I don’t know about you, but there are some things I never considered when buying a new bike.
Firstly, the luggage may not fit. Though Genie came with a really handy bag for carrying the battery and maybe some keys and a bottle, there is no way I could use it for school or anything more than a small trip.
I bought a basket bag when I collected the bike, but knew I needed to investigate other options. That other option arrived just in time for our planned trip to Oxford.
The option came as a Vincita Voyage Atlas bag, designed specifically for the e-bike, and it uses the same frame as the basket bag so that nothing would be wasted.
I had also ordered the duffle bag, mainly to check out the colour, but also to see what it was like. Genie looked lovely with her matching accessories. I will review them in another post. (As you can see, the cat approves.)
Because the Oxford trip was so short, I figured that I would just need the front bag for the trip and started to pack my gear.
The second thing you don’t necessarily think of when buying a new bike: tools!
Iona has a lovely little tool kit especially designed to sit in the main tube and is held in place by mini magnets. Of course the tyre levers aren’t that useful being made of metal, but they double as spanners for other bits and bobs on the bike. Her spare tube sits neatly in the long half of the main tube. All tucked away just in case.
Genie's electric cable runs through the middle of that tube. It also runs through the small triangle that most G-line owners use for a small frame bag. So there are no useful places to store tools on the bike's frame, meaning they will take up space and add weight to the bags instead.
Then there are the tools themselves. The pump, the best tyre levers I’ve ever found and a quick link are identical for both bikes. But as this photo shows, everything about Genie is bigger, more cumbersome and, in the case of the lock in particular, a darn sight heavier. (Both locks are rated to comply with the insurance requirements for that particular bike).
By the time I’d got all Genie's tools, plus a change of clothes, food, and enough drink for the first day, the bag was just over the weight limit that was clearly written all over the hook.
Could I, should I, risk it?
I couldn't!
I started repacking.
Removing anything I could possibly do without, I did it, just! But it was, by now, midnight, and I just wasn’t happy with the situation. I knew some of the route was off-road, and I had no idea how uneven that would be. And I knew that only taking half a bottle of water was just not appropriate either.
I figured Genie would probably be ok, but it would be awful if she broke before I’d even started paying for her (one unforeseen benefit of the cycle-to-work scheme).
I discussed the risks with Sue, who was obviously more with it than I was at that time of night. ‘Just use the back bag instead’, she suggested. ‘Then you can split the weight.’ Genius!
I repacked once more, slept badly, then was woken abruptly by the alarm. But I was very excited to get going.
We left with plenty of time to get to the station, though we technically had open tickets; we had bike reservations for this particular train, so we needed to get there by 10.
Halfway there, I realised that with all the bag swapping, I hadn't fully recharged my battery. We calculated that I had just enough time to chase back, grab my charger (which I now had space for), and bomb it back. So yet again, I found myself chasing down to the station with only 5 minutes to spare. This is becoming a habit!
The platform was packed - 5 cruise ships worth of people with large cases and long journeys ahead of them (the train was heading to Birmingham)
When the train arrived, the platform guard was fantastic; he kept the people moving away from the bike racks, making them take their cases with them. He would not allow the train to move until we were on board. With two bikes already in situ, we squeezed Sue’s bike into the remaining undersized bike space, and I collapsed Genie down to give us enough room to stand.
Sue went to find her reserved seat. I stayed with the bikes, worried that Genie was too unstable on her little wheels to be left alone.
We shared grins with other travellers as the train guard serenaded us, keeping us smiling as we called at each station, where more people got on, but no one got off. We truly were enacting ‘sardines in a tin’, just as he had suggested.
We got to Reading, where the train changed direction of travel, and we were now at the front of the train rather than the back. We were by now quite delayed. I had to shuffle to one side to let the driver into the cab. She explained that the platform was so busy, she couldn't make her way any further down and had to edge through the train instead.
Finally we reached Oxford. Our team in the corridor helped Sue and me to disembark, probably glad to have a little more space to themselves.
We each stood in a long queue to the toilet and grabbed coffee and a baguette from the overpriced Pret a Mange. Then an hour later than planned and with no more reasons to stay, we headed East on our first planned route of the weekend.
