Saturday 8 December 2012

What you need, when you need it.


As I rolled along in the darkness of the Southern English coastline, I just didn't know what to think. 

Was I home?

Was I still in the wilderness?

Would Britain be an easy victory lap around the homes of friends?

Would it live up to the reports from the Roman Centurions of old, and be the most dreaded posting in the great Empire?

Just like every country on this trip, it has been all of those. 

   I rode the short coastline into the wind and darkness to the beacon of light that is the Brighton seafront. At the foot of the famous pier I met with Michael, Ella, and some of their University friends, who had kindly offered to host me for the night, and join me for a ceremonial fish and chips. I found the level of grease bizarre. After the culinary delights of Continental Europe, a slippery, salty paper bag and it's contents were more symbolically enjoyable than in taste. None the less it was fantastic to meet with the company, and we talked our way to their campus for a well earned sleep. I was baffled thinking that two nights before, I'd been in Paris, and after zipping along the beautifully laid out "Avenue Verte" to the coast, I'd managed to catch the late boat to Blighty!
   Waking in the morning to a crisp and sunny Sussex, I set off on the South Downs link to Guildford. Michael and Ella were not the only heroically kind souls to offer me a place to sleep in this land so often branded as unfriendly. As I started day one of Britain, I had beds organised for 8 out of an estimated 12 days cycling. I was riding toward the house of an old theatre friend, Christina, on that windy morning, and before I had reached the 10 mile mark it became blatantly obvious that I had caught myself a head cold somewhere over the Channel! NIGHTMARE. I coughed, spluttered, snorted, spat, and sweated my way along a cycle route, that due to the previous week's flooding, became some of the toughest riding I have encountered. At one point the path stopped and led across a field, through an impromptu lake, and then over a 6-foot-tall pile of horse shit that someone had placed right in the way! 
   Rolling into Guildford I was smelly, cold, wet, tired, and very much sick. And absolutely filthy due to all the mucky off road trails. The first display of warmth came from a bar man who presented me with a congratulatory hot toddy, before an angel, normally known as Christina Bennington, took me in off the frosty road. The treat of a dinner in a real life restaurant started what I decided to be a rest day in that beautiful town. I wasn't dying or anything, but flu-ey enough that being on the bicycle made every bone in my body ache, and I couldn't think and breathe at the same time. A tell tale man flu symptom. In the morning, after a great night's sleep in a double bed, I bought enough clementines and vitamin pills to make Sunny-D jealous. Wrapped up warm, I spent the rest of my day drinking tea and walking along the riverside.

   With clothes washed and a belly filled I turned my wheels westward and set off toward Stonehenge. Riding up and over the Hog's back into Hampshire was a lovely start to the day and really got the lungs burning. Jane Austen country provided landscapes that children in primary school all over the world, will spend hours writing poems about, using words like "glittery, sparkly and white." 
   To be honest I couldn't believe it when I reached Stonehenge. It seemed quite far away, and I was a bit nervous with working in miles again after spending 2 and a half months pacing myself according to the metric system. The huge stones set in formation for thousands of years were nothing short of awesome. The sun was dipping as I arrived and so got that all too familiar photograph of the magnificent sillouhette standing alone on Salisbury plain. The best bit about that place is when you find out that what remains is just the tiniest corner of that ancient worship site. A grand avenue runs up to the stones from the North, from a much bigger structure, and archeologists believe that there may have been a settlement the size of a small modern city in that area. Baffling when you see the emptiness of the plain nowadays.
    
