3 UNITED KINGDOM
ENGLAND & SCOTLAND
1 279 Kilometres – 29 Days
5 May - 7 June 2007
5 May – Cape Town, South Africa – London, United Kingdom
After
phoning around to several SAA offices, the verdict on transporting a bike by
plane was one had to take the bicycle as part of your luggage. I feared the
flight would be a pricey affair at the quoted price. My essential items alone
weighed 25kg and so did the bike. Finally, I got to the check-in counter, bank
card in hand, ready to pay my way. Therefore, you can imagine my relief when told
the payment was a much smaller once-off payment—what a relief.
6
May - Chelmsford
The
plane touchdown in London at 6h30, and all stiff and puffy-eyed, I got picked
up from the airport by my friend Eddie, whom I met during the 2005 Tour d’Afrique
ride. Being early, we’d plenty of time to explore the area around Chelmsford where
Eddie lived. A short, but much needed, walk led to a pleasant, wooded area,
which miraculously seemed in abundance on this small island with its 68 million
population. In the following days, I would realise how extraordinary this
island is, as although overpopulated, it at the same time offered more hiking
paths than anywhere I’ve ever visited.
Afterwards,
a stroll led into the village to find a cycling map, but none were available. I
was under the impression this would be easy.
7
May – Chelmsford - East Bergholt – 66 Km
As
always in a new country I was keen to get going but the time was past midday
before finally cycling out of Chelmsford. Eddie kindly accompanied me and led
the way along a rural road, via Maldon, well known for producing Maldon Sea
Salt. Far more interesting was that Maldon was the starting point of the
canalisation of two rivers that ran from Maldon to Chelmsford way back in 1797.
This discovery also marked the beginning of a multitude of surprises I would
encounter during my cycle north. Our path continued through the historic market
town of Colchester. The city claimed to be the oldest recorded town in Britain.
It’s said the first Roman capital’s location after the Roman conquest of
Britain in AD43.
The
weather was wintery and it rained during the day as well as in the evening. The
countryside was pan flat, extremely picturesque, and exceptionally green. The
many villages were steeped in history. Every 5-10 km, we came upon another
little town jam-packed with double-storey semi-detached red-brick houses. These
places made pictures I thought belonged in a children’s book. Truly a cyclist’s
dream and vastly different from Africa’s open spaces.
We
kept our eyes peeled for the elusive Sustrans cycling maps I encountered on the
internet and imagined would be readily available in the UK. That night’s
camping was near East Berg between Colchester and Ipswich and I realised that
there wasn’t going to be any rushing through beautiful and historical UK
8
May - East Bergholt - Aldeburgh – 70 Km
Shortly
after 9h30, Eddie and I got underway. We headed to Woodbridge via Ipswich through
an exceptionally scenic area of woodlands, estuaries, rivers, farmlands,
mudflats and heathlands. At Woodbridge, a cycling map of the area was located. The
map made the ride even more confusing, as it indicated all the small farm roads,
and one was never quite sure if you were on the right track or not. Half the
day was spent studying the map. Ultimately, we went around in circles and didn’t
get far at all. Towards the end of the day, we headed towards Leiston where the
map indicated a campsite. Upon arrival, the park only catered to caravans, not
tents. It must be mentioned the property was rather large without a soul in
sight. I guessed rules were rules, but I still thought this slightly over the
top.
The
scenery was magnificent, and understandable why the area was included in what
is known as the “Area of Outstanding Natural Beauty”. Biking past the multitude
of villages without exploring was practically impossible. The weather was marginally
better than the previous day. Even though it rained during the night, we encountered
no rain. It, nevertheless, remained freezing. By evening a private campsite was
discovered on a farm at £3 each, a far better deal than the one visited earlier,
even if without a shower.
9
May – Aldeburgh - Corton – 62 Km
Once
again, a rural road led to Walberswick and Southwold, situated on the banks of
the River Blyth. These two ancient villages had buildings built of stone carried
from the beaches. Needless to say, the beaches are incredibly stony. Nevertheless,
we stopped to explore and enjoy the local brew before heading to Lowestoft. Fortunately,
this was done without encountering Walberswick’s phantom coach drawn by
headless horses and driven by the murdered Tobias Gill, hanged in the area in
the 18th century.
