Solo Touring - East Anglia Day 2

Cromer to Skegness

Planned 110 miles.

Again, I managed to set off later than planned.

Breakfast, pack tent, check bike.

Check bike. That’s the one that held me up – I had that sinking feeling when I noticed the rear tyre was flat again, although my first reaction was to pump it up and see how it fared while I finished packing my kit.

The tyre held, but while checking, I noticed a very loose spoke. After all the detailed preparation that had gone into this trip, the most important item that I had on my list, but for some reason did not pack was… the bloody spoke key.

Burnham Deepdale

Using multi-tool pliers I tightened the spoke to the rough tension of the others and having spun the wheel, decided the slight wobble was within acceptable parameters to see me through the day.

None of this should have been a surprise – I knew that loading the bike this heavily, would be a risk – these were my cross wheels and not designed for touring. I simply decided to reallocate some of the weight, putting a slightly higher percentage in the front panniers.

Having called home, I headed off to cross the top of Norfolk.

The A149 might not sound like the most appealing road, but this was one of my favourite parts of the trip – beautiful countryside, a few ups and downs and a pretty quiet road. Passing through Sheringham, Cley, and Wells, my attention was firmly focussed on making Burnham Deepdale for my second breakfast of the day after 30 odd miles.

I had camped at Burnham Deepdale with my family back in April and been introduced to the amazing café there www.deepdalecafe.co.uk . I’d had their full English in April and the thought of another pulled me through the increasing crosswinds.

Breakfast didn’t disappoint and I topped it up with a slice of cake and an espresso chaser to follow the latte.

Being diligent, I thought I’d check the rear tyre and top it up with a little more air from my minipump before I had a chance to find somewhere with a track pump.

Here we go again

Of course, Sod’s law would dictate that I would snap the valve. Time for another tube… My stock of spare tubes was now down to 2 and at this rate I would be needing many more before this trip was done.

After spending way too long outside the café, and drawing far too much attention, I hit the road again. Despite the crosswinds, this section to Hunstanton was pretty quick. I love the villages in this part of Norfolk and the recent gentrification of the area has resulted in some beautifully restored flint and brick cottages together with some stunning new builds that follow the traditional basics. I did, however, begin to notice that gentrification can lead to homogeneity – I would swear that every farmshop, pub, restaurant, delli etc have had their sign writing done by one agency. Or they’re all owned by the same person. Smart, consistent, but ultimately dull.

Fatbirds. Or to give it its full name – Fatbirds Don’t Fly. Unlikely name, but it’s a bike shop in Hunstanton, and a very good one. www.fatbirds.co.uk I bought a couple of tubes and borrowed their track pump, but could have stayed for much longer – titanium is their speciality and they have some beautiful bikes from the likes of Lynskey, Litespeed, Van Nicholas and Sabbath.

Head down, plough on

This was the start of the hard stuff. To get from Hunstanton to Skegness you have to skirt The Wash (for about 70 miles), heading first in a southerly direction to Kings Lynn. Unless you have a boat, in which case its about 16 miles away. Today this meant throwing myself into the teeth of a nasty headwind. This made things tediously hard and it was just a case of grinding it out while the miles ticked over.

The Queen has a place around here, and for that I thank Her. The quality of the road surface as I got closer to Sandringham was like nothing I have ever cycled on. If those guys in jumpsuits in the Intel ads have scooters in their lab/factory – this is what I expect it would feel like. I’ve never been a fan of the monarchy, but if having one of her holiday homes near you means roads like this, I would like to recommend a nice little flat in Colchester. She’d love it, and so would I.

As I came into the outskirts of Kings Lynn, the rains started. Short, sharp, but very heavy showers. I was thankful of the shelter from the wind in the town, but had a bit of trouble finding my way out. Eventually, I took a chance on a cycle path and for once it paid off.

Crossing Terrington Marsh, I began to understand what flat actually means. The farmland just goes on, and on. The sky is huge and you can see the weather that’s coming your way. In my case, this meant thunder storms, but it was kind of fun to try and outrun the next shower or slow up to let one pass. Inevitably, they caught me and against all the rules, I sheltered under a tree. It was either that, or be pressure washed off the face of the planet. I took my chances.

