Farewell to Albion

The sun came out to see me off. After an emotional goodbye with mum all that remained was to begin.

It's a dangerous business, Frodo, going out your door. You step onto the road, and if you don't keep your feet, there's no knowing where you might be swept off to.”

Very true Mr Tolkein and how much more so when the sun is out, the wind is at you back and you have two fine wheels beneath you. A fine beginning then and as beginnings often will it started at the start: Passing my old school.

More than a few clandestine teenage cigarettes were smoked here once upon a time

Where to?

When discussing the trip I had obduratley resisted saying too much beyond "'I'm going to head east and see how far I get with an idle ambition of making it to Sydney"

That was and is the party line and I'm sticking to it.

Selfishly I'm not doing this trip for charity or out of a percieved obligation to a dying friend ala Harold Fry or to break records or to proove anything, except perhaps to myself.

If I stop enjoying it, I'll stop. If its too hard, I'll push the bike up the hill. Too boring? I'll get a train to somewhere more to my interest.

And with those disclaimers out the way, here's the route I've been planning.

The map below ids a very rough, pretty inaccurate over view of my "route" dran in paint.

It doesn't even show my planned vsist to Rome

Kit List

It was not to be a quick get away. Waiting for a Pakistani passport, my own slovenly ways, seduced by the easy pleasure of being home with my parents. Plus a feeling of anxiety not unlike a mild version of what I'd felt the first night of my UK tour; my trip was about to start - dreams becoming reality - would it fall short? Would I?

But above all my knees hurt. I hadn't given the pain much though during my last three days cycling assuming it to be normal muscle fatigue but as the days turned to weeks turned to months the pain persisted. It became clear that this was instead a tendon issue. Google perscribed RICE; Rest, ice, compression, elevation. So that's what I did while the spring melted away. I spent my time distracting myself with games, worrying, looking at maps and of course preparing my kit:

The Bike

Here she is in all her fully loaded glory on the morning of my departure

Wye is it fenced off?

Departing Fownhope south east towards Ross on Wye I meandered south following the river.


Nothing short of blissful. Cruising the lush valley floor before occassionally climbing the steep sides to gain grand views of the river`s lazy loops.

The snow in Wales falls mainly on the Hiiiiyles

I had received detailed instructions on how to reach the house. (In this part of Wales postcodes can cover 10’s of square miles.)

“Left at the old school sign. Follow road up and over the first hill, all the way down to the cattle grid, up a bigger hill on the other side and turn right at the top.”

Two minutes after taking what I assumed was the turn (no road names here) I was off the saddle and pushing the bike up a steep hill covered in ice and snow. Reaching a fork in the track I tried to divine which way was straight on (reasoning that the directions hadn't mentioned a turn) but with the road marking covered it was guesswork. Having made my decision I continued on my way up into the hills with sheep and striking views for company. The snow was so deep and the bleats so pitiful that I spent a good few minutes trying to dig out some grass for the lambs but they were more perturbed by my presence than grateful so I pressed on.

There's no bad weather, just bad clothing

So far I had enjoyed sub-zero temperatures, snow, sleet, fog, high wind and heavy rain as not a little sunshine. Unremarkable for late winter in the north of England. Indeed I’d gained much satisfaction from cycling in all conditions. A Gore-Tex outer layer and breathable merino wool bottom layer allowed me to take it all in my stride.

On my seventh day the weather gave me pause for thought.

http://www.bbc.co.uk/news/uk-21907837

BBC Breakfast reported heavy snow fall across the country causing severe disruption. Where were they reporting from? Mold, north Wales. Exactly the direction I was heading.

Cycling the Roses (Wetherby to Liverpool)

The few inches of snow which had fallen during the night made my first 10 miles a little treacherous but was soon cleared away by the traffic. This didn't stop me having an embarrassing fall as I failed to unclip from my pedals with sufficient alacrity as I came to a stop sign in Leeds city center. No harm down beyond a severe blush.

The day remained unrelentingly dull interspersed with wintry showers and as I stuck to A-roads the cycling was more reminiscent of my London commute my already idealised north Pennine cycling. As I wove my way through Bradford’s less than beautiful suburbs I had little reason to dawdle and made excellent time arriving in Huddersfield in the early afternoon. A quick stop for a pie and a pint at the charming Head of Steam pub and I was working my way along the last 10 miles to my grandfather’s house in Marsden.

The weather couldn't entirely hide the charms of God’s own county.

The stack visible is the chimney from the Textile Mill my Grandfather and his father before him ran.