With the final push of the school term nearly over and the sun beating down every day, our thoughts had turned to a summer camp trip. Where should we go? So many options - and the top contenders were the two new routes designed by Cycle UK - the Rebellion Way in Norfolk or the Canti Way in Kent.
But with a likely change in the weather, the constant threat of rail strikes and a couple of time pressures lead us to decide on an adventure much much closer to home.
Jo donned her amazing tour organiser hat, planned the route, booked the sites and checked out points of interest on the way. I just got myself to the end of the term in one piece, then got on with sorting my bike for touring. I decided that it was just a little too soon to be taking Sylvi on a long adventure, she still wasn’t quite set for long tours, but right now, neither was Trigger.
The new frame had no way to connect any bags to the front forks. I had planned to put the same Ortlieb connectors as had been fitted to Sylvi so that I could use my new mini panniers on either bike, but the connectors that came in the pack just were not suitable for the Invites’ strange-shaped tubes.
I spent the vast majority of Saturday faffing with fixings before I was finally able to attach the bags. Then far too late in the day, I got on with packing.
By 930 Sunday, I was ready to leave. Babs and Jo had left Kingsworthy at 9, and we were due to meet in a cafe near Mottisfont before travelling onward together.
Conscious that I was running late, I headed out as fast as my unfit legs would take me.
To my amazement, I reached Kimbridge barn before the others and stood chatting to a fellow cyclist about his upcoming journey to Scotland. He was laughing at the amount of gear I was carrying while finishing his cigarette. Babs and Jo soon appeared, and I was sent to the naughty corner!
Catchup, coffee and cake finished, we headed off towards Salisbury. At one point, we stopped for water and were immediately distracted by a field of cows - one had something quite unsavoury hanging from its mouth, but it wouldn’t let us near enough to help. Just as we were getting back to our bikes, a chap sailed past on his carbon speed machine, shouting, “Moving house?” as he went. We all laughed, knowing that, in a way, we really were.
Time was marching on, and my sandwich was just screaming to be eaten. So when we spied the picturesque Holy Trinity Church at East Grimstead, we knew it was time to stop for lunch.
Our next church stop was a little bigger, it’s spire the target for many a traveller. For us, Salisbury Cathedral marked the closing stages of our first day's travel and the excuse for a celebratory tea at a very military cafe named The Rifemans Table. We didn't have a table number, we had a D-day beach name to order our drinks to. That was after we had completed our photoshoot by a kind passer-by, who took many shots to ensure we ‘have a nice one.’
A short cycle later, we were at our site for the night, overlooking Old Sarum and the toilet block. Our early arrival meant an easy camp set up, early dinner and a chance for a walk around the base of Old Sarum at dusk. Lots of laughs later, and we headed to bed. I slept very well!
Monday morning arrived with dampness in the air and a rainbow on the horizon, promising a mix of weather ahead. Jo and Babs kindly helped dry my tent’s footprint in a not-so-conventional way.
We were soon ready to leave our first site. The promise of the sun soon disappeared. Instead, we stopped and put on jackets and bag covers (some more squint than others), then continued our journey.
We travelled through beautiful lanes that crisscrossed major routes into Salisbury. Then we hit our first big climb of the day. This coincided with a strong side wind trying to slow our progress.
We stopped at the top for a welcome snack that rapidly became our full lunch as we just kept eating while watching the grey clouds march briskly across the sky towards us, wondering not if but when we would receive the heavy load they were carrying.
We continued on, noting a second sign declaring that Salisbury was just 12 miles away, I thought we had gone further than that!
We paused at a beautiful church at Teffont Evias. Babs and Jo went to investigate the inside. I happily stayed with the bikes, updating the Polarsteps tracker with photos taken so far.
Before searching out a proper lunch stop in Tisbury, we passed another sign to Salisbury. This one said 12 miles - Hey? How could that be? Are we going around in circles?
