It's going to be a real quick one this week blog fans, because in an unusual turn up for the books, I haven't actually got anything to talk about, or tell you about. I've been busy pottering around all weekend, but none of it's of any interest and I don't even seem to have any photos to show for my endeavours. I've even had a few days off the bike, which is even more unusual. Although if I'm brutally honest, I think it's done me some good, because for the first time in many months, nothing actually hurt when I got out of bed this morning! With it starting to feel rather Autumnal, I've spent a fair chunk of the weekend tidying up, cutting back summer growth and generally starting to make the gardens and allotment ready for the winter. (Now there's a depressing thought!) On the allotment, I've taken down the Beans and Sweet Peas and their supporting canes which are now safely tucked away under the cold frame. The Sweetcorn are coming to an end, so they've been getting taken down as I've harvested them, and I've had a good tidy up in the greenhouse too, cutting back as much as possible to let the light in, and hopefully help to stop the damp and mildew getting to the remaining plants. There's still plenty to come from the allotment yet though, with more Beetroot and Chilli's than I know what to do with, Tomatoes still to ripen, and enough Cabbages, Sprouts, Leeks, Parsnips, Squash, Kale and Carrots to see us well into the winter and hopefully beyond. The fruit trees in the front garden at home have done spectacularly well this year too. We had more Plums than we knew what to do with (the plum jam is delicious by the way) and now the Apples are in full swing and I don't think that I've ever seen so much fruit on 3 small trees. I guess it's going to be Apples in my lunchbox for the foreseeable future, and if I manage to find the time then you really can't beat an Apple pie, although an Apple crumble comes a close second. Now there's a thought! Other than that it's been a weekend of odd jobs, none of which are of any interest. Although, having said that, I think I mentioned last week about the chain on my bike breaking. Well, I gave the bike a clean on Sunday and replaced said chain, and unbelievably there was another 3 links cracked right through, all of which are on the same side and in the same few Cm's of chain. My suspicions are that they've been weakened by corrosion. If I remember rightly I did a couple of rides in the depths of winter when the roads had been heavily salted and the bike got put away wet and salty, and I think it then sat for a while gently corroding before I found time to clean it properly. Either way, I'm absolutely amazed that the chain held together in the state that it's in and caused no further issues (I'm guessing that the snapped bits are on the trailing side of the chain as it works round the sprockets etc, and not the leading edge, or I suspect they would have been picked up by the sprockets and bent outwards leading to total failure). The broken link that caused the problems last week was on the same side and within a few links of these too! A lucky escape there I think and despite the failure, a positive review for the strength and damage resistance of KMC chains. And that's about it for this week folks, but don't worry, I've put my easy weekend to good use, and put some plans in place for a bit of adventuring for next weekend, so hopefully, I'll see you back here next week to find out what I've got planned!
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I’ve said it before and no doubt I’ll say it again, but what a difference a week makes. Last week was so hot that it was almost unbearable, and this weekend I’ve got absolutely soaked twice. Although the rain is still pleasantly warm, so getting wet isn’t the disaster it is in the middle of winter, when it’s icy cold and chills you to the bone in a matter of seconds.
How come I’ve got wet twice in one weekend then? Well, in an unusual turn of events for this year, I’ve done 2 Audax’s in as many days. Saturday was the End Of The Lines 130Km starting from Bristol to take in a loop into the Cotswolds, and whilst I was there, why not take advantage of the travel and do the Wye Gravel 120 Km on the Sunday too! Although it wasn’t a particularly early start on Saturday, in fact by Audax standards it was a positive lay in, I took the van down and found myself a nice out of the way spot for a relaxing evening on Friday night, leaving myself plenty of time for an extra brew on Saturday morning, before riding the mile or so to the start.
The normal pleasantries completed, it wasn’t long before we were off, heading for the day's first destination at Calne, via the Bristol and Bath Railway path. But not before having to stop within the first half mile to don my waterproof jacket, as first a few spots of rain brushed against my bare legs, and then the heavens opened into a torrential downpour. Oh well, it saves having a shower later I suppose.
