June 2021 - My first cycle tour (Self propelled camp) Day 2

‘Don’t judge camping on your first night away’ I was told. ‘You never sleep on your first night’ said another seasoned cycle tourer. 

Thankfully my body hadn’t listened. Whether it was the fresh air, the exercise, the soothing sound of the rain or just the comfort or the sleeping bag, I went out like a light. 

I could hear the others moving around and unzipped my tent to see what the new day held in store. It was like the world had changed seasons while we slept. 

There was no blue in the sky. In fact the clouds had decided to join us for breakfast. 

We could hardly see the end of the field and the nearby horses threw strange shapes in the skyline as they moved around. Time for a coffee. 

Battling with yet another leg cramp while sitting awkwardly on the floor, I vowed then and there that next time I would need a camp chair. I would just have to shed the pounds that the chair would bring - it’s a necessity! 

Time for breakfast and the camp dog was well aware of the campers routine. He took quite a shine to Bab’s, sitting beside her as close as he could. I’m not sure whether he was after the warmth from her blanket or a bit of her porridge, but either way, he stuck around long enough for Bab’s to get a selfie. 

We took our time packing up - everything was wet and with the low clouds still hanging around, the tents were unlikely to dry any time soon. 

I have realised that things never quite pack the same way twice. And the bike seemed so much larger and heavier today. We filled our bottles and readied ourselves to leave. All hoping back off the bikes as soon as we remembered the strange, unridable, surface of the driveway. 

We left our home for the night in search of new adventure (well a local windmill to be precise) 

After a slight detour (we took the wrong road), we arrived at Wilton windmill. Note to self - windmills are usually at the top of big hills - remember this when you agree to go sightseeing with a very heavy bike ;) It was worth the trip though. 

The sign for coffee and cream tea reminded me how hungry I was. Shame the cafe didn’t open for a few more hours. No worries though as Jo had another coffee stop in mind. 

This place was amazing, an open barn at the end of a farm track. An honesty box for any small purchases of the homemades dotted around, but best of all, a sign with a phone number to order hot drinks and fresh sandwiches. 

It instantly became lunchtime! 

The sandwiches were amazing. And Pinckney’s farm shop was quickly added to my list of favourite stops that I must revisit at some point soon.  

Fully satisfied and pleasantly warmed by our impromptu feast, we needed to make a move. We had to climb the Chiltons. We had travelled through a gap on the way there, but this time we were climbing up to the ridge - this was no easy ride  -before dropping down to Weyhill, a town with a rich history of Gypsy conventions. Though it meant more to me in a slightly more modern era as the last village we drove through before my grandparents house. (This was a very welcome signpost when you were a carsick youth) 

Bab’s neatly zoomed up the hill on her Goddess of a bike. Reaching the top with enough time to spare to grab our her camera for an embarrassing photo of me struggling up there with Jo politely riding alongside to give me moral support. She was pretending that the small wheels and heavy bags were holding her back too. But I knew she was really just keeping me company. 

Once on the ridge the 360 views were just amazing. I only wish the phones camera - or any camera for that matter - would do the scene justice. 

We carried on a while before we felt the need of another stop. It was warming up by now and the friendly pub was welcoming us to join them. 

We all ordered cold drinks and while I went to investigate the very animated game of dominoes on the nearby table, Jo and Babs tried to identify the pretty comfrey in the ditch behind us, which were singlehandedly providing a whole hive of bees with their pollen.  

 We didn’t have far to go now. We dropped down from the ridge and headed back towards Winchester. 

We said our goodbyes just before a long down as Babs didn’t turn off as soon as we did. 

I once more marvelled about the many friendships and experiences that cycling has brought me. 

My life unmistakably enriched by my favourite hobby and the friends who enjoy it alongside me. 

Thank you Jo and Babs for your friendship, great company and tremendous patience shown when answering my billion questions as we travelled. 

‘Have we put you off yet’ asked Jo. 

‘No chance - when and where is tour number 2?’

June 2021 - My first cycle tour (Self propelled camp)

I’d done the research. Watched a tonne of You Tube videos. 

Invested in kit. 

But now it was time to put it all to the test and I was nervous. 

Could I get everything on my bike?

Would I remember everything? 

Could I pitch the tent? 

What if it rained? 

So so many questions. 

Thankfully, I had a couple of friends who have ventured this way before and they were more than happy to give me advice, lend a hand and accompany me on my first trip. 

