Teide II - Cycling

The lightest, most expensive cycle I've ever ridden by some considerable margin.

So, been a while since I last posted anything hasn't it.  It's not that I haven't been doing anything, but more a question of too busy / lazy to actually blog about it.  Better late than never then I suppose, here then is the highlight, at least in terms of solo travelling type stuff, of my second trip to Tenerife of the year.  There was also a fair amount of lazing around by the pool, eating tapas and so forth, no need to document that in detail though.  Last time I was here I hiked to the top of the volcanic peak of El Teide - but did feel a little guilty in that I started from some 2380m above sea level.  One day I will hopefully do a multi-day hike to reach the summit from the coast, but I've only got a day to spare now, therefore the plan is to cycle.  The island is in fact something of a mecca for cyclists, for instance Sir Bradley Wiggins trained here, and so it is easy enough to find a hire shop.  I end up with a very impressive carbon fibre machine, weighing a whole seven kilos, for a mere 30 euros.  A quick change into my lycra (yes, I'm a MOMIL), and I am off up the mountain, starting from the seafront at Costa Adeje.

Despite the route being a continuous uphill slog right from the start, I make steady progress.  This really is an amazing bike, light as a feather and geared so that even up the steeper slopes I'm not having to fight too hard, and indeed I maintain sufficient speed such that the blazing sunshine isn't much of a problem thanks to the wind in my face.  I am getting through my water mind you, good thing the bike came with a couple of bottles.  Cars and coaches take care when passing me, I guess they are used to crazy cyclists up here... before long I'm at La Camella, 1000ft up, and not feeling too bad.

Into the corona forestal above Vilaflor.

The next three miles to Arona, however, prove a bit more challenging.  There's another 1000ft of ascent, the grade remaining pretty constant - i.e. steep.  By the time I get there I am feeling pretty shattered and am low on water, so I halt at a garage and buy some more, plus a substantial amount of sugary sweets.  While I am gathering my strength a German comes up and asks where I hired the bike, he seems a bit disappointed to learn that it was down by the coast... for my part, I'm beginning to have doubts about getting very high up this mountain, still, at least it will be easy to get down again.  My next milestone is Vilaflor - seven miles away, and fully 4500 feet above sea level.  It's something of a slog to get there to say the least, but, I am encouraged to find that while this certainly isn't easy, I am still doing it - at 1pm I reach Vilaflor, without having to get off and push at all.  From here I have another seven miles or so to reach the edge of the caldera, at around 7200 feet, it does seem almost possible.

The ignominious end of the uphill cycle.

One problem, I've arranged to meet my brother, who is driving up with his family, at 3pm, the plan being to go up the gondola together - that being pretty much as high as you can get on a bike at 7500 feet or so.  The other problem is that it is becoming progressively harder to cycle... it is pleasant here in the corona forestal, but there isn't a great deal of oxygen, and increasingly I'm having to take breaks to get my breath.  In the event I get to around 6000 feet before Dan catches me up in his car, not bad but nonetheless a fail.  The bike goes into the boot and we drive off to get the gondola, which is rather fun in itself, and there is quite a lot of snow at the top at this time of year.  Time is getting on, and I realise that even without the 'meeting brother' thing I was never going to get up to the gondola station and back before the bike shop closes at 6pm.  As it is I get a lift as far as Arona before freewheeling in a scary, but exhilirating fashion back to the coast.  So - an unsuccessful attempt this one, I shall have to try again - and start a bit earlier - some other time.

El Teide - at least I still got up it, albeit by car and gondola.

Peak District Déja Vu, Day 5

Kedleston Park.

Last day then, and it is a short one at only thirteen miles.  Turns out this is no bad thing as the first footpath I try to find from the campsite eludes me totally, and I find myself wandering around the extensive gardens of somebody's house looking for it.  My GPS tells me I should be the other side of a stream, and after the fun I had in a similar situation two years back, I give up and head back to the road, planning to circle around.  Then a 4x4 emerges from the gate behind me and pulls alongside, and I brace myself for a telling off - but instead, the nice chap points me to just where the path was hiding, 'between the two ponds'.  Onwards then, through more farmland, although I do manage to go the wrong way again... not too far though.

The Joiners Arms - good ploughmans lunch.

Some poor route planning means I have a couple of miles along a surprisingly busy road, and it is a real relief to leave it to enter another country estate, this time the National Trust owned Kedleston Park.  I've been here a couple of times before for the Bearded Theory music festival - it is rather quieter now.  From here a little more road and then some welcome footpath takes me to the Joiners Arms for lunch.