Luckily the rain only lasted for an hour or so, although whilst it was coming down it was pretty heavy, but by the time we’d reached Chippenham and pushed on towards Calne it had stopped and the sun was making a valiant, if unsuccessful, attempt to make an appearance. A brief stop as we crossed the Wilts and Berks Canal to get the required information for proof of passage, provided the ideal opportunity for a quick sandwich and a quick look around at the canal. I’d never heard of the Wilts and Berks Canal before, so this was a nice diversion and to me is the beauty of these rides. No matter how well you think you know an area there’s always something new to see or learn about, and it’s always interesting when I come to write my little adventures up, to sit and have a read about the new places that I've been too. Canals and railways fascinate me at the best of times. I think it’s the sheer endeavour and labour that went into digging these impressive structures that triggers my imagination, so finding a new one is always a delight.
I can’t spend all day investigating canals though, so eventually I tear myself away and push on towards the next stop at Tetbury where I stop for a brew and a delicious slice of bread pudding at the Whistle Stop Cafe, which is housed in the old goods shed which served the Tetbury branch line before it fell victim to Mr Beechings cuts in the 1930's.
Refreshed and revitalised I pushed on through some glorious Cotswold countryside, making steady progress along secluded county lanes, puffing and panting up long steady climbs and for possibly the first time ever, dismounting to walk down what was one of the steepest paved roads I’ve ever come across at Waterley Bottom. Although I’ll admit that the potholed, uneven road surface and the hairpin bends on the way down did little to inspire my confidence to ride down it.
Back in the saddle all that remained was to push out the final few miles to take me back to Bristol, via some of the flatter parts of the Severn valley and Thornbury. In fact, I was back at the van having a brew and a late lunch by 15:00, just as the rain returned, not the torrential rain of the morning, but the make you wet and miserable type, that really gets you down, so I suppose I should count my lucky stars that the majority of the day’s fun had been dry.
And what fun it had been. New roads, new places, new hills, climbs and descents, and a generally lovely route with a nice mix of well surfaced tracks and trails and quiet country roads with plenty to see and investigate on the way round and certainly one to come back and do again if the opportunity arises.
But wait, there’s still more cycling fun to follow, because I got to do it all again on Sunday.
After a comfortable night in the van, Sunday dawned overcast, dull and damp, with the distinct feel of Autumn in the air and the forecast of heavy rain for later in the day. A forecast for a bit of rain wasn’t going to put me off though, you never know it might not happen! So I pulled on my shoes, which were still wet from yesterday's fun, packed my still damp rain jacket, and set out for the start with a smile on my face at the joy of riding through the deserted early morning streets of Bristol for the second time in as many days.
To be honest I wasn’t too sure about Sunday’s ride, and the other bikes at the start did little to dispel those uncertainties. The ride name of Wye Gravel should give the game away, and the majority of steeds on view were indeed fully equipped for a day off road. Big chunky tyres, no mudguards, 1x12 chain sets and all the other trendy “Gravel” accessories that accompany the latest trend. In fact, my 32mm tyres and mudguards looked positively out of place, but at the same time, people were riding on paths and tracks long before “gravel bikes” were invented and I’m sure they managed perfectly well, so let’s see how we get on, and at the end of the day, if off road isn’t working, then the roads just there! There was no problem or need for Gravel bikes as we set off in the opposite direction to Saturdays ride for some easy road miles to take us to the Severn Bridge, where we crossed over to Chepstow to dip our toes into Wales, and almost immediately left the safety of the local roads to pick up the Wye Valley Greenway.
Those first few miles along the Wye Valley Greenway were a real treat. Smooth gravel surfaces made for comfortable miles and the journey through the Tidenham tunnel was brilliant. At a 1000m long and deep underground the tunnel is the perfect roosting spot for a number of bat species and as such it’s only opened at certain times of the year and even when it is open is barely lit with a strict no lights policy to protect the bats.
In the dark and gloom, it’s easy to imagine the toil of the Navvies that hacked the rock apart to build the tunnel, and the hard graft that went into building it, and it was almost a shame as the small pin prick of light that marked the end of the tunnel grew gradually larger, until we were spat back out into the daylight and a return to normality.
