With only a couple of weeks left before returning to school, I jumped at Jo’s suggestion of another camp, especially as the weather forecast was looking much better than the rest of the holiday.
Again, we chose to stay local this time, planning to head along the south coast, follow NCN route 2 towards Chichester, stay at an eco site, and then climb up the South Downs to stay at our favourite sustainability centre campsite.
Babs wasn’t free on this occasion, but the recent poor weather had changed Jenny’s plans, thus enabling her to come. I’ve no idea how she managed to make the turnaround, though, having only returned from sailing the night before.
In fact, there were slightly anxious messages between Jo and myself, as we hadn’t heard from Jenny that morning and were unsure if she would make the 9 a.m. train.
My phone pinged, with a photo and the message ‘Game on!’
I headed to the station and arrived at the newly refurbished entrance just before their train arrived at the platform.
It was a pleasure to lead us out of town as this was very much home ground for me and little-known territory for the others, so I pointed out some of my favourite landmarks as we rode. Jo was interested to see so many links with Jane Austin in the area, and we had to make the most of the Gods House Tower photo opportunity.
We slowly wound our way up the most prominent hill of the day, stopping at the top of Itchen Bridge, not to recover on this occasion but to enjoy the view and pick out more familiar landmarks.
With our significant climbing done, we glided through Woolston, past the smooth sides (and less than smooth smells) of the water treatment building and onto the promenade along the Western shore. We dutifully slowed when requested by the painted signs, just in time to not disturb a family of sunbathing swans at the path's edge.
Just as we reached the end of the shared-use path, we took a slight detour into Netley Abbey. We spent a little time admiring the Cistercian architecture and reading of its life-saving conversion into a mansion house, then restoration back to the ‘romantic ruin’ it is today.
We didn’t get far before stopping again. This time to admire the only remaining portion of the Royal Victoria Hospital. In its prime, so many wounded soldiers, back from way too many wars, were nursed and then often employed. on its elongated wards. The main structure of the building was damaged in 1963 by a massive fire of dubious cause, and much was demolished in 1966.
I wondered what would have happened had it remained intact? Would the site have been converted into yet more costly waterside properties and the grounds lost to the public forever, I mused? Instead, the place was buzzing with young footballers, picnickers, new cyclists on early wobbles and those partaking in a ride on the miniature steam railway. It would have been rude not to sample the delicious coffee from the cafe beside this vast tower, thankful that the site was being put to such good use.
Before leaving, we spotted a set of ‘bikes’ at what would have been one end of the building. Further investigation revealed that mail had been delivered down those quarter-of-mile-long corridors by cycle; the information board laid down the challenge to try to get to the other end in 4 minutes. We agreed to wait for another occasion to try when we didn’t have the weighty panniers to hold us back.
It did make a great photo opportunity, though.
We continued along route 2 past the turning for the War Graves I had visited only a few days before and cycled along a tree-lined ridge before joining the Dani King cycleway towards the village of Hamble.
We carefully bumped down the cobbled high street, noting ‘Jenny's cafe’ and a newly opened pasty shop for a future visit, before walking down the pontoon to wait for the little pink boat to arrive. We didn’t have to wait long for the ferry, which was a good thing as it was getting increasingly more difficult to ignore the antics of the local children jumping off the pier and potentially putting themselves in danger. Loading the bikes onto this tiny ferry and heading out into the river was quite a relief. Jenny proudly pointed out the sleek lines of her boat ‘Shy Girl’ as we approached its mooring.
The tide was low, so the ferry had to pull in at the bottom of the long gravel jetty, giving quite a step down from the boat. We helped one another to unload our bikes while the skipper kept the boat in the correct position. Though the jetty was quite slippery, we quickly reached the shore with little issue.
Once we had walked off the shingle shoreline, we found the familiar blue NCN signs for route 2, directing us through Warsash and towards Portsmouth. We passed a vast caravan park, then onto a large gravel track around a field of ripening sweetcorn.
We weaved through fields and hamlets on a mixture of quiet roads and gravel tracks, finally popping out on the Meon shoreline. We stopped for lunch with Titchfield Nature Reserve behind us and the Solent stretching out in front. Once our picnic was completed, Jenny decided to go for a dip. Jo and I weren’t at all tempted; someone needed to guard the bikes!
Conscious of the time, the distance still to travel, and the sun's heat, we gathered our stuff together and headed around the small Hill Head Harbour, pointing out fun boat names.
