Kirkby Lonsdale - Gretna

Scotland.      Freeedom!!       

I'm past the halfway mark, the knee seems to be holding out with some help from nurofen and the knee support strap thing, and I've made it to Gretna despite the efforts of several truck drivers to kill me on the A66.

I thought I'd celebrate my arrival with a Caeser salad at the Blacksmiths Hotel, my digs tonight. The plate of brown undressed leaves and assorted cheese makes me think that the Polish barman heard me say 'cheesy salad' but didn't quite get the request for bread. Anyway, should be some interesting cheese dreams tonight..

The scenery for the first 20 miles after Kirkby Lonsdale was just amazing. I was there a few years ago for a walking holiday with Charlotte so the place has special memories for me.

After a few hours the hills and Dales began to peter out into fairly dull landscape, made duller with grey skies and rain.

No matter, I was pleased to be heading north and must make a special thanks to my left leg for doing most of the uphill work.

I have developed the habit of singing Sinatra to the sheep I pass. There seems to be a look of appreciation mixed with bewilderment as I pedal by.

Simple pleasures!

Cumnock tomorrow. Hoots!!

Hx 

Warrington - ahem - Kirkby Lonsdale

With a belly full of breakfast, this time prepared by my own blistered hands, I set out on the road north. 

After yesterday's knee issues I started at a fairly sedate pace and trundled out of town, for once happy to let the kids on their fat-tyred mountain bikes steam past.    I'd stuffed down a couple of pain killers before leaving and took a few more with lunch but that right knee just wasn't getting any better.

So when I reached Chorley, I made a decision which some of you, I know, won't give me an easy time about when I get back:  I cycled past the train station, rubbed the knee, and u-turned back to buy a ticket to Lancaster. I know, I know, that's cheating!

In a way I guess it is. But the way I see it, I'd rather shave off 25 miles today, give the knee a bit of rest and have a chance of finishing the flipping ride. And no, you can't have your money back! Although, while we're on the subject, my selfless housemate Liane did promise to donate £5 every time I fall off or injure myself. Well, I reckon that's a tenner so far Ms Brooks... numb fingers AND a knackered knee!

So tomorrow is the day I'm saving myself for. It's a 90 mile ride and takes me over the border and into Scotland. Even if I'm flying with one engine I'm determined to get over to Jockland and celebrate with an Irn Bru and some tablet. Mmmm - tablet!

Apparently James Cracknell and Rebecca Romero made Scotland on a tandem in under 30 hours, which is quite amazing. They had to stop before the finish line though as poor old Beccy's knees were about to explode, and she's got an Olympics to get ready for. There's a lesson there for everyone, but I'm not sure what it is.

Tonight I'm being put up at the rather nice Snooty Fox in Kirkby Lonsdale, Britain's most generous town. If I'd had the time I could have stayed here free for a week in different hotels and b+bs; the people of KL were literally queuing up to have me stay. Some offered their daughter, other a free bike service, but the road is long and my work isn't done, etc..

So fingers crossed that I can be a brave soldier and keep on keeping on.

...and be in Scotland afore ye!

Hx

Telford - Warrington

That was more like it … a leisurely 60 miles up to Warrington and no spooky night rides or nightmare hills to deal with. 

I have managed to collect a couple of cycling injuries along the way though:  
my right knee has decided to stop working properly and two of the fingers on my left hand have gone numb ('cyclist's palsy' apparently - something to do with the nerves attached to the funny-bone). A bit annoying but nothing a few Nurofen and some brandy won't sort out.

I spent most of today sharing the A49 with weekend bikers, dusting off their Hondas, and hundreds of classic car enthusiasts. The car people are a funny old bunch, moving in pairs or threes, like grazing animals wary of danger and sticking close together for safety. 
I have to admit that it was made up for to see two beautiful specimens of my dream motor, the superfly Granada Mk 1. (both 3.0 ghia, for 70's classic car fans..)