I continue to take advantage of past landscaping by the landed gentry, this time walking through Allestree Park which is now maintained by Derby council, and rather charming it is too.  From here I return to the Derwent, grown rather larger since I last saw it a few days ago.  The river takes me all the way into Derby, past the fascinating Darley Abbey Mills, and through numerous parks.  I reach the vicinity of the station, and have the good luck to find a beer festival going at the Brunswick Arms, what better way to finish the walk.  It has been a good one, not a drop of rain, nor a single blister... shame I have to go back to work tomorrow really.

Photos to go with this post can be found here.

Peak District Déja Vu, Day 4

I walk out of the campsite and straight onto the Tissington Trail, also an old railway line, and another childhood memory, this time of me and the family rattling along on ancient bicycles.  The Trail leads to Ashbourne, where I do plan to be later, but my route is a little longer, so I climb away from the Trail to the West.

Cottage in need of restoration on the Okeover estate.

In fact soon I am crossing the Dove into Staffordshire, whose footpaths are as little used as I recall from last time.  Still, it's pleasant walking through the rolling hills - seems a popular area with the landed gentry too, I pass through a couple of estates.  Then back to the Tissington Trail and into Ashbourne, via an impressive tunnel.

I eat my lunch in a field, the stilton I got in Hartington yesterday going nicely with some fresh bread.  Then out of the National Park... actually it makes a nice change, I walk through woods and then wetland, thankfully the path consists of wooden decking here.  Then a few miles of fields, and finally some road to reach the campsite.  Then even more road to the Tiger Inn, worth it though for some excellent sea bream and cheesecake.

Ashbourne tunnel.  Complete with sound effects evoking long gone steam trains.

Photos to go with this post can be found here.

Peak District Déja Vu, Day 3

On the footpath out of Hartington.

I'm breaking new ground this morning, thanks to the minor disaster two years ago I didn't do this bit of the route... turns out to be a pleasant mile or two on the Limestone Way, then I'm back on familiar territory, the High Peak Trail, one of two trails around these parts following old railway lines.

A few miles on and I leave the Trail and road walk a mile or two into Hartington, famous for its stilton, and a well of childhood memories for me.  The footpath I take out of the village is particularly evocative, I can almost see my former self dashing along, with my mother, father and brother following me.

Before long I join the river Dove, which I follow through Wolfcote Dale, Beresford Dale and Milldale.  Then just as Dovedale itself starts at the famous stepping stones I leave the river and take some little used footpaths to the campsite for the night.  I've made excellent time along the river, it is only 5pm, gives me time to have a shower and do a bit of laundry... shame the pub is a mile away though.

Following the Dove.

Photos to go with this post can be found here.

Peak District Déja Vu, Day 2

Back at the Old Nag's Head once again.

Thursday morning and I head north onto the lower slopes of Kinder, from here it's not far to Edale for an early lunch.  I have a pint at the Nag's Head, and a wistful glance at the start of the Pennine Way before heading off
south.

I climb up Mam Tor, or Mother's Hill as the information sign somewhat prudishly has it.  Then I follow the Pennine Bridleway and Limestone Way for quite a few miles, eventually reaching Miller's Dale.  Of course I have to climb down into it, then a steep ascent of the other side brings me to the Waterloo Hotel.

This is where things went wrong two years ago, when I arrived to find the pub shut.  This time I've been organised and phoned in advance, and so am able to enjoy some dinner and a beer or three by the peat fire, before staggering the ten yards to my tent.

Paragliders above Mam Tor.

Photos to go with this post can be found here.

Peak District Déja Vu, Day 1

Sausages in waiting.

Yes, I'm repeating myself again... well, as it happens I've been doing this bloggery for two years, so a good way to celebrate is to revisit the first trip I wrote about.  Nice to get back to Sheffield too, has been too long since I had a pint in the Sheaf View.

So, on a Wednesday morning I set out through the city streets, and walk a couple of miles beside the solid, stone built houses.  Then into parkland alongside Porter Brook, which leads me up past a series of mill ponds, remnants of cottage industry here over two hundred years ago.  Soon enough I reach open moorland, and feel something of a weight lift as I tramp along... think I needed to get away for a bit.  Mind you it is still nice to find some home comfort at the Fox House a few miles later.

Misty moor.