A few more easy miles along the Greenway eventually led to the first of the day's numerous crossings of the River Wye, which, still tidal at this point, was flowing strongly upstream. A change of terrain here saw the smooth Greenway and tarmacked roads replaced by a rough bridleway along the riverbank.
Beautiful scenery following the river upstream, but hell on the wrists, as we plodded slowly along the rough grass track. Eventually though the bridleway petered out to be replaced by more gravel paths with sections of road in between, and the painfully slow progress picked up slightly.
With the morning progressing, and the forecast rain holding off for the time being, it was approaching 10:30 when the first checkpoint at Biblins campsite and tea room hove into view.
This is another hidden gem of a place, accessible from the opposite riverbank via a suspension bridge which sways and bounces worryingly as you cross, it’s nestled deep in the shadow of the Wye valley with steep wooded hillsides to other side, and it is a sheltered, tranquil, jewel of a place, and does an excellent line in cake, including some lovely Bara Brith.
With the day advertised as having 2000m of ascent over the 120 Km, at some point the easy miles were going to have to be replaced by some pretty big ascents, the first of which came immediately after the first control where the track went steeply uphill, to climb the valley side, and remained resolutely uphill for what seemed like forever.
Just before I reached the cloud base, the climb eased off and we re-joined the road for a few easy downhill miles of tarmac. Shortly after starting the descent, I noticed my chain jumping between gears, occasionally at first, and then with a growing frequency. Adjusting the rear derailleur cable made no difference, and it took a while of trying to catch glimpses of what was happening between my legs, whilst still paying attention to the road ahead, to work out that one of the chain link side plates had snapped, resulting in the chain being unshipped from the cog every time it went through the derailleur. Pulling in at the first convenient stop, a proper visual inspection confirmed that indeed the side plate had totally separated on one side, and the chain was only held together by half the link. That’s not a problem though. I’ve been lugging the tool for this exact eventuality around for the last 10 years and 50k miles, and in fact I’ve often looked at it and though “Why am I lugging that around with me”? Well todays why! 10 minutes later and I’d unpacked the tool kit, removed the damaged link, replaced it with a quick link that I’d been lugging around for the same length of time, repacked everything, eaten a sandwich from my saddlebag with dirty greasy fingers, and was back on my way. There’s no doubt that when you're miles from home, it pays to be prepared, and the slight weight penalty from carrying a decent set of tools and a few spare parts to get you out of a pickle, certainly pays dividends on the odd occasion that you actually need it.
Another long steep climb followed my unscheduled stop, taking us away from the river again to re-ascend the steep valley side, from where we picked up yet more narrow off-road sections and fire tracks, which clung precariously to the valley side.
Somehow, in the hour or so that followed, I managed to get off track a couple of times, resulting in having to retrace my steps, and by this time the novelty of off-road riding was definitely starting to wear off. The constant having to pick my way around obstacles, watch for stray rocks and tree routes, mind the muddy sections and bits of loose gravel, and the constant feeling of only moving through a narrow tree lined path, with no views to either side and nothing to look at, but more of the same, was wearing thin. So, when it started to rain, I really wasn’t having much fun off road. A few minutes later, as the rain started to fall in earnest, I realised that yet again I was off route, and by this time I’d really lost interest. Looking at the map there was a road intersection ahead, and if I took that, I could roll down to the valley floor and pick up the road which runs alongside the river Wye, which would take me directly back to Chepstow.
The second my wheels hit that tarmac, my mood lifted. Yes, it was still raining, in fact it was even heavier now I’d left the tree cover behind. Yes, I was back to mixing it with the traffic and impatient car drivers. Yes, it was still just as hilly. But it was back on familiar territory for me, and it would appear from recent off-road excursions, back where I seem to be happiest.
My speed lifted as soon as the road smoothed out, I had time to look around again without worrying about falling off the edge of the path, and on the road, I know what I’m doing, it was like coming home after a long trip away. Heading back towards Chepstow along the valley floor in the pouring rain, I had some decisions to make. If I headed straight back to Bristol my day would be a DNF (Did Not Finish) or with it being an advisory route, I could just find a road route to take me to the next checkpoint, get the required information and then head back to Bristol with a validated Brevet card. Being back on the tarmac I had plenty of time to study the map as I made my way towards Chepstow, and it didn’t take long to identify a route that would take me back to the next checkpoint after my little road diversion. The only question now was “Did I actually want to extend my day in the lashing rain with an uphill slog to the next checkpoint, or should I just call it quits and head for home”?