We were soon stopped again, this time waiting for a large group photo to be composed and taken. Then without doing so ourselves, we headed under the Bridge of Sighs, our eyes scanning left and right at all the beautiful buildings glowing in the sunshine. I guess this is what makes the city so iconic.
It wasn’t too long before these large buildings gave way to small shops, then to larger fields. The Cowley Marsh recreation ground was huge and well appointed, with goals, children’s play areas, and outdoor gym equipment. Yet hardly anyone was using it, except the lady sunbathing on the best-positioned bench and a set of adults playing ping pong on the table tennis tables.
We chose a seat with built-in shade for breakfast. (It was 1:30 by now, so this was quite overdue) Our overnight oats made the perfect meal for the moment.
Once finished, we left the park, to be inhabited by a mum and a set of young children eager to pull her in different directions, while she tried to convince them to settle for a picnic.
We rode past the largest Mini factory I have ever seen (Mini, as in the cars) and were immediately confronted by a large hill. But with the help of the oats and a little push from the battery, we were soon at the top and enjoying the view. It took a minute to realise that what we thought were huge football fields was actually the roof of the production line we had just passed.
Our route then deviated slightly from the NCN 57 and onto a gravel path. The bikes were coping with the change in surface better than we were. Just as we were considering walking, we heard a chugging noise like a distant steam train, but we were wrong.
The sound came from the fantail of the Wheatley Windmill. Sadly, the beautiful building was on private land, and we had missed this month's open day. We stood admiring its graceful movements for a while before continuing onward.
The gravel turned to tarmac. The tarmac turned to a road, and we soon took a right turn, marking our furthest point east.
I decided that Wheatley must specialise in small towers as I spotted a splendid pillar-shaped post box, which of course meant stopping on a hill to take its photo. Sue continued on, without feeling the need to take any pictures.
But we unanimously agreed to stop when we spotted signs for the garden centre. The staff happily accommodated our request to bring our bikes in, as there was nowhere secure to lock them.
The coffee was amazing, as was the selection of plants. I am sure we would have been loading our boot with numerous species if we had come by car.
We were gently nudged out by the quiet sweeping and mopping nearby. The rattle of chairs being stacked on tables rang in our ears as we said our cheery farewells.
We headed west, back towards our stop for the night. A large ‘Road Closed’ sign at the top of a hill is never good news, and the decision to continue in the hopes there is still pedestrian access is always a lottery. If we are wrong, we would need to reclimb this hill. If we decided not to risk it, we would have to somehow work out a new route.
We trusted Cycle.Travel (the route planner) and headed on down, walking our bikes past the small blockage, relieved that there was no need to retrace our steps.
The houses in Garsington were beautiful and quite befitting of the area. Who doesn’t like an old stone cottage with a thatched roof?
But we soon found ourselves back in the industrial suburbs of the city, weaving past another side of the (not so) Mini factory. It was nearly 4pm, and our breakfast was no longer driving us forward. It was definitely time for that baguette.
We stopped next to a very strange monument that we investigated once we had eaten. The sign gave little away apart from identifying each tiny carving as a particular person. A later search named this the Littlemore History tree. But there was little more information than that.
It was still very warm, and we were both getting tired, but the food and rest gave us the boost we needed to continue.
As we turned onto the Thames path, I came across an old friend. This was the last milepost on our Reading to Oxford cycle. I hadn’t realised we would meet again. I recorded the visit as usual.
Then it was a leisurely pedal up the beautiful Thames path and back into the city.
The path itself was wide and tarmac’d, so very easy to ride on. There was so much to see, it was hard to remember to watch where our tyres were going.
Then things started to get busy. The towpath edge filled with people gazing toward the water, some with high-viz and megaphones dangling by their side, others were sat on picnic blankets with glasses in hand. The water also became busy with crews of canoeists, some moving, some not.
We were going against their flow and eventually came across the start line- well, a pontoon and a man with a flag. Off went the next pair of boats at some speed in the direction we had just left. Each crew of four working hard to beat the other with every stroke.