After lunch I strike out over the moors, which seem quite desolate on this misty day.  Warm enough anyway... To my annoyance my camera is struggling with the new SD card I've put in it - well, I suppose I do already have photos of this route.

I dip down into the Derwent Valley and follow the river for a few miles, then face the first proper climb of the trip, Smelting Hill.  It's not too bad, still I feel I've done a proper day's work on reaching Hope.  Time to eat absurd amounts of pork - feel slightly guilty having passed at least four pigs over the course of the day.

Hiking along the Derwent.

Photos to go with this post can be found here.

North Downs Way, Part 4

Apples ready for picking.

What, you thought I'd forgotten about this?  Not so, I have just been a bit busy.  Summer is drawing to an end though, so I've resolved to finish the thing in one four day block - around sixty-five miles of Way remain, plus ten or so to and from pubs and hotels.  Again I am joined by Sarah and Stuart, the three of us meeting up on the train to Charing.  We are quickly back on the Way, and find it easy going for most of the morning.  Eventually we find a hill, just before lunch at Chilham.  The afternoon shows why Kent is known as the garden of England, we pass many orchards, and indeed Polish apple pickers.  But before long we're in Canterbury, there to meet more friends, Clare and Dylan.  Much beer and Chinese food ensues.

Historic Canterbury.

We have Dylan and Clare along for the walk on the Saturday morning, so quite a group walk out of Canterbury beneath grey skies.  Sadly it seems my luck with the weather has finally run out.  Initial drizzle turns heavier, and heavier, and after trying to last it out in my normal clothes, I first put on my waterproof (sort of) hat, then my rain coat.  Dylan has a very cool poncho.  It is at least not cold, but the rain just keeps coming... we hear a report later describing it as monsoon conditions, which seems accurate enough.  It is a shame as the generally flat walking through fields of grain and meadows would be pleasant on a nicer day.  There is some entertainment when the rain passing through my bag emerges from the bottom as foam...  We're glad to reach Shepherdswell for lunch, although neither of its pubs do food - at least one of them lets us get some sandwiches from the co-op.

Clare and Dylan head back to London (they planned to, it isn't just because of the rain), and pretty much immediately the rain stops.  It was all their fault I am sure.  So we walk the remaining nine miles or so to Dover in better spirits, although the route is a fairly uninteresting tramp through farmland interspersed with woods.  Finally we make a steep descent into Dover and retire to the Premier Inn, where I eat massive amounts of food.

Delightful Dover.

Day three of our little holiday, and we head off on the Southern route - as per the South Downs Way, there are two alternates over the last section, and of course I want to do both.  Immediately it is clear that this route is a more impressive hiking path, as we clamber up to the Western Heights overlooking Dover, and walk along the top of the famous white cliffs, passing various defensive fortifications from WW2, Napoleonic times and beyond.  It certainly makes for fine walking, if a little strenuous, and after a rather late start we need to shift along - no time to stop at any of the pubs we pass, sadly.  In fact it is nearly 3pm when we pass the nine mile point and feel we can stop for a packed lunch, overlooking the strangely fascinating Eurotunnel rail terminal.  From here we follow a ridge inland, then detour off to our pub for the night, the Rose and Crown in Elham, over three miles off route but at least a nice walk along the Elham Valley Way.

The Eurotunnel rail terminal.

Last day and I am up early to eat a fine breakfast.  The other two are sensibly taking a taxi back to the NDW, I however am not sensible so head out for more walking while they're eating.  It is only an hour or so, and then we are back together for more ridge walking.  The 'Southern route' continues to be rather more scenic than the alternative, as we stride along an edge with views out towards the coast, and even pass an interesting landscape feature in the 'Devil's Kneading Trough' - vaguely reminiscent of High Cup in the Pennines.  Just above Wye we pass the Wye Crown, carved into the chalk in 1902 to commemorate the coronation of Edward VII, we then climb down into the village itself for lunch at the King's Head.  From here, just a mile or two through the fields remain until we reach the point at which we turned north a few days before.  We have now walked every mile of the North Downs Way... some friendly teutonic tourists take a group photo of us.  It isn't the end of the day though - we have a few miles yet through fields and along the river Stour to reach Ashford and its train station.  The less said about Ashford the better in all honesty... can't say I will return there in a hurry.  Overall though this has been a great walk - time to start planning the next one!

Devil's Kneading Trough.

Photos to go with this post can be found here.

France by bike (again) - Day 4

Ongoing archaeology at Petworth House.