'Cycle.Travel' came into its own, pointing us in the right direction to a couple of potential stopping points. Some locals highly recommended the first one of the two cafes, but we had to opt for its neighbour as it was easier to store the bikes - it felt like a game of coffee roulette. But it paid off - we had some lovely tea cakes along with a welcome hot drink.
We were originally due to be meeting Jenny at our next planned stop, but she was still stuck in traffic just outside Exeter. We sent her plenty of photos to show that we were missing her.
I’m not sure her trip to Sainsbury's would be providing her quite the same quality of lunch.
We finished our meal, marvelling that we had been able to eat outside without the threatened rain, and then readied ourselves for the next onslaught. We were taking a slight - if a little hilly - detour to Old Wardour Castle.
This had been the grand dwelling of the Arundels until the Civil War when it was taken over and held under siege for a time before the side wall was accidentally blown apart by the owners.
The castle remained in the family for many years though it was by then used as a backdrop for their new house, cuningly named New Wardour Castle. Which now can only be seen from the very top of the ruin.
This castle was apparently top of the range when it was built, sporting all the best mod cons, showing off how rich the owners were, from 6 spiral staircases (a couple just for show) to one of the first flushing toilet blocks. Jo and Babs tried them out for size; meanwhile, I headed off to the ones provided by English Heritage.
We finished our visit with an ice cream from the shop and caught up with Jenny’s current whereabouts. She would definitely need to meet us at the campsite, not before. Some might say this was a lucky escape on her part.
The route took us quickly downhill past the entrance to the new castle. This version was not at all welcoming to passing cyclists. So we moved on down picturesque lanes heading to Donhead St Andrew, more undulations took us through Donhead St Mary and onto Ludwell. We struggled to cross the A30 as it was so busy. Down another lane and onto the off-road section of the day.
This route would have been fine if we had been ‘enjoying’ the heatwaves that had been predicted by some newspapers not known for their research. Instead, the first bit was a tad muddy. The next, completely flooded! We had two options, return over the mud we had already conquered, then risk the very busy A30 or continue for the remaining mile or so. ‘How much worse can it get?’ I wish I hadn’t asked!
This was definitely ‘hike a bike’ territory, and I was very glad of the gortex lining in my shoes as, time and time again, my feet slipped in the muddy tracks that had recently been churned up by a passing Land Rover-type vehicle.
The track started to dry out. The possibility of riding the rest flicked into my mind, but the track had another trick up its sleeve. The bushes got taller, and closer the path narrowed to a single walkway just enough for a person but not a person pushing a very wide, pannier-laden bike.
Jenny had messaged to say she was at the site and wondered where we were. We’d previously messaged, giving an ETA that had not taken all this walking into account. Jo rang her back to explain our position (less than 2 miles away) and gave an impromptu shopping list for the farm shop that we knew was due to close shortly.
We arrived at about 6.10. The owner had stayed open for us to buy our supplies. Jenny had already been shown around the beautiful site and was eager to show us our pitch.
Once the tents were up and drinks made, we set about cleaning off mud and pulling out grass from parts of the bike they never should have got to.
We stopped everything for a lovely cream tea that Jenny had bought for us from Cornwall, then cooked our respective dinners. Jenny expertly made a fire which brought welcome warmth and relief from midges. I had just braved the eco-tin shower, which by now was quite chilly, so I was very appreciative of the glowing embers.
Sleep came quickly, as did the prompt for an early morning trip to the compost loos, which I am sure had been inspired by Chitty Chitty Bang Bang. But the sunrise was absolutely glorious and well worth the early rise.
Jenny had come fully prepared for a posh breakfast. Her new - 'ideal for use at home or on safari' - teapot was pushed straight into action.
Breakfast is never a well-ordered or tidy affair! But that doesn’t change how good it feels to be sat next to a sparkling river with a set of great friends, having arrived there under our own steam.
Though breakfast started early (7 a.m.), for one reason or another, we weren’t ready to leave till after 11. This eco site was beautiful, and we vowed to go visit some of its sister sites in the future.
