Uh Oh.

We walked about 12 miles along the Thames Path towards Greenwich, on one stretch, the view of the river is impeded by this concrete wall, on which are two paintings, their situation odd, harsh. They’re depictions of what the river once was but so out of place on the lichen splattered slabs. The sporadic growths of yellow become so much more alluring than the confine of the frame. In parts the wall is obscured by random squares of paint to hide the graffiti, this always amuses me, I’m not sure why, though maybe because it reminds me of this. 

I forgot the sheer variety of birds you get along the route. Teal, Shelduck, a stone still Kestrel, but no Stonechats. And more I saw but couldn't name. You have to look hard for serenity, as far as views go, it’s a bleak sort of walk, grim. But it’s a good lesson in looking beyond the sometimes severe exterior of the suburban, working river as it meanders on and becomes dotted with those tall glass facades.

This walk does have some sort of relevance, but I'll get to the point;

In a blog post last year, the one concluding that stupid walk Claire and I completed I wrote this; 'My sister asked me shortly after if I'd do it again. With the pain now fresh in my memory the answer was of course, no. But ask me now, I wouldn't rule it out.'... Well, I'm going walking again, one of those 60 miles in one go sort of walks. This time along a segment of the Kent Coast.

I've decided to fundraise for Young Minds, which is a charity that helps improve the mental health and emotional wellbeing of children and young people. I've been inspired by this book, but also inspired by the obvious importance of such work. I understand it's asking much trying to raise a substantial target only a year after asking for money but, it's not for me. My funding page is here.

It's Been Decided...

As the memories of my ride from Kent to Land's End last year begin to fade I'm feeling the need for something new and something more. I learnt quite a bit from cycle touring last year so I'm attempting a little more distance, however the destination will be the same; the westernmost point of mainland England. The starting point is a little further away, you couldn't get any further away on the mainland in fact; John o 'Groats.

I'll travel to Inverness via train on the 1st of June, 11 hours on a sleeper from Euston, then I'll change onto a train to Thurso. Cool fact: Thurso railway station is the northernmost station on the National Rail network. I'll then cycle the short 16 miles to John o' Groats, pitch my tent ready to start on the morning of the 3rd and begin the 876 mile ride...

I'm going to dust the tent off for another year. I'll be camping every night, unless things turn ugly and I need a proper roof, which considering the UK summer conditions anything could happen, but fingers crossed for good weather! I'm hoping to do it within 15 days, I'll aim for 10, though in the knowledge that's a little ambitious, but I like to have something to aim at. The main aim is to enjoy it, so I might not always take the most direct route.

Like last year I'm doing it alone, there's something about the solitude of cycle touring which I love. Though I do hope to meet lots of people along the way. Oh and I might just need to buy another bicycle...

Kent to Land's End: Day 5 (and 6): finish

I climbed out of Perranporth feeling optimistic for a day similar to the one I had hoped for when I thought up the idea to ride to the end of the land. I tried to hug the coast best I could, I came close on many occasions and was gifted some ridiculous views, the sea a truly dark, rich blue. A colour you'd normally associate with warmer climes. I cycled down a tiny road, which led me to a secluded cove. There I found a chimney of an old tin mine, architecture which dotted the coast line from now on. I climbed again to continue in search of more views. Though it wasn't as easy as that, I was met with a short but stupid 33% climb with a switchback, I had to get off and admire.

I soon stopped for food, for the first time my legs were starting to become uncomfortable, especially my thighs. In hindsight I probably hadn't drunk enough. As the end of the road drew closer the pain slowly subsided as adrenaline took control. St Ives was my next target on the map. The road there wasn't nice but it led me to be met with a great view over the town and harbour. I passed quickly through and from here the road was a joy to ride.

This stretch of tarmac has to be one of the best coastal roads in Britain. It climbed and fell, turned and twisted, but the whole time looked out over the Atlantic off the north coast. It sliced through fields and nipped between farm yards and passed the odd hamlet dotted along its path. Some of these hamlets had names like Morvah, Carnyorth, and Bottalack, the B3306 is a road I suggest you one day travel upon. This was the kind of riding I'd been waiting for, the kind of moment I'd been riding for. I was counting down the miles, and as the road rose for the final time the home stretch lay before me, and it was quick. I began to let my mind wander about what I'd done, I didn't quite know how to feel, or what to think. It really was just a bike ride.