I awaken on Tuesday morning, really not feeling in very good shape.  Didn't really overdo the beer, but many parts of me ache, I've got a fairly nasty sunburn, and my digestive system is rebelling against the sausage-based diet I've been existing on for the last few days.  Nonetheless, I drag myself to breakfast - yet more sausage - and then out onto the streets of Portsmouth before 9am.

As I recall, last year the eighty miles or so back to London was something of an epic adventure, a fourteen hour journey involving a great deal of pushing up hills, some ill-advised mountain bike terrain, and borderline physical breakdown both of me and the bike.  This year then, I've amended the route a little, adding an extra couple of miles but avoiding serious climbing until I hit the North Downs.  And, thank heavens, it works, I'm able to pedal on at a reasonable pace all morning and into the afternoon, making regular stops for water, and indeed ice cream.  The new route is quite scenic as well, among other things I pass Petworth House which gives the French Chateaux a run for their money.

Under the M25 - practically in London now.

If I have to climb over the North Downs, then Reigate Hill is not a bad place - there is at least a pavement all the way up alongside the busy A217.  And this time, the roll down the other side is on a minor road, so decent speed and less destructive to the bike - although, the fusillade of clicks now coming from the crankshaft show that the poor old thing has suffered as much as I over the last few days.  I briefly take to a bridleway to duck under the M25, then ride through the last bit of green belt into Greater London.  As last year, from here the route is via a succession of suburbs, all easy enough going - in fact I'm pleased to find I am still pedalling quite strongly.  This time I make it home less than eleven hours after leaving Portsmouth, quite an improvement on last year.

South Norwood Country Park.

Photos to go with this post can be found here.

France by bike (again) - Day 3

Easy going on the old Railway line.

Day three then, and while I'm not exactly raring to go, I do feel better after a decent night's sleep and some breakfast.  I'm a bit worried about missing the boat though, I have fifty miles to do and the ferry departs at 5pm, not really sure what the terrain is going to be like either.  So it is a relief when I find myself on that staple of the UK cycle network, a disused railway line.  Just as at home, it provides a gravel surface and more or less no slope, and even shelter from the sun as I generally have trees on either side.  Very pleasant cycling I must say, I can see why the hotel garage was full of bicycles.

Only fifty-seven kilometres to go!

Nice to see signposts for Cherbourg along the way - and being in kilometres the distance seems to reduce quite quickly.  The other direction is signed for Mont-St-Michel, it doesn't say how far.  As the cycle route is rather less direct than the way I went last year, I am guessing quite a long way.  One problem with following an official route though, I'm not passing through many towns.  At around lunchtime I do at least stumble upon an artisan bakers... here I get an excellent sandwich, a chantilly swan and a can of orangina, all for a mere five euros.

Festival pains eh.  Reminds me of Glastonbury...

The afternoon wears on, and sadly the railway comes to an end, from now on I'm faced with more up and down, and my pace drops alarmingly.  Still, I've made decent time and can afford to slow down a bit... as it turns out I get to within seven miles or so of Cherbourg, and then roll downhill all the way to Tourlaville on the coast, after which it is a flat mile or two to Cherbourg.  After a quick look around I realise that while I can see the ferry, for some reason the entrance to the port area is all the way back in Tourlaville, ho hum.  A bit more pedalling then and I board the boat, time for a beer or three on the way back to England.

This time I have the whole evening to spend in Portsmouth, fortunately my old mate Martin is on hand to direct me to a more salubrious part of town, and indeed the George Hotel where I've booked a room turns out to be a pleasant pub.  Still, I can't make it a late one as I have a full eighty miles to do tomorrow.

The fast boat - Cherbourg to Portsmouth in just three hours.

Photos to go with this post can be found here.

France by bike (again) - Day 2

Back at the Tumulus de Colombiers-sur-Seulles.

I am cruelly awakened at 6am, after too many beers the night before.  Time for a coffee, then I'm off, seventy miles today, and the hangover is not helping.  From Caen I head west, reversing my route of last year.  It is nice to reach Bayeux and feel I can stop to sightsee, where previously I was worrying about missing the boat.

I follow last year's route all morning, stopping at Noron la Poterie for a fine lunch of merguez and potatoes done many ways.  Then at Saint Lo I break new ground, joining an official cycle route, this will take me all the way to Cherbourg.  At first I ride along the river Vire, so flat, good.  Shame it is a British style gravel path.

