Day 17. Lanivet to Land’s End.

The final day was here at last. We set off to return me to the point I stopped at on Monday after a good breakfast. The bike loaded onto the roof of the car and we set off for Lanivet. The hills on the way were pretty big and I was raring to go!

Dropped off at Lanivet, a few photos taken, and I was ready to begin. I headed off away from the car, back the way I had come previously, feeling strong and really positive about the day ahead. Turning off the main road, I headed towards Tremore and Inches, along narrow lanes with typical Cornish high hedges. The lack of roadsigns didn’t seem to as much of an issue as before, I was feeling rested and as such my decision making seemed to be a bit better, along with the fact that there isn’t too much variation from traveling due west. I passed through lovely little villages, climbing hills with far more ease than previously, my knee really feeling the benefit of having had a rest day. It also helped that for this day, the final day, I wasn’t carrying my panniers, and the bike felt lively and responsive and I was able to make good progress.

I joined the A39 for a few miles, down to St Columb Major, and then took another minor road/lane almost all the way into Newquay. The lanes were especially fun, without the weight of all my kit I was really enjoying swooshing down into village and hamlets, past farms, and then climbing up onto ridges again – this must be what it’s like for most cyclists, traveling with a support crew must make the journey much more relaxing and easy on the body!

South of Perranporth I joined the A3075, a fairly quick road, but not too busy either. The cycling was mostly easy, with only one steep climb at Rejerrah. I was now pretty close to Truro itself, just a few miles away to the south, I was tempted to call in and get some lunch with Alice, as a surprise, but instead pressed on towards Three Burrows and then a lovely, long descent to Blackwater. Freed of all my luggage made a huge difference, I no longer dreaded losing too much height on the downhill’s, knowing that the inevitable upcoming hills wouldn’t be so bad.

I stopped for lunch on the outskirts of Redruth, quickly inhaling a sandwich and flapjack. The weather had cooled considerably over the morning, with the wind rising too, and I soon felt cold once I’d stopped. Redruth and Camborne weren’t especially picturesque, and seemed to be one larger conurbation, with lots of out of town shopping areas and car sales rooms. Past Camborne and the road steadily rose again towards Roseworthy, but dropped again down to Hayle and St Erth. I followed the road south towards Marizion, along tree lined lanes. I was conscious that I was quickly running out of road, the end fast approaching. I was excited, eager to reach the end, and as I rolled over the last hill and down into Marizion with view of the sea and of St Michael’s mount just a short way across the bay, it actually hit me that I had very nearly cycled the entire length of the UK.

I followed a cycle path from Marizion along the sea to Penzance. The cycle path was really rocky and gravelly, which was great fun. As I bumped along the path, picking out the least rocky route I was reminded of just how good my tyres are. I passed someone with a flat tyre, offered to help but was waved on – they obviously had it under control. I hadn’t had a single puncture in over 1000 miles of sometimes poor roads, gravel paths and thorny, overgrown footpaths (Monmouthshire) – pretty amazing. If anyone reading is thinking of doing something similar, then you really can’t get better than Schwalbe marathon tyres!

At Penzance I text Alice to say I would likely be finished in about an hour. West of Penzance, the hills again rose upwards, undulating along for the final 10 miles. I was working my way up one of the last hills at Catchall when I heard a car beeping madly at me – then alongside me Alice and her parents swept past in their car! Great! I was nearly there and as they disappeared around the next corner I felt a huge wave of adrenaline and euphoria wash over me! I stamped down on my pedals, grinding out a big gear and propelled myself along the final few miles at more than 25mph, sometimes reaching more than 30+mph. With just two miles to go I slowed down to try and soak up the experience and emotions I was feeling as I neared the end of my trip. I stopped for a few minutes, caught my breath, text Alice to say I was almost there, and had a good look around at the scenery.

I had always wanted to do something like this trip, and during my twenties I had had my heart set on walking the distance. That was unrealistic due to time constraints and I never did do it. However since getting into cycling I had fantasized about doing a longer tour. It was at land’s End the previous summer that I finally said I was going to do it, feeling inspired by the scenery and finality of the land ending and ocean stretching out ahead…

I swept down over the low hill from Sennan and raced towards the finish line. There I could see a large home-made banner being held aloft by Alice’s folks and Alice standing to the side, filming my approach! I slowed down slightly and swept under the banner – that was it, almost, the trip done! I had finally finished. It had taken longer than I’d expected, and had been far, far harder than I’d expected too, but all the more rewarding for it! I posed for a few photos underneath the banner, enjoyed a glass of champagne and was presented with a finishers medal that Alice had ordered for me – a huge surprise, and really thoughtful of her!

