England and Scotland

23rd of June — 25th of July, 2003

In which Julia and Reg go to England and Scotland for a month to visit relatives, ride bikes and see some of the UK.

We arrived in London after an excellent BA flight from Los Angeles and loaded the boxes containing our bikes into my sister Emma's tiny Rover. With the back seats down, the boxes still overhung the back of the car by about 18 inches, so I rode the Underground while Emma and Julia had a nervous ride down the motorway wondering if my knots would hold. Emma was borrowing a friend's fabulous Islington flat so we ensconced ourselves in the loft bedroom and spent the next few days exploring London, increasingly not by bike.

The next day was the 25th (having missed a day in the air). We unpacked our bikes and followed the National Cycle Network (NCN) Route 1 from Islington to Greenwich. It was a great ride and included a long traffic-free section next to a canal and a pedestrian tunnel under the Thames. Our bikes and ourselves tested out OK, we didn’t have any problems communicating with the locals, and we had paid our respects to the prime meridian – starting our trip at the beginning of time – things were looking good.

It all starts here

On the 26th we rode down to Westminster and met Thalia, a family friend, at the Houses of Parliament. Thalia’s husband Mark is a Minister of Parliament so she was able to give us the tour without having to wait in the plebian queue, and was able to show us parts of the "back of house" as well. We finished with a very nice lunch in the atrium of the new extension to the Parliament. We enjoyed the tour and meeting Thalia who was a fun person and an excellent guide. It was a warm and sunny London day so we cruised around central London stopping to view Buckingham Palace, took up a spot in St James’ Park for a couple of hours then headed back to the flat.

Riding bikes in central London is a popular activity and probably relaxing for your average go-getter investment banker, but not our idea of a holiday, so we took to the Underground for our travels the next day. After a bit of a late start we met my friend Francis for lunch. Francis works for the architect of many of London’s landmark buildings and structures, Foster and Partners so was able to give us a good list of places to visit. We were later joined by Hugh, also from the office, for coffee then looked over the Foster designed Albion Wharf project (under construction) and the Foster office next door.

In the afternoon we walked through Chelsea, rode a bus down to Waterloo, walked through the South Bank and across Foster’s Millennium Bridge to meet Emma on the steps of St Paul’s. The first Pub served as a place to meet up with Emma’s friends Carl and Franc, and also served dinner so we ate, then moved on to a couple of clubs in Soho. Later in the evening we met up with Carl’s girlfriend, Liz, and went to more places, including going to a restaurant occupying a former butchery with very little renovation.

Saturday (June 28th) we moved camp to Emma’s normal residence in Hanger Lane. Her car had been broken into in the morning which rather upset things, but luckily nothing important was taken and we were able to bend the car back into shape fairly easily. Julia and I set up our tent on the lawn of Hanger Lane then we all went out to the Portobello Market in Notting Hill. We browsed the eclectic stalls of collectibles, fashion and food, with the girls studying the styles with uncommon care. In the evening we went to the Indian restaurant next door which was very good.

During the night however I had the most intense back pain to the point where I tried to sit up at about 2am but blacked out. I had to go to the hospital, which thankfully was nearby, and wait for a few hours, lying down, before a doctor prescribed me a strong muscle relaxant and things slowly started to improve. Sunday was spent lying down. By a stroke of luck Emma’s friend Franc is a physiotherapist so she dropped by and was able to do some great work on my back.

By Monday I could get around again so we went into town and made a short visit to the British Museum to see the stunning courtyard roof (a recent Foster project) before retiring to Starbucks for the rest of the afternoon. Our intent has been to leave London by bicycle and ride to Scotland, but with my back still not very flexible we decided to go to Scotland first and spend some time visiting my relatives. We booked train tickets and spent Tuesday "riding" north to the England/Scotland border town of Berwick-Upon-Tweed. Our ultimate destination being a millhouse west of Duns, we boarded the Duns bus (the driver allowing us to put our bikes in the aisle) and "rode" the 13 miles.