We carried along the coast road, stopping at the strange chimney-like structure I’d always believed to be similar to the Portuguese fireplace in the New Forest. But since investigating, it is believed to have been a clock tower built by the Royal Engineers ‘Mason Boys’ in 1928. They made it to match a tower on the other side of the large fort we had just cycled past, but it had been camouflaged by a golf course and many trees. The fort is currently undergoing extensive building work, turning it into 24 luxury (unaffordable) waterside homes.
We cycled past the site of Haslar Hospital, which has already been converted into an expensive retirement village. I explained that I did a couple of placements there while training as a radiographer many, many moons ago. We then followed my old route home, triggering many memories as we went. As we rode over Haslar bridge, we nodded at the Holland 1, a World War 2 submarine, now the prime exhibit in the Submarine Museum. Then, a quick right turn and we were at our second ferry of the day.
With tickets in hand, we walked down the enclosed jetty and waited for the ferry to return from Portsmouth side. It didn’t take long. The trip was hardly longer than our previous ferry ride, but a much bigger boat to handle the huge queues of people on both sides of the harbour.
I think there is something quite poetic about HMS Warrior - the first ironclad frigate made for the Royal Navy, being in the next berth to the newest HMS Queen Elizabeth and sister ship HMS Prince of Wales that dwarf any vessel that has ever docked at the port, let alone this rigged beauty. In no time at all, we were alongside Portsmouth Harbour and disembarking.
We headed along the seafront after gathering our thoughts and checking whether we had time for a coffee stop. There were so many things that we could have stopped to see: the big landing ship by the DDay museum, Southsea Castle, the impressive monument to lost sailors that matched the one in Plymouth that we had recently visited, the brand new sculpture that depicts the Cockleshell hero’s, and several lovely cafes that would have made the perfect coffee stop, but we were on a mission. We had to get to our next ferry.
We actually got there much quicker than we’d expected, thanks to the well-placed cycle lane that runs the length of the seafront from South Parade Pier.
We weren’t sure what to expect with this boat. None of us had used it before. Was it going to be tiny like the little pink ferry? I knew it wasn’t as big as the Gosport one. We were worried that we wouldn’t all fit on with our loaded bikes, hence the rush to get to the penultimate sail. We worried slightly more as we walked onto the pontoon to be greeted by two other cyclists. One was towing a trailer with two beautiful poodles. I must admit that I was quite taken with William and Harry and loved that they had been included in their owners' adventures.
The couple assured us not to worry about the ferry size; we would all fit. And they were absolutely right. In fact, by the time we left, the deck was full of bikes and their riders. Only four passengers came without one, and one of those was a four-year-old with a scooter!
William and Harry were quite happy in their carriage and adored by all the passengers. There was an option to sit inside, but most of us opted to enjoy the sunshine and sea spray as we sailed. This was the perfect end to our hat-trick of water transportation. Especially when we spotted the resident seal bobbing around, avoiding any meaningful photographic evidence.
We felt welcomed as cyclists when greeted by a large sign as we walked off the jetty. Now was a good time to stop for coffee!
We took ourselves to the surprisingly busy beach cafe, waiting while numerous bacon butties were constructed in a typically 'greasy spoon cafe' manner before ordering our drinks and pondering the need for ice cream. We were glad we resisted this temptation as we watched a young chap lose his top-heavy cream just after he stepped out of the shop. It was a very warm afternoon!
Fully refreshed, we headed down the off-road Hayling Billy trail. Like so many beautiful paths we have used recently, this was once a working railway and is now ‘recycled’ to be a multi-use trail. We did indeed pass dogs, walkers, and joggers and were overtaken by a cyclist or two, too. But at no point did it feel busy, just well used. We stopped a couple of times to read the well-placed information boards. This one explained how the island was used in the Second World War, the ‘Puffing Billy’ ferrying the troops on and off the island as the road bridge was not as sturdy as the rail one. It also explained that the island built four sections of the Mulberry Harbour that helped end the Second World War. It didn’t say whether the broken section still visible in the middle of Langstone Harbour was one of those four, but it’s clear to see that that one didn’t make the D-Day crossing.
The trail took us the entire length of the island and deposited us at the base of the bridge, which also had a shared use path for us to glide past the slow-moving traffic returning to the mainland after a day at the beach. The little blue signs indicated that we should cross over the road. We then found ourselves on another section of the trail.