All that was left for me to do was to cycle the final few metres down to the very end of the country, to have my photo taken at the official sign. I felt elated, but slightly numb too, there was a lot to take in and it hadn’t really sunk in, in fact it still hasn’t really. I suppose I expected to somehow feel different, like I’d been subtly but fundamentally changed, but I felt the same as before. My natural state is to downplay my emotions, and along with that goes the instinct to downplay my achievements too. I had massively enjoyed cycling the length of the UK. The scenery had been incredible – we really do like in a very diverse and beautiful landscape, but the greatest part of the trip for me was meeting so many friendly, welcoming and interesting people. I’ve said it before in this blog, but it’s worth restating – the kindness of strangers is by far and away the greatest thing I experienced on the trip! We all live our own lives, busy and stressful at times, and I think many people (myself included) often look negatively on strangers, quick to assume the worst and eager to avoid even the smallest of friendly gestures, such as making eye contact or even smiling, but this trip opened my eyes to the fact that there are many other people willing to share their time, experience and knowledge in conversation with complete strangers, and that, I think, is bloody marvellous!

Whilst the reason for doing the trip was personal, I did decide to raise some money for charity along the way. If you enjoyed reading my blog, then please sponsor me - https://www.justgiving.com/teams/RichardsJOGLE2013
Many thanks xx

So, what’s next? I really don’t know at the moment, but there will of course be something in the pipeline…watch this space and thanks for reading!

 

 

Day 16. Rest day.

There isn’t a whole lot to say about the rest day, except to say that we had a lovely and relaxing time. The sun was shining and it was gloriously hot too. We went to the beach at Perranporth and sat up in the dunes, reading our books and just relaxing – lovely! Back in Truro for the early evening we sat out in our small garden, overlooking the cathedral, and enjoyed a glass of wine in the afternoon sun. My knee felt much better than it had the previous day, and I was eager to get going the next day – Land’s End here I come!

Day 15. Lapford to Lanivet.

I woke fairly early this morning – my field was again close to a railway line and I was woken by the 7:05 to wherever – pretty handy really! I’d had an uncomfortable night’s sleep and my shoulders and back ached. I was getting a bit sick of sleeping in a tent by this point, of having damp and dirty clothes and no access to a nice hot shower! All that was due to change though, as today I was aiming squarely for Truro. To see my wife, to get clean, to have a proper meal, and to sleep in a proper bed, what more motivation could I need?

Heading back past the petrol station I had stocked up at last night, and then turning right, up a steep but mercifully short hill (I hated long climbs first thing, before I’d had time to warm up my tight and achy muscles) and then on towards Zeal Monachorum and the A3072. Okehampton wasn’t too many miles further and the thankfully quiet road was straightforward too – hilly though! There was a steep climb out of Okehampton and the views south towards Dartmoor were imposing. I was forced onto the A30, only for half a mile, but it was more than enough – the road was really busy with heavy traffic climbing slowly up another steep hill. I got off the main road at the very first junction and instead headed along the old A30, along a great downhill that lasted for at least five miles. The next five miles were all uphill though and I soon found myself finally crossing a bridge over the river Tamar – I had at last reached Cornwall!

If Okehampton had seemed hilly then Launceston was positively vertical! Climbing up into the town was pretty hard work and there didn’t seem to be anywhere appealing to stop for lunch. I carried on, deciding that I had plenty of food left, and headed towards South Petherwin and then the oddly named village of Congdon’s Shop. The scenery was really stunning, far more than I’d expected of the upland area of eastern Cornwall. Upton Cross came next, and then along to Minions and Common Moor, both really beautiful, with wide, beautiful skies, rolling upland hills, phallic upright stones and wild horses roaming free.