I had marked the location of the mill from memory on the map, so we got our bearings and rode out of Duns in the early evening, heading into the rolling hills of the Borders for a 6 mile ride. However when we arrived at the designated spot the mill was not there. This was quite disconcerting, so after riding up and down the road a couple of times, which only served to confirm its absence, we asked at a couple of houses and found that my error lay in having taken the left, rather than the right, prong of a previous fork in the road. Corrected, we arrived at the mill at about 4pm – not bad having ridden all the way from London.

Cockburn Mill near Duns, Berwickshire

We stayed 4 nights at the mill, enjoying time with my Grandmother, Auntie Anna and Uncle Mike, and cousin John. They do B+B and also rent a cottage. There is a river which winds its way around the estate, and Grandma has created lovely gardens, making for a picturesque scene. When we were not to be found in the kitchen at Grandma’s house sampling her soups, we could probably have been found in Auntie Anna’s kitchen, in the main house. In spite of the somewhat overcast weather the interiors were always warm. The night of our arrival we were treated to dinner at the Black Bull in Duns with the Cockburn Mill crowd and my Auntie Josephine who lives in Duns.

We made some short day trips in the area visiting Manderston House near Duns and my father’s cousin’s son and his family at their farm, Brockholes. John and Anne treated us to lasagna lunch and we spent some time watching the ducks at their pond. You can read an independent review of the farm by the Edinburgh Agricultural Society and see the holiday cottages they have for rent. John was packing up some of his paintings — one for sale and one for exhibition.

We set off for our first day of touring on Saturday the 5th of July. We rode out through Duns then headed south to the England border. In the border town of Norham we visited Hazel and Peter White, Hazel being my father’s cousin. They had a lovely new house looking out onto the Tweed river. It was here that we picked up the National Cycle Network route 68, the Pennine Cycleway, and headed out into the hills of rural England. Our route took us through the very pretty town of Etal where we looked at the castle and watched a game of cricket for a while, then on to Wooler. We checked out the youth hostel as the weather was continuing to look unsettled, but after seeing the state it was in we decided to try our luck at the campground. We checked in at the entrance and headed up to the field to find that a hot rod/vintage motorcycle rally was in residence. Even though it was pretty full we found some flat ground to pitch on and set up camp.

Through Northumberland

It rained in the night so in the morning we dried off the tent as much as possible and got on our way. The morning ride took us through some rough country — we rode through a couple of fords (without realizing that there were cycle bridges adjacent) and got on a muddy track through a woodland which afforded exciting riding. Lunch was at the Powburn pub. The afternoon took us further out into the hills on a trail that wound its way through fields of sheep and required frequent opening and closing of gates. We dropped down into our campsite at Alwinton at about 5:30. We pitched our tent and had a cold shower, then ate some bread and cheese that we had packed for dinner, with bran flakes for dessert.

It rained again during the night — which I suppose is better than raining during the day. We were out of the camp early and on the road to Harbottle. We road steadily against the wind and uphill all morning. It was hard and hungry work so we stopped at the cycling themed café in Elsdon for tea. Battling against the wind and the general inclement weather was becoming too much. We now regretted taking the decision to train north and cycle south. We continued on to Bellingham (pron. Bellin-Jam) and when we got there we started making plans to change our plans. We checked into the campground then went into town. We bought some pastries and pork pies, then went back and bought some more.

We fussed around then called Virgin Trains to get tickets from Newcastle to as far south as we could go, hoping for both tail winds and better weather. We got a great price with the 3 day advance purchase, but then everything started to unravel. The sales guy sent the tickets back to my Grandmother’s house. We just couldn’t believe how stupid the guy was given they have electronic ticketing. Now we had to buy new tickets and then try to get the others back, and send them in for a refund. However we had also booked the last 2 bike spaces on the train with our mailed tickets so we couldn’t book them with our new electronic tickets. We were now going through phone cards like water and not getting anywhere, so we had authentically greasy fish and chips (so greasy in fact we couldn’t finish them) and retired to bed.

The morning brought more dark clouds — clouds of midges that is. We were as judicious as possible prepping everything so that we would spend the minimum time outside the protective screens of the tent, but in the 15 minutes or so it took to drop the tent and pack the bikes I got over 50 bites on my face alone, and that wasn’t counting my neck or hands, or my ears which swelled up like fiery beacons. So off we set into the wilds of very rural Northumberland. The morning took us into the Wark Forest which wasn’t as fantastical as it sounds, but still gave Julia the creeps. Then we entered Hadrian’s Wall country, which was fantastical in spite of its rather ordinary name.