As is often the case, that conundrum answered itself. As when the time came to make the decision I just turned off the main road and headed uphill towards Shirenewton without even thinking twice about it. That was obviously meant to be or I would have had to think about it!
The ride up to Shirenewton from Chepstow in the rain was nowhere near as steep, or long, as I’d thought it would be, and in fact I suspect that my diversion may actually have been faster than staying on the supplied, more direct route. Either way, within a few minutes I’d got the required answer to the “Info control” and was back on route, heading back to Bristol and ultimately home. The wind, as I crossed the Severn Bridge for the second time that day, had picked up since the mornings crossing and was now throwing the rain straight into my face, where it dripped from my helmet, ran down my legs and filled my shoes, and tried to find its way through any gap in my jacket, no matter how small. However, once back over the bridge, the wind was more behind than in my face, and the rain gradually eased off, leaving just a few short miles to push out before the “Arrivée” hove into sight, signifying the end of another day out. Despite the rain and my apparent dislike for off road cycling, it had been a great day out too. As with Saturdays ride, I’d been to some places that I’d never been to before, I’d seen some stunning scenery, crossed a suspension bridge, crossed the Severn Bridge twice, been through the Tidenham tunnel that I’d never even have known existed if it wasn’t for this ride. I’d fixed my bike en-route, further reinforcing my ability to cope with any situation, and remain self sufficient whilst I’m at it, and chatted to some jolly nice people on my way round. And what’s not to like about that?
Unusually, I’m going to start with a bit of a moan this week, or maybe more accurately a bit of a word of warning. Back in the summer of 2018, we replaced our kitchen, the units were a bit tired, there was a lack of power sockets and all the normal gripes that relate to a kitchen that had been fitted on the cheap before we bought the house.
The actual kitchen came from the company that advertises itself as the leading supplier of kitchens in the UK, and if I’m honest it was a disaster from start to finish. Having refused to accept my measurements, the specialist surveyor clearly couldn’t measure either, as when the units turned up, they didn’t fit in the space because the measurements had been annotated onto their drawing by their surveyor incorrectly. I’d even questioned this during one of the design meetings and said to the designer that the proposed plan wouldn’t fit, but had been reassured that their measurements were spot on and it would fit. I can’t remember now why I didn’t double check, or pursue it at the time, but I clearly didn’t as I expected the expert to be correct. How wrong could I be! Before we’d even got that far though I’d totally lost faith in them, as they couldn’t supply what they had promised during the design phase, a number of units had arrived damaged, and there were a number of manufacturing defects in the units that did arrive undamaged. Anyway, to cut a long story short, after loads of messing around, they did replace all the damaged and incorrect parts, and did give us a considerable discount on the cost, due to all the messing around and failings on their part. Cutting forward to the start of this year, I noticed that a number of the cupboard doors were starting to delaminate in the centre of the panels. Now, I’d already been regluing the very edges of a number of doors where the laminate had started to lift on the edges, but this was another level of rubbish. So I complained to the manufacturer, and fair play to them, they came back and said that they would either replace all the doors and panels with new items (to be fitted at our cost) or refund a significant amount of what we had paid in the first place. After a bit of discussion, we came to the conclusion that we couldn’t be doing with ripping it all to bits again, and if one set of doors had already failed, the chances of another set being any good was slim to none, so we took the money, and thought that we’d just live with it for the time being, with the long-term plan being to replace the doors etc with a handmade set that I’d make once I had a bit more time (Like that’s ever going to happen). Anyway, if that’s not enough of a warning to be careful when companies are telling you how brilliant their products are. Last week I noticed that another entire end panel had fully delaminated, with the laminate now flapping in the breeze. Now if this panel was against the cooker and getting hot etc, I might be able to accept this. But the panel in question is sandwiched in against the washing machine so never sees the light of day, and the laminate has just fallen off! Brilliant! I seem to think that the list price on these panels was over £100 each, and the laminate has just fallen off in 5 years! Granted, I’ve already had all the money refunded for the substandard product, but I’m pretty sure that it’s not supposed to happen like that. And at the end of the day, I’d rather have the product that I paid good money for last the expected life of the kitchen, than be looking at ripping the entire lot out again 5 years after fitting it. Buyer beware is all I can say about that! Oh, and while I’m on a rant, the washing machines only 6 years old and the bearings on the drum are on their way out. You can’t change the bearings though, because it’s a moulded one-piece drum, and a new drum is £200. So, for the sake of a £5 bearing, the washing machine is going to be getting scrapped in the very near future too. How in the name of all that’s holy is that acceptable!