I managed to take another wrong turn up a lane without a signpost and found myself following the river Fowey, which was little more than a stream. As before, I instinctively knew I’d made a wrong turn but didn’t want to admit it to myself, instead hoping that just around the next corner I’d come to another turning. I didn’t and instead I spent a few minutes inwardly complaining about both the scale of maps I was carrying, and the poor quality of road signs in a county that sells itself as both a holiday destination and also an outdoor activities playground. After my hissy fit had come to its natural conclusion I came across a police officer sitting on his police motorbike in the middle of nowhere! He was sitting there listening to his radio without a care in the world, and didn’t seem initially very keen to help. He soon warmed up though, and even turned off his radio – I suppose there isn’t much crime in Cornwall?! It turned out that he was originally from the same area of the country as me, and he told me the story of how he came to live in Cornwall. He also confirmed I was heading in the wrong direction and set me off in the right direction again.

Back on route and heading towards St Neot and my left knee collapsed completely, sending agonising shooting pain up and down the entire length of my knee, spasms rippling through the knee in waves. I stopped immediately and got the weight off my leg which was in real pain. After a few minutes rest the pain had subsided a bit, but I didn’t feel confident in reaching Truro in anything like a reasonable time. I phoned Alice and we discussed the various options – 1) being to stop and camp for the night, get plenty of rest and then continue tomorrow, and 2) being to get a lift to Truro and take tomorrow as a proper rest day. We agreed to go with option 2 and I decided to carry on and try to reach Bodmin, or beyond to Lanivet, partly so that Alice and her parents wouldn’t have to come too far, but mostly so that I would have a few miles less to do on the final day.

Thankfully St Neot to Bodmin was mostly downhill or level roads, and I was able to gingerly make my way as far as Lanivet in time to meet Alice and her parents at about 7pm. It didn’t take long to strip the bike of panniers and other luggage and the bike itself was soon strapped to the roof while I rested and caught up with everyone on the return car journey to Truro, which was certainly quicker than the alternative!

Showered, fed and watered too, it was soon time for an early night, after we’d discussed the plans for the next days. My knee was already feeling a bit better just for stopping when I did, and I was tempted to carry on the following day, eager to get to Land’s End and also feeling a bit guilty too for stopping when it got tough. It wasn’t how I’d imagined the penultimate day going, but truth be told it wasn’t all bad either, at least this had happened now, when there was help available, and not right at the beginning of the trip, in remote Scotland! Alice and I agreed that the best thing for my knee, but also for my enjoyment of the trip, would be to actually take a full day off, rest, recuperate, and then face the final day feeling fresh and raring to go…

 

 

Day 14. Brean to Lapford.

This morning started out really well! All packed up and ready to hit the road shortly after 9am. The first few miles were great too – completely flat, which was always nice as my legs were often really achy first thing and took a good few miles to warm up properly.

I was really desperate for a cooked breakfast this morning, and so tried the nearest Tesco, to no avail, then on to the nearest Asda, to no avail either. There was nothing else for it, it had to be McDonalds! Trouble was the nearest one was all the way in Bridgwater. I raced along the flat roads from Highbridge to Bridgwater in record time, fixated on the salivating prospect of a sausage and egg McMuffin, hashbrown and hot chocolate. I arrived with just in time, but really needing the loo too – nightmare! Sadly I missed breakfast that morning, but the quarter pounder was a fair compromise.

Back on the road again, and without the lure of a tasty but nutritionally worthless meal, I found that my left knee was really starting to hurt again. The cause, I had decided was partly because each time I stopped for a quick breather, I put my left leg down. This meant that potentially hundreds of times each day I twisted my left foot out of the clipless pedal system and then supported my weight on the one leg. Also, the effect of frequently clipping out of my left pedal had seriously worn down the left cleat, to the extent that I couldn’t now properly clip in. This was a bit of a nightmare, especially when cycling uphill or cycling out of the seat. The extra work that my muscles had to do just to keep the knee in line was really taking a toll and that morning my knee would spasm almost constantly and I was reduced to cycling really slowly whilst alternatively gritting my teeth and swearing, loudly!