Cycle route along the river Vire.

Again it is very hot, I am drinking a lot of water, which becomes a problem as France seems to shut on Sunday afternoons.  Fortunately I stumble upon a boules rally in Saint Fromont, they've sold all their water, but somebody has opened a mysterious roadside cabinet with a tap inside.  There is a sign here for my destination, Carentan, which is good as I am tiring.

Sadly it proves to be a long way still.  I think the heat isn't helping, am sure my muscles shouldn't hurt this much.  Seems to be affecting the brain too, at the hotel the receptionist explains the usual stuff, but I just stand there like an idiot.  Carentan is nice though, more great food (All you can eat saucisse sec!  Trou Normande!), and the marina makes a pleasant spot for a beer or two before bed.

Restaurant in Carentan.

Photos to go with this post can be found here.

France by bike (again) - Day 1.

Not quite as wet as last year.

Well, this seemed to go pretty well last year, and I have the bike part of a triathlon next weekend so need to train.  Off to Caen then!  As per last year, I start from Frimley, taking a relatively easy fifty mile route to Portsmouth.

I recall struggling to find a pub for lunch last year, so I do a bit of shopping on my way through Surrey, and eat a pleasant packed lunch in a field.  Of course, this year pubs have re-opened, honestly though I am not feeling it, I am just too hot.

I've eaten lunch in worse places...

And it keeps getting hotter... I read a paper later suggesting temperatures of thirty-three degrees or so, and I am struggling.  My twist-shift gear is too slick with sweat to work, so all I have is the thumb-shift hub gears - all three of them.  Still I make it to Portsmouth, feeling really rather peculiar.

Interesting place.  My ferry goes at 10.45pm so I have most of the evening here... Not sure I fit in what with my lack of tattoos.  Finding a pub doing food proves tricky, eventually I find a rather scary Wetherspoons, with its own dancefloor, beer served in skiffs, and id checks on the door.  They do at least provide me with an enormous hotdog.

Ferry to Caen - sadly no restaurant or entertainment.

Photos to go with this post can be found here.

North Downs Way, Part 3

We three, hiking again.

Back to Kent for another weekend on the Downs then, and once again I've persuaded Stuart and Sarah to keep me company.  Two twenty mile days as well, I hope it doesn't break them too badly.  For once the weather looks like letting me down, the skies are grey and the forecast suggests there will be rain at some point, still it is dry enough when we alight from the train at Borough Green, and head uphill through Wrotham to rejoin the Way.  The morning's walking is familiar enough as we follow the ridge line, mainly through woods, including an extra mile or so when we get confused by one of the numerous broken signposts.  It doesn't help that I'm relying on my phone to navigate, and it picks that very moment to break down.  Still, we make it to our lunch stop at Cuxton just shy of 3pm, and grab some beer and sandwiches at the White Hart.  Only eight miles to go...

Medway crossing.  Shudder.

There is a slight hurdle to cross however, namely the river Medway.  Excitingly the NDW does so via a strip of tarmac alongside the mile long bridge carrying the M2 over the river - not being a massive fan of bridges, this isn't really a highlight for me.  I make it across in one piece, and then it is but a short stroll, never getting to far from the M2 - in fact we cross that motorway three times, in addition to having crossed over the M26 and M20 this morning.  Thrilling stuff.  We spend Saturday night at the rather excellent Bridgewood Manor Hotel, where there is haute cuisine (duck potato!) and a goodly amount of wine.

Some of the many steps.

Sunday morning, and after a short swim, then a large breakfast, we head off, back over the M2 (only time we cross it today though, boo).  Today our route is more or less along the historic Pilgrims Way, along which people used to travel to Canterbury to view various relics of dubious provenance.  Much of the route survives either as a quiet country lane or a rough cart track through the woods... of course as a long distance path the NDW takes a rather more gruelling route, up and down over hills and ravines, the slope is often steep enough to require steps.  While we don't get lost, it is nonetheless a struggle to keep to yesterday's pace, and it is past 3pm by the time we reach the Dirty Habit in Hollingbourne.  Another late lunch then, at least it is a good one, a variety of British tapas washed down with beer.

There is a monk under there somewhere.

The afternoon turns out to be something of a contrast to the ups and downs earlier on, as we keep to the Pilgrims Way, more or less hugging a contour line.  It isn't terribly exciting, but we do get to enjoy the view south across the Kent Downs (and of the M20!).  Somewhat miraculously the weather holds up, we get some occasional sunshine, and not once do I need to put on my waterproof top!  Before long we are heading downhill into Charing, which seems very quiet on a Sunday evening, there is at least a pub where we grab a celebratory pint.  Then off to the station, and a rather lengthy journey back into town - there really are a lot of stations in Kent it seems.