A quick hill climb soon warmed the limbs, and with an unexpected nod to Liberty, we were well on our way to day three's adventure.
The morning was spent dodging busy tractors and enjoying beautiful vistas from some single-track lanes taking us through bucolic Dorset villages.
Though we weren’t completing a Transcontinental unsupported race, we decided it was prudent to follow Emily Chappel's advice, never to ride past an opportunity for coffee. The village shop at Child Okeford was better stocked than some supermarkets we had recently visited.
Jenny reminded us to put on sun protection. I am sure the others would have been pleased to know that I didn’t sing along to my mental soundtrack of ‘Stand and Deliver'
After yesterday's off-roading adventure, Jo was a little apprehensive about this next section, but she needn’t have worried. The North Dorset Trailway was absolutely stunning.
We tried to assist a family whose husband was now paying for his decision not to fix the slow puncture in his tubeless tyre and was now running the route pushing his sealant-less bike while his young family rode ahead with their mum. Our offer of a pump didn’t fix his predicament. I hope they didn’t have too far to go.
We rode past the station on the well-maintained gravel track, only lamenting the fact that the cafe was closed. (Proving Emily right as always)
We stopped again, this time chatting to a chap about the route, the history of the community gardens growing beside it and the Iron Age hill fort that overlooked us. Wishing one another safe travels, we moved on.
We rode on, enjoying the scenery and the company. It was so nice to be riding together, we don’t often get the chance. There was even a little bike swapping going on to see if Babs and I noticed while we did a quick photoshoot that perfectly shows how capable a Brompton is at carrying a week's worth of camp stuff.
We continued along the NCN25 towards Stourpaine. It popped out of the disused railway line and into Blanford Forum, right next door to a perfectly located M&S food hall. I grabbed a sandwich for lunch, which I ate while admiring the beautiful cycle infrastructure.
We continued down the NCN25, but as time was marching on, we decided not to take the planned diversion to the hill fort (the word hill was enough of a decider for me) and headed instead for our chosen campsite. We stopped at the local Tesco for a couple of additions for dinner and ended up chatting to a young lady who was attending the Bournemouth Symphony Orchestra’s band camp. They had also stopped for provisions for dinner. Mum had the violin on her back, and they were heading for a smaller and quieter campsite that we had just passed. We chatted for quite a while about the merits and issues of homeschooling before bidding them a good evening. Ahead of them were a couple of hours of music practice before another full-on session tomorrow. Ahead of us was setting up camp and saying farewell to Babs, who was being picked up from the site as she had to go back to work the following day.
The campsite couldn’t be any more different from our previous night's stop. The site was huge and very busy. The shop bustling, and people queuing at the fish and chip van, waiting for their fast food suppers.
We were led to our pitch, and our designated tent positions were paced out with military precision - no deviations allowed. Missing our tent corral to cook in, we set our seats and Trangia’s under the old oak tree that we hadn’t been allowed to camp under.
Jenny and Jo accompanied Babs to the entrance when her lift arrived. I started to cook, soon joined by Jo, but Jenny returned with chips from the van that she insisted we help her eat. My perfectly good dinner just didn’t seem as nice after that sample.
The pitch was not level, and I woke in the early hours hanging off the mat. I couldn’t get back to sleep so quietly and slowly started to pack things in my tent. Jenny was very pleased to be the first up and about - this is a rare occurrence.
We were in a lot of shade, and the tents were not at all dry. Jo had rigged up a washing line. Jenny added a prop. I added… clothing.
Breakfast was a relaxed affair. We weren’t rushing as we were hoping the tents would dry. Jenny had bought rolls and eggs from the shop, so we made and enjoyed our eggbuttys.
Pack up became a little more stressful than I’d bargained for. We had moved the tents into the sun and, when dry enough, started to take them down. Without thinking, I’d removed all my pegs, giving my tent the opportunity to go for a wander down the site. I’ve not run that far or fast in a long time (and hope not to repeat it any time soon). Lesson learned!
