Land's End to John O'Groats; August 2001...contd.

On day three as we left the familiar home territory of Devon, I felt that the real adventure into the unknown was beginning. The roads of East Devon were much kinder on the legs and it was great to stumble across snug thatched villages squeezed into the middle of nowhere. We made away across the Somerset levels where the open ended fields are criss-crossed with ruler-straight channels of water. This paradise of flatness seemed to extend for an eternity. When we ended our day in Cheddar my spirits were high, we had 71 miles of satisfying cycling on the clock.

The first part of day four was a winding slow climb through Cheddar Gorge, it was stunning to cycle this tight channel between the sheer grey rock-faces. We continued onwards skirting between Bristol and Bath crossing over the Severn Bridge and onto St Briavels in Gloucestershire. We'd travelled 62 miles and had completed another step on our journey.

We didn't guess as we launched ourselves onwards on day five that this was going to be one of the longest days cycling. We followed the Wye Valley to Ross and onto Ludlow, a gorgeous historic town oozing with wooden-framed buildings. We'd cycled 62 miles and our legs were feeling fresh so we decided to clock up another 10 miles before stopping.


This was to be a mistake. We expected to find accommodation easily but there was no sign of B&B's anywhere, as evening fell I began to get anxious about where we would stop. We jointly decided to make our way to Bridgnorth, it looked like a large town and we were hopeful it might provide us with a bed. We arrived at 10pm after 90miles of cycling and recklessly agreed to what must have been the last place available in the town; a dusty, dirty attic room above a noisy pub. It was a long night; the screams and yells from the bar-that-never closed kept us both awake. We escaped early the next morning, declined breakfast and pedalled furiously out of town.

The contrast when we arrived in Church-Minshull Cheshire the following night couldn't have been greater. The farmhouse was welcoming and the clean bedroom and shower a delight. We had only travelled 62 miles but after the previous restless night it was a relief to sink into a deep refreshing sleep.

Ledbury.

Ironbridge
On day seven we had to feel our way around the outskirts of Manchester, I knew this would mean slow traffic and impatient drivers. I had feared the whole day was going to be fume-filled so it was a welcome surprise to stumble across Tatton Park, an old estate ground with lakes and tree-lined avenues to cycle through. When we hit the traffic-heavy streets we made slow and steady progress through Warburton and Leigh, eventually climbing up towards the Lancashire border and leaving the sprawling smog behind us. We passed through the endless terrace rows of red-bricked Blackburn and then settled down for the night in Whalley in the Ribble Valley after a respectable 71 miles.
Day eight proved to be my hardest day. After just 2 miles of cycling my tyre hissed a puncture which meant a delay in Clitheroe changing the inner tube and the tyre itself which had started to split. We didn't start cycling until 12.30. The Forest of Bowland was on our route; a deceptive name there was hardly a tree in sight. It was such a slow climb upwards, after twelve continual and never-ending miles, my legs and mood became rather leaden! For morale's sake we decided to stop at Tebay that night. It meant we'd only done 51 miles but it was a relief. Today had drained me considerably.


contd....