very good idea.I collapsed into bed a t 9 pm ready for an early start.

Food of the day-pigtails

Place name of the day Spittal Tongues-a district of Newcastle.

Sight of the day-the Tyne Bridges

 

Early start-off before 7 to miss the traffic.I was leaving Newcastle and heading for Seahouses then inland. More or less the reverse of the Tour Of Britain stage I had seen the day before- though they went even further to Berwick in much less time.The first hill was the same one where the tour of Britain had finished.Lowest gear.

The sky was gray but no rain.The wind had completely gone and there was a lovely early morning quiet as headed through the suburbs of Newcastle.I made good progress and was level with Morpeth before 9 oclock.My legs felt good for the rest and the countryside was rolling but not to bad.The roads beyond Morpeth were very quiet as most Northumberland back roads seemed to be .Northumberland is very empty and the landscape feels big.The wind had vanished completely and I purred along with just the high pitched singing of the air in the spokes.

I stopped for breakfast in Alnmouth and was pleased with my progress.After another hour it started to drizzle .It was the kind of light drizzle that evaporates from your cycle shirt as you blast out heat and it actually keeps you nice and cool.The drizzle turned to rain as I reached Seahouses down more quiet back lanes.Amazingly it was not yet 11 oclock.

Seahouses was quiet ,I got a takeaway cup of tea and went straight onto the 11 oclock boat trip.The rain increased and having stopped cycling I started to get cold .I pulled on my water proof and huddled with my cup of tea until I warmed up.

There were only 6 people on the boat , the sea was very calm and there was no wind.We cruised around the Farne Islands in a sort of dead calm.There were no puffins- wrong time of year- but there were lots of other seabirds and several colonies of seals.Seals are strange creatures so ungainly , clumsy and fat on land ,but the minute they are in the water they turn into graceful torpedoes shooting around effortlessly.

After an hour or so the sun came out and it turned into a glorious day.We headed back to the harbour and when we got there it was packed with boats and people.I hadn’t realised Seahouses was such a popular destination for day trips.It is quite a long way from anywhere.Presumably people zoom up or down the A1, not the empty back lanes I had cycled on. The single street was packed with people and car parks were overflowing with cars and buses.It was a complete contrast to the quiet drizzly village we had left 2 hours before.

There are four fish and chip restaurants all serving tea,fish chips,mushy peas and bread and butter.There are also about 10 cafes serving tea and cakes.All this in a tinyvillage miles from anywhere.I discovered a huge souvenir shop and bought a wooden puffin fridge magnet that I was very pleased with.Rather than have fish and chips with the hoards I headed down a back street in search of the last remaining smoke house, where they still smoke local fish.It wasn’t easy to find but worth it.As well as all the fresh seafood you could want they also sell the most amazing kipper rolls.I bought 2 then sat by the harbour watching the boats come and go and feasted on kippers.

Next I cycled down the coast to Bamburgh. The beach on this section of coast is idyllic.Miles of golden sand backed by huge sand dunes.

Bamburgh Castle was packed but the views of the Farne Islands to the south and Holy Island to the north were worth the crowds.I was starting to wilt and so didnt stay long.

As soon as I left the main road the traffic and crowds vanished as if they had never been.I managed to navigate my way with the big map.There must be a sort of well recognised day trip that involves a visit to Holy Island,Bamburgh Castle and then fish and chips in Seahouses and a Farne Island boat trip.

I headed west across attractive farm land and rolling hills.The countryside north of Newcastle is not as lush as it is in Yorkshire or Lincolnshire but still recognisably “English”.I arrived at my accommodation for the night- an airnb in a barn.The advert had promised “camping in a stone tent” .It was lovely with a great view and my own personal fire place.I had food at a local pub and settled down in front of the fire.Outside the wind wailed and buckets of rain came down.I was well happy with the distance I had covered and places I had been and was looking forward to arriving in Peebles to stay with a friend.

Place nameof the day-Hipsburn.