With everything safely stowed, we were ready to set off. Jenny was departing at the end of the day as she was due to attend her son's graduation. With a keen eye on the worsening weather forecast, Jo and I debated joining her train journey but decided to give it a go and head home tomorrow if it got too bad. But for now, it was beautiful. We enjoyed the extra decoration on the letterboxes as we entered Poole.
The route was simple, but we were glad to get off the main road at the earliest opportunity. We had ridden in the country park once before when we came milepost bagging.
Today we picked a nice spot for a snack and just loved the freedom the bicycle can give.
We returned to NCN25 and found our first milepost. We were taking part in the Sustrans survey. We had each signed up for a post. Jenny’s was the first one, but we just couldn’t get the app to work.
Jenny made a note of all the information she needed, gave it the obligatory shove then planned to enter the details when she got back home. Jo’s post should have been next, but we completely missed it, reaching mine instead. I couldn’t get the app to work either, so again noted the information I needed, with the plan to complete the survey at home.
We retraced our steps, and while Jo was taking her details, I got the app working at last, but before we went back to my post, we searched out some well-earned lunch.
The sky was turning very grey by the time we finished food and our final survey task.
Not allowed to cycle along the coast in the summer months, we took the alternative route 25, heading inland, winding through housing estates and across strange bridges.
And eventually reaching the iconic Bournemouth pier.
We slowly made our way towards Christchurch. There were very few people down on the front this afternoon. The wind and threat of rain must have put them off. This very much worked in our favour. There was a second section of shore that had summer cycling restrictions. We had decided to walk it rather than try to find a different route. But with so few people using the path and most of them cycling, we decided it was wintery enough to get away with it. We had every intention of getting off and walking again if we came across lots of people, but we just didn’t.
By the time we turned off the coast, the rain had truly set in, and we donned our waterproofs.
We decided not to visit the ruined Norman house. Adding it to our list of places to revisit on a nicer day.
Instead, we stopped at the corner to say goodbye to Jenny as she went to find the station, and we headed on to find our campsite. The roads were pretty empty, but the cars we did encounter were moving fast. We had all lights blazing and were making ourselves as visible as we could.
We were very glad to reach the site. The reception was closed, but Jo’s name was on the booking sheet with a pitch number and handy map. We didn’t really need it, we were the only ones in the camp field, which had little shelter from the wind and was already beginning to flood.
I was worried about pitching. I’ve been lucky enough to never pitch in the rain before, and unlike Jo’s tent, I had to pitch inner first - meaning it would get wet before I’d managed to get the flysheet on.
We followed the plan we had hatched en route. We pitched Jo’s together, and while my bags sat in the shelter of her tent, we got on with pitching mine. The wind picked up, pushing the side wall against the inner to such an extent that I had to repitch. This wasn’t difficult with the two of us - just pick it up and move it - what could possibly go wrong? My fears that we would have a repeat of the morning's tent escape were thankfully unfounded.
Jo, as always, was fully prepared for every eventuality. Her main coat drying on Dora in clothes horse mode. This lightweight one gave her the flexibility to move around without getting more clothes wet.
I was pleased to find that my tent hadn’t gotten too wet in the pitching process and was already dry enough to get my bed unpacked. I tried out an impromptu but unsuccessful drying area of my own.
It quickly became clear to me that I’d pitched my tent the wrong way around, meaning that I couldn’t actually cook while using the cover of my tent to protect me from the wind and rain. Instead, I made a wrap from my remaining food, and some salad leaves that we had bought from the eco site. Feeling a little sorry for myself with my damp clothes and my tiny dinner, I continued to unpack, getting changed into something dry while I ate.
I couldn’t believe my eyes. I’d completely forgotten this Freddo that Jenny had given me in the morning. That put a big smile on my face.
