Thank fuck! A good day full of good stuff.
Gallus cooked breakfast before setting off through country roads with no cars and especially no lorries! Got the ipod on the go for the first time which makes everything better. Jefferson Airplane coupled with sun and trees and rolling fields works exceptionally well! Today was pretty uneventful due to everything going so swimmingly. To top it all off I found a cycle path alongside a canal that took me straight to Woodhall Spa.
Arrived at the bed and breakfast- pretty fancy. Wee woman was pretty sound so chatted to her for ages then headed off in search of dinner. Although, again, never take directions from women! Ended up down a dead end residential street...useless. Anyway got to the local pub for an excellent pint of Strongbow and club sandwich (one of my favourite dinners). Sat on my own for a bit until the usual "so what are you doing then?" from one of the more inquisitive locals. Ha! Their faces! Its great telling folk that your cycling around western Europe for 6 months on your own. The folk of Woodhall Spa were totally sound. One of them gave me a tenner that said "Best of luck, hope you succeed!", sound. More pints, more chat then a stumble home.
Wednesday, 21 October 2009
Thursday, 15 October 2009
Day 6: York to North Killingholme. Approx 70 miles.
I went the wrong way. What a gutter. It should have been about 50 miles. Anyway today was probably the worst day so far for a number of reasons:
1. Going the wrong way meant 20 needless miles.
2. Goole. This place should be called Hell but its not so that unsuspecting cycle tourers go for lunch only to find that Tesco cafe is all thats on offer.
3. Scunthorpe. The only place I have been shouted at so far. AND, by an old man on a bike of all things. Horrid, in every way.
4. The A180 which is essentially a motorway filled with massive lorries going at 80mph.
5. Drax and Keadby power stations. Not the most attractive sights to go past.
6. Immingham oil refinery. See above.
7. The wind. 'Nuff said.
Thank god the place I stayed was good. TV and DVD in my own room with a copy of Pride and Prejudice. Awesome.
1. Going the wrong way meant 20 needless miles.
2. Goole. This place should be called Hell but its not so that unsuspecting cycle tourers go for lunch only to find that Tesco cafe is all thats on offer.
3. Scunthorpe. The only place I have been shouted at so far. AND, by an old man on a bike of all things. Horrid, in every way.
4. The A180 which is essentially a motorway filled with massive lorries going at 80mph.
5. Drax and Keadby power stations. Not the most attractive sights to go past.
6. Immingham oil refinery. See above.
7. The wind. 'Nuff said.
Thank god the place I stayed was good. TV and DVD in my own room with a copy of Pride and Prejudice. Awesome.
Day 5: York
Total old person sightseeing today. Off to Yorkminster for a tour. In fairness it is pretty awesome and I did learn that St Nicholas is not only the patron saint of children but also of prostitutes. How nice. Bus tour in the afternoon, on which I fell asleep for a bit in true Grandpa Harris style. Ended up chatting to a really sound woman from Newfoundland, Canada, who suggested we get a curry. So we did. Typical shit looking place with hilarious (without meaning it) waiter but awesome food. She, or rather Jenn, is the manager of the Rabbittown Theatre Company (good name) and one of those people who is totally warm and cheerful and good.
After din dins Jenn went off to a concert and I headed back to an old man pub on the river I had been to yesterday. Sat outside having a few pints while a few groups of dickheads or dullards sat and then left my table. Eventually four guys who seemed totally non-threatening and a bit silly sat down. One of them told one of those "you had to be there" stories which was so bad it was kind of good. Got chatting to them: from Sheffield and Rotherham, civil servants (but not overly pleased about it), late 20s/ early 30s, had been on a stag weekend but stung it because they couldn't be arsed and the other folk were dicks (or something along those lines). Ended up getting some great chat with them and went for a visit to the minster which, of course, led to a rather interesting arguement on theology. Well, perhaps not as interesting for its profound conclusions as for its alcohol fuelled silliness. Anyway one of them makes t-shirts on the side so go look: http://www.dirtyface.co.uk/ Don't be scared by the font, its confusing but the t-shirts and the guy are quite sound.
After din dins Jenn went off to a concert and I headed back to an old man pub on the river I had been to yesterday. Sat outside having a few pints while a few groups of dickheads or dullards sat and then left my table. Eventually four guys who seemed totally non-threatening and a bit silly sat down. One of them told one of those "you had to be there" stories which was so bad it was kind of good. Got chatting to them: from Sheffield and Rotherham, civil servants (but not overly pleased about it), late 20s/ early 30s, had been on a stag weekend but stung it because they couldn't be arsed and the other folk were dicks (or something along those lines). Ended up getting some great chat with them and went for a visit to the minster which, of course, led to a rather interesting arguement on theology. Well, perhaps not as interesting for its profound conclusions as for its alcohol fuelled silliness. Anyway one of them makes t-shirts on the side so go look: http://www.dirtyface.co.uk/ Don't be scared by the font, its confusing but the t-shirts and the guy are quite sound.