Lunch
was french fries smothered in curry sauce, a dish that appeared immensely
popular and surprisingly delicious. Afterwards, the road took us to Corton where
our arrival was shortly before it started drizzling. There seemed no end to the
dreadful weather. In the icy conditions, I wore every piece of clothing I possessed.
The best thing was to frequent the pubs where it was warm and cosy. At least the
pub was more comfortable than sitting huddled in a tent.
Campsites
varied greatly; some were well equipped with manicured lawns, toilets and
showers. Others only had a bathroom and no other facilities; the prices indicated
the facilities available.
10
May – Corton - Cromer – 67 Km
Days
were long and daylight lasted until 21h30 and quite fantastic not having to
worry about what time you set up camp. We thus ambled along the North Sea coast
past Great Yarmouth, where I located an internet cafe (at last). Afterwards, french
fries in the town square provided enough calories for the ride to Cromer, along
a fast eroding coast. However, Cromer remained a pretty coastal village and
sported a lovely seafront, pier and lighthouse. Eventually, the night was spent
at an expensive campsite, where the showers were miles away.
It
started drizzling, but mercifully not before having a cup of soup and a bread
roll. It bucketed down all night.
The
big difference between cycling in the UK and riding in Africa is that in
Africa, any cycle tourer is an enigma; children come running across the fields
to look, wave or beg; people are curious and want to know where you’re from and
where you’re going. They can’t comprehend why anyone would do such a thing
without payment. In the UK, you’re just one more cycle tourist on a loaded bike.
11
May – Cromer - Sandringham – 118 Km
We
emerged to a drizzle, a drizzle which continued through the day, making a rain-soaked
ride to the station where Eddie was to catch a train home. In the end, he
decided to ride to Norwich, where there were more options. I waved Eddie goodbye
and pointed my bike in the direction of King’s Lynn.
Eventually,
a Sustrans map (Route 1 Harwich to Hull) was uncovered, and what good maps they
were. The remainder of the day was spent biking past magnificent estates,
ancient castles and striking churches all equally impressive and dating back
many thousands of years.
The
route was well marked making an excellent day of riding, even though I had great
difficulty with the bike as the gears kept slipping.
12
May – Sandringham - St John’s Fed End – 32 Km
The
campsite was a well-equipped one, including laundry facilities and a shop. I
ended up setting off far later than usual as I first used the washing machines
and driers− high time as well.
King’s
Lynn is a substantial town and offers all the necessary shops and a bike shop
adjusted the gears. I further bought an odometer, as well as a mobile phone. At
first, I thought of staying at the hostel, but the place was closed and I resumed
my journey. It was already quite late by then, but thankfully it didn’t become
dark until 21h30. It was thus easy to reach St Johns Fed End, home to a beautiful
campsite, bar and restaurant.
13
May - St Johns Fed End - Boston – 56 Km
The
number of pierced and tattooed people encountered was surprising. It appeared every
second person had six nose rings and I felt downright old-fashioned having only
one. The UK is indeed a remarkable place with an extraordinary mix of people.
En
route to Boston, Eddie surprised me by driving from Chelmsford to visit. We’d
lunch together, after which he returned to Chelmsford.
What
was more intriguing was most people never made eye contact and appeared not to
notice one. Still, in Eddie’s search to locate me, they could tell, to the
minute, when I arrived and when I departed. There appeared a considerable amount
of pretending in England.
Soon
after Eddie left, the heavens opened, and rain came gushing down. I succumbed
to temptation in the market and harbour town of Boston and booked into a hotel
at a substantial fee. It’s surprising what a person will do when wet and cold.
The fascinating part of Boston wasn’t only its history, dating back many
hundreds of years, but its location on the Prime Meridian.
14
May – Boston - Woodhall Spa – 48 Km
The
following day I reluctantly departed my warm hotel room. Unfortunately, due to
the high room rate, I couldn’t stay another day and made my way towards
Woodhall Spa, only 20 miles away. Unfortunately, my bike’s rear rack broke loose
during the day, and the tent, sleeping bag, and panniers all landed on the road.