It can be a bit tedious spending 6 hours a day listening to your own thoughts, even when they're as profound and diverse as mine, so the itunes have been keeping me entertained along the way. As well as music I loaded up with a fair few audiobooks and podcasts before I left.  Sherlock Holmes and Charles Bukowski have been good company, and I've had a few strange looks from oncoming traffic as I laughed my arse off to the Adam & Joe podcast. I thought I'd go all highbrow and get some Shakespeare in there as well, but the version of The Tempest I downloaded sounds as though John Gielgud is reading through a sieve full of rice in heavy rain. Maybe he was?

Up and on to Kirby Lonsdale tomorrow, and if my knee makes it I'll be knocking on for halfway...

Thanks to Tom Sav's Mum for putting me up tonight. Come round for a brew any time you're in SE22, Marlene!

Mañana - Hx

France Lynch - Telford

Blimey, am I nearly there yet? It's going to be a brief entry tonight for two reasons. 
One is that I've just cycled 85 miles, (the last 15 on country lanes in the dark..bad idea stopping for the footie!), and the other is.. oh I've forgotten. 


Anyway, three counties crossed today and some great sights courtesy of Cheltenham, Worcester and Ironbridge. 

I have to say a big thanks to Libby at the Coach House b+b near Stroud. Not only did she put me up for free in her lovely place but washed my clothes and fed me a slap up brekkie. Nice one!

I've got just enough energy to finish this,  drink my pint and crawl into bed.      Tomorrow Warrington.


Nearly £2000 raised so far including Giftaid. Good work people!!




Over and out  -  Hx

Bridgwater - France Lynch (near Stroud)

Day four on the big brother bicycle ride, and Hugh, (or Huw as my Welsh alter-ego is to be known from now on), has survived another 75 miles of road.


After bidding farewell to Fred, Liz and the 1940s, I found the A38 and stayed on it for most of today.


The change of scenery from Somerset up through Bristol and into the Malverns has been the most eyecatching so far.  


It's been one of those nearly rainy days where the clouds threaten but the sun shines through, giving everything a warm glow. 

The phone has forgiven me for Wednesday and is now alive and kicking so I had a good 30 mile stretch of tunes, courtesy of iTunes random play.     The standout pedalling sounds of the day came courtesy of Herbie Hancock, Shuggie Otis and David Bowie.    Thanks guys, same time tomorrow?

It's going to be a short one tonight folks.    I've left it late and want to get an early start so I make Ironbridge for the footie at 5.30.    I'll be in Scotland when England play Croatia next week, so will have the dubious pleasure of witnessing our Celtic brothers cheering every goal we concede. 
But we're not going to lose, so that's alright Jimmy!


H xx

Easton - Bridgwater

Day three of LeJog and I've made it to Bridgwater in sunny Somerset. 


Unlike yesterday, today was fairly plain sailing.   I spent last night at the top notch Easton Court on the edge of Dartmoor, a really classy thatched affair with all boxes ticked. The owners Debra and Paul were super helpful, taking me and the bike the 10 miles to Okehampton for a new seat-post and some minor TLC on the brakes. They also gave me the room for free which was nice! (Best breakfast so far by a mile, and I'm not just saying that).

I was back on the road by midday and pedalled my way to Crediton for some lunch. With the route planned and the rooms booked there isn't a whole lot of time for sightseeing, which is a pity as there's loads to see. I'll be making a trip back here soon for a visit to Diggerland and the bi-annual Bridgwater horse-drawn plough challenge!
I did make time for a quick stop in Taunton to try cider at the source;  the last ten miles to Bridgwater had a distinctly mellow feel, and I seemed to stop swearing at the start of each hill. Ooh arr my lovers!

