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

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.

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.