Apart from trying to reattach the laminate to parts of my kitchen, the main highlight of this weekend was the Morris Major 200Km, or more accurately 215Km, or 220Km if you add in my bit of backtracking, Audax.
I’ve done this one a couple of times before and the things that stick in my mind from the previous attempts are that it’s blinking hard, and rather hilly at times. But just in case I’d forgotten how hard it is, I thought that I’d better have another go this year. Which is how I found myself gathered with a somewhat reduced number of like minded lunatics at early O’clock, on what showed the early promise of being a real scorcher of a day. Chatting with the organiser at the start he reported that the low numbers milling around waiting for the off were as a result of a number of nonstarters, mainly due the forecast temperatures for the day. And judging from the previous days temperature, and indeed the temperature at 07:00, I was starting to suspect that they may have made a wise decision.
Heading North in the cool of the early morning, the sun, still low in the sky, glints through the trees and casts long shadows on the road, whilst a Kite or buzzard circles overhead calling to its mates. Fields of freshly harvested stubble line the roadsides, and the trees, still green and verdant for the time of year after the summers endless rain stand proud against the clear blue sky, and all appears to be good with the world.
Considering the workload which I know awaits, and the heat, which was slowly building even at this early hour, I make a conscious decision to keep my pace and effort levels low, and it wasn’t long before I was being passed by a number of riders. It’s surprisingly difficult to hold back when riders which you could easily keep pace with are coming past, but I had a feeling that this was going to be a long day, and there was going to be plenty of time to make up any time lost at the start, if the expected temperatures materialised. Plodding along at my reduced pace left plenty of time for taking in the sights and views as I slowly progressed through The Cotswolds, as in turn the morning slowly progressed with me. Steep descents, followed by long, energy sapping climbs, whilst pretty villages of Cotswold stone, with church spires standing proud amongst the trees and rolling hills dot the landscape. Through Bibury where the road follows the river, an “info control” at Withington. Large groups of club cyclists coming the other way as I climb slowly up towards the A436, and the seemingly endless climb to overlook Winchcombe, where we cross the afternoons Tour of Britain route and I pass under the “king of the mountain banner” before the reward of the long, mainly downhill, descent towards the first stop of the day at Snowshill.
A slice of delicious homemade carrot cake, lovingly served by the organisers wife and daughter provide a just reward, and the ideal energy boost after the efforts thus far at the first control, and the next few miles prove easier going as we descend from The Cotswolds at Broadway to pick up flatter, faster, roads as we traverse into Worcester.
Rolling hills give way to fruit orchards, and my pace picks up slightly, although I was still trying to keep the effort level as low as possible as the morning progressed and the sun moved ever higher in the sky. Sweat glistens on my arms and drips from my nose on the gentle inclines and dust and pollen cling to the sun cream on my legs, turning it into a sticky, gooey, mess. The most Northerly point on the days route arrives at lunchtime and I make the turn to start heading back towards home. The long climb up to Astwood Bank sees the sweat once again dripping from my nose, but the views from the top more than made up for the effort, and the long descent down the other side gives me chance to catch my breath
Sweeping down the country lanes in the dappled shade from the roadside trees I pass a small green on a junction with an inviting bench and think to myself “I think I stopped there last year”. A couple of miles further on I come to a junction where there should be an “Info Control” but it's nowhere to be seen.