Food of the day- Kipper roll.

Sight of the day-Bamburgh Castle and dunes.

It had rained hard in the night and the wind howled but I was snug in my barn.

I set off early feeling energised by the possibility of another rest tomorrow.The wind was awful- about 20 mph from the west.To start with I was heading northwest towards Wooler and Coldstream so the wind was sometimes head wind some times cross wind.The traffic was fine and I was doing OK until I reached the border where it started to rain heavily.

“Welcome to Scotland.” I muttered to myself as I stopped to pull on my waterproofs.

The rain didn’t last long but the wind continued to howl.

 

At Coldstream when I turned to follow the Tweed I was heading west into a huge headwind funneled by the valley.My pace slowed and after a couple of hours I reached Kelso .I stopped for food and had a rest. Kelso was a slightly grim borders town and the country side around it was loosing the lush fields and more moors were appearing.

I pushed on along the Tweed valley.The Tweed is a very wide regal river with occasional swans and a looping course. The road left the river quite often and got a bit hilly but I was still making progress, though I was even having to pedal on the downhills as the wind was so strong.

When I reached St Boswells I had another rest and looked at the map.There was a choice of two routes-I could go the longer way on the main road threw Melrose or on the shorter route direct to Selkirk.I reasoned that the wind was the main problem so I might as well go on the shorter route.

Wrong.

The wind was a problem ,but going uphill into the headwind was a bigger one.The road rose and the wind got stronger.Hedges and trees disappeared and the wind got stronger.My pace slowed to a crawl and started to get “hypo”.

I stopped and drank water and ate.The sat down for a while in the shelter of a drystone wall , out of that cursed wind.I didn’t have much choice but to carry on.After a while I recovered a bit.A road sign indicated 6 miles to Selkirk and as far as I could tell the road went off left round a huge hill with a tv transmitter on top.The Tweed valley was way down to the right.I plodded on at snails pace.

The road turned out to go OVER the huge hill with the tv transmitter . 4 miles later just below the crest I had to have another rest. It had taken me an hour to do 4 miles. The wind was howling over the open moor , there was little traffic .I rested for another 10 minutes but then I started to get cold and stiff so I ploughed on.

There was no respite, the wind was so strong I had to pedal to keep going downhill.The road then steepened ,twisted and the surface became loose.I was hanging onto the breaks so hard that my arms started to ache and cramp.

Finally I reached a decent road and rolled downhill into Selkirk.Selkirk is yet another grim borders town.I was very tired and bedraggled .I found myself shivering and had to put on more clothes.Hot soup and a sandwich helped.I sat on a bench beneath a large statue of Sir Walter Scott. I was not looking forward to the remaining 15 miles to Peebles,though I hoped they would be downhill as Selkirk is still quite high.

I recovered a bit and my phone pinged.

Text from my friend Peter.”nipping to shops back in 30 mins ” it read.

“What the ****?” I exclaimed out loud.

That mean’t he was out in the car, not 15 miles away and could possibly make a slight detour to Selkirk.

“at selkirk under big white statue in square need a rescue” I texted, trying not too sound desperate.

After a tense couple of minutes my phone pinged again.

“see you soon” Peter replied.

“Yes!” I shouted.

A woman walking by looked a bit startled.

I smiled apologetically at her.

Peter and Isabelle turned up 15 minutes later and I was pleased and delighted to see them.They plied me with food and hot drinks.We headed off to Peebles .By the time we arrived at the house I had stiffened up, and for a few seconds I simply couldn’t get out of the back of the car.

Peter and Isabelle were great hosts and plied me with tea , food,warm and humour .We sat in the kitchen next to a huge Aga and I thawed out.

After a couple of hours I went and slept.When I woke up we had more food and a few drinks and I was a very poor guest and collapsed in a heap after dinner.

Place name of the day -Etal and Duddo-next to each other outside Coldstream.

Food of the Day- Scotch Pie

Sight of the day-Peters car coming to pick me up.