North Downs Way, Part 4 is here.

Photos to go with this post can be found here.

North Downs Way, Part 2

Millenium Stones in Gatton Park.

Another month, another section of the NDW, this time just me doing the walking, never mind, I am used to wandering by myself after all.  Looking at the map, I do wonder somewhat why I planned to finish at Reigate last time - if we'd gone a mile or so further all told we'd have reached Merstham, whose station is pretty much on the Way, and which has a direct train back to London.  As it is I stay on the train as far as Redhill, change there and then on to Reigate, and then have to lump all the way back up Reigate hill... at least there is a nice view from the top.  Then downhill to Merstham again, where I cross the M25 - this motorway will be an ever present companion for the weekend.

The Surrey Countryside... oh, and the M25.

Can't say the walking here is especially thrilling - I'm on a ridge, but mainly walking through woodland, pretty enough with a carpet of bluebells but not exactly an awesome wilderness.  Now and then I get a view south, complete with motorway.  At least it is easy going, and in fact I make short work of the day's fifteen miles.  Lunch at the Harrow is good, the end of the route however is at Clacket Lane service station, where the food looks a bit dubious and overpriced.  Worse yet, stupid licensing laws mean I won't be able to get a drink here, so after checking in to the Days Inn and having a rest for an hour or so, I'm back on the road.  Only a short way though, to the Grasshopper Inn on the A25... odd place, a charming Tudor building and the food is good, service is not so great though and the beer is at best variable.  Fair play to them for building a massive fire for me to watch while drinking a pint or two mind you.

The Grasshopper Inn.

Sunday morning, yet more nice weather, and off I go, up the fairly small hill back to the NDW.  Before very long I'm out of Surrey and into Kent, losing altitude all the way, and indeed I find the Way now runs through fields rather than a strip of common land as previously.  There is still a motorway roaring away to the South though... eventually I cross back over the M25, but looking at the map the Way continues to run alongside the M20, ah well.  I stop for lunch at the rather posh Rose and Crown in Dunton Green, then find myself on a surprisingly urban bit of the route through Otford and its environs.  Seems a nice place though, looks like a good spot for a pub crawl... also I seem to have come on the day of the village fete.  No time to tarry however, so, one last rather steep climb up Otford Mount.  From here it is a gentle downhill to Wrotham (pronounced 'Rootum' apparently), where I find another Rose and Crown and grab a quick pint.  And, back on the train to London - two weekends down, three to go!

Photos to go with this post can be found here.

North Downs Way, Part 1

Spring has finally arrived in the UK, so I can get out into the countryside without having to wear my thermal underwear.  Last year the South Downs Way went well, so an obvious plan for this year is to do the North Downs in the same fashion - in fact that was my original idea last time, but the only hotel I could see working for the first weekend seemed to be booked out for the whole year.  Much like its neighbour to the south, this is a long distance path running for a hundred miles or so along the ridges of Surrey and Kent, specifically from Farnham to Dover.  Again there are alternate routes towards the end, either via Wye and Folkestone, or via Canterbury.  I reckon I can complete the thing over five weekends.

Starting out in Farnham.

As with the last weekend of the SDW, I have got Sarah and Stuart along for company, so three of us set off from Farnham station.  I can't say it's the most memorable of walks to begin with, we walk through woods, past golf courses, and in ditches that I suspect are ancient earthworks.  There is a ridge, the Hogs Back, but we're not on it - the A31 not being an ideal walking route.  Still, we get some excellent ploughman's lunches at the Good Intent in Puttenham, and then pass some points of interest.  Firstly, I drag the others up a hill to look at the ruined St. Catherine's Chapel, scrambling down a steep, sandy slope on the other side reveals why this is not the official route.  Then up another hill, this time on the Way, we pass St. Martha's, a church only accessible via a mile or so of dirt track, and amusingly find a wedding party toiling down it.  Before long - only fifteen miles today in deference to my companions - we reach our stop for the night, the Manor House Hotel.  Very nice too, we have a bit of a swim and try out the jacuzzi before dinner and several beers.  There's a wedding party here too, not the same one.  Hope they didn't mind me patronising their bar too much - I did pay!

