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.

It's all down hill from here

North Pennine’s to Wetherby

A torrential downpour in the dead of night ensured a few anxious moments having complacently neglected to tension my guide ropes when I pitched the tent. This meant water reached my inner threatening to soak any limb I brushed against it.

A little morning contortion saw me successfully slip into my cycling shorts etc. without soaking myself overly and I emerged, relieved, to little more than a damp drizzle.

Packing away a camp in the rain is a pain at the best of times. For a novice like me it was a certainly finicky process requiring lots of to-ing and fro-ing from bike to kit. All this meant I didn't leave until 08:30 despite waking at dawn.

With a salute and a ring of my bell to my new Friend Dennis and his menagerie I was off. Before returning 2 minutes later to retrieve my helmet which I had left hanging from a tree branch…

Underway, after that momentary hiccup, the rain cleared and I could get a good look at the dramatic peaks confronting me. Toiling up on my fully loaded bike was hard work and I was soon switching between pushing the bike and riding - but I had all day and my spirits were high.

As I climbed (1693 ft) the climate changed and I enjoyed my first taste of snow and high winds.

Bonk(the)- def. cycling fatigue

Wylem to the North Pennines - My first bone fide day in the saddle.

I should explain that while I have over the last two years commuted regularly on bikes be they Boris, Brompton or road, I am a complete beginner when it comes to cycle touring.

Some slight experience was had in a 2010  London-to-Brighton sponsored ride which took me 10 hours, and included three flat tires before i'd left the M25, a slipped chain and eventually a complete breakdown of the bike meaning I entered Brighton on what felt like an undersized girls clown bike kindly lent to me by the race mechanics. Not exactly a ringing endorsement of my abilities...

Nonetheless the first day's ride despite the early morning delays was nothing short of a delight. A watery sun pierced the late morning fog and glimmered of the Tyne forcing me to ride along singing cliche's happily.

Excuse fingers! 

Early morning amateur hour...

Abraham Lincoln is credited with having said that if given three hours to chop a tree he would spend the first two sharpening his axe.

The extended period between my leaving drinks (16th of February) and my departure for Hadrian's Wall (16th of March!) owed less to such lofty pronouncements on the importance of good planning than to my own slothful nature, compounded by no little apprehension that I wasn't ready with some visa frustration thrown in for good measure.

Nevertheless with a parental bon voyage and a quick cycle from Loughton to Bethnal Green I found myself in a now empty bath house flat, double checking my kit and eagerly awaiting an 06:15 train.

Awake at 05:00 and away by 05:15 I took the city road to Kings Cross I was feeling smugly ahead of time until i was rudely awoken from my complacency by a careening refuse truck which overtook and the cut-me-off hitting my front right pannier and sending me sprawling onto the pre-dawn tarmac.

What/Why/Where/When

What am I doing?

I'm heading off into the sunrise on my bicycle. Day-dreams of leaving the real world behind for a while and going where the wheels rolled crystallized at the end on 2012 into a determination to head east on a bike and see where i ended up

Why?

Like many people I found myself dissatisfied with my lot and moreover with the person which I had become. The comfortable rut into which I had run myself was taking it's toll. All in all despite having a good job, great friends a supportive family and a lovely home I just wasn't happy.

Lacking dependents and with limited commitments I found myself able, and with the romantic lure of the road leading who knows where calling, the question booming in my ears was:

IF NOT NOW WHEN?

Where?

A much postponed preparatory tour of Britain starts in Wylem (Hadrian's Wall) from where I would wend my way, via the North Penines, to Wetherby, over the Moors to Manchester via Marsden then onto Liverpool before traversing the Wirral into Wales heading for Llanbister in Powys.

A hop skip and a jump to the Wye Valley would then deliver me into Herefordshire where i could detour south to Bridgewater and visit the shop who built my bike before racing cross country back to Essex either via Portsmouth or Milton Keynes.

From there the picture becomes rather less distinct. "Go east young man."

A broad brush stroke plan for the continent is forming which would see me follow the border between France and the low counties as far as Strasbourg before heading through Germany's Black Country and the start of a climb up into Switzerland which will eventually see me over the Alps into northern Italy heading for Slovenia and the Istrian coastline before traversing the Balkans perhaps through Macedonia to reach Turkey and exotic Constantinople.

Beyond Turkey predictions become even less possible as visa's, time of arrival, political climate and most importantly my own motivation and whims all come into play. there does however exist an idle ambition of perhaps making it all the way to see my sister in Sydney.

This may mean crossing going Turkey - Iran - Pakistan - [Karkoum highway] - China - SE Asia [boat/plane] Darwin - Sydney. But with so much road to travel between me and there I feel like a fraud even discussing it.

When?

Now. I set off for Wylem on Saturday 16th of March and as of the 25th of March i am happily ensconced with my Aunt in the Welsh Hills. I haven't budgeted to set amount of time to this journey although 14 months is something I've bandied about when discussing possible duration. We shall see.

Consider the scene set. An update on my first 10 days will follow shortly.