And slowly it dawns on me, I know why I stopped at that little green with its inviting bench last year, that’s where the “Info Control” is. Bugger! What now? Push on without the control information or back track back up the hill? I contemplate the options for a minute or two and then swing the bike around to make my way back up the hill again. It makes no difference, there’s no prize on offer, nothing to be gained from going back, but it’s the principle that matters. Missing control information gathered, it’s only a few short miles to Wellesbourne where I treat myself to an ice cream and refill my water bottles. There are some hard miles ahead and I’m going to need every bit of energy I can muster, to get back through The Cotswolds.
As I make my way back into The Cotswolds the climbing starts in earnest. Long, seemingly endless drags, ever upwards, and I find myself having to stop regularly as my body struggles to cope in the heat of the afternoon, my heart rate high, breath ragged, sweat soaking my top and dripping from the brim of my helmet.
I’m not the only one struggling though, and I pass another rider taking a few minutes, sat in the shade on a roadside verge, cooling off before pushing on. The climbs came thick and fast with barely enough time on the descents to get my breath back before it starts again. I’m making progress though and as the time starts to head towards 5 O’Clock I know that the worst of the days heat is behind me.
Bourton-on-the-Water is thronged with day trippers making the most of the late summer sun and I pick my way carefully through the pretty little village before stopping on the way out for another ice cream. You know it’s been a hard, hot, day when you’ve had two ice creams!
Heading back out of Bourton-on-the-Water I nearly manage to convince myself that it’s all downhill from here, conveniently forgetting about the climb up towards Little Rissington. One last effort and even that’s behind me and it really is all downhill for the final 10 or so miles back to the start. And a great 10 miles it is too. The heat of the day is starting to dissipate as the sun starts to sink from the sky, slowly turning the glare of the day into softer pastel colours, as the shadows start to lengthen again. Another 30 minutes and I’m rolling to a stop, back where the day started, just under 11 hours and 141 miles previously. There’s a couple of riders just got back as I arrive and more filter in as I sit in the evening sun chatting about the day we’ve just had with a brew and another slice of cake. Everyone agrees it’s been a hard one today. The temperature was over 30 degrees in the afternoon and with no shelter or respite from the sun it was hard going, but oh so worth it. The grime, dust and dirt from a long day on the road clings to the sun cream on my arms and legs, my lips feel dry, and my nose has caught the sun despite a generous application of factor 30. My skin feels tight as the salt from a day’s sweat dries and salt marks stain my top. But, as always, I’ve been to new places, seen things that I’ve never noticed before, ridden through pretty villages, admired the views from the top of hills, felt the wind in my face on long descents, enjoyed the dappled shade from roadside trees, and suffered up those endless climbs, but the satisfaction of a hard day’s effort and the memories of another day out, is all the reward that’s ever required. Although that carrot cake comes a close second in the reward stakes!
And just to wrap things up, let’s have a couple of photos of the allotment and gardens, including a new bit of fruit trellis that I put up last week to support the new Raspberries that I planted last year. I think I might carry this on for all the fruit supports.
Over the last 10 years I’ve spent a fortune on wooden stakes which just rot and fall over after a couple of years, and although the metal tubing is a bit more of an outlay, it’s not actually that much more and if it lasts a bit longer, as well as looking better, it’s probably a wise investment. That’s another little project to add to the list then (I keep on saying the list never gets any shorter!)
Well, this is a turn up for the books isn’t it, after weeks of rain during what should have been the Summer, as we start to move towards Autumn it’s 30 degrees and wall to wall sunshine. What’s that all about then?