Reminiscent of Portugal, apparently.

Sunday brings more clear skies, I do wonder if the tourist board or some such should pay me to walk the downs, always seems to be nice when I do so.  An interesting route today too... for most of the morning we walk on the south side of a ridge, wooded but often with views towards the Surrey Hills, and eventually towards the South Downs too.  At regular intervals we pass pillboxes, built in the early days of World War Two when a German invasion seemed imminent, and still in good condition.  For lunch, we descend into the Mole Valley and head to the Stepping Stones Inn for beer and sandwiches, then cross the Mole via the stepping stones in question.  Then it is the first big climb of the Way, Box Hill, hardly a mountain but certainly steep.  It is mainly steps cut into the hillside so really not that hard, and before long we reach the top, with its car park and many people enjoying the first sunny weekend of the year

Pillboxes on Box Hill.

The way continues along another ridge, yesterday's sand - prehistoric beaches I assume - giving way to familiar chalk.  Slowly we make our way downhill, but there is a sting in the tail, before we reach our destination, Reigate, we must climb Reigate Hill.  But again it isn't too bad, and once at the top we get an interesting folly to look at, then something I had no idea was there, Reigate Fort, part of the London Defences built in the 1890s due to concerns over a possible French invasion - funny to think the Entente Cordiale was signed just a decade or so later.  From here we clamber down the hill in time for a beer or two before getting the train back - just about, Reigate Station apparently being designed, much like the fort, to keep people out.

Donated to the people of Reigate by Sir Robert William Inglis.

Photos to go with this post can be found here.

El Teide

Mid April, and England continues to be cold and unpleasant, so I'm off to tropical climes.  Specifically Tenerife, famous for its many coastal resorts which are a mecca for holidaying Brits, and its 'eternal spring' climate.  I of course have something a little more energetic planned than just lazing by the pool - a climb up the volcanic mountain El Teide, which at 3,718m is the highest peak in Spanish territory.  It is possible to get within 180m of the summit via a cable car, but I'm going to do it the hard way, parking up at an altitude of 2,380m, giving me a climb comparable to Ben Nevis, but much higher of course.

'Teide Eggs', with the lava flows that spawned them behind. 

The drive up is an adventure in itself, I leave the beaches and karaoke bars of Los Cristianos behind, and soon find, rather to my surprise, the arid landscape of the coast giving way to much greener surroundings, trees, a profusion of wild flowers, cacti and even vineyards.  Higher still and I'm into the 'corona forestal', pine trees rooted into the rocky hillsides.  The road continues to rise through steep switchbacks, then reaches a crest as I enter the Teide national park, and the caldera surrounding the peak itself.  This is a ten kilometre or so wide ring of hills formed as the land here collapsed after an eruption of the volcano - the term 'caldera' was in fact coined by geologist Leopold von Buch after a visit to this very spot.  All of a sudden plant life all but vanishes, instead there is an alien landscape of lava fields, hills of pumice, and a little way off the towering cone of Teide itself.

The easy way up.

Shortly I'm at the car park, and any further ascent will be under my own power.  To begin with it is easy enough, the route is along a gravel track, wide enough for vehicles and with a gentle grade.  I don't seem to have any trouble with the altitude thus far, as the track curves around the slopes of Montaña Blanca - so named for the white(ish) pumice of which it is formed.  This is a neighbouring peak to the much larger Teide, and after an hour or two I reach a junction, the track continues towards to the top of Montaña Blanca, whereas I need to take a steep footpath up the side of the volcano.  An interesting spot this as well, marked by the 'Huevos del Teide' ('Eggs of Teide'), a number of 'accretion balls' formed during an eruption, by cooling lava on the top of flows rolling down the slopes, picking up material on the way.

My route leads up to, then alongside, and then over, one of the lava flows from the last eruption, the solid, heavy basalt at least being easier walking than the loose pumice.  The going is hard now, I'm getting to the 3,000m point and I'm starting to notice a little shortness of breath.  At one point I get a vague flutter in my stomach, a first sign of altitude sickness?  I take a break, eat a chocolate bar, and head on, taking it slowly.  The steep climb does mean I am gaining height quickly enough nonetheless, and after an hour or so I'm at the Refugio de Altavista, a mountain hut where you can in fact stay the night, prior to heading to the summit to watch the sun rise.  I'm just here for lunch, but it is certainly a fine place to stop with a wonderful view across the caldera and out to sea, with the island of La Palma easily visible.

