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.