Mercifully, this happened opposite a boat shop and the helpful owner tightened
the screws. Such a good job he did, the rack was still in place at the time of writing
14 years later.
Still,
the day remained good, meandering across the Fens and along rivers with abundant
boathouses.
I
further learned one couldn’t look out your window or tent and predict what kind
of day to expect. The weather changed almost every half hour; one minute, you
could be sitting in the sun reading, and the next, you had to run for cover.
Once in Woodall, I found no spa and only a few dilapidated buildings remained.
A cold north wind blew accompanied by a constant drizzle, which called for a day
of hiding. In the dreadful conditions, I stayed put and nothing came of my planned
meander along The Viking Way. This 237 kilometres long-distance footpath passes
through Woodhall Spa.
15
May - Woodhall Spa - Barton-upon-Humber – 75 Km
Upon
the first missing road sign, I took a wrong turn, and a helpful man drove to
tell me I was heading in the wrong direction. So, proof people did, indeed,
notice one. But, at least my new bike computer made it possible to accurately
tell the daily distance, and it turned out to be a good day in the saddle.
The
day was again marred by dreadful weather. I never spotted any camping
facilities and proceeded to Barton-upon-Humber, situated on the Humber River. The
Humber Bridge is an impressive 2.22 kilometres single-span road suspension
bridge. It further became the first hilly day and the first day I met other
cyclists at camp.
16
May - Humber Bridge - Hornsea - 48 Km
The
bridge was rather impressive and peering over the edge was enough to give me
vertigo. Once across the bridge, a coffee shop provided coffee and muffins. Unfortunately,
reaching Hull also indicated the end of my cycling map. It turned out to be a
frustrating day navigating. Locating maps was far more complex than ever
imagined. Finally, in desperation, I rode towards the seaside town of Hornsea, which
didn’t have a great deal apart from the seafront promenade and the ancient
church of St Nicholas. Still, a campsite outside Hornsea allowed pitching a
tent and hiding from the miserable weather.
17
May – Hornsea - Beverley - Malton - 74 Km
As
frustrating as the previous day was, as good a day this became. A shop in Hornsea
had an excellent cycling map and the day’s first stop was at the charming
market town of Beverley. I snatched a few pics of the impressive Anglican
Church, built around the tomb of the Bishop of York, who founded the monastery.
Upon
cycling into Malton and in arctic conditions, I weakened at the sight of a B&B.
The establishment consisted of a ground-floor pub with rooms above. In the pub were
amicable people who invited me to join them for beer. The strange thing was I
didn’t understand a word they said. I thus finished my beer and instead went to
a restaurant on the square where it wasn’t necessary to speak. I thought it quite
bizarre being in the home of the English language and the regional accent so
heavy; it was impossible to understand.
18
May - Malton – Boroughbridge - 50 Km
Departing
pretty Malton, with its market square and abundance of old buildings, was after
midday, as at last, I located an internet café. Unfortunately, the ATM retained
my bank card and it took the best part of the morning to retrieve it. The path
took me through timeless villages and high moorland areas dotted by rivers and
valleys. By then I was in no mood for exploring and called it a day in
Boroughbridge a small settlement with an old well and a main road lined by familiar
and typical terraced houses under red-tiled roofs.
19
May - Boroughbridge – Leyburn - 48 Km
After
getting going, the first stop was at the famous three standing stones, known as
Devils Arrows. It’s believed they formed part of a stone row of five. The
fourth stone was reputedly broken up in 1582 to build the bridge over the River
Tutt, and the fifth lost in history. They date from the early Bronze Age over
4,000 years ago. The stones were probably used as a kind of astronomical
alignment or by sun-worshippers from the Bronze Age.
The
day started promising but the stretch between Borough Bridge to Leyburn turned
out the most challenging day of the trip that far. The route led straight into
a ferocious wind which blew me all over the road. It even took pedalling on the
descent in my small gear. I called it quits at the first sign of a campsite, as
the next camp was considerably further than what I wanted to go that day. A
good thing too, as my early arrival gave time to do the dreaded laundry. Gosh,
I never imagined cycling in the UK would be this challenging.