   Bristol provided interesting events. A beautiful ride in along the canals of Bath led me to meet Alex; a friend of mine that I hadn't seen in seven years.I have to be honest, when he first offered a place to stay I was a bit nervous that we'd have nothing to talk about once we'd done the catching up, BUT THEN I remembered that he wasn't just a school mate, in fact, we had been in the same group for the Duke of Edinburgh's Award Expeditions, and gone through some pretty hairy times in the Mourne mountains together, including stretchering a team mate down the hillside on a makeshift bed of rucksack poles and bivvy bags! All would be well. We had a fantastic chat before I found out that it was his girlfriend's birthday and she was having a Disney/Pokemon themed party that night, and we were most definitely taking part. Alex nipped into town and returned with two man sized ELEPHANT ONESIES and a crate of Stella Artois. The stage was set for absurdity. We strapped the beer to our bikes, donned the one piece pyjamas complete with hooded and Elephant trunk, and cycled to the party over the magnificent Clifton Suspension bridge. A wild night ensued. The next day was pretty rough in the beginning. Alex rode the 18 miles with me to the Severn bridge, and crossed over into Wales before heading back to the city. Great lad.

   Things improved drastically that day as I rode up the Wye river through perfect Welsh hills and valleys, and I was met by two inspirational women. I had met Jane and Sinead, on the boat from France to England. After a chat they offered me a place to stay in Brigend, on the South Coast of Wales, but unfortunately I wasn't headed that way, so we swapped telephone numbers "just in case!" and parted ways. A few days later, a text message from Sinead told me that they were thinking of a Sunday afternoon drive, and seeing as I wasn't a million miles away, they would come meet me for lunch! I was treated to a fantastic pub grub Sunday lunch, complete with a hair-of-the-dog local ale. It astounds me what people will do for others. Those women quite literally went out of their way to make my day. Just what I needed. The whole event was made even more special by the bar man thrusting five pounds toward me and telling me to give it to any charity I wanted to! I tried telling him I'm not really raising money as such, but he insisted; so Corrymeela will be the worthy recipient! I was very quickly falling for Wales.
   Unbelievably, the very next morning in a little hamlet called Canon Pyon, a shop owner gave me a free Mars bar, just for cycling, and then after a quick chat, ANOTHER FIVER! Corrymeela's fund was doubled in just 24 hours. I was having a ball. I was headed for yet another offered bed, at the home of the Wyn Williams family in the little village of Tregynon. and so the road took me to the town of Knighton, where I stopped for lunch. As I ate my bread and Cheddar at the roadside, Will appeared; a fellow Redbeard wearing a fantastic woolly hat. We talked about why the bloody hell I was in Knighton in December, before he presented me with a little piece of card with a Japanese star of Courage on it. A beautiful gesture. I was inspired for the second time in one day. I set off up the valley, and over a spectacular mountain top, complete with wild horses with their manes blowing in the fresh winter wind, and quickly descended to meet my host, Catrin. We had worked together many moons ago, and got on famously, so now that she had returned home to Wales, it only made sense that we catch up. Arriving at her family's home, I was very quickly treated to a Chelsea bun, a local speciality and perfect cycling diet food. From there things just got very comfortable. The rest of her lovely family returned home from work and we ate a fantastic dinner of homemade meatballs and pasta before rolling around laughing to the comedy of Lee Evans. 
   Catrin's mum asked "So are you following the route of Offa's dyke then?" 

   I replied, "I have no idea what that is. Tell me more."

  Turns out it is the old earthen defences that a king of England had built, roughly along the Welsh border, to keep the barbaric Celts out of his lands! I had in fact been following it by accident, just like the Via Egnatia in the Balkans. History is everywhere if you open your eyes.  Excellent. A print out of directions and a fried breakfast later and I was spinning out of another valley and towards the grand old town of Liverpool. Everything went well until I reached the junction with the motorway before Birkenhead. My map had led me to believe that I could cross the Mersey from there into Liverpool, but it happens that the crossing from Birkenhead is a bike free tunnel, and so had to add another 25 miles to my day in the dark, through Runcorn and Widnes, and in from the East! I was halfway to Manchester! 
   Thomas was my host that evening. I had also made plans to meet a friend to discuss adventures, but I was too exhausted. Thomas and I ate, then sat with his kind housemates for a little while before I had to make my excuses and retire to bed. I was absolutely wrecked. Sorry I wasn't more craic boys. See you next time.