Coming off the Marsh at Long Sutton, I dodged the next thunder storm my making a pre-emptive strike on McDonalds and sitting out the worst of it. I used some of the time to call home and ahead to some campsites near Skegness. The problem now was that the gaps between thunder storms were being filled by traditional heavy rain, so in the spirit of relativity I took advantage of one of these “breaks” to get going again.

This part of the ride was the worst so far. Soaked through, I just wanted to get my mileage done and get my head down in a relatively dry tent. So, I decided to use the mainroads as they looked the most direct on the map – this meant the A17, A16 and A52. I wouldn’t recommend any of them. Lincolnshire Council are kind enough to place signs at regular intervals telling you how dangerous the roads are and how many people have been killed on them so far this year – some even gave comparative scores against the same period last year. I am sure these stats look great on a Powerpoint presentation, but the roadside?

Still never a good idea to take your own picture

On the upside, turning right and starting to head North up the A17 meant my old friend the tailwind was back and I was delighted to renew our acquaintance. These roads are busy, fast and dangerous, but for large sections, they have wide hard shoulder/run off areas which keep you away from the cars. Almost like a cycle path, but they go where you want to go.

I ploughed on past scheduled stops, stuffed my face with salt and vinegar peanuts in Boston and took a wrong turn out of town which I realised 6 miles later. I cut across country and resumed the northerly slog on the A52. I didn’t realise it then, but I needed a good stop, some refreshment and a rest.

The trouble is, there is absolutely naff all around there – just flat, endless fields and straight roads full of speeding cars. Lincolnshire mostly smelled of poo, wet vegetables, diesel and onions. I decided to plough on.

Furthest point from home

Eventually, I just had to stop and pulled into a closed garage forecourt. I was so hungry that I opened one of my pre-packed breakfast bags of oats and raisins and consumed the whole lot. Dry. Strangely, it was really very nice. I also quickly downed the contents of  both of my bottles. With my senses reinvigorated, I established that my campsite was no more than half a mile away and headed straight there.

Unlike the night before, reception was open. Although this site was considerably more down-market, they couldn’t have been nicer – very interested in what I was doing, welcoming and best of all – they completely refused any payment because I was on a bike and just “passing through”. After the day I had endured I felt like shedding a tear at this unexpected kindness (a little bit of moisture might have just slipped out – I was tired!)

Tent pitched, fed and showered, I slept well.

116 miles completed at 14.6mph in 7 hrs 53 mins in the saddle.

Solo Touring - East Anglia Day 1

Colchester to Cromer

Planned 128 miles

This was a hastily arranged trip. Having originally planned something a little longer, I just ran out of time. However, I was still able to do what I set out to do – try a multi day, self supported solo touring trip. This was merely a taster compared with some people’s truly epic rides but it still presented me with some decent challenges.



A few of the things I would need for 3 days on the road

Having said my goodbyes to my wife and son, I gingerly wobbled my way out of my road and down the first hill of the trip. Of course, I should have tested the fully loaded bike before the big day, but hey, this was going to be a trip of lessons.

I quite quickly adjusted to the new sensation of pedalling a well known bike, but with mudguards, racks and fully loaded front and rear panniers. Everything, except the steering, just felt a bit softer.



Locked up in Ipswich

My plan was to go out easy, keep to a sensible pace and stop frequently, so the first target was Neptune Quay in Ipswich for a café stop, a mere 20 miles from home. My initial fears about being able to propel such a heavily laden machine were soon dispelled as I bowled along quite nicely – just a little above my planned pace. I still had a bit of my time-trialling head on from the previous night’s club 10 and had to regularly remind myself to keep the pace nice and slow.

The 10% descent of Cox’s Hill at Lawford proved entertaining and I even managed to stop at the bottom. By the time I was spinning up the hill in Brantham on the other side of the River Stour I realised that propulsion was not going to be a problem. I even began to wonder what all the fuss was about - keeping a steady touring pace just seemed too easy.



What a great first stop...