Day 4: Dufton to York. The lazy day.
Ok folks, I got a train today. Some would say its cheating but I am supposedly doing this for enjoyment so fuck cycling over the A66: "The middle section of the A66 between Scotch Corner on the A1 and Penrith on the M6 forms one of the key trans-Pennine trunk (=massive lorries) routes and has one of the worst road safety records in the UK". No thanks.
The train plan ended up being a great idea as not only did I get to chat to the hostel warden for 3 hours, I also got chatting to a guy on the train who turned out to live just off Victoria Road, sound! Chat, or rather decent chat, is totally invaluable and difficult to find. In addition, the train went over the Pennines which, as nice to look at from a train window, would probably have lost some of its attraction when viewed from the saddle.
Summary of York: very pretty wee streets, some with gallus names i.e. "The Shambles", sound old man pubs, lots of rowers, fucking insane cathedral and A SHITLOAD OF BRUTAL ENGLISH NED STAG PARTIES. Ah well, nothing is perfect I suppose! First tinge of misery since leaving Glasgow. Friday night n all that during which I would normally be getting trollied on Strongbow at the Monkey/ in the Halt with a selection of my favourite folk whereas instead I was wandering aimlessly around York trying to avoid the Stag troops. In the end it turned out that it had pished it down at home and no one had gone out. Although some did still have "a few beers" proven by the wonderful banjo rendition complete with singing I received from Steve around 2.15 in the morning.
The train plan ended up being a great idea as not only did I get to chat to the hostel warden for 3 hours, I also got chatting to a guy on the train who turned out to live just off Victoria Road, sound! Chat, or rather decent chat, is totally invaluable and difficult to find. In addition, the train went over the Pennines which, as nice to look at from a train window, would probably have lost some of its attraction when viewed from the saddle.
Summary of York: very pretty wee streets, some with gallus names i.e. "The Shambles", sound old man pubs, lots of rowers, fucking insane cathedral and A SHITLOAD OF BRUTAL ENGLISH NED STAG PARTIES. Ah well, nothing is perfect I suppose! First tinge of misery since leaving Glasgow. Friday night n all that during which I would normally be getting trollied on Strongbow at the Monkey/ in the Halt with a selection of my favourite folk whereas instead I was wandering aimlessly around York trying to avoid the Stag troops. In the end it turned out that it had pished it down at home and no one had gone out. Although some did still have "a few beers" proven by the wonderful banjo rendition complete with singing I received from Steve around 2.15 in the morning.
Wednesday, 14 October 2009
Day 3: Boreland to Dufton. Approx 65 miles.
Firstly I would like to say: "I fucking hate those responsible for signposting cycle routes. You are all cunts who have blatantly never ridden a bike in your lives".
Ahhh. Much better! When your already riding a few miles a day it is not fun to end up doing extra due to rubbishly signposted routes or the kind of set up that directs you across the road and back from whence you came as you have reached the "route end". Anyway I got lost for a bit as you can probably tell. Back on the right road headed for Gretna, the site of numerous secret marriages and that. Stopped at a pub for coffee and route checking. Made my first new friend. Rather shittily of me I can't remember his name but he gave me awesome directions and advice and even offered to buy me my lunch. Sound.
Crossed the border, woop! Plain sailing to Carlisle then...the A6...or rather cycling hell in road format. Contiunous hills, 80 mph traffic including massive lorries, no toilet stops and a sign detailing the number of fatalities and serois injuries in recent years. Finally got to Penrith for scran and reflection on the fact that I was still alive. Onwards to Dufton YHA which is apparently "not far".
Note: When cycle touring never rely on the advice of car drivers or women. This may sound pretty sexist and hard to achieve but it has proven itself in the past week (I'm writing this in Cambridge, day 9).
Farm , farm, farm , hill, hill, hill, village, village, village. Sun is starting to set and I still wasn't at Dufton. Uh oh! No streetlights in the Cumbrian countryside apparently! Eventually I got to Dufton asking myself the following 1. Had I bitten off more than I could chew, 2. Why I didn't give up smoking before I left and 3. Why I decided to drink, smoke and sit about at the Monkey for the week before rather than doing some proper training of some kind. Only person staying in a 30 bed hostel so decided a joint probably wasn't the best idea and hit the hay around 10, again! Rock and roll.
