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.