We pushed on too.
The tow path spat us out near some train tracks. Not the ones that had brought us here. In fact, these hadn’t been used for a number of years.
This was where the canal met the rail, with the help of an ingeniously designed contraption. We were intrigued, but couldn’t find any information on the bridge and could only guess at how it worked.
We continued round the corner and found ourselves back at the station, the starting point of our ride. We reset our route, then headed to our room for the night.
A lovely gentleman met us, the host's father. He sadly spoke very little English, so we communicated mostly with smiles and hand gestures. He showed us to our room and the other available amenities, then presented us with a key to the house and another to the garage to store our bikes. We unloaded our bikes first, then our feet, sitting to plan our evening.
The evening comprised a walk to a pub, past more outstanding buildings that gleamed splendidly in the evening light.
We remembered this grand, sun-kissed tower from a walking tour we did a few years ago.
‘Table 63. Two mushroom pies and two lime and sodas, please.’
The location wasn't quite what we had imagined. There were plenty of signs of the very old inn, but the dim lighting was assisted by the flickering of a TV screen showing a football game in every direction that you could possibly look. I didn’t check, but wouldn’t have been surprised to find a screen in every toilet cubicle too. The game finished, and thankfully music drowned out the interviews that followed.
The food was really good, and the staff were lovely. Just what we needed.
We headed back to our lodgings via a shop to collect ingredients to make more overnight oats. We had wanted to keep this weekend as cheap as we could. Once these were made, it was time for a shower and a well-deserved early night.
Day 2
As we didn’t have much with us, we were soon packed and ready to go. We retrieved the bikes from the garage and loaded up before saying goodbye to our kind host.
The river ran beside his dwelling, and the sun was sparkling on the water. We paused to take a few photos and check out the bridge that carried the NCN5 towards us. We realised this could have made a nice shortcut for yesterday’s ride, though we didn't need one.
The bridge, we found when reading the sign beside it, had once been a part of the gasworks that filled a 19-acre site on both sides of the canal.
The gas was made from coal that was initially carried by canal to the works. The by-products such as coke and ammonia were then efficiently taken away by the same route.
This was later replaced by a train running down a track alongside the station, using the swingbridge we came across yesterday.
After a quick visit to a coffee shop, our route took us back to that same swingbridge. Approaching from a different direction meant that we saw the information sign explaining that it needed 2 men winching for 5 minutes to make it turn. I was surprised to read that it was still in use in the 1980’s but glad to see that it is now protected as a scheduled monument.
We carried on along the towpath taking a couple more bridges over waters traveled only by wild fowl and over inhabited by pond weed.
The area was so peaceful, yet quite busy, this smartly dressed couple replied that they were hurrying to church when we spoke to them.
Our route suddenly threw us into a wide open expanse. This was Port Meadow, and though surrounded by water, it too had the golden grass currently seen all over the country due to a summer-long heatwave.
Cows were sheltering in whatever shade they could find, some cooling their feet in the water. Others like this one were trying to find anything to munch that still had chlorophyll and wasn’t poisonous.
We had switched waterways, leaving the canal towpath and replacing it with a wide mud track alongside the Thames.
By this point, a group of cyclists caught us; we let them pass and followed their example, pushing our bikes over the humpback bridge.
We paused to enjoy the view, noticing the silence. It’s not often you can get right away from the sound of cars.
The path was quite rutted, and I was glad that I was on wider tyres for this journey. We were prompted to stop for breakfast when an ornate empty bench appeared. Our oats tasted all the nicer in this peaceful setting.
Then just as we were packing to leave, things got busy. A group of ramblers walked upstream as a family of paddle boarders headed down.
We didn’t get far before stopping again, this time to admire Godstow Lock.
A little further on and round the bend, we could hear the hum of multiple conversations. We had caught up with the ramblers. They were taking a drink break next to Godstow Abbey.
We took a quick look around too.
We had now left the Thames, and once through the pretty villages of Godstow and Wolvercote, we started weaving across the canal over more bridges.
This hump-back bridge held a welcome surprise as we found a second milepost. This was a new one to add to my slowly increasing collection.
