Every now and then I seem to get lucky and this was one of those weekends. Starting with the few days of leave I randomly put in for a year ago, actually coinciding with some of the nicest weather so far. Keen as always to take advantage of a couple of days off, I had the van loaded and a full weekend of fun planned, starting with a cycling jaunt down to Swanage on Friday. I'd plotted a nice little route, starting from Awbridge just outside Romsey, heading down through the New Forest, Wimborne and Corfe Castle to Swanage before returning along the coast via Poole and Bournemouth. Which, if I didn't cheat and take the ferry across from Swanage to Poole, looked like a fair 200Km. Having had a quiet night tucked away in a car park in Awbridge (with the permission of Brian the Caretaker, who I found to be a jolly nice chap) I was up and on the road for 06:45 on what promised to be a scorcher of a day. I had a pretty good idea that it was going to be hot when I set off wearing just a T shirt. I'd normally have at least a couple of layers on and be feeling the cold at that time in the morning, so to be about as naked as one can be when riding a bike and not be feeling cold was pretty unusual! As is the norm at stupid O'Clock in the morning the roads were deserted and I made quick progress through the New Forest. I've said before that I'm not a massive fan of this area, thinking it's a bit overrated, but in the quiet of the morning with just the Ponies and wild cows for company, I wondered if I'd been a bit harsh in the past? By the time I'd got down to Wimborne the world was waking up and the traffic heading for the seaside steadily increased. Unfortunately, much as I try to stick to the little country lanes, occasionally you have to either cross the main roads, or join them for a short while, in order to get to your destination, and as I joined the A35 and A351 for short periods my speed was reduced to that of the car traffic. It's not very often you can say as a cyclist that the cars are holding you up. It's normally the other way round, with the drivers being mildly inconvenienced for 30 seconds whilst they overtake. In this instance though I was certainly glad be be out in the warm sunshine, with the breeze in my face and not stuck in a tin can crawling along whilst worrying about trying to find a parking space with all the other beach lovers (please remind me of that next week when I'm moaning about getting wet again). By the time I reached Corfe Castle at about 10:00 the main road was totally gridlocked with beach bound traffic, sitting slowly overheating in the sun. Luckily, or maybe not so, dependent on your way of thinking, my route took the narrow, yet stupidly hilly, back road option and as I gently sweated my way uphill the fleeting thought did cross my mind that maybe I was the idiot and maybe sitting in Traffic was the better option! Of course sitting in traffic is never the better option and despite the uphill struggle I was probably on my way home again before most of those people I'd passed had got there and found a parking space. Swanage itself was heaving and I didn't hang around, a quick photo of the sea to prove to "The Emma", disbelieving soul that she is, that I'd actually been there, refill the water bottles and off again. That's more than enough time at the beach for my liking. It was not long after leaving Swanage and about as far away from the Van or home that I could possibly be that good luck, or not as the case may be, occurred and the rear gear cable decided that being one length of cable wasn't as good as being two. How is that lucky I hear you ask? Well, I've religiously carried a spare cable and 2 multi-tools (one with a set of pliers on) along with a whole host of other useful but never used items around with me for the last few years. Every now and then I look at them and think "do I really need to lug that around with me? Whats the chances of needing to change a gear cable at the side of the road"? Well, that's the second one I've changed at the roadside now, the first being in the middle of nowhere on my way from Lands End to John O Groats. Granted I could just change them every now and then just in case, reducing the likelyhood of snapping. But I'm an engineer and I just know deep down, that never works! Either way, 20 minutes later, having utalised all my tools I was back on the road. No need to call for rescue, no need to struggle back home in just one gear and another disaster averted. I've even replaced the spare in my bag just in case and won't be thinking about loosing that bit a weight for a while longer! Coming back along the coast it was interesting to see the number of cruise ships laying unused at anchor out in The Solent. I suppose the Coronovirus palaver has effectively put a stop to cruising, like so many other things. But, seeing the millions of pounds worth of massive ships, sat bobbing around unused was a bit of a shocker and a site not normally seen on the South Coast. If nothing else it gave me something else to think