20
May - Leyburn - Middleton-in-Teesdale - 56 Km
Upon
departing Leyburn, I found myself in a beautiful part of the country, made even
more pleasant due to the lack of wind and rain. As the sun was out, I stopped
at Richmond as it was home to a magnificent castle. The castle building was
begun in the 1070s and is the best-preserved early Norman castle in England.
Once
done looking around I resumed my ride towards Bernard’s Castle a ruined
medieval castle built between 1095 and 1125. Then onward to Teesdale. Teesdale
was a typical British market town and thus had a market area and the familiar
sight of terraced houses lining the main street. Surprisingly, the village
sported a campsite with friendly caretakers, who brought me coffee while busy pitching
the tent—how kind of them.
21
May - Middleton-in-Teesdale – Chollerford - 61 Km
Although
a beautiful sunny day, the first since my arrival in the UK, biking was challenging.
The way towards Chollerford led over the North Pennines with hills of 20%
gradients. However, the landscape was picturesque and dotted by heather moors,
deep valleys, rivers, hay meadows, and timeless stone-built villages. The going
was immensely slow, even requiring walking the bike up a few hills. The road
climbed out of the valleys only to descend into another. I churned my way up
the steep hills, eventually reaching the famous Hadrian’s Wall. I imagined it the
Scottish border, which was not the case. A cyclist met along the path pointed
me towards a campsite where various hikers, hiking the Hadrian’s Wall Route, were
camping. The many long-distance hiking routes encountered made me want to
follow suit. I discovered I was firmly on the Pennine Hiking Trail, Britain’s
best known and most demanding route.
22
May - Chollerford – Bellingham - 25 Km
In
great weather I left Chollerford, soon getting to the point where a decision
had to be made to either veer West or East. The plan was to head towards Glasgow
to visit my friend Esther, and West, the obvious route. Still, I thought
cycling the East coast would be a pleasant way to spend a day or two.
Eddie
tracked me down and it became a short day of riding. We pitched our tents at Bellingham,
famous as a stopping point along the Pennine Way trail and a favourite amongst
cyclists.
23
May - Bellingham – North Berwick – By Car
There
was little point in riding while Eddie was in a car and we loaded the bike on
the car’s roof. The UK was indeed a fascinating area with an ancient history. We
passed numerous castles and popped into a few, all equally magnificent. Finally,
our route crossed into Scotland and I was surprised by its natural beauty and exquisite
coastline. Towards the end of the day North Berwick, offered a comfortable
B&B. The town was picture pretty with old stone buildings, narrow lanes and
a long and fascinating history.
24-25
May - North Berwick – Glasgow – By Car
Late
morning we departed the charming town of North Berwick and drove in Glasgow’s
direction, where Esther lived. Eddie dropped me at my friend’s apartment and then
returned to Chelmsford. It was great seeing Esther, who was still her usual
lovely, talkative self. The next day flew past as we chattered away and by
evening, I got a taste of the Glasgow nightlife by visiting a pub for a beer
and food.
26
May – Glasgow
Over
a few beers, plans were made to hike the West Highland Way. As Esther always
had 3 of everything, borrowing a backpack and hiking gear was super easy. We loaded
our bags, including tents, sleeping bags, food, stove, pots and odds, ready for
our long hike.
The
West Highland Way - 95 miles (153.8 km) – is Scotland’s first long-distance
footpath and passes through some of Scotland’s most beautiful and dramatic
scenery. I was thus bursting with excitement and felt privileged to have the
opportunity to walk this well-known route.
27
May - Milngavie - Drymen - 12 Miles (19 Km)
Early
morning, we caught a train to Milngavie, a short distance from Esther’s house (barely
four stops). Half the train’s passengers disembarked at Milngavie, all seemingly
doing the West Highland Way. I didn’t expect to encounter so many people. I also
didn’t expect to see them only carrying small day packs.
