Always take the weather with you.

My day in ten easy steps:

1. Breakfast on the patio.

2. Take a wander along the canal.

3. Admire the pretty flowers.

4. Cycle up, up and up heading westwards, pass Little Bedwyn.

5. Get all excited about a visit to The Stone Museum in Great Bedwyn. What, I ask myself, could a stone museum be dedicated to? A study of local geology related to the building of the canals and the materials used in creating the plethora (6) of white chalk horses which litter the hills around?

Surprisingly, its a museum of old grave stones. Lady in the post office tells me that the stone mason went bust a couple of years ago and museum is closed. I wonder if this indicates a population of sturdy, healthy and long living people.... Lady in the post office also tells me that the baliffs came round to reposses his 'stuff'. Now that would have been a sight to see.

Post repossession. Left over 'stuff'.

Cheery stuff.

Loving the done/gone ryhme. Do we say dun and gun or don and gon?
Lucky his name was Wiggs, eh? It'd never have worked if he'd been called Hows.
Unless, of course, he'd killed cows....

 6. Decide to stop off (at the top of one hill and the highest point on the canal) at the Crofton Beam Station. A place which once pumped all the water up to the top locks of the canal.

Nice tower.

Old boiler.

  7. Have a cake. This is (was) a Fat Rascal.

To scale

 8. Discover a hobbit cave.

To scale.

9. Consider building a canal of my own. Begin a  programme of thorough research.

Wonder where I'd put my canal.

One I didn't make earlier.

 10. Discover how beautiful Wiltshire is. Seriously. A huge proportion of the houses are thatched and many of them look like this:

A short thesis on the history of thatch appreciation OR 

'Enamoured to not-fussed-much, a sliding scale':

1. Wow, look at that beautiful thatched cottage, it's gorgeous, it looks SO idyllic. (Follow comment with wistful 'aaahhhh')

2. Oh there's another, and another.

3. And more others.

4. Some more thatched houses. They look nice.

5. It must take a bit of effort to keep the thatch trim and smart.

6. I wonder if thatched houses are occasionally dusty.

7. I imagine birds and little creatures live in the thatch.

8. They probably have mice and rats. 

9. It must be ridiculously expensive to replace that thatch.

10. Margaret Thatcher, what a terrible woman. The way she treated the miners and ran down the NHS. Wicked.

So that, dearly beloved, is the end of today's tale.

Miles yesterday: 20.81

Miles today: 16.75

I'm hooked!

Quick aside...If you've been looking for yesterday's blog and couldn't find it, apologies. I wrote it, posted it then got it deleted by the Blogspot King and His Minions. No. No. No! There wasn't any offensive material in it. Apparently they did it to everyone as a result of 'human error' Well, that's the story...

Ok, for the uninitiated out there I'm going to let you into a little secret:

Cycling is addictive!

That is absolutely, bizarrely and unconditionally true.

Each morning (today being no exception) I've been jumping out of bed with a big smile on my face, wolfing my breakfast down and cladding myself in padding a la Monsieur Michelin before getting on my bike.

Each evening (today being no exception) I've been tenderly removing myself from my trusty steed, a pained expression on my sun kissed (read red) face and making my John Wayne style approach towards my accommodation.

An analogy: its like...its like...you know when you have a great night out and you wake up with the hangover from hell (admit it, you 'didn't even realise I was that drunk') and as you feel the Fur Goblin has been in, painting your tongue and you say to yourself, 'I am never drinking (like that) again'.

Yeah, you're nodding.

Anyway, you make that trying-to-scrape-my-tongue-with-my-teeth face, sip your tea/drink some water and vow. You VOW numerous times that you won't. What happens? Few days/weeks/months/years later and you're there again, mixing your JD and beer, your gin and wine and having a really great time. Until...

Well, cycling is a bit like that. It's amazingly elating, free, fun, interesting and I'm hooked.

Today was more canals, boats, small furry/feathered creatures, large furry/feathered creatures and a team of male cyclists who all wore the same bright red and black jackets and looked like the synchronised cycling beefeaters, fresh from the palace.

Tonight I am in Kintbury. That's about as exciting as it gets. Just off to the pub for some vino collapso.

Here's yesterday's offering:

Appropriately Farcical...

...is how some (well two, at least) would describe my blog and I thank them for it.

Today has been the loveliest day, depite the fact that I considered calling this post 'Death On The Nile' but then Agatha's no longer with us and 'Death On The Kennet And Avon Canal' doesn't have quite the same ring to it.

