After the mess of cycling through traffic around Cardiff, it felt incredibly satisfying to finally get on the bridge over the Severn River and land ourselves in England. Suddenly all of the signs were only in English, and a nice friendly Englishman stopped to help us find a campsite for the night, and recommend the flattest way to get to it. It was already after 7pm when we got across, but we cycled to our campsite along fast roads, warm and dry under a beautiful sunset.
The next morning we were swarmed by a herd of chickens as soon as we left the tent. They dogged (chickened) our every move, even following us when we went to the bathroom, waiting patiently outside for our return. Alex was nearly eaten, but we escaped with our lives.
Disappointed to miss Bath, on the recommendation of the cycle tourist we ran into at camp last night, we pick up national cycle route 4, alternating between following it and the canal paths as we work our way east. In the process we discover that canal paths are not always flat. As we head up hills with 12 locks in a row, I think I’d still rather be cycling up them than trying to get a boat through them.
Following the path of the rabbits, we flee Newbury for Watership Downs, but then continue south to the coast. We arrive in Chichester at around 6.30pm, and spend the next few hours failing to find campsites – the ones Alex had noted down from the painfully slow internet in Petersfield don’t exist, and the signs we follow don’t take us to anywhere that’s good for people in tents. Eventually we hit on a place near West Wittering. As we set up camp and cook dinner at 9.45pm, the lady owner brings us a cup of tea each, and it’s one of the best cups of tea I’ve ever had.
Working east along the coast, it’s lovely and miserable and raining, and the English folk are all at the beach. We pick up National Cycle Route 2, then reach Brighton, where it’s raining, and decide it’s such a lovely spot that we should spend the night there camping in the rain.
The weather is finally clearing just as we cycle out of Brighton along Route 2, and as we hit the beach the sun shines! And there are white cliffs! Alex is unimpressed by this, as he gets a couple of successive flats as we cycle along the shore. By the time we reached Bexhill-on-Sea it had turned into a gloriously sunny day, and I was contemplating going for a swim until I saw what the ocean looked like (steep stony ‘beach’ and angry brown surf). We hurled some batter puddings and continued to Hastings, which was just as civilised and gentrified as Bexhill.
Circling the wind farm by the coast, we head out into the marshes, which are filled with a network of quiet lanes, and topped by a big wide open sunny sky. It reminds me of where I grew up, so I feel right at home. In the mornings the air has the crisp and cool feeling of a day that’s going to get really warm, but just hasn’t got there yet.
Finally we arrive in Dover, where we spend a few hours sitting on the grass in the gardens, catching up with an old friend and watching the tomfoolery (like the seagull that we throw a croissant at – it proceeds to swallow it whole, then flies around trying to escape from the other seagulls with half a croissant down its throat. We worry it will die, but it seems fine).
Eventually we wander down to the docks and book for the 5.30pm sailing, we follow our painted cycle line, through immigration and secuirty without anyone so much as glancing at us, and picking up our ticket from the ferry people and then waiting in the blazing sun in the cycle lane. The ferry trip is short and uneventful – France really isn’t very far away.
Distance cycled = approx 432km