Jo sent me a text. The rain, by now, was hitting the tents so loudly that we couldn’t actually hear one another. She was going to attempt to boil some water, and would I like some?
She was successful, and my evening meal was completed by a comfortingly hot mug shot and a hot water bottle. All was good with the world.
We both settled down for the night very early with little to do bar relax in the warmth of a good sleeping bag and enjoy the exhilarating sound of rain hitting flysheets.
I woke up while it was still dark, but I couldn’t hear wind or rain. I made a dash for the loo block and was back in my tent before the next downpour. The wind had died down a little, and I was lulled back to sleep by the now gentle taps of the rain and a mildly flapping flysheet.
It was still grey and windy when I woke again, but no rain meant I could cook my own breakfast and get ready for the day ahead.
My phone battery was very low, and the backup was empty, so with the phone now charging in reception, we resorted to traditional means to check our route. We decided to continue with our original plans rather than head for a station, both relieved that we had made it through the storm with little issue and, in my case, lots learned.
We left soon after 11 and headed towards Brockenhurst. We were both, understandably, a little worried about the off-road sections on today's route.
But we made it through. It was quite wet in places, but nothing like we’d survived already.
Back on the road, we hit another hurdle, this time in the form of a Ford. There was a path/bridge to the side, but with laden panniers, my bike was too wide to use it, so it was a choice between unloading or riding on through…
…with relief, I made it without getting wet!
I recognised one of the sections of the 'recycled' railway from walks we used to do and suggested we stop at the tea rooms at the end for something to eat. This worked out very well as there was a delicious warm quiche on the menu, which meant that our main meal of the day was sorted.
Once lunch was finished, we gathered our thoughts and checked our route. At that moment, it was taking us all the way to Brockenhurst station, where Jenny would have originally left us, and we still had the option to bail if we wanted to. We decided to reduce that diversion and only go as far as the high street for provisions.
After our resupply, we started the long, slow, but beautiful climb through Rhinefield arboretum, the beauty of which, in my opinion, can best be fully appreciated from the saddle.
We carefully crossed the A35 and then kept an eye out for signs for the Knightwood oak.
This enormous tree is said to be the oldest and largest in the whole of the New Forest. It was a popular destination for the Victorians, and the information board shows an early photograph of someone standing beside it. The circles at the bottom of the board show the change in recorded girth over time too.
The oak was now guarded by smaller saplings and a picket fence. Such a shame we need such reminders to leave nature alone!
There was another oak nearby that was evidently planted to mark the millennium, so in just over 20 years, its girth was little more than that of my arm.
When we reached the top of the climb, I marvelled that I’d found it no more difficult than I had the last time I came up, and that was unloaded! It’s amazing how quickly the body adapts.
We wandered down to the deer sanctuary at Bolderwood and watched a cluster of Fallow deer munch away.
Then walked across to the car park, where we found a seat with a view (and also a loo) and then bought a couple of celebratory ice creams.
It didn’t take us long to get to our next site. This was much noisier than it had been when Jo and Babs visited before, mainly due to a large number of children at the end of their first week of holiday.
We had arrived in plenty of time to get organised. I was surprised at how dry the tent was compared to how I remembered it going away. Reception kindly gave my backup battery an hour's charge, this meant that I could charge both my phone and my Garmin overnight.
We had been put on our own in a tiny field with a yurt in the corner. So I was a little sad to see someone else being brought over to pitch there too. But it was fun to watch this young family get set up while entertaining/training their child in the art of camping. A three-year-old wielding a mallet is a sight to see.
We cooked and showered and noted how quiet the site went at mealtime and then exceedingly quiet not long afterwards, I guessed for an early bedtime, but a quick trip to the shower block confirmed where many of the children were now. It was again threatening to rain, and we were both exhausted, so we decided an early night was called for
Our final morning. I was up early and took the opportunity of some signal at the top of the hill to check on the weather for the day. No rain expected. Jo arrived, making me jump. We savoured the opportunity to sit in the dry and eat breakfast. Jo had got packing down to a fine art and was finished way before I was. I was still faffing while waiting for my fly to dry.
