Is there time for one last hurrah in the form of a bit of camping before the nights really draw in and it gets all wet and muddy? Of course there is! With the right kit it’s never the wrong season for a bit of camping and if I can tie that in with a bit of bike fun then so much the better.
Which is a really rubbish way of saying “I’ve been camping this weekend”. Before I start blathering on, I will just say that camping on campsites isn’t really my bag. Why pay to pitch a tent in the corner of a muddy field full of people, some of whom always insist on talking at the top of their voices for half the night and making as much noise as possible, when I can find a little out of the way spot for my hammock and get a few hours of sleep for free? Sometimes though, needs must, and there’s not much choice but to pay someone to sleep in their muddy field. In this case, I needed somewhere to leave the camping kit while I pootled off for a cheeky little Audax in the form of the Ticking Tortoise (and who wouldn't want to do an Audax with a name like that). Whilst I’m game for most silly ideas, the idea of lugging a fully loaded touring bike, complete with camping kit, around a 160 km audax, whilst everyone else shoot’s off on their lightweight road bikes didn’t really appeal, so in this case, having somewhere to leave the camping kit was a bit of a necessity. With my bike loaded up Thursday night, I had a cunning plan. Ride into work Friday morning complete with all the camping kit and spend Friday morning clock watching, from where I could get away as early as possible and cover the 89 miles down to Bristol Friday afternoon. Hopefully, if I could escape from work early enough, I’d be able to get to the campsite and get set up before dark, which would be a result, but if not, I had a headtorch. Saturday, I’d ride the Ticking Tortoise and then on Sunday it was just a case of riding the 80 miles back home. Which even if I do say so myself, seemed to be a brilliant plan!
The first part of my brilliant plan was flawlessly executed and I covered to 11 miles into work (complete with everything I’d need for a weekend away) with no dramas, although it’s always a bit strange starting your day by heading 11 miles in the wrong direction, meaning my 89 miles from work to Bristol would actually be a 100 mile day, but thats all part of the fun isn’t it?
I managed to escape work just before lunchtime and was swiftly on the road, next stop Bristol, but first the little matter of familiar roads back to Basingstoke and then onwards through Newbury, Hungerford, Marlborough and a multitude of small, beautiful villages, each with their own charm and beauty. With the sun shining weakly from the early Autumn sky, all appeared to be well with the world. Well, that is until I actually got moving and discovered that it was actually quite windy, and that wind was blowing directly in my face. A situation that wouldn’t normally be that much of an issue, except today was all one way, and that way was the way that the wind was coming from. 89 miles with the wind in my face wasn’t going to be much fun!
By the time I got to Hungerford and stopped for a late lunch, that wind was starting to take its toll. I was only 35 miles in and it was tough going, the extra weight of the camping gear, coupled with the invisible force which was trying to push me backwards was making for some hard miles.
An hour later as I slogged up the long climb from Marlborough to cross the Ridgeway, I’d decided that I wasn’t actually having much fun, every meter was a battle and I knew that things were going to get worse as the afternoon wore on and I got more tired. It’s that old mental battle again. The second you let the desire to stop win, it’s game over, so there’s only one option. Head down, set yourself little targets and push on. “Another 30 minutes and I’ll have a biscuit”, “get to the M4 crossing and I’ll stop for a minute”, “get to the top of this hill and I’ll have a sandwich”. And so with little milestones the afternoon wore on and the miles steadily ticked down. A handily positioned bench next to small memorial to a pair of WW2 Spitfire pilots killed in a training accident, provided an opportunity to sit and rest for a few minutes and provided a welcome distraction from the wind, as did a brief conversation with a fellow cyclist on their commute home after their days work, who enquired after my destination.
Eventually though, after the long slow drag up towards Hinton, the views opened up to reveal Bristol and the Seven Valley beyond. The end was in sight and not before time!
It’s amazing how quickly the hard work is forgotten, and rolling down the final few hills, it seemed almost impossible to think that just minutes earlier I had been cursing the wind and desperately wishing the day to be over. Now, mere seconds later, with the evening sun casting long shadows and the day drawing to a close, I didn’t want it to end. End it did though as I rolled into the campsite and found a flattish spot amongst the caravans and tents to pitch my little home in the last of the daylight, before settling down for tea by torchlight and an early night.
Occasionally I wish my predictions weren’t quite so accurate and I’d like to say that I awoke early, refreshed and ready for another beautiful day. What I’ll say instead is, I awoke after a fitful night's sleep where I was kept awake until 02:30 by a group over the far side of the camping field who insisted on chatting loudly about every subject under the sun! As I said, mixing with the great British public isn’t my strong forte.