Our
first walk was a 12-mile meander from Milngavie to Drymen, a well-marked, easy,
flat route. The path was wide and, therefore, no chance of getting lost. The
first section of the way was through beautiful deciduous woodlands across many streams.
Our trail passed numerous villages and halfway, we popped in to have lunch and
beer.
The
camp was at a farm about 1 mile (1.6 km) before Drymen. Luckily the farm offered
a cooking shelter which came in handy as it started pouring on arriving.
28
May - Drymen - Rowardennan - 14 Miles (22.5 Km)
Departing
Drymen was via a pleasant stroll through the woods. Our path soon brought us to
Conic Hill and our first taste of the Scottish Highlands. En route to Balmaha,
we once again stopped for lunch and beer. From Balmaha, the path proceeded along
the shores of famous Loch Lomand and I couldn’t be more excited. The views
across the loch and towards the mountains were unsurpassed. We rambled past Ben
Lomand and through ancient oak woodlands. Again, the views were spectacular and
impressive.
Towards
the end of the day, our path spat us out at Rowardennan, exactly where we
wanted to be and a place that sported a hotel, hostel and wild camping. Esther
opted for the hostel, which was wonderfully comfortable and warm.
29
May - Rowardennan - Invernarnan - 14 Miles (22.5 Km)
On
leaving the hostel, we heaved our heavy packs and heavy they sure were. My dear
friend had a knack for packing the whole caboodle plus the proverbial kitchen
sink. The young man at reception looked at her in utter amazement and inquired
if she knew about the transport service. Only then did we learn people use a
transport service to send their packs to their next destination.
It
didn’t take much convincing to send our packs by van to our overnight stop. The
other hikers looked at us in disbelief as we came sauntering past, casually swinging
small plastic bags containing the day’s provisions. But, of course, by then, we
were well known as the ones carrying the large backpacks.
Again,
the path followed Loch Lomond’s shores and passed through more natural oak
woodlands, even spotting wild goats. The area was much associated with Rob Roy
MacGregor, and there are countless stories about Rob Roy and I wasn’t sure if
they were all true.
The
trail was considerably hillier than the previous days and a good thing we weren’t
carrying those heavy packs. Camping was at Bengals Farm, a place with a great
bar/restaurant and cooking shelter, a blessing in the dreadful weather.
Afterwards, a walk across the river took us to a bar believed to be more than
300 years old. The place had a fantastic atmosphere, made even more so by a
cosy fire and a massive wooden table. It thus became an excellent night of
singing and drinking copious glasses of red wine in the company of other hikers.
So much fun was had I left my wallet in the pub!
30
May - Inverarnan - Tyndrum - 13 Miles (20.9 Km)
The
next morning, and in a panic, I returned to the pub to search for the wallet
and discovered the wallet still there. What a relief! By then everyone knew the
South African had lost her purse (how embarrassing). With wallet in hand, Esther
and I set out toward our next destination. The route followed the River Falloch
and passed spectacular gorges, waterfalls and rapids. We soon got to the old
military road built towards the end of the 18th century. Our walk followed this
road (by then mostly a narrow track). The views were made even more magnificent
by the hills which took on a blue/purple shade as they were covered in
bluebells.
The
trail further led past an area known as “the king’s field” where legend has it;
in 1306 Robert the Bruce (from Brave Heart) suffered defeat by the MacDougalls.
Though
the landscape was unsurpassed, the dreaded midges appeared (smaller than a mosquito
but more ferocious, “wee buggers”, Esther called them). These biting insects were
all over the place and as Esther hiked in short sleeves, she was covered in
lumps and bumps. They had the knack of getting in everywhere, in your hair,
ears and even your nose.
The
day’s amble continued to Tyndrum, where camping was at “By the Way”, and we took
a short stroll into the village, well known for its Green Wellies Shop”. Here a
person could find the whole shebang, from hiking gear to food. Esther and I
picked up two small backpacks, as hiking carrying a plastic bag wasn’t all comfortable.