   The first tears of Britain came as I left Liverpool the following morning and saw a huge sign for the Belfast ferry. I sobbed my way past Anfield and North towards Preston, longing to be at home. It was a perfect cycling day, complete with a tailwind, but the easy option was staring me in the face and I was riding away from it. Tough times. So close yet so far. That thought got me down. I was looking at my map and the distance markers and thinking that I was going to have to take a train to Kendal, as by this stage in the journey I have a semi-scheduled ride until the end, due to joint rides, parties and offers of beds. I stopped and opened my bags, searching for a tiny piece of edible hope. It came in the guise of chocolate raisins. A few handfuls later and a phone call from Mum, and I thought to myself,

 "I can do this."

  I rode into Kendal shattered, and with a shattered seat to match. The pounding of my boney bum finally resulted in a cracked saddle. Lovely. After a night in the homely Kendal hostel, I woke to snow and bought a new seat. The snow wasn't too bad. Just a light frosting. Enough to make things look pretty. So I set off up the hill toward the Shap pass. After a while the snow had deepened at the roadside, but didn't seem to be falling any heavier, so I stopped for a self timer photograph that would serve as a Christmas card if I was a bit less homeless looking. Back on the bike I climbed and climbed deeper into the lake district, Past the cottage where Withnail and I was filmed, although you couldn't see it clearly due to the thick cloud. The snow began to fall faster, and soon the whole road was white. Slush was gathering between my pedals and clogging all the mechanisms of the bike, but still I pushed on. I climbed an incredibly steep hill and then I felt the full force of the infamous Shap Pass. The wind came screaming from the left at 70mph, knocking me off my bike into the now blizzard rated snow. For the first time on the trip I went into survival mode. My first thought was "Where can I pitch my tent?" I needed to get my head under cover and fast. It was all very serious and scary. As I lifted the bike out of the snow drift I heard a rumbling from the hill I'd just climbed, and after what seemed like an eternity a pair of headlights appeared in the darkness of the mid morning white out. I dropped the bike once more and ran into the road screaming and waving, hoping the driver would see the seriousness of the weather and help me out.

IT WAS A MILK TANKER.

   I thought that even if he could take me, it might be impossible to take the bike, but due to the severity of the weather, there might be no other option. The tanker pulled in and I opened the door. It almost flew off its hinges as the wind caught it. I explained my situation to Eddie, the driver, and he was kind enough to help me. He jumped out of his cab and was swept off his feet. All of a sudden he saw why I needed help, and so joined me in strapping the bike to the side of the huge tanker as quickly as possible, before jumping back into the safety of the cab and rumbling off down the hill. 

*DAD YOU WERE RIGHT.*

   Winter had stopped me riding. It was a tough moment. I wanted to get out of the Blizzard and get back on the bike as soon as possible, and so Eddie dropped me off close to Penrith. We had such a laugh driving around Cumbria as he picked up his milk that I almost forgot of my little failure for a second, but as I got on the road once more I felt justified in taking the help when I remembered the true fear I felt as I fell off on the Pass. Eddie, if you ever read this, you are a hero. Thanks mate.

   I reached Carlisle earlier than I expected, and met a man who could, along with half the Corrymeela Community and my mother; be held responsible for this whole adventure. He is Maxim Laithwaite. You may know him as Peace Day Pilgrim, as, in the summer, he walked from Londonderry, through all five capitals of Ireland, Northern Ireland, Scotland, Wales, and England, to raise awareness of the Peace One day Campaign and the International day of Peace, 21st of September. He did it all without any money. Totally dependent on human kindness. INSPIRATIONAL. World changing.
   We walked together to Hadrian's wall. 

I HAD CYCLED ACROSS HADRIAN'S ROMAN EMPIRE!