The Romans, during the reign of Hadrian, took advantage of a set of geological waves to add natural escarpments to the constructed defense. The dark storm clouds which were never far away and the row upon row of north facing escarpments lent dramatic air to the place and made it seem like the Roman occupation could have ended just yesterday. We went to the visitors’ centre at the town of Once Brewed (which appeared to consist only of the visitors’ centre) then went down the road about 100 yards to the pub at the town of Twice Brewed (which appeared to consist only of the pub). One can only image the chagrin of the visitors’ centre owner when he found the publican had split off and out done him by a Brew. Perhaps they could get the town back together and call it Thrice Brewed.

Hadrian´s Wall to Newcastle

We were quite intrigued by Hadrian and his Roman Wall so we decided to head off to the Roman museum. Julia had her photo taken with the real live Roman, before we continued on to Haltwhistle. The visitor’s centre there pointed out that a National Cycle Network route went direct from Haltwhistle to Newcastle, avoiding some large hills and providing a more direct route than our intended one that went south on the 68 then east on C2C. With this change of plan we rode back to a campsite about half a mile from Twice Brewed.

In the morning we rode up back up to the wall above Once Brewed and walked along it for little while. It was nice to be there before anyone else had arrived. We rode on to Housesteads, the location of one of the major forts on the wall. You could really get a sense of the power of the wall when seeing how well it was fortified. We had already walked all around the outside by the time it opened to the public, so we moved on to the excavated Roman supply town of Vindolanda. Here there was another Roman museum similar to the first one we visited as well as the partially excavated town and some reconstructions. We set off back to strike our camp, but before we could get there it started to rain. We packed up our tent in the rain feeling more than a little hard done by — at which point it stopped — so we went to the pub at Twice Brewed for something warm (food that is). Shortly after leaving the pub on our way to Hexham it started raining again. This time it was coming down so hard we had to take cover under some trees for about 15 minutes until it lightened up enough to keep riding.

The signs to Hexham town centre deposited us insalubriously in the Safeway car park, but once back in the real town centre it was a likeable town. We found the bike store just before it closed and had Julia’s bottom bracket and pedals replaced which fixed an annoying clicking that her bike had developed. The campground was up a huge hill [Why are campgrounds always at the top of hills?] but was staffed by the irrepressible Ian who kept us entertained. We called a taxi to go into town for dinner, and at Ian’s recommendation ate at the Dalchini Indian restaurant which was not expensive but served up the best Indian food I’ve ever had — and I’ve had some good Indian meals.

Thursday 10th of June took us into Newcastle on all traffic free paths. Thank goodness for the Nation Cycle Network. It really comes into its own in these situations which would normally be excruciating to the touring cyclist who approaches the city without local knowledge. However by following the signs we were able to ride into town down the banks of the Tyne without needing to mix it up with cars and lorries. After mixing it up with the staff at the train station about our lost tickets and with the tourist office re: accommodations, we decided to check into the Jury Inn, a brand new corporate hotel next to the station. For the same price as one of the tourist office’s cheap hotels we spent our hotel night of the trip in style. We ate down by the river at the Parisa Restaurant overlooking Foster’s Gateshead project under construction and the fabulous Gateshead Millennium Bridge (not to be confused with the other Millennium Bridge.

Friday the 11th of June took us all the way to Penzance, a long day on the train arriving at 7pm. It took us a while to get our bearings — partly because we were in a totally new place, and partly because it was sunny and the bay was shining like gold in the warm evening light. It was so great to be at the seaside in the way that only the British can be at the seaside. We rode around the bay, stopping at the Tesco’s to fill up on bread and cheese, then continued around to Marazion, the location of the campground. Again it was located at the top of Everest and when arriving we got one of the last spots. This campground was run as a tight ship — spaces were marked out on the ground and rules were strictly enforced. We rode down into Marazion to get some dinner but every single place, and there were quite a few, stopped serving food at 9pm sharp, and there wasn’t any bending of the rules there either, even though it was all of 9:15. Bread and cheese back at the campground wasn’t half bad.