This track crossed under the very busy and noisy A27, round the back of Warblington school, back under the A27 again, then along to the high street in Emsworth. We stopped at the Co-op to grab some extras for dinner, then just as we were packing our goodies away, a car went past with the driver shouting something at us. It pulled up, and the occupant got out and ran over to us. I wasn’t sure what was happening, then realised it was a good friend of Jenny - she has friends everywhere!
We chatted for a while, then bid her farewell, but not before she demanded that Jenny should show us the sailing club's harbour. I can understand why she was so proud of the place. It was beautiful.
We continued along the coast, past Bosham and around the Roman palace. We were due back this way tomorrow and considered popping in for breakfast on our return. We turned a bend, and I had to shout ‘stopping’ as I spotted a Millennium Milepost that I didn’t know existed. A local came to see what the fuss was about and insisted they got in my photograph. That’s another one bagged.
We arrived at our site with just enough time to pitch tents before the sun set. Then, just as we were ready to start cooking, it started to rain. Time to practice ‘in-door’ cooking.
This time, I was ready; having pitched my tent the correct way around, I was able to cook using it as a shelter and my head torch as a light. The meal wasn’t bad either.
Apart from a final trip to the toilet, we stayed in our tents for the rest of the evening. I was not even tempted by Jenny’s kind offer of chocolate if we were prepared to collect it.
Sleep came quickly, as did the morning, though it took a while for me to be tempted out of my cocoon. Jenny’s magic-appearing poncho didn’t help either. I was finally encouraged by the offer of eggs and a roll and the assurance that the rain had finally stopped. That did the trick. Our antics were being carefully monitored by an onlooking kestrel in a nearby tree.
It never ceases to amaze me how so much gear can disappear into 5 small bags hanging off a bike, and more amazing is that I can then somehow move it all. It blows my mind when I think about it! Everything was packed away just in time as another shower arrived. We grabbed our waterproofs and got ready to roll.
We weaved through the housing estate, then fought our way back onto the canal towpath after using the wrong connecting path down and getting quite stung by the overgrown nettles. The towpath itself was much better kept. In fact, a bunch of volunteers were giving it a trim just around the next bend.
As we neared the city, we spotted the large steel butterflies we had seen the night before. Their wings cleverly depicted key aspects of the canal and its history.
It always seems so peaceful next to canal water. I guess the width and depth prevent it from ever getting choppy, and you hardly see a current in any direction.
Though it would have been lovely to sit there for hours, a steeple had been calling out for a visit since we arrived. We carefully negotiated the one-way ring road after patiently waiting for a train or two at the level crossing. With a zip across several side roads, we arrived at the most impressive Chichester Cathedral.
We planned to get a mid-morning coffee here, but the local shops didn’t look particularly inviting. Well, not as inviting as the canal centre that we had ridden past half an hour before. We all agreed that this was a worthy detour, and we returned to the canal, only to get caught at the level crossing again. It was a good choice. Jenny’s large tea came out in the most oversized cup you can imagine.
Once we had all finished our tea (this took Jenny a little longer than usual), we headed back towards the station to pick up our route for the day. We made it to the front of the queue of traffic waiting for the barrier and watched two trains go past, but the barrier didn’t rise. The two lads that had been leaning on it turned to the large queue of traffic, saying the barrier must be broken, as they could see that the next one was letting cars through. They promptly went over the bridge carrying their Nerf guns with them.
Not used to this sort of antics, we decided to turn round and go to the open one up the road. We watched in disbelief as the barrier went down in front of us. We waited patiently, honest! When we finally got through, we passed the other one, which was working perfectly fine now.
We weaved our way out of Chichester and headed towards Rowlands Castle. We paused to celebrate the GCSE wins of my niece while keeping an eye on the ever-darkening clouds.
The threatened rain began just as we reached the town, so we ducked under a giant parasol outside the lovely Bumblebee cafe and ordered lunch. The only downside to our plan was the need to start riding again, and this rain was not very encouraging.
We had earlier passed a sign signifying our entry into the South Downs National Park, but it had been quite impossible to stop to take a photo, so I couldn’t miss this opportunity to mark our second entry.
We climbed and climbed for a whole day, or that’s what it felt like. I’d be surprised if it was longer than 10 minutes. But by the time we got to the junction at the top of the road, it had stopped raining, and we were being needlessly baked by our wet weather gear.
We paused for a drink at a beautiful pond, and then, in no time at all, we could see the sign for the sustainability centre.