Ahhh. Much better! When your already riding a few miles a day it is not fun to end up doing extra due to rubbishly signposted routes or the kind of set up that directs you across the road and back from whence you came as you have reached the "route end". Anyway I got lost for a bit as you can probably tell. Back on the right road headed for Gretna, the site of numerous secret marriages and that. Stopped at a pub for coffee and route checking. Made my first new friend. Rather shittily of me I can't remember his name but he gave me awesome directions and advice and even offered to buy me my lunch. Sound.
Crossed the border, woop! Plain sailing to Carlisle then...the A6...or rather cycling hell in road format. Contiunous hills, 80 mph traffic including massive lorries, no toilet stops and a sign detailing the number of fatalities and serois injuries in recent years. Finally got to Penrith for scran and reflection on the fact that I was still alive. Onwards to Dufton YHA which is apparently "not far".
Note: When cycle touring never rely on the advice of car drivers or women. This may sound pretty sexist and hard to achieve but it has proven itself in the past week (I'm writing this in Cambridge, day 9).
Farm , farm, farm , hill, hill, hill, village, village, village. Sun is starting to set and I still wasn't at Dufton. Uh oh! No streetlights in the Cumbrian countryside apparently! Eventually I got to Dufton asking myself the following 1. Had I bitten off more than I could chew, 2. Why I didn't give up smoking before I left and 3. Why I decided to drink, smoke and sit about at the Monkey for the week before rather than doing some proper training of some kind. Only person staying in a 30 bed hostel so decided a joint probably wasn't the best idea and hit the hay around 10, again! Rock and roll.
Day 2: Douglas to Boreland. Approx 40 miles.
Up bright and early after a fucking great night featuring surprise appearances from the Bitch and Stoofa! Chilli and champange washed down with profiteroles and cream. Good healthy start!
First stop Abington services (mildly depressing) for coffee and scran. The roadkill begins...even some recognisable kidneys still attached to each other, yeuch. Headed to Moffat on a pretty good road beside the motorway so got some lunch in "The Rublin' Tum". Good name or what. A nice lady in the cafe gave me some alternative directions to the B&B which saved some miles. Unfortunately she is obviously NOT a cyclist cause it was pretty much horrifically uphill the whole way. Had to get off and push a few times! Anyway got there in the end to the Netherboreland "Chariots of Fire Centre". Another wonderfully titled establishment. Really funny place. Total middle of nowhere. I was the only person in the place so dinner consisted of me sitting in silence in the middle of an African themed dining room being served a disgusting amount of soup, macaroni with bacon and peas, salad, chips and coffee periodically by a large friendly woman who would appear exactly on time. Early to bed partly from being unbelieveably stuffed and partly due to not being fit enough for what I'm doing.
First stop Abington services (mildly depressing) for coffee and scran. The roadkill begins...even some recognisable kidneys still attached to each other, yeuch. Headed to Moffat on a pretty good road beside the motorway so got some lunch in "The Rublin' Tum". Good name or what. A nice lady in the cafe gave me some alternative directions to the B&B which saved some miles. Unfortunately she is obviously NOT a cyclist cause it was pretty much horrifically uphill the whole way. Had to get off and push a few times! Anyway got there in the end to the Netherboreland "Chariots of Fire Centre". Another wonderfully titled establishment. Really funny place. Total middle of nowhere. I was the only person in the place so dinner consisted of me sitting in silence in the middle of an African themed dining room being served a disgusting amount of soup, macaroni with bacon and peas, salad, chips and coffee periodically by a large friendly woman who would appear exactly on time. Early to bed partly from being unbelieveably stuffed and partly due to not being fit enough for what I'm doing.
Day 1: Home to Douglas. Approx 35 miles.
It begins! Totally surreal start to the trip: cycled out of my driveway waving goodbye to Robbie and heading for the unknown. The bike weighs a fucking ton! Two full size rear panniers (full to the brim), tent, helmet, lock, two water bottles, jacket, handlebar bag...not to mention me!
Off to see the Winker toady, excellent to have someone I know on my first night. Stopped in Strathaven for lunch. Totally paranoid about the bike getting nicked on the first day but thankfully the nice folk in Strathaven let it be. Meaty weather and some encouragement from an old man dog walker made the first day pretty easy.
Off to see the Winker toady, excellent to have someone I know on my first night. Stopped in Strathaven for lunch. Totally paranoid about the bike getting nicked on the first day but thankfully the nice folk in Strathaven let it be. Meaty weather and some encouragement from an old man dog walker made the first day pretty easy.
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