It was the second Friday in September, and I was heading out of the garden on my bike, nothing unusual there, but this Friday, my bike was very heavy. This Friday I didn’t turn towards the common, instead, I went straight on down the long hill of Wilton Road, joined the traffic on Hill Lane and headed down to the station.
This Friday, I was going to make the most of a day off and I was heading to meet Jo and Babs in Winchester for the first part of their three day camp and unlike the others, I was dependent on the trains to get me to and from my cycle trip.
I had packed over the previous couple of nights, which gave me a lot of flexibility in the morning, but did leave me wondering what I was carrying for much of the day.
A quick check on Trainline threw a small spanner in the works - Southampton to Winchester - delayed, cancelled and delayed! I decided just to head on down to the station as soon as I could then get on the first train heading in the right direction. The station was full of conversations into phones ear pieces and sometimes seemingly thin air ‘Sorry, I’m going to be late. No no details as yet. Something to do with points. Yes, I’ll keep you posted’
I moved further up the platform, hearing yet more of the same one-sided conversation. I counted my blessings that I had no deadline. I decided to give it half an hour and if nothing was moving, I’d forgo my train ticket and just ride to Winchester.
Thankfully at 8.40, I boarded the 7am train. I had been directed towards the cycle carriage, but couldn’t get any further up the platform. The doors started shutting in anticipation of leaving, so I heaved Trigger up the large step and found myself in the centre of a carriage with so much more room than I would have had in the correct spot. No one seemed to mind my enforced error, there was instead a relief-fueled euphoria between the other passengers that they were finally moving somewhere.
With only two scheduled stops we were soon in Winchester. The lift was unusually busy, so I snapped my laden load while waiting for my turn. I was earlier than planned and was busy trying to remember the route to Jo’s house. I'd made the trip a number of times now, but never alone and I’d been unsuccessfully trying to picture one particular section of the route throughout the train journey.
I was so relieved to see Jo standing outside the station. She had kindly cycled over to guide me back.
Chatting as we rode, we soon arrived in Kingsworthy (and I had again neglected to concentrate on the route) Jo swapped bikes, said goodbye to Mike then we were away on our journey proper.
We arrived at The King Charles pub at the end of the road and had hardly put our feet on the ground when Babs arrived. Then after a quick discussion and fiddle with bags, we were off on our adventure. It was a long slow slog up the hill towards Stoke Charity. I was beginning to wonder if there was something wrong with my brakes as it seemed so much harder than usual. But the thought went out of my mind as we turned right, heading away from our usual first stop at the lovely little pond.
We stopped near Mitcheldever village to take off some layers. The day had suddenly become much warmer. Then stopped again near Overton for elevensies. The blue sky and lovely company soon took my mind from my achy legs and slightly sore throat.
Another stop, this time over looking the North downs. Jo pointed towards Whitchurch to the left and Kingsclere to the right. That was where we were heading for lunch.
The climbing continued for a while longer but the views were stunning. We caught our breath in a layby overlooking the real Watership down. I couldn't spot any rabbits.
We dropped down into Kingsclere. Jo had mentioned an honesty cafe - I wasn't sure what to expect - I was imagining cupboards with a tin to put money in when you'd helped yourself to cake. But as we rode down the high street, I realised that she was referring to the name of the cafe itself.
There was no bike parking available, so we lined the bikes up on the tiny wall beside the church and went in to order take aways. A congregation had just spilled out of the church and wedding party photos were underway while we were ordering. The string of bikes had attracted interest from one of the party who was busy quizzing Babs about her journey, then turning the conversation quickly to relay stories of his own trips. He was called back for his turn in front of the camera and we were left to enjoy our hot drinks and pastries.
We retraced our tracks out of the village and true to the cycle physics law - what comes downhill must go uphill - we started climbing. I was pleasantly distracted by the bank full of beautiful cyclamen to our left.
We were making really good progress, so when we passed the National trust Sandham memorial chapel, we weighed up the option of setting up camp nice and early or stopping to look round. The National trust won!
The chapel had been designed and decorated by a local
Artist Sir Stanley Spencer, just after the first world war. The 18 pictures commemorated the fallen during that war and painted his personal religious journey through his war experience. It had been financed by locals and was now available to the paying public and those who were members. Babs and I had our cards with us, so we went inside, Jo stayed out with the bikes, but missed little as she was shown everything in a commemorative book by the eager volunteer at the door.
We finished the visit sat around a large picnic bench eating out lunch in the sunshine while the volunteers got ready for their ‘free visit’ sunday.