Started the day in a faceless pub/hotel east of Reading. Stopped there yesterday because my knee was sore and I was tired, otherwise I would have kept pedalling. Room was fine but breakfast was 'extra'. Pasty face croissant and a limp pain au chocolate were on offer for £4 or 'full English' for £6.95 with nothing in between.
'Why,' I asked, 'do you serve all day breakfast in your restaurant for £5.95 but guests who sleep over have to pay a pound more?'
'Coffee' came the curt reply. 'You get coffee.'
'Can't I just have egg on toast and make my own coffee in my room?' (I mean, it wasn't even real coffee. In fact, it wasn't even fresh coffee. It was instant coffee, stewed to perfection.)
Answer was 'No' so I had a breakfast strop and flounced off to the nearest cafe for eggs on toast and real coffee which came in less than the price of the sadly deceased pastries.

Feeling the smug sense of having saved a quid AND had a better breakfast I set off. Today Reading. Ever been to Reading?

The local population had suitably prepared for my arrival, lining the route into town they amassed 'neath motoways and bridges to ease my sore knees by dint of blowing cannabis smoke in my face as I strove to whizz past. In a gesture designed to celebrate the local hospitality culture they waved half-full beer cans at me and, in a touching salute to Reading's gunpowder making history, they liberally splattered the street corners with ammonia.

Not content with that they had the Police Search And Rescue Van park strategically across my route so that I was able to have a view of the keen officers in diving gear whilst they dredged the canal for a body.

As I hurtled along I regretted that I was unable to stop and thank them for their kindness, but breakfast strop had knocked precious minutes off my cycling time and I was forced to press on. Only one thing stood in my path....the fact that at each junction of the cycle path there was a metal bar, pole or kissing gate which effectively prevented me from getting my panniered bike through. As I de-panniered my bike, shifting, carrying and manouvering it for the third time I wondered (out loud) if these bars were designed to prevent the good people of Reading from moving (by trolley or wheelbarrow) any spare bodies they may have lying around towards the canal so that they could jettison them in. In tribute to the good people of this fair town I peppered my rhetorical question with some of the colourful language which I had heard earlier in the day.

Whilst passing under the final motorway bridge of the day I saw a Welsh rugby shirt. It caught my attention and I smiled at it until I noted its purpose: Rememberance of a much beloved son.

I moved swiftly on.

Today I was once again alongside the water, the best place to be; wild life and canal boats featured strongly. Not sure why, but people who own narrow boats seem much more friendly than those in the speed and sailing boats I saw on the Thames. They'll always give you a nod, grin, wave or even an 'alright'. They pootle along, passing through locks and seeing the world in a timely fashion. Following the trend, I did the same. I stopped at a lovely pub on the river for lunch. It was called The Cunning....dog, duck, donkey, I forget but lunch was lovely. Then later I stopped at another place for half a cider and a sit down. 'This is the life' I thought to myself as it slowly passed.

Finally, the end of my cycling day, I stopped at this wonderful B&B. Called Field Farm Cottage, I find myself in a lovely room in a lovely house run by a lovely woman who has two lovely dogs. I couldn't be more contented :-)

Lovely woman (Anne) even admired my bicycle. She wants to get one herself so I let her have a go, while I did my washing, she was suitably impressed. She was so impressed she even re-named me 'Jenny', a name which has stuck as she has introduced the other guests and her husband to me as Jenny.

What a funny, fun, lovely day. Took my mind right off any sore bits. I didn't even need to follow Mrs Brown's advice in uttering her preferred post-cycling phrase (as recommended in yesterday's text) 'Ow, my b**f curtains'.

Miles travelled - 18.45
Tennis balls thrown for dogs - 18
Small children spoken to - 1
Smiles - lots.

Aren't I full of cheese today?

Love, Jenny

Dingly dells.

Today was difficult,took my time and I was tired; it serves me right, I should never have stayed up late watching that Icelandic murder film. Did you know that one in ten people in Iceland are published authors? They have a long-standing story telling tradition based on having 8-9 sun free months a year. Scottish people, they're to blame. Women too. Umm, aka The Deep Thinker sailed from Scotland to Iceland with a boat full of blokes, settled, farmed and got someone to write a book about her life. Sorted.

Computer says 13.39 miles covered. Max speed 23.1mph. Uphill: lots and slow. Downhill: two and fast. Fantastic! I missed Becky's enthusiastic sight spotting though. Not that there was as much exciting stuff to see, more dingly dells, farm land and countryside fit for period drama remakes.

Recieved a cycling blessing from Gordon:
May the road ahead be always slightly down-hill,
May any breeze be from behind
And your punctures be slow.

Finger's crossed that'll be the case. Heading to Reading tomorrow, on my trip to Swansea (this leg anyway). The route passes alongside the Kennet and Avon Canal, the first 50 miles is an uphill climb, the second fifty miles downhill. Phew.

Better get some sleep then...

Starting out and getting to know my bicycle.