Anyway, there’s no point crying over a bad night's sleep, and there was a whole day of bicycling fun to look forward to. So a quick breakfast and then a few easy miles to get the legs warmed up to get me to the start where a brew and a cinnamon roll nicely replaced some of the calories that I’d used getting there as I waited for the start.
I think I commented the other week on Bristols excellent cycling infrastructure (take note other councils, painting a bicycle sign on the pavement does not make it a cycle lane) and today we made full use of it, seamlessly traversing from one side of the city to the other without setting a tyre on the road.
Early morning joggers and dog walkers mixed happily on the wide, traffic free, purposely designed paths, and the first of the day’s many miles were a traffic free delight. In fact, even as we left the confines of the city it wasn't long before we picked up yet more traffic free paths in the form of the festival-way and the strawberry-line which took us almost all of the way to the only significant climb of the day at Bleadon Hill.
As if the stunning views from the top of Bleadon Hill weren’t enough reward for the effort of getting up there, the top of the climb also marked the next control point, where the days organiser, with the assistance of most of his family, had set up a pop up tea stop with a hot brew and selection of cake, to reward the effort.
Suitably refreshed and refueled, it was straight back down the hill, to pick up some flatter miles across Somerset as we headed for Glastonbury. Now, I’ll confess that this isn’t an area that I’m overly familiar with and as I traversed the quiet country lanes the unusual geological features stood out. Glastonbury Tor is the best known, but there are a number of other small hills which appear to rise, like pimples, from the surface of the land, standing proud against the skyline. With plenty of time to think and allow my imagination to do its best as I cycled along, it was easy to think of prehistoric man using those vantage points to survey the land below and provide protection from marauding monsters.
With my imagination running wild, the miles to Glastonbury, which marked the furthest outbound point passed in a blur, and making the turn to start heading towards home brought the wind onto my back as we ventured into the Somerset Levels.
On the flat ground with a helpful breeze pushing on my back, the miles came easily. Cows grazed contentedly in the small fields lining the roadside, green drainage ditches keeping the small fields dry lined the roadside ready to catch out the inattentive with a soaking should you take your eye from the road. Farmers noisily harvested maize for winter fodder and large tractors traversed the small lanes carrying the vital Autumn harvest back for winter storage. A row of modern electricity pylons which I had noticed from our earlier visit to the vantage point at Bleadon Hill stood out against the flat countryside, marking our return route, and Bleadon Hill itself, the location of the day's next checkpoint hove into view in the far distance.
Toiling back up Bleadon Hill in the afternoon sunshine for the second time I started to consider my sanity. One big climb a day just for the fun of it is fine, but two ascents just for the sake of it, well that’s just stupid! But it wouldn’t be an Audax without some stupidity would it, and anyway, no one was making me slog breathlessly up this big hill were they? And so I slogged on, spinning my legs in the smallest gear, surmounting the climb as it wound endlessly upwards, driven on by the promise of more cake at the top!
More cake? Well there’s no point putting in all that effort without the reward is there, and if someone's nice enough to go to all the effort of setting up a cake stop in the middle of nowhere then it would be rude not to partake wouldn’t it! And anyway, I was going to need the energy to push out the final miles back home.
And just about manage to push out the final miles back home I did. Although I’ll admit that by the time I reached the outskirts of Bristol, my legs were starting to feel the effort and I may have had to stop for some emergency chocolate HobNobs to convince them to push out the last couple of miles. Another fine day out then, another 110 miles to add to the year's tally, another Audax tick in the box, more new roads, places, faces and sights, and certainly worth the trip down the Bristol for.
A quieter night Saturday resulted in a far better night's sleep (I’m guessing my chatty neighbours had either burned themselves out on Friday night, or gone home) and I was up early and packed up not long after it got light.
Sunday was a bit of a strange one weather wise as it was really warm and very humid, in fact I was down to just a thin top and shorts with the sweat dripping from my brow before I’d even set off, which is pretty unusual, especially for this time of year.
With the wind on my back I made good progress on the way home, steadily progressing along the quiet country roads, whilst most sensible people enjoyed a Sunday morning lie in and it wasn’t until Marlborough that I started picking up a bit more traffic as the shops opened and everyone rushed out to do whatever normal people do on a Sunday morning.
A brief stop for a sandwich between Marlborough and Hungerford and a slightly longer stop, sat in the sun on the way into Kingsclere, kept the fires burning, and with nothing else of interest to report I was back home by early afternoon, sorting out dirty washing, having a brew with “The Emma” and hanging the damp tent up to dry in the garage. That’s a pretty good weekend by my measure, 2 nights under canvas, 290 miles under my wheels, and plenty of new roads, places, and sights, to occupy my desire for adventure. Yes, I’m happy with that for a bit of early Autumn adventuring!
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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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