about as I slogged along the coast road with all the other road users (certainly not my best bit of route planning I must admit, and a mistake I hopefully won't make again in a hurry). Once I was away from the coast it was just another couple of pleasant hours, plodding back up through the New Forest, enjoying the cool of the forest areas after the heat of the open coast roads and not having to worry quite so much about frustrated car drivers. A smidge over 10 hours for 128 miles, including replacing the gear cable, that's not a bad day out by my books and being back at the van in time for a bit of tea and a cold beer sat in the evening sun definitely made the early start worthwhile. Considering I was on the edge of the New Forest it seemed rude to not stay another night and have an early run on Saturday morning, although I must confess that my legs thought differently and it was a bit of a struggle to get going in the morning. Get going eventually I did though, and although hard going on tired legs I had a great couple of hours following little paths and tracks through the forest and heath for just under 10 miles, which was more than enough. Unfortunately, I needed to be in Bristol for work Monday morning, so putting part 2 of my weekend plan into operation I spent the first part of Saturday afternoon travelling up to Chepstow, which is no where near Bristol, but I'd got a cheeky little cycling route lined up for Sunday and it's closer to Bristol than home. Whilst hunting round for somewhere to hole up in the van I came across a sign for the Wye Valley Walk, well I say came across, what I actually mean was I unknowingly parked up right beside it. Always up for a bit of exploration I thought I'd wander down the marked way, which looked pretty unappetising, running between a school and some houses. Boy, I'm glad I did though, I'd not gone 100 yards when the path became a track running along the side of a steeply wooded gorge following the river Wye. In all I wandered along for 6 or 7 miles following the track up and down on it's meandering path, stopping to stare at the imposing vistas which occasionally appeared through the trees. A little bit of Googling shows that the Wye Valley path runs for 138 miles from its source near Aberystwyth, through Rhayader, Builth Wells, Monmouth, Ross-on-Wye and onward to Chepstow, all of which are lovely little places in their own right. 136 miles is a good week's walk if your backpacking, and looking at the route it takes in a bit more detail, this is definitely one to keep in mind to do as soon as the opportunity arises and if the rest of it is as picturesque as the Chepstow end it will be a real treat. As I mentioned earlier, the whole point in coming to Chepstow (if we ignore the work word) was for a bit of Cycling and Sundays planned route took me from Chepstow up to the North of Abergavenny to loop around the base of the Brecon Beacons before coming back down again. Always a glutton for punishment I knew this was going to be a hard day out from the start, the climb out of Chepstow is enough to make you think twice and that's the easy bit, up into the Brecon Beacons and the final climb back into Chepstow the work really begins. Another early start meant I had the long hard slog out of Chepstow all to myself, but also meant that I had the downhills to myself too and could just let the bike roll whilst keeping an eye out for potholes and wildlife. It's not very often that you don't have to worry about traffic coming behind (or in front of you) and I made full use of the opportunity, building up a good sweat on the uphills and feeling the still chill air quickly cooling my sweaty body on the fast downhills. Through Abergavenny before the motor bikers came out and onward up into the Brecon Beacons, with the sun still low in the sky and the dew still on the ground the hills looked magnificent and I soon forgot about the complaints from my tired legs as I took in the scenery opening out around me.
The Brecon Beacons are a beautiful part of the country and like many such areas, too steep to turn over to mechanised farming, they have retained their old world charm, with little farmhouses, sheep dogs out waiting for their masters to begin their days work and small isolated fields supporting a plethora of wildlife, these parts of the country deserve a special place in our hearts and history. As you can no doubt guess, I was in my element, totally absorbed in the scenery and having the time of my life. The 20 odd miles between Abergavenny and Crickhowell must rate as some of the most scenic cycling I've done, and I've rattled up a few miles over the years. OK the roads aren't the best and it's pretty hilly, so your going to need a good level of fitness and stamina to enjoy it, but, and it's a big but, it's days like that, that make all the days out in the rain and wind worthwhile!
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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
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