Penzance and surrounds

In the morning we packed up our gear and rode down the hill to the beach. We pushed our bikes across the sand and out into the English Channel. The causeway lead to Saint Michael’s Mount, a lesser, although still great, version of the Mont St Michel in France. We parked our bikes in the ticket office and spent the morning exploring. When it came time to leave the tide had risen and covered the causeway so we caught the boat back. One of the advantages of traveling light is that we could easily carry our fully loaded bikes down the narrow quay steps and into the little boat! We had lunch in Penzance then rode off into Cornwall towards the location of the Minack Theatre. We made our camp for the night across the bay at the little town of Treen and had an early dinner in the pub.

We were the first visitors to the Theatre in the morning. We were so early we arrived even before the staff. When the Visitors’ Centre opened we enquired about getting tickets to a show, but it was all booked out and even our quite extensive efforts failed to come up with anything. We went down the cliff and sat in the theatre for a while. It is a very dramatic site and I’m sure a wonderful space for a performance. We had morning tea in the café then set off again back to Penzance where large dark clouds were beginning to form, so we felt relieved to be catching the train up to the seaside resort town of St. Ives. Upon arrival we were indeed rewarded with another warm golden evening. The town seemed to glow as if rubbed in tanning oil, its sleepy harbour a gently rocking watercolour. This characterized the first night in St. Ives.

Monday broke tepid. We invited our German neighbour, Bernadette, to join us for a Cornish Clotted Cream breakfast which started a lazy day in town. St. Ives has made up its tourist profile around its artistic heritage, an outpost of the Tate being the centrepiece. The current show was the sculpture of local artist Barbera Hepworth. It was both understated and yet incredibly powerful. We spent a long time in the gallery and it was a very memorable experience. Then we went shopping. As usually happens Julia went into the store but I ended up being the one buying — in this case an excellent pair of Nikes.

St. Ives and the Eden Project

On Tuesday only the storm broke. Rain. Lots of rain. So we got the train to St. Auburn, home of the Eden Project. It took us several attempts to find the tourist office and then some luck to find the campground. It rained for a short period while we pitched the tent, then fined up again when we were finished. We rode over the hill to the Eden Project. Finding the bike parking and getting to the entrance was as complex and entering the proverbial garden, but get in we did, with a three quid discount for arriving by sustainable transportation! It was very cool indeed, a nice place to be. At 3:30pm we took a tour of the tropical biodome which was fun and interesting. The place had an air of warmth and hospitability to it.

The rain had caught up with us again by the morning so we packed up and went back to the station, catching a train to Salisbury. We liked the place immediately upon arrival. It was big enough to have the feeling of a bustling place, yet small enough to have retained its charm. We set up in the campground in the shadow of Old Sarum and went into town take a look around. The next day was wet and was spent in town where we could take shelter when required. We took a walking tour from the Tourist Office which was hosted by a local lady who had written a book on the history of Salisbury and was also able to point out good places to eat. In the afternoon we watched "Nicolas Nickleby" in a cinema so small it was like watching a puppet show.

We liked Salisbury and there was a lot to be seen in the surrounding area, so we decided to stay for awhile. We arranged with Emma that she would come down and camp with us for a couple of days. Friday we rode up to Stonehenge which is only about 10 miles away along the quiet River Avon. Saturday we rode out to Old Waldour Castle about 20 miles away. We spent most of the time just getting out of Salisbury, but once on the road it was nice. We met Emma in Salisbury on our way back.

Salisbury and the day trips

Taking advantage of Emma’s car we spent Sunday driving up to Avebury to look at the iron age works there. We went to Kennett Long Barrow (a burial chamber) and Silsbury Hill (a hill 40m high made for an unknown purpose, if any purpose at all) then on to the town of Avebury. Here is the largest stone circle in terms of diameter. I had become fascinated by these constructions. The landscape of Wiltshire is so evocative it is easy to become drawn into the mystery of it all. The scale of the workings around Stonehenge and Avebury — not just circles but long standing stone avenues and artificial hills with no apparent purpose — forming place for ancient peoples in the endless countryside. It was almost too much to believe when I spied a pattern flattened out of the grain at a distance of less than mile from the embankment of the Avebury Circle. Emma and Julia were not interested so I walked over by myself and spent perhaps a half hour exploring the complexities of its interior. I could tell it was a pentagon and that it became denser towards the center, but from my terrestrial viewpoint I could not determine its exact pattern.