I located a bike shop that was on my route, using my phone, and was soon in possession of a brand new set of cleats. Looking at the old ones next to the new ones really brought it home to me just how far I had come in a relatively short period of time, and how lucky I was not to have had anything else go wrong so far! The new cleats were a joy to use – so precise and effortless to clip in, and secure too, perfect! I made my way out of Taunton, after making a wrong turn and traveling around the ring-road twice, and found myself heading towards Milverton and Wiveliscombe along gently undulating and quiet roads, through pretty Somerset countryside. At Wiveliscombe the road took a turn for the steep, climbing out of the village and then levelled out again along to Shillingford and Bampton. I was now in North Devon and close to Exmoor and the scenery was pretty beautiful. I could see what many of the cyclists I had met and spoken to along the way meant when they said that Cornwall and Devon were hard work – the roads might not have been as high as the roads in the Highlands, and the peaks certainly weren’t, but the hills were brutally steep at times, and straight up and over too! At Oakford I came the closest I had come on the whole trip to just getting off and pushing the bike to the top, only the fact I had new cleats stopped me as I felt that to get off and walk with brand new cleats would be criminal!

Another difficulty I faced in the South West was the endless maze of minor roads. At times I imagined that from above the roads must look like spaghetti that had been dropped on the floor. It was made worse by the fact that quite often I would come to a junction and there wouldn’t be any signage indicating the way forward, I would turn one way, go up a hill and then realise that I was heading around in a big circle. The roads were always fairly quiet and the scenery lovely, but at times it did get wearing and I would think about stopping for the day nice and early to allow my tired body time to recuperate, ready for the next day. One such place I was really tempted to do this was when I passed a sign saying “No man’s land” that pointed to an open field! Sadly I didn’t have any food, so couldn’t stop and carried on towards Witheridge. I didn’t however realise what Witheridge’s name meant until I got there and had to cycle up a massive ridge! The evening was now drawing in quickly and the village didn’t seem to have an open shop.

I carried on along the B3042, and then along smaller lanes to Forches Cross. By this time there really wasn’t much light left and at a cross roads (again without a sign) I managed to flag down a startled looking driver to ask for directions and the location of the nearest shop. With just a couple of miles to go I set off in the direction of Lapford and the garage shop I would find there. My brakes were now almost completely useless and going down a long and steep hill I had to resort to putting the heel of my (expensive) cycling shoes down to try and slow me down – this was getting desperate and not especially intelligent as my fragile knee wouldn’t take too much extra strain.

My bike loaded up with food again I set off from the petrol station to find somewhere to camp. The sky was an especially beautiful pink and the last embers of light from the sun faded over the surrounding ridges, before plunging the area into almost complete darkness. I found an open field right next to a small cottage – usually this wouldn’t be an ideal campsite, but it was really dark and I was desperate to get some rest. Fortunately the owner of the cottage was outside, working in his garage. I startled him when I called out to him, but he soon recovered and didn’t see why I wouldn’t be able to camp in the field as it was unused – bonus! We chatted for a while, and his wife joined us too, the both of them offering advice for tomorrow’s route. Pitching the tent took no time at all, food consumed and then straight to bed, shattered! Truro tomorrow, or so I hoped…

Day 13. Monmouth to Brean.

I woke this morning to an empty dorm room, which was odd as there was supposed to be at least one other person staying in the room – I later learnt that the guy who had booked a bed had then gone out, and by the time he got back it was late, and so, to avoid disturbing anyone he slept in his car! This was very thoughtful, if unnecessary. Breakfast at the hostel was uneventful, although loud – I initially had the dining room to myself, which was so nice, just listening to the radio – made me realise how much I was missing music! Sadly shortly after I started breakfast a whole gaggle of people and their loud and annoying kids came in too – time to get going methinks!

Leaving the hostel via the road, instead of the footpath and bridge, was actually just as hard, with a steep climb up a stony and potholed track. The road then headed down again, along a long sweeping tree lined single track road, lovely way to cover the first few miles! From there I made my way back to the main road through the area heading south – unfortunately I realised too late that I was repeating the last five miles or so of the previous day’s riding, with added hills too! I stopped for a breather by the banks of the river Wye, watching the sunlight twinkle off the water. I also watched two sets of people canoeing and kayaking down the river – the first set made it look effortless, and it looked like such fun – steering yourself down river for the day whilst the water does the hard work of carrying your weight, and that of your kit too! The second group made it look much less easy, with one lady in particular getting herself stuck on some shallow gravel banks, she was shouting and shrieking and didn’t seem to be having much fun – it made me realise that no matter what you’re doing, it will look idyllic to some, and horrendous to others!