But I should have been more aware of the darkening sky and less trusting of the weather forecast. The heavens opened, and my tent got soaked. There was nothing for it but to put it down in the rain. Jo very kindly assisted.
I was kicking myself that I hadn’t been quicker as I hoisted my extra heavy tent bag onto the rack and readied myself to leave. After one last look at our final camp pitch just to check we’d left no trace, we pushed our bikes up the field and stopped where we could get a signal (and a final trip to the loo) before we set off on our final day's adventure.
Just a couple of miles later, we were stopping to strip off the waterproofs again, we were boiling!
We decided to take a slight (7-mile) detour to the Rufus stone, a plaque that marks the place where a son of William the Conqueror was killed after being hit in the eye by an arrow. It wasn’t just the opportunity to see the location that pulled us there. We were there to answer a British Cycle Quest clue, this was only my 4th so far, so I have many still to collect. But if I manage to collect all the answers from these Cycle UK collated clues, it would take me to some beautiful locations all across the whole country.
Once we reached Bramshaw, we were back on track, we savoured our last views of the beautiful New Forest before crossing the busy Salisbury Road and heading into Wellow.
Feeling hungry, I remembered the lovely Headlands Farm coffee shop, and so we took another detour past an ornately decorated Brooklands farm building that had a woodland scene containing 4 deer carved in relief across its front.
We were warmly welcomed by the staff at the coffee shop and relaxed in the sun for an hour whilst eating toasties, drinking coffee and being entertained by a friendly robin who even tried out my bike.
We were warmly welcomed by the staff at the coffee shop and relaxed in the sun for an hour whilst eating toasties, drinking coffee and being entertained by a friendly robin who even tried out my bike.
We finally dragged ourselves away, and as if we didn’t want the tour to end, we found another diversion looking for the church where Florence Nightingale was buried. The tomb carried a simple FN as she had wished, but on another side, dedicated to her parents, she was clearly named. The church was a familiar design, with the wooden spire linking it to a number of other churches in the area.
We reluctantly returned to our route and cycled on to Awebridge, where we would part company, Jo heading back to Winchester and me to Southampton.
We parted with a challenge. Who would get home first and complete the Wordle that neither had finished that morning, both stuck with the same choice of letters? Jo messaged when I was only halfway back, she had a sudden flash of inspiration whilst riding and pulled up to check out her hunch. She was correct and spent the rest of the ride grinning that she had beaten me. I never did get that word!
I got home and showered, then remembering my very wet tent, I checked the forecast for the weekend. Rain, rain and more rain. Weighing up my options, I decided to take full advantage of my empty workplace and pitched my tent up in a classroom to dry, then helpfully sat recalling tails of the adventure to one of my colleagues while she was trying to work.
Another great adventure, this time right on the doorstep. A number of the places were familiar to me, most were no more than a day's ride away from Southampton, but there is something very special about joining them together, ‘moving home’ as you go, especially when you are doing so with a great group of friends. Each place felt like we were there for the first time, though with a strange sense of Deja vu!
Thank you, as always, to Jo, Jenny and Babs for sharing your incredibly fun company (and photos) with me.
Special thanks to Jo, who yet again masterminded the whole adventure. I really do appreciate the time and effort you put into designing the route and organising the accommodation, taking on the hard work so that I can just turn up and ride.
Thank you.
Further Information -
Day 1 Home to Salisbury Camping and Caravan Club site - 27 miles
Day 2 Salisbury to Woodfrys Greener camping - 31 miles
Day 3 Shaftesbury to South Lychett Manor Camping - 27 miles
Day 4 Lytchett Minster to Harrow Wood Farm- 26 miles
Day 5 Bransgore to Redshoot Campsite - 23 miles
Day 6 Linwood to Home - 35miles
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