What goes through your mind when you're cycling along A-roads all day? In my case, it's typically:
Today's theme: history repeating. Once again, we decided to abandon our zigzag scenic route and instead take the busy A-road. Again also, there was a good reason for this. Rosie's bike was suffering mechanical niggles (knackered freehub mechanism, if you're interested), necessitating an early morning visit to the local bike store and eventually, an entire new rear wheel being bought and fitted.
So – another late start, another long, hot day (60 miles). The brutal climbs of the west country have given way to more gently rolling scenery although there's still plenty to make the fully-laden cycle-tourist weep. Despite the direct route, there's surprisingly little traffic. The overwhelming impression is of long, straight roads, powerful heat and just the chirruping of insects for company:
Tonight we're staying with my good friend, Lou. Her idiot dog, Pongo, is excited by the new company but simultaneously angered by my Harry Hill-looking glasses, for some reason.
- What's that ticking?
- Is that ticking coming from my bike or Rosie's?
- Is it time to have another flapjack yet?
- I need a wee
- Look at that astounding natural beauty (multi-coloured Cornish hedgerow/field of gently waving corn/deep blue, cloudless sky)
- I wonder how many miles we've covered today
- I wonder how many miles we have left to cover today
- Why are my feet numb?
- Should we take this intimidating A-road or risk getting lost on the minor roads again?
- NOW is it time to have another flapjack?
Today's theme: history repeating. Once again, we decided to abandon our zigzag scenic route and instead take the busy A-road. Again also, there was a good reason for this. Rosie's bike was suffering mechanical niggles (knackered freehub mechanism, if you're interested), necessitating an early morning visit to the local bike store and eventually, an entire new rear wheel being bought and fitted.
So – another late start, another long, hot day (60 miles). The brutal climbs of the west country have given way to more gently rolling scenery although there's still plenty to make the fully-laden cycle-tourist weep. Despite the direct route, there's surprisingly little traffic. The overwhelming impression is of long, straight roads, powerful heat and just the chirruping of insects for company:
Tonight we're staying with my good friend, Lou. Her idiot dog, Pongo, is excited by the new company but simultaneously angered by my Harry Hill-looking glasses, for some reason.
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