31
May - Tyndrum – Kingshouse - 20 Miles (32.1 km)
There
were two routes to Kingshouse. Regional knowledge told us to opt for the longer
one. The alternative option was hilly and you never argue with locals. Albeit the
walk was a long one, it remained relatively flat.
Our
track led us through forestry plantations, a tad muddy in places, and I understood
why wearing hiking boots was better than running shoes. In the process, we
crossed Rannoch Moor with spectacular views of various Munros (mountains over
3000ft) and distant lochs.
Descending
into Kingshouse, Glen Coe and Glen Etive’s magnificent mountains came into view.
I’m sure there must be excellent skiing here in winter and some fantastic rock climbing.
That
night’s camp was at Kingshouse, which only offered wild camping and no
facilities, and better to remain in the pub until bedtime.
1
June - Kingshouse – Kinlochleven - 8 Miles (12.6 km)
A
short stroll took us in the direction of Kinlochleven via an area peppered with
some of Scotland’s most impressive peaks. It made me wish I was a rock climber.
Still, following the old military road, the path reached the highest part of
the trail via the Devil’s Staircase. This was also the first day the sun was
out and the views were genuinely magnificent.
Once
at Kinlochleven the tents were pitched at McDonald. The village was picture
perfect and home to a large ice climbing centre.
2
June - Kinlochleven – Fort William - 13 Miles (20.9 km)
The
way climbed steeply out of Kinlochleven through woodlands and then joined the
old military road. Esther brought a beer as refreshment, which we drank at an ancient
ruin. The other hikers must’ve thought us slightly weird by then, as we were
constantly canning ourselves laughing. They most likely suspected us of being pissed
all the time. Nevertheless, there was no dull moment hiking with Esther.
Upon
arrival at Ford William, we didn’t, like nearly all others, go straight to the
campsite, but first wandered about town searching for pizza and beer.
3
June - Ben Nevis - 12 Miles (19.3 km)
The
following morning, getting up was put off until about 09h30 as the weather was
wet and cold. However, one can’t remain cooped up in a tent long and in the end,
no other choice remained but to don the wet weather gear and head up legendary
Ben Nevis. The starting point was at The Visitors Centre and suspiciously quiet.
No other hikers were encountered along the route which didn’t surprise us. The
fog was low and the constant drizzle made unpleasant hiking.
The
path up the mountain was a gentle climb and not as steep as envisaged. I was
surprised at how quickly the landscape changed from green rolling hills to
rocky terrain. Reaching the top, I was equally surprised to come upon a large
snowfield and that in mid-summer. Needless to say, we snatched a few pics and
then hurried back—all in all, a 7-hour stroll which led directly into a cosy pub
where they sold beer and food. Mission accomplished.
4
June – 7 June – Glasgow
Following
our little adventure, we returned to Glasgow, where plans were made for Esther
to join me on a two-week cycle ride in Ireland. Although Esther had a bicycle,
it hadn’t been in use for quite some time and needed more than a spray of WD 40
to bring it back to life.
With
the bicycle serviced and panniers purchased, we loaded the bikes ready for the
next adventure.
8
June – Glasgow, Scotland – Belfast, Ireland – 16 km
Getting
to Ireland, involved cycling from Esther’s house towards Glasgow Central
station to catch a Stranraer train. This was where the fun began and Esther,
not used to the bicycle and panniers, fell over, not once but three times
between the house and the station. Looking around, Esther was lying on the
ground, her bicycle on top, resembling a beetle, legs kicking in the air. All
this happened in peak hour traffic, but Esther was undeterred by the staring
eyes. She got up, dusted herself off, looked them in the eye and laughingly
declared, “Take three”.
At
Stranraer, the Belfast ferry took us across the North Channel, where our
arrival was around 16h30 (peak time) and where Esther proceeded to fall over
once more. The reason for all this falling over was Esther’s bike being too big
and her legs too short to swing over the middle bar. It was, therefore not so
much falling off the bicycle but more falling over. Nevertheless, we laughed so
much, tears were streaming down our faces and thus surprising, we managed the 6
kilometres north to set up camp. By evening Esther referred to her bike as
Silver. It bucked and kicked and appeared somewhat unwilling to see Ireland.