Wanting to finish the trip with a flourish we decided to ride into London from Salisbury. I went for a short warm-up ride with Emma in the morning, but being overambitious as usual it became 25miles. A quick lunch and then Emma set off back to London by car and Julia and I by bike. We rode to Winchester, where I had worked for a few months 10 years ago. We made a wrong turn which added 4 or 5 miles to the trip bringing us into town in time for dinner. It was nice to the see old place again, although we didn’t hang around, buying some groceries and heading off in the direction of a campground. The first we came to was full, and the second took us about 5 miles back in the direction we had come, giving me a day of around 60 miles, but putting me only 25 miles closer to London.

We were now in our pedaling stride and keen to put blacktop beneath us so we headed out early when the light was still low and the air damp. We wanted to ensure that we would enter London on a National Cycle Network route so decided to go to Basingstoke first to try to buy a suitable map. We made it there via the small roads by lunchtime and found that there was a Network route (23) from Basingstoke which connected at Reading to the 4 which would take us right into London. We were sweet. Not far out of town we were at a markerless junction discussing whether straight was forward or following the carriageway when my bike fell over. I hit the ground hard on my hands. I did some serious internal damage to one and mild external damage to the other. I waited a while to see if I would recover — but I didn’t — so we carried on, me steering with my bloody hand and the sprained one draped over the handlebar.

Through Winchester and into London

We passed through Reading without stopping for long. Like Basingstoke, Reading has revitalized its downtown with a funky pedestrian precinct. In both cases it worked well so we took the time to walk our bikes along through the busy crowds enjoying the funky pedestrian atmosphere. Once in Reading the urban density increased noticeably and the cycle route took interesting divergences attempting to navigate the sprawl in a bicycle friendly way. I was happy enough to put the map away and follow the signs, but the circuitous routes often annoyed Julia. Some of the routes became explorations in themselves. After passing through Maidenhead we stopped in a small town and got most excellent directions to the campground from one of the locals. We arrived and pitched our tent out of the way of the terrorizing kids, but at the base of the embankment of the M4. Fairly soon after stopping the pain in my wrist became unbearable and I had to take some of the prescription painkillers I had been given for my back earlier in the trip and lie down in the tent.

In spite of the excessive pain the previous night my wrist was fairly workable in the morning. We struck the camp early and set off on the last 40 miles into London. The experience was the total opposite of what one might image riding a bike into the heart of London might be like. We rode through stretches of woodland, along the banks of the Thames (even taking a small ferry across at one point), through parks and past herds of deer. It was not until the last mile or two that we had to go on a busy London street. We met Emma at the Chiswick Bridge. Emma rode Julia’s bike with Julia on the back for part of the way up to Ealing Broadway which accelerated the trip. We hung out in the plaza there; getting some ice-cream and shoes then went back to Hanger Lane and the flat once more, being the afternoon of Wednesday the 23 July.

After a quick shower and change of clothes we set off on the Underground into town. Emma’s friend Liz was celebrating admittance to the Bar (the legal type rather than the drinking type). We exited the tube across the river from the meeting point, us being a little behind time, and just as we were crossing Tower Bridge blimey if it didn’t open. Julia and I were enjoying this touristy opportunity but Emma was a little too worried about being late. Upon arrival it was announced the not only was Liz joining the Bar but she was also getting engaged, so needless to say a memorable evening was had by all.

Thursday morning was spent packing our bikes, then Julia went into town to see the sites of London as a tourist and Emma and I headed down to the south coast to visit our cousin Tania who lives with her boyfriend Chris at Leonardslee Gardens. We had a great lunch of cold cuts and fruit in their conservatory then went out for a walk around the plant nursery and to see some the exhibits on show: bonsai, a dolls’ village and Victorian cars among other things. In the evening we went into central London for a quiet night, Indian food and a last touch of England before heading home.