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!
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