The last road junction in the land came, and then only a matter of meters, the reassuring smooth tarmac gave way for gravel. I coasted to a line on the ground in front of the building, next to line was a word, it read; finish. This line marked many things. I'd made it, unsupported from my home almost 400 miles away to this spot, a place where I could cycle no further west. It was incredibly symbolic, as symbolic as the way I'd sawed my tooth brush in half before I left.

I wandered around for a while trying to savour the moment. There was a 'Shopping Village' and somewhere to eat 'Chicago Town Pizza'... I stood looking out over the sea, I'd come here for this after all. There were a group of cyclists there, about to set off for John O'Groats. One asked if that's where I'd arrived from. I told them only Kent. He said that was far enough. I wished them all the best of luck and felt a sense of jealousy.

Here's to the people I met and the landscape I cycled through. Southern England, you're magnificent. I ate the best pasty I'd had all trip, sat down for a while amongst some rabbits and a jackdaw and meditated on the horizon.

FURTHER READING:


Soon I just got back on my bike and headed for a campsite, this time on the south coast. It was up a steep lane, then along a stoney track which led to a spacious site which looked out over the sea. A sea view for £7.50. A short walk and I was standing on the cliff top. It was a fairly noisy campsite and the wind off the water was strong. I pitched my tent sheltered by a hedge. I then spent some time reading my battered Albert Camus. I slept quite well and woke early, I'd planned a big day of riding, destination being Fowey, where I'd stay at Rosie's, a friend from college.

I wasn't far into my ride when the hills and even the flats began to be uncomfortable. The weight and the milage were taking its toll on my knees. I pulled aside, looked over to St Michael's Mount and had a think. I rang home to ask for an opinion although my mind was made up. It was silly to continue, this wasn't for charity, I wasn't breaking any records. I called it a day and made it to Truro where I caught a train to London.

Whilst I sat on a bench at the end of platform 3 an elderly gentlemen came and sat next to me. He was on his way home after visiting his Aunt, who lived on the Cornish coast. She had received her telegram from the Queen last December. I remember him saying something about camping which he'd recently got back into, he commented on tents saying that a 2 man tent was best when the other man's a woman. We moaned about the trains, the fact he had to pay for another ticket after losing his, even though he had proof he paid for the thing! And I was moaning that I had to book my bike on the day before, yet hadn't, and was told I may not even get it on. A train with 400 seats but only 6 spaces for bicycles. It turned out that this chap went to school in Greenhithe, which is where I work, the world continued to shrink.

I made it onto the train. Sat down and realised just how shattered I was. Ian, that was his name, offered me a book to look at. I said I had one. He opened his and almost immediately, fell asleep. I could have done the same. Though I stared out of the window looking at the countryside I'd just cycled and slowly came to the realisation that I'd done OK, the feeling of failure subsided. When I got off the train at Paddington Ian wished me a safe journey and I wished him the same.

The 10 mile ride across town to my sister's was completely mental. A total contrast from what I'd just experienced. Jam packed streets. Drivers out of cars shouting at one another. Pedestrians crossing on a whim. And the heat coming off the vehicles added with the evening sun was almost too much. I cycled through with other commuters, like a swarm we weaved through the rush hour traffic until I was within the boundaries of Greenwich Park. This adrenaline fuelled ride across the city almost made me want to escape again...

Kent to Land's End: Day 4 - World Beyond The Fog

The first 15 miles of the day were slow, I wasn't really pushing on the pedals at all, my average speed only just made double figures. I rode across the northern edge of Bodmin Moor, and out on these wiley, windy moors the sheep carried on, hardy as ever, whilst I was still trying to get my head around the contrast of weather I was experiencing. A few cars overtook me along that stretch and within seconds I saw them just disappear, as if driving into another world beyond the fog.