So here we are, it’s Saturday morning after a crazy week at work. I’ve taken the easy way out and driven to Jo’s house to start - that’s a couple of hills avoided, I thought. 

Jo, a seasoned pro decided that this trip would be perfect to trial using Dora, her trusty Explorer Brompton. Babs who joined us too on her fairly new gravel bike Xena and me - the one with the white knuckles grabbing my, then unnamed, bike by its pink handlebars hoping that it wouldn’t spin out of control as we were photographed. 

I was nervous. 

But, I was also excited. 

I’d been looking forward to this day since I first spoke to Jo about her kit. That was the last time I visited here. Jo has kindly reloaded her bike so I could see, not only what she took, but how it packed too. Little did I know then that I would be back just a couple of months later - bike in hand. 

We set off, leaving Kingsworthy on some relatively familiar roads and stopped to admire the view at Stoke Charity. 

The bike was handling so much better than I expected. In fact, it was only on the hills that I could notice the weight behind me. 

We discussed names for my, so far, untitled bike. Rosie? Pinky? Olivia? None were quite cutting the mustard. 

We finished our short break and returned to cycling. There was plenty of hill practice on this route - though I'm pretty sure that what I was thinking were mountains, the others weren't even considering undulations. 

It wasn’t long before we reached Whitchurch. And the entrance to The Bombay Safire Gin distillery. Though I’m not a Gin drinker, I hear there is a lovely coffee stop here. We didn’t stop on this occasion - we had other plans. 

But the glasshouses built for the aromatics looked stunning as we cycled past and reminded me that I should return another day. 

“Stop! Stop! Stopping.” came the shout from in front as we all came to an abrupt halt. Initially I thought Jo had dropped her glove, but as it started to move, I took a closer look. There in front of us was a real live mole. I’ve never seen one before and yes it looked as velvety as I would imagine, but a quarter of the size. 

It’s barely existent eyes were useless in the daylight and it’s relatively huge paws and claws were hampering it’s progress down the road. 

Knowing that it was unlikely to survive if we left it, Jo carefully guided it back up the bank - using a large leaf to protect them both. 

We left it finding its way back into the hedgerow, hoping that it wouldn’t retrace its steps back into the path of a passing car/cyclist as we continued up the hill. 

There are two great things about climbing. The first is the amazing view you often get when you reach the top. The second is the reward - a great downhill. I alway think of these as free miles. 
In this case,  the view was as stunning as the down. 

Time was marching on and I was getting hungry. But no fear, Jo had it all in hand. We turned from the main road into The Hungry Strawberry, originally a ‘pick your own’ farm, but now with the addition of shop and cafe, the perfect place for lunch. 

Once the cheese toastie was downed and the facilities used, we headed back out towards our next stop. 

We paused to mark the crossing of a boarder and again enjoyed the views of our surroundings. 

This time Dora made herself quite at home here. 

We pedalled on, not stopping now until we reached the Kennet and Avon canal. 

Bab’s and I enjoyed the view while Jo was hailed to assist a passing canalboat. 

We stood for a while chatting to the owner - an inspirational 80 year old sailing her way back towards Bristol, raising money as she went. She was planning to run cruises once she reached home - again to raise money for her chosen charity - a home for girls in Ethiopia. All the time we were watched by her trusty four legged guardian who was never more than a few feet from his charge. 

Once we finally pulled ourselves away from this fascinating lady, we continued on with our travels, loosely following the canal. Then all too quickly, we happened upon the sign to the campsite. The sign pointed toward a steep concrete covered incline. The blocks were indented, making cycling up them practically impossible. So walking the final few metres, we reached our home for the evening. 

Noting the darkening clouds, we quickly pitched our tents and got on with cooking tea. 

It never ceases to amaze me how different food always tastes when camping. I am pretty certain that this would not be a choice meal if I prepared it at home, yet here, sat on a sit mat in the middle of a field, it tasted amazing. 

Rain stopped play as we all retired to our canvas rooms. The noise of the rain drowned out most sounds, so we resorted to social media to continue our conversations. 

"Has the rain put you off Sharon? 

Don't forget day one is always the worst"

"Put me off?" "No chance! I'm hooked!"

"I might need a chair for next time though" I said as I stretched out yet another cramp in my thigh. Very glad that I had brought my tiny hot water bottle. 