Sulphurous gases emerging from a fumarole at the crater.

It is past 1pm though now, and the permit I need to access the summit is only good from 1 to 3pm.  There's another 250m or so of climb to the upper gondola station where I will present my permit, so I had better move on.  Doing so is becoming very hard however... the higher I get, the more I find that I just cannot get enough oxygen to my muscles.  I plod up the slope, panting like a sprinter, and feel my heart beating faster and faster in an attempt to compensate for the lack of oxygen in my blood... after only a little way I need to stop, take deep breaths, and wait for my pulse to settle down.  And then repeat.  In this wise I make my way, at least it means I get to regularly admire the awesome vista behind me.  In the end, it takes me forty-five minutes or so to reach the level of the gondola station, and then I just have a little bit of flat to reach it - there is a circular route around the peak, fairly thronging with tourists who have taken the cable car up.

At the summit, behind me the island stretches out to
the Northeast with Africa in the distance.

Reaching the gate leading to the summit path, I fumble for my permit and hand it over, receiving some (to me incomprehensible) Spanish in response.  I get the feeling I was expected to be here at 1pm, to then spend fully two hours making my way up and down... I guess they're set up for people taking the cable car.  Eventually the warden says 'one hour' and waves me through, and I'm back to heaving my way up switchbacks.  With the end in sight it seems easier somehow, and after a mere half an hour I reach the small crater, and smell the sulphurous fumes emerging from it.  The last few yards are a scramble along the crater edge, actually passing through the hot vapours, before reaching the highest point.  From here there is an amazing panoramic view, clouds far below over the coast of the island, and then out to sea in all directions, each of the other Canary Isles visible.  I take a few photos, and even a bit of video, before heading back down, and I'm pleased to see that as long as I am walking either on the flat, or downhill, I don't find the altitude a problem at all.  Once again eschewing the gondola, I make it back down to the car in a little under three hours.

Photos to go with this post can be found here.

Shevil Israel - Review

Jerusalem city walls.

Well, what an amazing country.  Fantastically beautiful to walk through, and it is truly amazing to be able to walk along miles of Roman aqueduct, or just randomly turn a corner to find a piece of architecture from Byzantine or Roman times, or further back, right back to stone age cave dwellings.  The people are friendly, and this is a civilised place where nobody tried to beg from me or 'guide' me, and I felt quite safe camped out alone in the middle of nowhere.  Food was good, and I could get a beer most anywhere, the mediterranean climate certainly made a nice change to London at this time of year too.  Not sure I'd want to go there in the summer months mind you.  Of course I did have my issues with security guards in various places, but let's face it these could happen in the UK too - not saying that is exactly a good thing, but it makes it hard to be overly critical, and after all the Israelis have rather more justification than we do.  Certainly I'd advise anybody to visit, and just apply a bit of common sense (not something I myself have in great quantities of course).

Following the blazes down the Carmel cliffs.

What about the INT itself?  Pretty awesome I have to say - this is a superb country to hike through, and clearly thought has gone into making the trail go by many of the most outstanding features, be they geographical or historical.  There are issues of course, I could have done with less clambering over barbed wire - I wonder if Israel has the same sort of right-of-way laws as we have here.  The 'blazes' took a lot of getting used to as well, often I'd get to a junction and see no indication as to the way, or worse, a blaze that was actually a little way down the wrong route - eventually I learned to look more at the way the blaze was painted, than where exactly it was.  I guess, if the INT is an official route maintained by some quasi-governmental agency, such as the Pennine Way is here, then to be honest they're not doing the greatest job.  But if as I rather suspect it is entirely the work of a small group of enthusiasts who dash up and down repainting the blazes every couple of years, then fair play to them, it is a thing of wonder.

Paddling in the Med.

As for my own plan - well, to be honest the distances may have been a bit too much, especially the three twenty-three mile plus days.  I certainly wouldn't want to keep up this sort of pace for the whole six hundred miles!  One particular problem is that at this time of year there aren't really enough hours of daylight for this sort of mileage, so I did end up with many hours of night-hiking.  Not the end of the world, but again not ideal.  Also, there were plenty of places I passed through where I'd have happily have spent an hour or two looking around (or having a beer!), which wasn't really possible given the pace I needed to keep up - this as much as anything would mean I'd be tempted to stick with the guide as and when I come back to do the whole thing.  Still, I made it, still in one piece - time to start planning my next trip :)

Photos of the trip are of course here.