Back on the road and heading into the Forest of Dean offered relief from the direct sunlight, but it was stiflingly hot too, and the gradient was pretty tough at times too. North of Coleford the hills were pretty horrific, especially at English Bicknor. The downhill into Coleford was great though, and made it all worthwhile! A few miles south of Coleford I came to a village called St Briavels. I was catching my breath near the top of a hill on my way out of the village when I was passed by an older chap on a bike. He stopped and asked if I knew where I was going and we began chatting. After a few minutes he told me his name was John and he asked if I had time to go with him to his house where he would make me lunch – this just  isn’t something I would do in back home, nor is it likely (in my opinion) to be something offered to a complete stranger. I said that that would be lovely and duly followed him along a windy lane until we reached a large and quite beautiful farmhouse, complete with brick walls, outhouses and many friendly and waggy dogs. I had a nice time chatting about my trip to this kindly man, and his wife too, and learning about them too – it transpired that John is a very keen cyclist who enjoys challenging himself with very long and taxing rides. He was very inquisitive about my route and before I left I took his email address and promised to get in touch with a detailed breakdown of my eventual final route. John was keen to do the trip himself next year, with his Edinburgh based son, but thought that I was a bit mad doing it with the amount of kit I was carrying – himself being much more of a minimalist than myself! I’ve written fairly extensively about what I’ve dubbed the kindness of strangers, and so won’t repeat all of that again; suffice to say that it was very humbling to be invited back to a person’s own home, to be shown genuine hospitality and interest and fleeting friendship!

Back on the road again and seven delightful miles of downhill, sweeping all the way to Chepstow along sun-drenched and beautifully smooth roads, cruising along at 25+ miles an hour and feeling really great! From Chepstow it wasn’t far to go till the Severn Bridge and then the outskirts of Bristol and the gateway to the south west, and the finale of the trip! The Severn Bridge was really cool to cycle along, with great views up the Severn estuary and with virtually no wind either! I passed a guy cycling along slowly, with his very young daughter riding her bike beside him, she can’t have been much older than four, and still quite wobbly on her bike, but I was impressed with how she was handling the experience of cycling along a huge bridge and quipped to her dad that she’ll be a champion when she’s older…

The next few miles saw me following the local routes of the national cycle route, meandering around grim industrial estates and pretty nature reserves too. I came to the outskirts of Bristol, in a rough looking area near the Avonmouth Bridge, and stopped for supplies at a petrol station. Whilst buying my food and drink I asked the cashier what the easiest way up and onto the bridge was, and he asked a group of local lads to help me; they looked pretty dodgy and more likely to steal my stuff than give directions, but to be fair to them, they were very helpful and chatty too – a useful reminder to not judge books (or people) by their covers, something that can make me cross with others, but that I am equally guilty of!

Beyond the Avonmouth Bridge and then on to Portishead and then Clevedon was pretty lovely with the evening sun still high in the sky, and warm too. I headed inland from there as I had to avoid the M5, and so set off towards Yatton and Congresbury. I had found that as I headed further south the evenings really started drawing in quickly – in Northern Scotland the evenings seemed to go on for a long time, and even when it was dark there seemed to be some residual light, but the further south I travelled, the earlier it got dark and the darker it seemed too - still managed to watch some amazing sunsets though! From Congresbury I hoped to be able to swing by a village called Sandford, just so I could take a pic of the village sign, as part of my Hot Fuzz interest – sadly the sun was going down though, and I wanted to get further along my route before stopping for the night.

I reached Western-Super-Mare via a short but busy stretch of duel carriageway and from there made my way towards Uphill and Bleadon. I got supplies for dinner and found a couple to ask for directions to a suitable place to camp – they didn’t think there was anywhere local that would be suitable for wild-camping, and instead suggested a farmer who they said would be receptive to me putting my tent up in his garden! I set off with fairly good directions, which were straightforward to follow but couldn’t find the farm in question in the dark. I carried on a few miles more along pitch dark and narrow lanes until I found a suitable field to pitch up, not far from Brean, a small place by the sea. I always chose fields that had wide open gates, and high hedges to mask my presence too. This one also had a train line at the end, which I took to be a good sign as I had had a good night’s camp last time, all those miles ago, in Fort William! There was also a huge fireworks display taking place a few miles away, and as I was pitching my tent in the dark I could hear the constant noise of revellers and gunpowder in the distance – thankfully it soon stopped and I was able to get another good night’s sleep!