Tonight's lodgings, 'Somerset House', has more of a Fawlty Towers vibe than the big building by the Thames.   Fred the owner was kind enough to make me a cup of tea when I got there, but managed to mention 'the money' no less than five times before I finally got out the door to head for the cashpoint. I'm not sure if Fred has outstanding debts to the local mafia, if a high percentage of punters do a swift u-turn when they see the 1940s decor or if he just thought I was going to do a runner after breakfast, but he made his bloody point!
So I packed my bags and found the nearest Travelodge. Only kidding, of course. I've given Fred his £22.50 so his kneecaps will live to fight another day.
No photos for today I'm afraid readers. The phone went a bit weird after being in my 'waterproof' pocket on Dartmoor yesterday and has only just recovered. I'll try and remember to get a snap of Fred and his long suffering wife Liz before I move on.
Did I mention Debra and Paul at Easton Lodge? If you're ever in Dartmoor...!

Observation of the last three days:   nearly everyone I've stayed with, as well as both blokes in the bike shop today were from the North. What's going on? Maybe there's some exchange programme going on, and I'll be staying with retired pasty makers in Warrington?

Anyway, enough already! Tomorrow,  Stroud.

H x




                                                                                                                                                       

                                                                                                           

Bodmin - Easton

Day two on the road, and what a day ....

After nailing a big breakfast and bidding farewell to Chris and Derek I faced the music and set off for Dartmoor.

Yesterday's sunshine already a distant memory, the rain finally found me. And my shoes, then my feet. There's something surreal and wierdly comforting about bombing along a 
rain-lashed A-road with samba on the iPod. Try it sometime!



The road seemed longer today even though it was 25 miles shorter than yesterday. That'll be them hills then. 


And the rain. Did I mention the rain?

Head down, and onto Tavistock, where it all started to get a bit serious. On the map it looked like a bit of a slog up the hill, over Dartmoor and home in time for Deal or no Deal.

Wrong. No custard cream today.

I assumed the road to Tavistock was the 'gruelling ascent' to the moor described in my book. Wrong again.    Think Shooters Hill times ten and make it steeper.

At the top you are supposed to be rewarded with spectacular views of endless ferns, sheep and babbling streams. Unfortunately I couldn't see more than a hundred feet, so head down again then!

More rain but the odd thumbs up from drivers coming the other way which was nice.

The sight of so many sheep stirred up my Welsh inner voice which seemed to make sense of it all. After getting more thumbs ups from a truck load of dry looking squaddies, the road flattened out and the wind stopped trying to blow me off the road.

Feeling a sense of wellbeing I decided to stretch my aching back and arms and pull back into the saddle for a moment.

This was a bad move. Not a stupid move, just a bad one. The seat snapped clean off and bounced into the verge. Could those two breakfasts have really made me such a fatso? Or did matey boy at Brixton Cycles not quite tighten the bolt enough? I suspect the latter, but haven't weighed myself yet so will defer judgement.

Anyway, 10 miles before the chequered flag and I've got no seat. "That's alright" I hear you say, "you probably sailed back standing on the pedals and thought nothing more of it".

I tried that but for some reason all my legs wanted to do was lower me onto the phantom seat. I tried sitting on the rack which gave the bike a Chopper feel, but made me look less like Peter Fonda and more like a chopper.  So pedals and, disappointingly, pushing were the order of the day.  Sorry, am I moaning?  I'll finish in a minute.  

The final icing on the decidedly brown coloured cake that was today was discovering halfway down the steepest descent so far that my back brakes had totally stopped working and the front ones had about as much grip as a pair of well oiled slugs.  


Impending death only seconds around the corner as I hurtled down the hill, I started to wonder what kind of gruesome looking device the oncoming tractor would have attached to its front. Hedgecutters? or aeration spikes?
Luckily there was no tractor.   Just the  end of the hill and my left foot making friends with the gravel, Flintstone style.

Somehow I'd managed to cover both wheels with greying oily sludge on Dartmoor and this was the reason for my 'look Mum, no brakes' moment.

Seven more standing-up miles and here I am, on a bed, all showered and feeling a bit less jarred off than an hour ago.

"After the testing terrain if Dartmoor tomorrow takes on a more pastoral character" says the book. Hope so!

H x