We were just too late to grab a coffee in the cafe, and the shop wanted to close its doors as we arrived. So we headed round to our pitch. At this point, it started to rain again. We sat under a shelter, eating and drinking the remains of our day's picnic while we waited for the rain to pass.
It took us a little while to work out the best orientation for our tents in the long, thin space, but they were quickly pitched, and we were soon underway making dinner beside the fire expertly built by Jenny. There we stayed for the rest of the evening, chatting, stargazing and generally relaxing till sleep time.
Though she hadn't beaten Jo, Jenny was up early, and her tent was all packed away before I had even boiled water for coffee. She was being picked up by her husband as they needed to get the cat to the vet, and this was a two-man operation. James wandered down to the site to say hello, and then Jenny was gone.
It took Jo and I a lot longer to pack down as the tents were very damp. We moved them into the sun and got on with packing everything else.
By the time we were ready to leave, having given up drying our still-damp tents, Jenny had sent us a photo of her camp gear already drying on her washing line.
Then, in what must be a record even for us, we'd gone less than 500ft when we decided to stop for coffee at the centre's lovely cafe. People started gathering around us for an impending woodland burial. It was hard not to get distracted by the strange grief-driven conversations, but we discussed our route options as we finished our coffees. This was very much Jo’s home ground, and though she gave me a choice of options and named places that sounded familiar, and she assured me that I had been to before, I couldn't remember any of them, so I left the expert routing to her.
We started with a lovely long descent, enabling us to enjoy the beautiful views we had missed yesterday due to the weather and the effort of climbing. West Meon looked stunning in the sunshine against the sky-blue backdrop. A typical old English village scene that looked so much better in reality than the photos depict.
We weren't the only ones to struggle up the Kilmeston hill. We pulled out of the way partly out of courtesy but mainly curiosity to see what was making the noise. The unmistakable, yet at the time unrecognisable hum of the Beetle engine continued on as it too laboured up the hill.
Beautiful flowers lined the banks as we neared Hinton Ampner. I reminded myself yet again to add the stately home to my must-visit list.
We rounded a corner that I did recognise. We had arrived at the village of Titchborne and were aiming for a quiet little pub that we had visited only a few weeks before. But this time, it was very, very busy. They were quoting a minimum of 40 minutes of wait time for the food. We chatted to the chap who had served us before, asking if they had the lovely focaccia rolls we had last time. “Leave it with me,” he said, so we took our drinks and found a seat in the shade. Our rolls arrived in less than 10 minutes. "Mind," he said. “They are straight from the oven.”
We didn't overstay our welcome as more and more people stood queuing for a table. Whatever these new owners were doing, it was definitely working.
We continued on, pausing, as we often do, to say hello to the pigs at Avington Park. Jo shared a cucumber with them. Then, rather than heading for Kingsworthy as usual from here, we took a left at Easton, taking the longer miles but the less strenuous climb option toward Winchester city centre.
We stopped at the opening to a field for a quick drink and to admire the view. Jo tried yet again to teach me the noble art of Pareidolia. No, I couldn't see any giant going to sleep to my left or someone doing backstroke to my right, and where was someone waving at me? They were all just clouds, adding to the lovely view! I wonder if there is an app for this?
All too soon, we were at the station saying brief goodbyes as I raced to catch the next train.
The bike carriage was packed, and much to one cyclist's disgust, I stood in the doorway. The tannoy announced, “Next stop, Airport Parkway.” I had an idea. I got off at that station and, from there, rode into school. Carefully checking that I wasn't undoing any floor polishing, I wheeled my bike up to the science corridor and then pitched my tent in my classroom. It would have all weekend to dry here without the peril of sharp claws puncturing its delicate surface.
After chatting with the guys who were in school working, I rode the very familiar route home.
Once unpacked, I sat with a coffee and considered my summer holiday, which was rapidly drawing to a close. We had successfully bookended the break with two amazing camping trips and lots of exciting episodes in between. Both trips were very local and didn't cost the Earth (in more ways than one), yet they were full of adventure, surprise and new experiences. Who needs to fly anywhere to have a great break?
Thank you, as always, to my lovely travel companions who always make these trips as fun as they are. I appreciate the fact that, with your help, I am returning to school much fitter and more relaxed than when I left. Long may both remain.
Further Information -
Day 1 Home to Donnington Wild Camping - 47 miles
Day 2 Chichester to The Sustainability Centre - 23 miles
Day 3 East meon to home - 28 miles
Links
