Cycling adventures across Britain and beyond
Britain’s de facto second city (sorry, Brummies) was utterly terrible for cycling until recently. Now though – thanks to some determined installations of segregated cycle lanes – it’s much better. Compared to the best large cities. Which means it’s only slightly terrible. To be fair – which would be a departure for me, granted –…
En route home from the Isle of Wight, I found Portsmouth surprisingly difficult to tear myself away from. Though that was largely because a station fire knocked out the trains for four hours. But spare time in a city is never a problem with a bike, so I spent the hiatus enjoyably exploring the city’s…
No wonder, in this era of neoliberal capitalism, red squirrels are struggling. Their old ways of social equality and communally-owned hazelnuts have been pushed aside by the aggressive, exploitative, money-making urgency of the greys. However, on the Isle of Wight, like amiable old lefties with control of some niche council, the reds still cling on….
The round-the-island cycle route is the keynote bike ride of the diamond-shaped island off the south coast. And it is indeed a gem. Because it’s got many faces. And it’s hard. It’s sixty-odd miles of ups and down giving some splendid views and scenery along the way, but it also misses a trick or two…
This is as remote as England gets. The top of Coquetdale in Northumberland is over thirty miles’ ride west from the nearest railway station at Alnmouth. I was cycle-camping here to research a magazine article, exploring the Otterburn Ranges: Ministry of Defence land only open to the public a few days a month, like our…
Stonehenge. Avebury. Long barrows. Crop circles… and White Horses. There’s something weird about Wiltshire. Must be those open plains and smooth chalk slopes: a blank canvas to send messages to the gods, or them to us. Britain has many hill figures in the shape of a giant steed round the country. There’s one in Folkestone…
Day 4 featured the birth of the tourist industry, England’s most spectacular river panorama, Britain’s only surviving hand ferry, more quirky little pedestrian bridges, a mile-long unlit pitch-black tunnel, Chepstow’s magnificent historic border/ non-border bridge – and the conclusion of the trip at the sprawling confluence where Wye and Severn meet up again. Today was…
Day 3 featured ‘book town’ Hay, a cyclist called Elgar who like me also composed a bit, Hereford glimpsed, pedestrian bridges that could double as fairground cakewalks, and an idyllic pub-camping spot. I was away early. The market in Hay-on-Wye was just setting up and most shops – which in Hay, means bookshops – were…
Day 2 featured a fence made of gravestones, a coach road that would make you sack your coach, biking barbers, a chance encounter, and a wasp sting not by a wasp. An early start. My puncture repair work was evidently successful: the back tyre was still firm this morning. I headed to Llangurig through the…
This is a leisurely cycle-camp down the 130-mile River Wye. (Route map below.) Day 1 featured a bit of Japan on a house, a pub Dylan Thomas never drank in, remote reservoirs, a puncture, and the source up in the mid-Welsh hills just a stone’s throw from that of the Severn. Please don’t throw stones…