Whatever the weathers up to, hopefully it’ll keep doing it for a few more days and I can reap the benefit next weekend, but until then I suppose that we had better get up to date with last week’s exciting adventures. And I’m afraid that you might be disappointed on that front, because the weekend was neither exciting nor adventurous. I have however been out and about, instead of just sitting at home complaining about being bored, and in fact I spent most of the weekend in the New Forest. Saturday saw a return of the International Autojumble at Beaulieu after a hiatus due to the Covid kerfuffle, so I took the van down on Friday night and Saturday morning joined the thousands of others heading towards Beaulieu. Now, before we go any further, I know what your all thinking. An Autojumble, isn’t that just a massive car boot sale for car parts and other assorted junk? What’s our intrepid adventurer doing there? Well, bear with me on this one, because it’s a bit of a trip down memory lane. Back in the dark ages when I was in my early teens, my stepdad (Ernie) was heavily into the Vintage and Veteran motorbike scene, which with my inquisitive nature and mechanical bent, fitted in well with my formative years. Tinkering with old engines, visiting motorbike rallies and riding round the countryside on the pillion, or in the sidecar, of whatever old motorbike he had at the time, was all great fun as far as I was concerned. Finding spare parts for motorbikes etc, which have long been out of manufacture, is a problem though, and that’s where the Autojumble thing comes in. Everyone that’s got surplus spare bits gets together, and you go on a big treasure hunt searching for the bits you need, that hopefully someone else might have. Now, having not only an interest in old motorbikes, but a predilection to collecting anything that didn’t move, meant that we always had a house full of stuff that Ernie had collected, and my mother wanted shot off, and that’s where my initial involvement with the Beaulieu Autojumble came in. Because what better way to get first dibs on everyone else’s junk, than by trying to shift some of your own by having a stall at Beaulieu! I’ve got fond memories of the years that we went with the caravan and trailer full of stuff to set up stall and spend the weekend trying to flog most of it. So, when someone told me that the Autojumble was back on this year and it transpired that I didn’t have anything else arranged for the weekend, I thought a trip down memory lane might be in order. And you know what, It was, and I had a really good day out. Unsurprisingly, because I don’t need a rusty cylinder head for a model T Ford, or a fuel tank with a hole in it for a 1912 Triumph, I didn’t buy anything. But from the moment I got there all those memories came flooding back. The joy of hunting through boxes of rusty spanners looking for the ones with bike manufacturers names on whilst Ernie directed proceedings. The delight of wandering around the stalls of old engines, car and bike parts, and other paraphernalia, which probably helped to cement my love of all things mechanical, and the willingness with which those stall holders would impart their knowledge on an impressionable teenage lad when I showed an interest. The haggling over price which always seems to be a part of any non-shop transaction, whether that be buying or selling. The dirty fingers from a day handling old bits of metal, the smell of old oil and grease, and maybe on a less positive note, my mother’s desperation as yet again we went home with more treasure than we had arrived with! Oh yes, happy memories indeed, and whilst I probably won’t rush back again next year, I had a really good day out wandering around the various stalls and poking through piles of rusty old metal, it was just like being a kid again. Although, I suspect that if you ask “The Emma” she’ll tell you that I’ve already got enough rusty old metal and projects to last a lifetime and bringing home more is strictly forbidden. Which sounds very similar to my Mother, and just like Ernie did with my mother, I’m turning a deaf ear to her too. Although, come to think of it, that approach didn't work out too well for Ernie, so maybe that's not the best idea!
Whilst I was down in the New Forest it seemed like a good idea to take advantage of the journey and get a bit of cycling in. So, after my fun at Beaulieu and a lazy evening watching a game of village green cricket whilst having my tea in the van, and a quiet night, I was up early for a few miles of bike fun.
Nothing to strenuous, just a gentle 100K around the periphery of the New Forest on quiet country roads amongst the ponies, trees and open moorland. On the road before 07:00 there was a distinctly Autumnal feel to the morning with a low-lying mist obscuring the sun and adding a heavy dampness to the air.
It didn’t take long for the late Summer sun to work its magic, and by the time I’d reached the coast from my start point, the mist was long gone and the sun was burning down brightly from a cloudless sky. Sail boats, their white sails standing out against the blue water dotted The Solent as I made my way towards Lymington, before turning inland to leave the coast behind, as I made my way around in a large loop.
I’ve ridden these roads plenty of times before and spoken at lengths about the joys (or not) of the New Forest, so I’ll let the few pictures that I did take do the talking for today and just say that the entire morning was a joyous experience. The sun shone, the roads were quiet and smooth, the hills gentle and the wind on my back for most of the day. Brilliant! |
Paul PerrattOld enough to know better, young enough to still feel invincible, stupid enough to keep on trying the same thing again and again. Cyclist, Gardener, Runner, Hiker, Cook, Woodworker, Engineer, Jack of all trades and master of none, Anti social old git and all round miserable bugger. Archives
March 2024
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