Colours Continental Café in Ipswich provided me with one of the best espressos of the trip and a great piece of Victoria sponge. After 20 minutes I was back on the

Foxhall Road

on the gentle climb out of Ipswich, passing Foxhall Stadium, the scene of some fond and not so fond cyclocross memories.



After a short stretch on the dual carriageway A12, I made the first real mistake of the trip. It’s a mistake I have made many times in the past and I am sure its one that will be repeated many times in the future. I followed a sign for the cycle path into Woodbridge rather than sticking to my road plan. The trouble with cycle paths is they invariably disappear before your destination, are poorly signed, much slower than the road and full of pedestrians. In my book, pedestrians are more unpredictable and therefore much more dangerous than motor vehicles. However, I never learn and keep being tempted onto these “cycle” paths.



I found myself on the more familiar road out of Woodbridge and passed the old US Airbase at Bentwaters a bit later than expected, but was now making for Snape at pace.



Aldeburgh



It was at this point, the reason for my superfast legs and easy progress became clear. I was being pushed along by a huge and very obliging tailwind. Yet again, I wasn’t as good as I thought I was...

On the long, undulating road to Aldeburgh I was passed by a teenager on a road bike. He made the mistake of turning his head and smiling. Normally a polite and friendly gesture, this was not the time or place. I made sure I didn’t drop more than 15-20 yards off his wheel and amused myself at his big gearing by closing and sitting right on his wheel on the uphill sections. We entered Aldeburgh and he sat up and pulled over. Teenage Racer 0 – Middle Aged Tourist 1. Childish, yet satisfying.

Aldeburgh was originally scheduled as my next stop, but I decided to push on to Thorpeness and enjoyed another espresso and cake while watching the hired rowing boats and kayaks on the Meare.

Having checked my watch and map, I settled on making Southwold, at roughly 66 miles, for lunch.

Fish and chips were on my mind and in my nostrils as I arrived in Southwold. Following a quick circuit of the town centre I couldn’t track down the source of the delicious smell and settled on the Red Lion.

Its never good to take pictures of yourself

Mistake No. 2. If you fancy fish and chips by the sea, go to a chippy. Don’t bother with pub fish and chips – its bland and expensive. On the upside I met a couple of older guys from the Midlands who were riding down to Harwich before catching a ferry to the continent to spend the summer pottering around Europe. Now that’s what I call a constructive use of retirement. We compared notes on campsites, wished each other well and headed our separate ways.





The route, as I headed into the marine/industrial/holiday park landscapes of Lowestoft and Great Yarmouth was becoming less and less familiar. Before Caister, I even repeated my earlier bike path mistake – seduced again! I stopped at Caister and with a view of an offshore windfarm called a campsite close to Cromer and booked. That was it – I was committed – it was now Cromer or bust.

North of Caister, the route became more picturesque and noticeably flatter. The rain also started as I passed the 100 mile mark at West Somerton.



The 100 mile mark. In the rain.



The coastal road wound its way round towards Cromer with light houses, gas pipeline facilities and radar stations providing points of interest. The last few miles of a ride like this are the trickiest – when you are searching for a particular location in the middle of nowhere. I don’t have a GPS unit and prefer to rip a page out of a road atlas, so its my own fault really!

If you are on a road you don’t want to be on and the rain is hammering down, you can almost guarantee that something bad is going to happen. And so it came to pass that at 125 miles I got my first puncture of the day. Then I realised my usual procedure would be complicated by heavy pannier removal and a bit of extra faffing.



Defending the Nation

Fortunately, the downpour gave me some nice deep puddles, perfect for pinpointing punctures. Having loaded everything back up, I set off in a bit of a huff. Soaked to the skin and peed off.



My second puncture happened at the 127 mile mark. Having repeated the process and in even more of a dark mood, I rolled into the campsite about an hour later than planned. Reception was closed, but the security guy showed me to my pitch where I set everything up, got a brew and some food on, showered and retired to the clubhouse for a well earned pint of Guinness. The best Irish recovery drink on the market. My only niggling concern was that the strong and very helpful tailwind of today was going to become a troublesome cross wind as I turned from North to West for Day 2.



Home, sweet home

129 miles completed at an average of 15.1mph after 8hrs 31 in the saddle.

My legs didn’t feel too bad either.