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.