We compared our tents ability to disperse water as the clouds provided the water. But that soon developed into an inkblot like test of the rain drop shapes - I am sure someone somewhere would be evaluating us on our answers to that one. 

Tucked up in my sleeping back, listening to the rain gently taping on the tent, I soon settled to sleep at the end of day 1.  

July 2021 - Tour number 2 - Keeping it local (Day 2)

There is something really calming about listening to rain on canvas, while you are snuggled into a sleeping bag. But tonight, I'm not finding it quite as relaxing as normal, but then counting elephants to check the distance of the thunder storm rarely is. 

Thankfully there was only the one occasion when I only got as far as ‘Ellie’ when there was a Big Bang  and then things quietened to just flashes. 

I heard rustling and unzipping from next door - I wasn’t the only one awake. 

‘Are you awake Sharon’ came Jo’s voice. ‘Yes. You ok?’ I replied. 

‘I’m just fixing my tent. Warning - I’m in my cycle jacket and pants’ at which point I hastily opted to remain within the confines of my own canvas - there’s been enough flashing already for one night!’ 

Having repositioned her wandering tent peg Jo returned to the safety of  her tent and told me about the growing en-suite water feature beside Bab’s tent. We both peered through the dark towards a pond heading towards the corner peg. It had by now stopped raining so unless it started again, we felt it was safe to leave Babs sleeping. 

I closed my eyes. 

I woke with the brightness of morning and more rustling from next door. Keen to check for puddles of my own, I got myself moving. The offer of coffee was too alluring. 

Though the en-suite water feature was now ebbing away, we all knew that the damp in the air would mean our tents would be that much heavier today. Breakfast was a leisurely affair, partly due to tiredness, partly due to the knowledge that nothing would be getting dryer due to the mizzle surrounding us. 

‘Why do things never pack the same way twice?’ 

I couldn’t remember what went where and ended up with very uneven bags - It wasn't till later in the day that I would come to realise the effect of not trying again, while trying to control a speed wobble whilst heading downhill. 

Once certain that we had left no trace, we headed out of camp and rode across the heathland towards brunch. 

We didn’t get far through the atmospheric scenery before being distracted by a family of donkeys against their misty backdrop.

The little one, wasn’t sure what to make of us and the strange, silent beasts that carried us. It was scarily much happier to approach the car that had just drawn up. 

 By the time we reached our chosen breakfast stop, the sun was out and we could loose our jackets for a while. 

You can’t visit the New Forest Lavender farm and not sample the lavender scones. Of course we left no trace there either. 

It wasn’t till we were just about to leave when another customer called across - ‘Do you have a flat there?’ 

We all looked down at our bikes, but it was Babs that had won the puncture lottery. She started readying her steed for repair while I did the next best thing and ordered more coffee. 

The coffee took longer than the repair, and we were soon on our way. Through village, hamlet and individual houses. Down some roads we knew and others that look like they have not been used in quite a while. At one point I was worried we were trespassing. 

But it all reminded me how pretty my surrounding area is and how easy it is to get to it by bike. 

We eventually reached the point where our paths would part, but not wanting to finish just yet, decided to have what is rapidly becoming a traditional parting drink at a handily placed pub. 

After clinking our glasses to a successful tour and raising a toast to further adventures, I headed south while Jo and Babs took the northerly route. 

But that wasn’t the end of the story. 
Just as I reached Romsey, I heard the familiar rumble of thunder, but unsure of its direction, I wondered if the others were caught in a storm. I stopped and shot them a quick message just as the heavens opened and gave me a complete soaking. 

‘Snack stop and tyre pump - slow puncture’ came the response. 

I rode on in the rain, mulling over their good fortune with the weather and wondering if I was the 'rain magnet' we had been discussing the previous night. 

It wasn’t until it started hailing and I ducked under a nearby bus shelter that the other part of the message hit me - ‘Snacks’ I said aloud, with a huge grin on my face, as I remembered my own stash. 

All too soon, I was back home. The tent was thrown over the washing line - as ‘Accuweather’ promised a couple of dry hours - and I headed off to get a shower and warm through. The sorting of the rest of the gear could wait. 

And what of the others? Well, the slow puncture became a full blown (or should I say unblown) puncture. Another cyclist came to their aid with another mechanical and they eventually reached home a few hours later. 

Did it put them off? 

No chance! 

Keep your eyes peeled for tour number 3. 

Relive - https://www.relive.cc/view/vYvr4Mm1Gx6