   How interesting that it was the last day of my Roman Empire that threw up one of the toughest challenges? There will always be challenges ahead, no matter how close we seem to be. Max was a great person to share that moment with, and we fooled around in the rain, taking pictures as I rolled around on the flooded pavement. I had achieved a goal, and even though the trip is not over, I relaxed and felt a weight lift of my shoulders as I lay back in the bath, eating my crumpets and drinking hot coffee. Max and Charlie were amazing hosts. They had everything a traveller could ever want. Having both been on the road themselves, they knew exactly what I needed, so staying with them was a true blessing. We drank and ate until we were full, and then drank and ate some more. And laughed a lot. 

   Once again I turned away from home and headed east, riding the length of Hadrian's wall, to Newcastle upon Tyne. The morning was spent climbing into the Pennines, the mountain range that is effectively the spine of England. As I reached the highest section of that day, I turned off the well surfaced road to the smaller lanes that lead to the ruins of the wall itself. At Walltown Crags I skidded and slipped along an old track, then skirted a frozen lake, and hiked up on top of a massive Crag, and stood proudly on the stones of old Hadrian's wall. I could just imagine the Centurions pacing up and down, defending the wall against the Barbarians of the North. The wall, like the Great wall of China, cares not for hill or valley, and simply continues into the distance, rising and falling with the land in its way. I spent an hour there in the snow, just imagining scenes and creating stories. It is incredibly peaceful and beautiful. About 10 miles from Newcastle, I felt very unsteady on my bike, and it felt like the weight of my bags was swinging from side to side. I looked down and saw, that once again, my pannier rack had broken. Not the same breakage as in Italy, or as bad, but still; broken. I did some roadside gaffa tape maintenance, and then rolled to the home of my old buddy old pal Becky. It felt great to be with one of my closest friends again, and immediately the stresses of the day were forgotten and I relaxed once more.
   We ate, then met more friends, Louise and Laura for drinks. All was going well, until a few boys in the bar started a bit of sectarian abuse towards me! I couldn't believe it. It seems that it doesn't just happen in "Our wee country." The guy was screaming in my face and had his pint raised above his head. All very frightening. Thankfully nothing came to blows as the bouncers intervened, and we decided to leave the bar. Bizarre. I'd ridden 5300km across Europe, and had expected at least another 500km of non sectarianism. I guess this was a gentle reminder to not forget the problems our little society faces, and all the effort we need to make to bring about the necessary change in our world. 

   Only we will do it.

   Britain has just been brilliant. I was looking forward to it as an "easy section" as I'd know the language fluently, the place names would be familiar, and I'd know a lot of people. That turned out to be true, but I didn't know the weather, or the interactions this Island would bring my way. From the peace and tranquility of places like Stonehenge, Welsh mountainsides, and the ruins of Hadrian's wall to the chaos of dress-up in Bristol and the sobering insults in Newcastle; England and Wales have given me exactly what I needed when I needed it. 

Heroes, friends, beds, teas, hugs, breakages, hills, wind, love, hate, food, laughter, tears.

   I know that it seems a bum note to finish this post on, with that man in Newcastle being aggressive and cruel, but I'd like to thank him. It really did remind me of where I'm from, and what needs to happen when I get back there. WE are the future my friends. People talk of our generation as the lost generation. The Ipod generation. We will do nothing. Just see out a recession and talk through computer screens. "They" (Who ever they are) expect nothing of us. I've said it before and I'll say it again; 

THAT GIVES US A HUGE WINDOW TO SHOW THEM EXACTLY WHAT WE CAN DO.

WE are masters of our own fate.

We can do anything. 

Tomorrow I'll enter Scotland, and before the week is out, I'll hopefully taste a Guinness that tastes like it should. 

I'm almost home. 


A child poet's dream morning.


Stonehenge and the birds.



Two "Elephants" on the Clifton Suspension bridge.



Wild Welsh horses on the mountain top.



The final thousand marker. (I think.)



Eddie the Dairy Tanker at -12C and 70mph. A hero.



Hadrian's wall, Carlisle. Overwhelmed and not caring for the wet.



The wall as it winds across the hills.