Day one, Monday 9th May 2011: Starting Out.
Friend Becky came with me. Riding 'The Beast' I had some hill mounting envy as she managed to electrically whizz her way up 'em. But I'm jumping ahead...

...Sunday started at Godstone, a little warm up session via the church to re-plant a grave, as you do. Sunday pm was spent admiring and fiddling with bicycle. After having done quite a bit of research I discovered a few reviews which said that pit locks - German designed smart things to stop people nicking your wheels - were the way forward. Not being especially keen to attempt a display by unicycle I got some. Becky and I fitted them. Remember this bit, it will be important later.

Monday came and went. 25.16 miles, one park, 500 deer, one small hill, some chocolate (me), two fags (Becky), 16 goslings, 3 miserable miles through Wandworth, one minor hangover, one U13 boys cricket team and Hampton Court later and we were feeling very pleased with ourselves.

We arrived at a pub. Ok, ok, we chose a pub from the many on offer. As Becky dismounted The Beast and nipped to the loo I stopped to shackle my bicycle. Quel horror! The fancy new pit lock 'Don't tighten beyond 1.5 torque' (?) on the back wheel was hanging out about 5 inches. One more step, ok rotation, and it would have gone merrily rolling into the river with me chin scraping the floor behind.

Reading this you may be thinking 'What? Her front spoke thing was sticking out, that's it? What's the drama?' If this is the case, please bear in mind that a bike has only a certain number of moving parts: Wheels (2) gear sets (1) brakes (2). That's five things. (Unless there's something else on a bike that needs to move...pedals? Are they part of the gears? See how I'm clueless...) Anyway, if we save five for now and one goes wrong that's 20% failure! It's a big deal!!

Becky was good enough to donate a much appreciated dollop of shock-sharing and we had some Pimms and a bottle of wine by way of self-congratulatory (see how far we've come without even falling in the canal, getting head butted by a deer or losing a wheel) congratulations.

Anyway, we pushed back to the camper van, well positioned by the marina by The Divine Douglas, who had provided more wine (my body is a temple) and sea bass which he'd caught earlier in the day at the fish counter in Morrisons. Some wine and a Fish Quiz later (On page 9 of the Morrison's fish booklet how do they describe mackerel: A. Flavoursome B. Flavourful C. Well-flavoured?)

Then it was time for bed. A busy day, a busy evening and a lovely long lie down.

Sore bits: right knee, bum, wrists.

Tuesday 10th May 2011: Getting to know you.

Replaced the pit lock with the original first thing, removed and checked the front pit lock, re-read scant instructions, re-fitted it. Crossed fingers. Set off.

Today Becky, The Beast and Divine Douglas started off with me. After a mobile caff breakfast and a trip to the loo (so important) we set off. Two miles down the road my front wheel started to judder. OH NO! I glanced down, the little nut I'd stuck on to keep the thing in place was gone, the now renamed 'bloody stupid pit lock' looking decidedly unsecure. Divine D kindly offered to head back and look for it. Knowing his luck he'd find it. Unfortunately, he didn't. Small panic followed by some intermittant tightening and a trip to the Snow and Rock shop in Chertsey worked wonders.

I was really scared that I'd be stuck with a one wheeled bicycle which I couldn't ride. When I got to Snow and Rock 17 yr old Max, the shop assistant, gave me - for free - a copy of the lost bit which meant I could re fit the spoke thingy and get off on my way. Horrah for Max, Horrah! He even managed to look only a tiny bit scared when I said - whilst hurling my profound gratitude at him - 'I could kiss you.'

Today I saw:
- Man swimming in the Thames, towing a buoy to stop himself being run over; nutter.
- Windsor Great Park, it's beautiful and -amazingly- in London! If you ever want to walk or cycle through/in London follow National Cycle route 4 (see Sustrans maps) from Richmond Park to Windsor. I saw deer and beautiful views.
- Staines, where I had lunch.
- A woman who was lost. She was also cycling and came up to me saying, 'I'm looking for Staines.' Seriously humourous.
- Wildlife in a bun dance.
- A road in Windsor where all the houses were named in accordance with the rules of passive-boasting: Tranquility Keep, Winter Palace, Serenity Cote and Still Meadow. Was tempted to make motorbike noises as I revved through but there was no-one to see or hear so had to content myself with whooping joyfully as a went full pelt down the hills with legs stuck out either side and a silly grin on my face.

(Commonwealth Air Forces Memorial.)

Today I cycled with my two full panniers and a lot of joy. Starting to get to know bike a bit so I can do what Divine D says and 'slow down, take it easy!'

Stats:
Miles covered: 28.51
Max speed: 22.5
Bags of crisps eaten: 1
Gratitude felt towards D and B, people who are supporting me and Max: immeasurable.

Day 3 about to begin :-)