The canal held its own charm with regular lock gates and a well-defined path. We waved to a number of boaters, some moored canalside, others travelling very slightly faster than we were. It was just how I imagined it would be.
The little blue sign pointed us left away from the canal and popped us out alongside a bulging apple tree. We tasted its wares before heading along the road.
We were surprised to find ourselves next to the busy A44. Though it had a fine segregated shared-use cycle lane, it still wasn't anywhere near as pleasant as we had become accustomed to.
We put our heads down and rode. Then I heard the roar of a jet engine. It sounded like a plane. Were we near an airport?
I rode ahead, partly to find the origin of the noise and partly so I could take a photo without making Sue wait again.
I'd missed the plane by the time I got there, but a second had just taxi’d into position by the time Sue reached me. We watched it trundle up the runway, wondering if it was actually going to make it into the air. We gave it a little cheer when it did.
I then mistook the route back for a planning mistake and nearly took us back to Oxford without ever visiting our destination.
But thankfully I realised my error before we crossed the road. We were nearly there.
We turned left into the Blenheim Palace main entrance. We weren't planning to visit the palace itself or even the grounds. We just planned to visit the cafe for a nice coffee with a view.
The queues to get into the car park were massive. We cycled alongside the cars up to the kiosk.
‘You can't go any further unless you pay’, shouted the young girl with a huge grin on her face. I think we had just made her day. I asked how much it would cost to just visit the cafe. ‘You can't go any further unless you buy a ticket. They are £26 pounds each’
No apology, no sympathy, just a grin.
This was really annoying, especially as we had checked before we left and the Google answer clearly said that we could.
We went to another kiosk with an older lady who wasn't dealing with anyone at the time. I asked again, showing her the webpage. She just shrugged and said, ‘Google is wrong’
After a bit more web searching and discussing what to do next, we headed off to the nearby village of Woodstock to see if we could find another way in.
We found another official gate where another girl said, ‘Yes, I saw you at the other gate’. We chatted to her for a bit, asking about ticket options and again explaining that we didn't have time to do the place's £26 worth of justice; we just wanted to eat our lunch in view of the palace. She did say sorry; there was nothing she could do. We moved to one side, looking at the notice board and map, while another couple went to the desk. He also stated that he didn't have time to do the whole place; they just wanted to walk through the grounds.
They must have had the right look about them, as the girl explained how to get to a back route. He very kindly came over to us and repeated what she had said. Saying, ‘Apparently this is all hush-hush, but there is a way in, opposite the Black Prince pub’
I was quite happy never to set foot in there again and definitely never to give them any money. But Sue was still keen to catch a glimpse of the palace.
We went to find a coffee. And while making our drinks, the lovely barista explained that there was a back route into the grounds that all the Woodstock people used. ‘It's easy to find; it's opposite the Black Prince.’
With coffee completed, we headed off to find the elusive Black Prince. This was easy, but finding the secret path was proving more difficult. Thankfully some girls came past and pointed us to what looked like someone's driveway. There was a tiny hidden bridleway sign. We followed the path and before us was a beautiful view of a giant lake and above it, the palace.
This was the perfect location for a sandwich.
Considering it was a secret, the path was actually quite busy. But during a pedestrian lull we heard the distinctive call of a kite. We turned and watch her swoop down to a rabbit carcuss laid a little uphill of us. She took some food then spooked by more walkers, flew to a nearby tree. We heard her call again, prompting three others to join her in protecting her find from the screaming crows that were also eyeing up her prey.
The path became super busy, the other kites left and once sure that our personal bird display was over, we turned to follow its route too.
We got as far as a big bridge before a sign showed that it was no longer a public right of way.
But finally Sue got the view of Blenheim that she had hoped for.
We retraced our tyre tracks back through Woodstock, noting that there really is a big music festival here in the autumn. (They apparently beat the Americans to a Woodstock festival by two years - theirs was in 1967 and not quite as iconic). We then headed back down alongside the A44. This was much quicker and easier than on the way up as it was downhill all the way to that junction I nearly messed up earlier. Here, we turned left, into a very private looking science park with a cycle lane travelling right through the centre.