 

Day 12. Clun to Monmouth.

I had a great night’s sleep, but for some reason the nicer the sleep then the harder it seems to be to get going the following day. In this instance I don’t think it helped how lovely a spot I was camping in! Once I was ready to get going though, my sleepiness and lethargy soon evaporated as the pedals started turning along with the wheels. It didn’t take long to reach Leintwardine along gently downhill and flat roads and then on beyond there to Wigmore.

It was on the outskirts of Wigmore that I first saw large groups of cyclists, all going the other way. At first I wondered if they were just riders from a local cycle club, but it soon became apparent that they were cyclists doing the same trip as me, but in reverse, and with back up, as none of them were carrying any kit. They all seemed to be enjoying themselves, cruising along with the wind at their backs, and I got lots of waves and smiles as I passed them. I was also surprised at just how many women were cycling, close to half I would guess, which is great for cycling in my opinion!

About 10 miles or so I took a wrong turn after misreading my map, finding myself heading off towards Eardisland and a few miles of very narrow lanes and ridgeline roads that rose and fell sharply in quick succession. Back on the right path but getting low on water on a hot day I decided to stop for lunch in a charming village called Weobley, a former village of the year winner – and yet another village that reminded me of Hot Fuzz – the Simon Pegg police comedy.

Back on the road, after cheesecake and other tasty lunchtime foods saw lovely B roads through villages such as Madley, Clehonger and Kingstone, and the miles rolled quickly by. I was pretty close to Ross-on-Wye by tea time and the sun had come out once again – lovely. Ross looked like a nice little town as I passed by, hilly though, and I stopped to chat to a Swiss woman who was cycle touring around Britain, albeit very slowly, covering a mere 30k a day – she was able to stop everywhere she wanted and soak up everything she came across, but still, I don’t think touring at that pace would suit me - I was now looking forward to completing my trip and returning to my daily routine and lifestyle. That’s not to say that I wasn’t enjoying myself, I was, and felt that the trip was having a positive effect on my sense of self, along with an increased sense of human goodness, but I was missing my wife, and hot showers, and a comfortable bed, and…

South of Ross-on-Wye I took what I didn’t know was a wrong turn, and ended up following the meandering road alongside the river for about 6 or 7 miles. I eventually found someone to ask for directions at a sports field. It turned out that I was very close to the youth hostel, but the wrong side of the river! I followed the directions of the sports field chap and found myself dragging my bike and luggage along an overgrown footpath, through brambles and stinging nettles until…I found myself back at the starting point of the sports field! Sheepishly cycling along the outside of the football field was pretty funny as the guy from earlier spotted me and just shook his head at me. I tried again and this time actually found the right bridge, hooray! Dragging the bike up a steep bank and onto the bridge was hard and heavy work, but the bridge was pretty cool, like something out of an Indiana Jones movie!

I found the youth hostel soon after, checked in and then enjoyed my first hot shower in days – bliss! The rest of my time at the hostel was spent sorting through and cleaning my kit, cooking dinner and chatting to Alice. I was looking forward to turning south west once over the Severn Bridge and chatting to the staff at the hostel it seemed that the hostel was on the route for many “end to enders” – usually from the south, and often four days in – this was welcome news indeed as I was pretty sure that I could cover the distance in the same timeframe. It was also nice to be able to cook my evening meal in a proper kitchen and I even enjoyed a couple of alcoholic ginger beers, after which it was definitely time for bed!

Day 11. Chester to Clun.

Alice and our friends, Claire and Eug, had to leave fairly early to get back to Cambridge by lunchtime. It had been really great to see them all, especially my wife, and was very grateful to Claire and Eug for suggesting and then coming all the way to the other side of the country to see me! I decided that I would wait at the Campsite for the breakfast café to open – I wasn’t disappointed, the fried breakfast I had was absolutely delicious, especially the black pudding!

 I was ready to set off by 10am, and the sun was beating down strongly. The first 10 miles or so were mostly flat, but once Wrexham was past, the road got quite hilly in places, which was hard work, especially in the hot sun. Shortly after lunch the sun went in to hide for the rest of the day, and whilst it didn’t rain, it became quite cool as the wind rose from the south. The hills got bigger and harder as the day progressed and as I spent the day repeatedly crossing from England to Wales, and back again.

