Month: August 2023

(Thursday 3^rd August 2023)

The weather has had a few words with itself, and delivered some sunshine. We bid farewell to The Greyhound, temporarily part company with Mr Potato Head.

Heading North across Pitstone Common, we cross back into a SE finger of Buckinghamshire and along  The Ridge Way; Pauls Knob, off to the SW is legitimate cause for another wee snigger, we then climb up onto Ivinghoe Beacon (Beacon Hill 233m). North east, we again cross a border, at Edlesborough, this time into Bedfordshire (Shittington, probs fed up of constatnly being confused with Dorset’s Shitterton).

We hit the outskirts of Dunstable, and urban concrete into Luton, home of Stacey Dooley (TV presenter and 2018 Strictly Champion). Heading N we pass the Wardown Park Museum then Luton Town Ladies Foods. (they need a shout out; raising money to Providing school lunches for children in the Luton area who do not have access to the food voucher scheme, #ENDCHILDFOODPOVERTY). We pick up The Icknield Way NE, a Neolithic trail over 5000 years old, sneak around Warden Hill (195m) crossing another golf course , then head back into Hertfordshire, through a sliver of green at Hoo Bit(?!, Deacon Hill (172m), then back into Wiltshire over the river Hiz at Ickleford. There’s a guns-testing haul of laden bikes over the railway line to earn a stop at Cadwell Farm Lavender Fields & Cafe for a second breakfast. Here we are joined by Mr Potato-Head (looking considerably de-plumped). He has parked the van in Hitchin, and ok’d his cycling head for the rest of the trip (yay!). At the cafe, slice of orange and raspberry cake doesn’t touch the sides, so I throw down a piece of rose and pistachio on a second wave of tea. Correct refueling and nutrition are critical concepts in performance cycling.

We rejoin the Icknield Way, and pull into Letchworth Garden City. The World Health Organisation estimates taht air pollution kills “an estimated seven million people worldwide every year“, so I think it’s worth paying homage to Ebenezer Howard and colleagues who created LGC as the first example of a Garden City, “a new type of settlement which provided jobs, services, and good housing for residents, whilst retaining the environmental quality of the countryside, in contrast to most industrial cities of the time.“(Wikipedia).

An engineered detour takes us to the must-see attraction of Sollershott Circus, the UK’s First Roundabout, built around (sorry) 1909. They have a sign up to celebrate!

Not sure everyone is quite as enthusiastic, so after a few laps, I turn off. We decide to pop into Halfords for more 650b inner tubes, and get an assessment on my bottom bracket; it’s squeakier than Casanova’s mattress… A member of staff declares that the bike looks well-used (it’s literally dripping mud) and before he’s even got close, explains the drivetrain will “need lots of work” (it doesn’t; we leave).

Over the M1, Cal is bitten by another bee/wasp-like insect again (turns out to be thankfully much less severe this time) Then much general NE bike wiggling, over Cat Ditch stream (kittens beware) through Ashwell and across in into Cambridgeshire (Stow cum Quy and Prickwillow). We turn SE at Melbourn for urgent cakey restoratives at The Hideaway Cafe.

Good job we caked-up as our nettle mettle was about to be tested. A slight navigational twitch plunged us S into Essex (Turkey Cock Lane, Ugley and Bachelors Bump) and a pit of nettles. Swimming through the ditch, we flayed to the field edge, then enjoyed a robust thistle and burr shin thwacking before emerging back onto the Icknield Way Trail, and past another golf course.

A final shin-polishing from a field of golden wheat ears yields yelps of pain. Our penance rewarded with some absolutely mint single-track, we barrel through the trees to a bridge over the M11. A few more miles brings us through Hadstock and into the nestled bosom of The Three Hills at Bartlow, on the S edge of Cambridgeshire.

(Friday 4^th August 2023)

How can it be the last day already..? Cal’s bike has nursed up another over-night puncture (I’ve lost count but it’s something like Cal 6: Rest of us 1; the puncture pixie really wants to be his friend…). The pixie might be colluding with the weather imps, as my forecast predicts rainclouds to be exclusively ours. We thwart them both by cutting the route straight to the hotel, then using the car we left there, to pick up the van from Hitchin while the rain blows over.