We followed the route which popped us out at the canal towpath. This wasn’t as well used or tended as the one we had used this morning and where it had been so dry, the mud had sunk in places leaving the pins holding the bank sidings exposed. All these added together meant that much of the next three miles were walked rather than ridden.
That didn’t depreciate our view, though. And we still came across locks, rickety bridges that were being used by people that came from nowhere and disappeared as soon as they had passed and a heron that had a very interesting fishing technique.
We congratulated Mr and Mrs Swan who glided past with their large brood of almost full grown cygnets.
And heaved a sigh of relief when we reached the point in the path where we left it this morning and everything became wide and tarmac’d.
The only obstacles left were very low bridges that seemed so much lower on the way back.
We stopped at the Plough for a well-earned drink. Walking a bike is so much more tiring than cycling one.
And all too soon we were back on the canal towpath winding our way into the heart of Oxford.
We were once again spat out at the train station and this time we would be boarding our train home.
Except the nice direct one we had booked with the bike reservations had been cancelled. We now needed to make two changes and had no guarantee that we could get Sue’s bike on board.
We had just missed a train, so had a while to wait for the next one, but this worked to our advantage. This train was fairly empty, and we were able to utilise the disabled bay for the couple of stops to Reading.
We moved from one end of the station to the other and waited for our link to Basingstoke.
This train was shorter and busier. There were 4 of us with bikes all trying to get onto the one carriage. Sue carefully leaned hers against the huge electric mountain bike, and I worried we had done something, as the owner quickly came over. But his first question wasn’t about bikes at all.
‘Are you a teacher?’ He said. He introduced himself as a student from many years ago. Josh didn’t leave with many qualifications, but he has worked hard and done well for himself since. He proudly talked about the impending arrival of his baby and how his company, which fits HT electrical equipment, was pushing him for a promotion.
We were so engrossed in the conversation that we didn’t realise we were nearly at our station until he said so. We all disembarked, and he led the way toward the correct platform for our second change. He was very used to this route.
We got to the lift to take us up to our next platform, only to find an Out of Order sign. We looked at one another, knowing how heavy our bikes were.
Josh propped his against the wall and whisked Sue's bike up the stairs before she could even remove a pannier. I followed him up with mine while Sue stayed with his bike. He was back by our sides in a flash and just in time to see the train pull in. We continued down to Eastleigh in his pleasant company. I was so pleased that he had taken the time to come and chat to us and very glad that he had done so well.
Our stop was next.
It was now 9pm. All we wanted to do was get home, but it wasn’t until we had gone through the barriers on platform 1 that I realised I had a slow puncture.
Thankfully, it was the front wheel. I’d had the presence of mind to check out the videos before leaving, and removing the back was much more complicated.
If I had been on my own at this point, I would have caught a taxi, or rung for a lift. But Sue was with me and her bike wouldn’t easily fit in a car, and we didn’t feel it right to split up. But these became more viable options as more problems occurred.
The first issue was finding the tool to undo the through axle. I remembered that I had carefully stored my mini ratchet somewhere where I could easily find it. But I couldn’t remember where that was, so I had to search every pocket of every bag. Eventually it was located.
The second issue was that the axle wouldn’t come undone; it was still factory tight. We both tried. Just as we were about to give up and go for another travel option, it came loose, but not before the tool had broken.
Once that was sorted, it was easy to remove the wheel, and I was relieved to find the tyre also came off easily. I had already found and removed a huge thorn from the outside of the tyre, but needed to check for any more before inserting my spare tube.
Then came the fight to get the tyre back on, but to my relief, this was also relatively easy.
With Genie back together and all the luggage reinstated, there was nothing left to do but a speedy, electrically assisted ride home. And finally we got to sit down at 10.30pm!
As is often the way, it felt like we had been away for a week rather than the true count of just 37 hours. This was time travel at its very best.
Thank you, Sue, for your great company and good humour as we travelled the towpaths of Oxford and for keeping me level-headed when tiredness and mechanicals were trying their best to unravel me.
Where shall we go next?
