Over and under...

Tuesday 24th May 2011 - A day of surfaces and bridges.

Started out in Bristol, heading West - As the Pet Shop Boys so succinctly put it:
'Go Weeest, la la la la laaa, Go West, la la la la laaa, Go West, de de de de de, de de, da da de de de de de.' 
..Well, sort of, I mean who actually knows the words to that song? Even the bloke at the back on the keyboards didn't know the words, I'll bet.

So, headed West. Getting back on the bike was fine, my backside certainly didn't need any reminding anyway. Boo.

Reached the quaintly named 'Pill' after about an hours gentle cycling. I kept stopping to take photos, especially as I passed under a bridge - I think Thomas Telford built it. Did he? Did he? I've been to Telfords, rather decent pub on the canal in Chester.

Anyway, bridge:

A Bridge.

 So, passed under the bridge (this is still on the way to Pill) and continued on the gravelly path alongside the river. Fairly decent path, dirty river:

Gravelly path alongside river.

 The path was pleasant enough, until I came accross two workmen who were chopping the hedges. Ahh, chopped hedges equals (I have been advised by those in the know) chopped hawthorn, which equals thorns, which equals puctures. And sure enough:

Equals thorns.

So, woman on a bike became woman carrying a bike, because the last thing I wanted was to repair a puncture canalside. Carrying a bike, I can safely vouch, is not as easy as riding one. Scuff, scuff went my little feet. Grouch, grouch went my mouth. This was a far cry from the cobbles of Bristol, which I had been on earlier in the day:

Cobbles of Bristol I had been on earlier in the day.

Luckily a return to the grassy river sides wasn't too long in coming:

Return to grassy riversides.

 My relief at not having to bike carry was palpable:

Palpable.

After Pill I crossed the river I'd followed from Bristol, my second crossing of it, and entered The Route Of Doom (da da daaaaaa). Ok, it wasn't exactly the route of doom but it was a miserable wind through a busy industrial estate with no signed cycling track to follow and lorries rumbling past. Then, in the distance I spied a bridge:

A bridge too far.

But it wasn't the bridge I was supposed to be crossing, so I continued on my not-very-merry way. Happily a track appeared, which broke up the long industrial route:

A track appeared.

 Then, less signs and more bridges. Over the motorway, under the motorway. It got very confusing and not very picturesque:

View from a bridge.

Thought I'd taken the wrong turn. Turned back to check, back again, more circles. Had enough by now, so stopped for lunch, loo and look at the map. Luckily, the smoker in smoker's corner knew the road so he pointed me in the right direction. Phew!

Bridge of sighs.

Still looking for the 'right' bridge I set off again. Cycle. Search. Cycle. Search. Cycle. Suddenly...

Found the bridge!

 Yeah! It was only as I hit the bridge that I noted the strange whistling sound. Imagine 'pheeeeeeeeeeewwwwwww'. I started to cross. So did the wind. OH My GOODNESS! Bike at a 75 degree angle as I struggled to keep upright. Then it got strangely exhilarating and became fun! Half way across I met a bridge-working man, who was climbing up, after having dangled himself off. We smiled in a slightly-mental-wind-induced-way at each other.

'Bit fresh' Screamed the man, above the roar of the wind.
'Hadn't noticed' I hollered back as I cycled past.

Bridge over troubled water.

 When I was 3/4 of the way over I saw a woman pushing her bike.

Northallerton-Lass was worried about cycling over as she has fallen that morning and badly bruised her wrist. It looked sore.
She was doing Land's End to John o Groats, 80 miles a day by herself. She'd been training and all sorts. Gym, cycling club, practise.
She asked me about my trip. I explained.
She asked me about my pre-trip training regime. I explained.
She nearly fell off her bike. She said she was impressed with my grit. I guess she didn't mean the stuff in my eye.

Northallerton-Lass, I hope your wrist holds out for the next two weeks and wherever you may be, I salute you!

View of the Severn Bridge (new) from the Severn Bridge (old).

Abridged.

Then it was back in the countryside. Only one last (ish) bridge to cross before I reached Undy, where the b & b was. By this time the wind and walking with Northallerton-Lass had blown my tight schedule. I was also very very tired and wanted to lie down. I knew I'd arrive at the b & b later than I thought, so I called ahead to let landlady Sue know. 'It's ok,' she said, 'we'll be here.' I'd checked the location of the b & b on Google and had drawn it on my map - as always. I pressed on.

Bridge over the river, quite high.

At six o clock I arrived. The place, Court Farm, was easy enough to find. The road was well sign-posted. I approached the gate. A dog appeared and strated to bark at me. Shortly after that a woman appeared.

'Hello, I'm here.' I said.
'Oh' said she, 'How are you?'
'Very well thank you. How are you?'
'Well not liking this wind,' she told me.
We continued to talk about the wind, the dog and other stuff. After ten minutes or so I asked her 'can I come in?'

'Why?' - she looked taken aback.
'Erm, to stay' replied I.
'Oh,' she started, 'Are you looking for a b & b called Court Farm in West End?'
'Yes' (I thought stating the obvious).
'Oh, that's my cousin Sue's place you'll be wanting, my name's Gillian. People often get confused between the two. She's easy to find, about five miles back the way you came.'

Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh

How often do you get two farms with the same name on roads of the same name in the same town?

Despite the fact that she gave me directions I checked into the nearest pub. I just couldn't face a trek back. At this point a ditch would have done - and very nearly did. So: pub; bed; sleep; eat; shower. In that order.

Bridget Jones.