I took a detour from my planned route in the mid afternoon as I was feeling really tired and a bit sick of the windy roads that ultimately weren’t getting me any further south. I decided to join an A road. For about 10 miles I cycled along a duel carriageway, which was actually completely fine as there was a wide cycle/hard shoulder. The traffic was heavy though and after 10 miles my nerves were getting shredded. I stopped at a service station and topped up on fizzy drinks, thinking I would need the sugar to get me through what I thought was going to be more intense miles. Whilst at the service station I chatted to a guy who was sat outside waiting for his wife, as my nerves were shredded I think I spent much of the conversation swearing and being negative – to the extent that the guy pointed out that I didn’t sound like I was having fun! I tried to counter that with how it had been a great experience, but ultimately I think that I was starting to feel the effects of being on the road continuously. Seeing Alice leave that morning had made me realise how much I had missed her, and our quiet life back home. I was still glad I was doing the trip, as it was something I’d wanted to do for a very long time, but I was equally looking forward to it being done with! Not sure if it was just me, but I felt that each time I crossed into Wales that the quality of the driving got worse...bent road signs indicate that I might be right...

Back on the road and expecting more busyness, but thankfully the road got both more narrow (single lanes) and quieter too – bonus! Welshpool wasn’t far away, and the road was flat too. I arrived at Welshpool needing more supplies and headed into Morrison’s. I was outside refuelling on a chicken baguette when some very dodgy and shifty looking individuals arrived close by – one was clearly a drug dealer, surrounded by his entourage of sycophantic cronies. They were standing right next to my bike, and I was conscious of the few valuable possessions I had potentially going missing to fund their lifestyle – as a result I kept a close eye on them, but not too close as the leader of the pack was particularly shifty and kept making eye contact, trying to suss me out. Luckily they soon left without incident (or my possessions) but I was reminded that my normally liberal attitude towards drug use is through the rose tinted glasses of my own teenage experimentation, and not necessarily the experience of many, many people up and down the country.

Safely back on the road by 5pm I headed south east towards a village called Church Stoke – the rolling countryside was really lovely again, and the sun came out again briefly too. I reached a place called Bishop’s castle and carried on towards a village called Clun. I had planned to reach Knighton by nightfall, but hadn’t counted on the road to Clun being really hard work! I found myself really struggling with the gradient, and needed to take regular breaks to rest and catch my breath – I don’t think I’d faced gradients this tough since the north of Scotland, and had forgotten how much fun they are – my legs were feeling strong, but I was still glad to reach the top and then glide down to the village.

The time was getting on, it was almost 8pm by this point, and the light wasn’t too great. I saw a local man putting his ducks to bed for the night in their coop. I asked him what the road was like to Knighton and he said that it was about a mile straight up, then half a mile flat, then another mile straight up – much like the road I’d just completed – I didn’t fancy carrying on too much further as the light was quickly fading. Thankfully the man said I could camp where we stood, on the village green – a beautiful spot, close to the remains of the village hall/castle and right next to a small stream – perfect!

As usual it didn’t take long to set up camp, and just as I was finishing, the man from earlier reappeared with a kettle full of boiling water for me to cook with – just perfect! Small gestures like that make a huge difference at the end of a long day, and really saved time too! Again, we stood chatting for quite a while – mostly about the local area, and a trip he had taken a decade ago to Everest basecamp in the Himalaya.

These random conversations I had with people were really great, people really open up and share something of their own lives and I always felt very lucky that people were willing to chat with me, a complete stranger – I suppose that it can be easier to chat to someone unknown to yourself at times, and certainly people disclosed sensitive and personal information to me, but then my livelihood no doubt has something to do with this too. I really enjoyed the conversations I had with everyone I spoke to, and I think that my natural curiosity about people and their stories was able to come to the fore much more than in my day to day life, but then, traveling on your own does open you up to chatting with people you might not approach otherwise. Each of the conversations I had with complete strangers was a highlight of the trip though, and I can honestly say that the single best thing about the trip was having my faith in the kindness of strangers renewed.

Camp all set up and dinner eaten it was more or less time to get some sleep. Whilst the village of Clun was another highlight of the trip, there was one downside to the location – I had absolutely no mobile phone reception, and the phone box up the road was disconnected – and so this night was the only night I wasn’t able to contact and speak to Alice L