Jo explained that the two outer buildings were alms houses, built as a condition of the planning permission. They had previously been occupied by war veterans and were now the site of the museum.
Ducking once more under the A34 for the final section of our journey, we reached the site in no time at all. There, we were greeted by a chatty site manager with a lovely Irish accent, he was convinced that our booking was under the name Hood. We did try to correct him as Jo had not made an official booking and definitely wouldn't have booked under that name. But we fitted the bill, so it must be us. After paying the exceptional price of £6 each, We were shown to our pitch.
I hadn't even put my stand down when our caravan neighbour appeared and offered us all a cup of tea. This was rapidly becoming one of my favourite sites.
The one thing I find impossible with my Nordisk Palace is being able to enter without a huge grin on my face. This was my beautiful spacious home for the night and I loved it. It was small enough to pack on the bike and large enough to put one inside if I wanted to. I didn't. Instead, I filled it with the sleeping compartment and the multitude of bags that I’d been moving all day.
As the shadows lengthened, the temperature dropped. I had already had a shower and was soon wearing every layer I had. I was warmed by dinner, but was struggling to keep a constant temperature. I was tempted to bring my sleeping bag out, but made do with my blanket.
We sat watching the sky change colour, while counting the bats flying overhead. Jo switched her tent lights on and we settled down with hopes of seeing the Northern lights that had been predicted for that evening.
The sunset was beautiful and the full moon majestic, but we would never have seen the lights while facing south.
Us finally realising our error and turning to face north coincided with a set of flashing bike lights, the Irish lilt of our host and three male cyclists battling to put tents up in the dark. We guessed one of the chaps was named Hood.
I showed Jo and Babs how to set their cameras to take photos of the potential the northern lights, but we couldn't see much more than two small tents and a tarp shelter being errected. We decided to call it a night, I headed to the loo, then before entering my Nordisk palace, I took one last photo.
‘Would you be interested to know that the sky has turned slightly pink?’ I asked.
‘Can you see it with your eyes?’ replied Jo.
I had to admit that I couldn't.
I headed to bed too.
I woke at 12 freezing cold. I had no more layers to add. I tried sit ups as a way to warm up - I'm sure that's what Jenny Graham said she did during her world record breaking cyele round the world - it didn't warm me up at all. In fact I was starting to shiver. I got up, grabbed the hot water bottles and a head torch, set the kettle on the trangia and headed to the loo - spending longer than I needed under the hand dryer. By the time I got back, the kettle was boiling. I split the water between the two hot water bottles, took one more photo - just in case - and headed back to my sleeping bag and an unusually heavy sleep.
It was a cold damp start to the morning, and I was feeling quite rough. My initial intention was to ride most of the way home before catching a train near Winchester. But this now seemed quite out of the question. I wasn't 100% sure that I would make it to the closest station ether.
With that decision made, I started packing.
As always, I marvelled at how everything could fit on my bike and then wondered how on earth my shakey legs were going to move it.
I was so glad that I had Jo and Babs looking after me. They let me sit at the front to set a pace I could ride, then took over when deciphering the route from my Garmin became too difficult. I am sure we passed some beautiful scenery, but I don't remember any of it.
I was very relieved to see the sign for Hungerford station. I had looked up the trains that morning. It looked like they ran roughly every hour, but I couldn't get one that I could book my bike on till three and that had three changes to get back to Southampton. I booked it but hoped I could get an earlier one. We rode into the town to find something to eat where we could see our bikes. One cafe offered courtyard seating behind the shop. It was perfect. The food was good too.
We each bought a main meal for then and a pastry for the road. The coffee eased my very sore throat. The sit down eased my muscles that by now were very sore. But nothing could stop my nose from running. I was feeling rough!
The others were ready to move on towards their next campsite. I decided to try to get on an earlier train even though there were no bike slots available. So we all headed to the station.
It was a beautiful afternoon. And the station was filling up with excited voices, some sounded like they had been waiting a while for the train. The announcement came across the tannoy stating that the next train was the delayed from somewhere going to somewhere else calling at... All I heard was Newbury - the first of my changes, and then Reading, the second. If I could get on this one, I would only need to change once. The alarm for the level crossing went, as did my phone. Babs had a puncture just down from the station. They had wheeled back as this was the safest place to fix it. I messaged back saying that my train was due and did they have everything they needed. I looked down the platform and saw Jo appear at the end waving to me as the train arrived.
I managed to get on the cycle carriage, and there were already two bikes hanging precariously in the strange cupboard thing that GWR laughingly class as bike storage. I tucked myself in so as not to block the aisle. As we got underway the guard announced the trolley service. I looked at my available floor space and hoped that they weren't coming this way or I'd be in trouble.