I decided at the start of the day that progress was going to be slow. I wouldn't make it to Land's End in 4 days. I would take today easy, I did have 3 very good days behind me. I had my first pasty skulked in a Londis doorway watching the traffic whizz by, followed by 6 custard creams. I could see on the map I was close to the coast but I didn't even bother looking in that direction. At one of these map stops a man asked if I was lost, just wet, I answered. After 20 miles of riding I reached Rock where I would catch the ferry over to Padstow.

I descended onto the gangway down to the beach and stopped next to the harbour masters shack and peered in. A bald headed man with a not so bald chin sat upon a chair. I asked if there was a ferry and he gave me all the details I needed, that was probably the millionth time he'd given that speech of the morning so far. It turned out that because of the tide the ferry was a half mile walk across the beach. I wasn't exactly sure what to do but there was really only one option. I took off my shoes, put on my flip flops and lifted my bike and its baggage atop my shoulders and started walking, aiming for the yellow boat that would float me to the western side of the estuary.

The boat was nearing capacity when I reached it. Every single pair of eyes onboard was aimed at me. Thanks for waiting I said quietly to the captain. There was room for me to sit and after a few more passengers boarded the boat pulled away. 4 bloody quid that cost me, I should have swam across. I climbed the steps the other side, pushed my bike through the crowded Padstow where Rick Stein didn't make an appearance, and sorted myself out to continue further.

      

My GPS bleeped at me again. 'MEMORY FULL' it read. 'Crap' I said. It wouldn't let me get into my ride history to delete anything. That was it, I couldn't record anything else, I wouldn't know how far I was going or how fast, the rides I'd done were lost, unrecorded, never happened. I eventually calmed and managed to reset it to its factory settings. I could at least begin to record the rest of trip. But it annoyed me to think I'd lost the data of some of my best rides. The ride from here to Newquay was miserable, the low cloud swooped fast over the cliff tops, it was quite a sight. Things didn't improve once I reached the seaside town, because I could have been in some ugly London suburb, though the chips were good.

I decided to camp early. I found a campsite near to Perranporth. The reception was closed but the vacant pitches were written on the wall. I decided on my spot, under a tree, it was meant to rain that night. I showered and got into my tent to have a short doze. I heard a bird land right above me and flittering around outside, the audacity! It was a Robin who was darting all about. After a long time of waiting with a custard cream crumb on my hand it suspiciously snatched it away, its red breast big and bulbous and dampened by the wet grass.

I later poked my head out again, like a tortoise meeting the day, it was actually quite a warm evening. I looked up over the hedge, seagulls were hanging in the misty air, you could hardly make them out for the sky. A family of wrens followed one another along the hedge. There was a blue tit nest in a cigarette box outside the showers, I peeped in, it looked more snug than my set up. I wasn't sure how the chicks were ever going to fledge, not the easiest of exits.

Two ladies walked past me whilst I was reading my book. They looked at my covered bike and said I must be mad and asked where I was cycling. I said I was cycling from Kent to Land's End. As soon as I said Kent they seemed surprised and said that's where they were from. I asked where? A place called Dartford they said. What?! I replied. It turned out we lived only a couple of miles apart and even knew of the same people, yet we were 300 miles away from our hometown. There really was no escape! It was a lovely moment of serendipity and we chatted for a while about our respective adventures.

The morning was hot and sunny, the rain of the night wasn't enough to have an impact. Thankfully that grey mist had gone. It was the 5th day on the road and the final push to Land's End. I estimated it would be a 50 mile ride of ups and downs. Although I was certain of the forthcoming undulation. My knees were beginning to tell me of their displeasure, but I wasn't listening. I was finally ready for that coastal road and those sea views. I said goodbye to Denise and Deb and said I'd probably see them back home! I descended into Perranporth for breakfast.

Kent to Land's End: Day 3 - Seas of Red Valerian

I was cycling with food in mind. Breakfast was dealt with at the first village I went through, I had a BLT and a coke, food tastes better when you genuinely need it. I underestimated its immediate importance. After each hill I'd climbed I thought it wouldn't get steeper or longer than the last. I was repeatedly wrong. I wasn't naive enough to think it would all be flat easy pedalling, but I wasn't quite prepared for the relentlessness that would evolve time and time again.