Under tyre, the terrain is gravelly sand, with flint chips; many of the older houses have flint fronts, and still plenty of thatched rooves. The Garmins point us generally N-ish into Linton, round Balsham then nudge into Cheveley (just S of Newmarket racing, and home of the famous Park Stud). Here we cross into Suffolk (Dicks Mount, and Cock and Bell Lane) through Mouton, then S into the welcoming embrace of the, straw pheasant-topped, Guinness Arms at Icklingham.

Once the vehicle logistics have been sorted, we polish the day off with a dive into the King’s Forest, full of deer, weird sheep hares and other likable critters. Like speed traps, the sandy tracks suck the speed, but also nurse out tyres like slippers; we finish the day, and trip, unpunctured.

It would have been satisfying to complete the full OCW, but we are time poor, and need to high-tail it back home.

A few more photos:

(Wednesday 2^nd August 2023)

Well it didn’t really happen. The weather forecast was foul, and our wasp-bitten friend has a head the size of a house. It’s touch-and-go if he’ll continue the ride, and instead we all take the day off. So this is a No Riding post. But, we are freshly fed and laundered (many thanks J&G!),

We squeeze in a morning stroll around Goring-on-Thames, in the dry, then shelter in Chiltern Velo while rain and tea pour down. The bill is paid with cash as ‘something’ has bitten the local Wifi cables. An educational jolly round the National History Museum at Tring later, explains that a surviving colony of naturalised Glis glis, inadvertently released by Walter Rothschild, the indulged first son of Lord Rothchild in 1800s are the cable chewers. Back in the van and a short drive to crisp sheets at the Greyhound Inn at Aldbury.

Tuesday 2nd August

Originally, a tailwind ride across chalkland bridleways, but following a wasp sting to the forehead of one of our party, we switched to back-up mode. We left The Elephant Man and partner in Devizes to seek out NHS assistance, and hightailed it on a headwind tarmac route to Axminster to fetch the van.

Taking the busy A360, we track S through Pottern, then SW onto B roads through Marston, Coulston and Bratton, and past the Westbury White Horse; grooming crew at work.

Wiltshire boasts a herd of white horses, eight in total. There’s an enticing White Horse cycle route for another trip…We chuff S uphill on a nasty A350 through Warminster , and on to Crockerton, then quieter roads past Shear Water (with a blissful-looking lakeside tea shop). The route improves further through

Maiden Bradley, and a lovely descent into North Brewham, then Bruton. I’m hopeful for a cafe stop, but we’re time pressed, so I sulk, on a spot of gum-free tarmac outside a Texaco, with a Starbucks and flapjack.
Refreshed, we pick up the baton again and plough through Wyke Champflower, Keinton Mandeville, and Summerton. In South Petherton, my partner required immediate calorie intake, and we again huddle down on the tarmac for energy infusion, this time next to some temporary traffic lights.

Not all of the route is grim, we ride some beautiful back roads, inc. the Foss Way (an old Roman road). But SatNav algorithms are directing vehicles off the A roads to save precious minutes, these cars and trucks squeeze past us with terrifying gung-ho joy.

Showers hit both us, and the many signs we pass, advertising soon-to-be-cancelled, summer fun; soggy tombola stands, sodden Morris dancer handkerchiefs, and muddy tug ‘o war bottoms.

A long descent on busy A roads takes us into Axminster, and our van. We double back to Devizes to collect Mr Gorgonhead and partner, and head over to Goring-on-Thames and the lovely In-laws, hopefully in time for G&Ts.

Note on wasps:

Towards the end of summer, the near-exhausted Queen wasp (she’s laid 1000s of eggs over the summer) lays a few eggs that develop into fertile females that will become new queens, and males. The males live for just a few days, dying after mating. The mated queens fly away to hibernate through the winter, and the old queen dies. The worker wasps, all female, are no longer under the hormonal control of the queen. These mad, menopausal wasps party their remaining days away like a nightmare hen party. They guzzle rotten fruit, swear, wear inappropriate clothing, and get into fights. If you cycle into one of them, they will take you on Big Time. Carry antihistamines, and take them asap post sting. Don’t forget to remove any rings/jewellery too in case swelling gets bad.