The door slid open and a smiley uniformed lady pushing the drinks trolley arrived. I apologised for being in the way, she said I wasn't at all and proceeded to pack the trolley into a previously invisible cupboard opposite me. It was fascinating to see how it was designed with big boxes that slipped off the trolley into the frame of the train. ‘Oh they are the kettles’ she said when I asked. Another chap came and took some Prosecco for a customer in first class. ‘I live to make people happy on my train’ he grimaced to the girl. Neither were bothered that I was there at all.
I relaxed as we glided on to Reading. I chatted to a lovely lady who border at Newbury, but had missed her link to Gatwick. She was worried that she was going to miss her plane. No wonder people don’t rely on public transport.
I was helped off the train by another kind passenger. The steps on these were very high and the bike felt even heavier than it had in the morning.
I sunk into a vacant chair once I’d reached the correct platform. I reached for my phone to check my messages again. I was feeling sorry for myself, missing the beautiful day that I could see outside the station while I was sat on a cold seat in the shade with those blue skies outside taunting me. I was expecting to see a message feed full of scenic views and smiley faces.
‘We are stuck. Pump broken’
I rang Jo. Babs pump had fallen apart while they were trying to blow up a new inner tube and Jos pump wouldn't fit. I looked down at my pump and tool kit and felt so so guilty. I wondered about the logistics of getting a train back, but that would be another hour and I was sure they would have sorted something by then. I pulled out my pastry and waited for the train.
‘Cheating are we’ said a chap as he went past. ‘This will look good on your strava, all those fast miles with no effort’ I used all my effort to smile back!
The train arrived and I got on. Again there was no space in the bike section, but this time due to a load of cases dumped in there. I wheeled through the doors between the carriages and tucked myself in by the broken toilet blocking nothing bar the outer door behind me. And there was plenty of space for me to move to if the door was needed. I settled down for the long journey, still waiting on news from the others.
We were underway. A hassled-looking guard came down asked me to move to bike section. I explained about the cases. ‘I'll clear them’ he said ‘I have to get behind you to fix the toilet’ he went through the doors and started moving them into the designated case store.
‘Stay there’ said a voice from behind me. ‘I’ll sort the toilet and you should be able to stay put’ A key turn and a whoosh later, the toilet was back functioning again. The guard came back, was very pleased to see the engineer and even happier to see that the toilet was fixed, but he still wanted me to move. I followed him to the now empty slot while he told me that I needed to hang the bike in the cupboard.
I explained that my handlebars are too wide for that, he said I still needed to try. I offered him the bike to try for himself and explained that was why I’d tucked myself away. When he couldn't fit it in, he explained that he couldn’t let me block a door then asked me to stand in the aisle that blocked the main passageway and also the exit on both sides. I explained that I’d be staying with my bike and had every intention of moving it if the door was needed. He then agreed that my original place was better and let me go back there.
He came back to me 5 mins later to check that I was ok and confirm that the door wouldn't be used any time back to Southampton. He even thanked me for my patience. It sounded like he had had a tough day too.
My phone alarmed. The train that I had been booked on was now cancelled. I was so glad I'd manage to get the earlier one.
We only had a few stops as we whizzed down the line,
Winchester being one of them.
We were soon back to platform 4, Southamton. I got the lift to the bridge, then rolled along to the lift to platform1 and my exit. I stood and just stared in disbelief as the sign flashed ‘Out of order’ It took me a moment or two to process. I turned back to platform 4, wishing I was already home
I was finally back out in the warm sun, with just a short ride to get home. Once there, I removed the bags from the bike and flopped down on the sofa, hardly moving for the rest of the weekend.
Jo and Babs did get the tube inflated eventually after finding an oversized old fashioned pump in a hardware store. The Hungerford bike shop had gone a long time ago apparently.
The pump would not reach a high pressure, making their forward journey a difficult one, but they did find a friendly cyclist at home in one of the villages that they passed theough. He lent them a track pump to get the tyre uo to pressure and they were back underway.
Though I was so glad to be home, healthwise. I couldn't help but be envious of their camp for the night. It looked stunning.
When can we go again Jo?
As always, thank you to my lovely travel companions who looked after me when I was poorly and are just great company whatever we do. Thank you also for the use of your photos when mine just aren't enough.
Further Information -
Day 1 Winchester to Oakley Farm, Newbury - 29 miles
Day 2 Oakley Farm to Hungerford station - 10 miles
Campsite - Oakley Farm Campsite
Backpacker and members rates £6.00
Links
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