Soon I was crossing the River Exe, which runs mostly through Devon, ending at Lyme Bay on the south coast, somewhere I would hope to visit later on in my trip. Once I crossed the bridge the lane rose violently, twisting and turning for 2 and a half miles before it gradually eased. Although not before long I found myself descending, which by now only meant one thing, there would subsequently be a climb. And this descent was steep, which only grew my apprehension for the ascent. It was half a mile long with an average gradient of 10%. What with the extra weight I was carrying it was brutal. I never once climbed off, I wasn't going to walk anywhere. This harsh demonstration of the west's geographic change set the days itinerary.

The River Exe

Miles were ticking over quite slowly, I tried to stem my impatient glances at the GPS reading, each look seemed to slow time. There was however a small moment of respite mid way through the day, a stretch of flat open road. I made good time and savoured the progress. Church spires gave me advanced warning of towns and villages I'd pass through, long before the road signs did. Sometimes however the hedgerows were too high to see them. When I passed entrances to fields where these giant hedgerows gave way to gates and an opportunity to see left or right, I made use of it and tried to spy a destination.

Most of these hedgerows were not just green, they cowered foxgloves, red campion and scarlet pimpernel and of course, cow parsley. As I neared the coast this changed further, at points there appeared to be no green at all and nothing but a sea of red valerian. As the day wore on and I stopped as I did to check my location, I came to a sudden and worrying realisation, I was heading too far south. My planning the night before wasn't as thorough as it should have been and I'd missed a turn which would have made my route a little less stressful. But it later proved a blessing in disguise.

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I crossed into Cornwall, which felt good, the 6th and final county. I had what I thought would be my dinner in Launceston, chips again. I ate them opposite a hotel, I'd be lying if I said I wasn't tempted. Anyway, a campsite was found and I sped through back lanes with haste. I just wanted to get there and relax. The site was very obscure and hidden. I pulled into what looked like someones back garden yet included 4 motorhomes. I awkwardly loitered for a minute or two wondering where to present myself, not a clue. I eventually meandered over to a family enjoying their dinner.

They kindly pointed the door to report to. I did as they said but no one answered. I gestured in their direction as if to say 'no luck'. I wandered over again and one of them remembered that Mary, the owner, was out and they were sure it would be OK if I paid in the morning. But joked as long as I didn't leave at dawn without coughing up. I set up my tent sheltered next to a wall, phoned my Dad to say I'd arrived. Whilst on the phone one of the family drifted over and asked if I'd like some food as they had more than enough to go around.

I changed out of my cycling garb and followed the summer scent of a barbecue. They were extremely welcoming and even more kind. I had salad, sausage, burger, bread and even a small glass of red, I thought it would help me sleep. I spoke of my adventure as they asked. The daughter told me of her 10 Tors challenge and forthcoming DOE. I finally left them to enjoy their evening and went to set up my tent, I was once again, very tired. It was a 75 mile day with 5,500ft of climbing. I lay in my tent listening to their laughter. I strongly regret not taking their photograph or writing them a note of thanks to leave with them in the morning. Though they knew I'd been grateful. This is how I wanted the adventure to go.

When morning came I couldn't quite make out the weather on the other side of the tent. I opened the entrance and couldn't quite believe the sight I saw. Misty drizzle and wind with a heavy dew. This wasn't the plan, I don't want to ride in this, this is my bloody holiday. I gingerly started to pack up. A guy clad in a dressing gown poked his head out of his caravan and offered me a cup of tea. Yes please, was obviously my answer. He seemed to be a permanent resident, he had a very messy caravan and was watching TV. I drank my tea whilst getting my stuff together. Out of the corner of my eye I saw a nuthatch bobbing like a sparrow and snatching at some seed thrown down.

A Dutch couple who were getting ready to drive home to Holland spoke to me a few times in their broken English. 'Good voyage' was their main message. They had nothing but smiles for me. Mary appeared and apologised for not being around the night before. I asked how much I owed her, she seemed unsure and said 'Oh a couple of quid', I gave her a £5 note. We chatted briefly and then I set off in perfectly miserable conditions. Although looking back, I wouldn't change a thing, after all, this is England.