Cruising the Garden of England

Last weekend, Nige and I loaded up Winston, Nige's not-quite-vintage Honda Civic, with bikes, bike clothing and of course, ourselves, and drove to a lovely B&B on the border of East Sussex and Kent. We'd told friends and family that we were going away, but kept referring to it as "going away to Rye for the weekend". In the end, we only stopped in Rye on the way home to buy fish and chips (and mushy peas, of course)!

We were bowled over and immersed in every sense by the beauty of the Kent countryside, and spent the best part of two days riding around there. Going into a town didn't turn out to be on either of our agendas.

I was gloriously surprised by Kent, and had never quite managed to understand why it's referred to as the 'Garden of England'. In truth (and I don't intend to offend anyone from Kent!), I suppose I thought it was called that as a kind of euphemism, softening the blow of it not really having anything to offer. In actual fact, it's a place full of curiosities and rich experiences just waiting to happen, and I would love to return there.

We learned, as we were visiting a remote and very beautiful little church in the middle of a marsh, that Romney Marsh is actually four marshes. Poor other three marshes! They don't get any recognition. Can a marsh have an identity crisis, I wonder?

As we rode and indeed even drove around, we kept coming across these strange looking conical roofs with white, wooden tips, often with a strange opening and a kind of lever pointing out of them at a 90 degree angle. I found out that these buildings were all Oast Houses, and that the roofs were specifically designed to dry out hops in order to make beer. It turns out that the South East is the home of beer brewing!

One of the sights that really surprised me was that of stunningly white swans sitting at the edge of these huge, vibrantly green rapeseed fields, next to the Military Canal. (Thanks Nige for taking the photos!) It was such an unusual sight, which sadly this picture doesn't quite capture because you can't see the blueness of the sky - a gleaming white bird highlighted against the emerald green of the field, suspended underneath a stunningly clear blue sky - and of course, it also made sense. Swans + water = no brainer.

These swans were probably cruising down the canal when they came across a nice spot for a bit of sunbathing. So out they'd get, giving themselves a shake, and they'd spend a portion of the day lounging around. I've seen a lot of swans recently, and yesterday I saw a puppy in a river paddling alongside a swan! They were just hanging out, and the pup wasn't listening to its owners whistles and calls. No no no - it had made a new friend. Two groups of people had stopped in their tracks to witness this rather bizarre partnership. I smiled and cycled on, grateful for the opportunity to see life at bike speed.

We had been advised to go and see this beautiful church, which stood in the middle of a field. The key was huge, almost other-worldly, hanging in the garden of a nearby house. Inside the church, the pews were arranged into white box shaped sections. We learned that the church had been like this since its inception, and that in days of old, worshippers would pay for the best seats. It was astonishingly clear evidence of the church's relationship with power, money and prestige. Quite a sight.

We also kept seeing strange buildings and monuments (some of which were quite phallic!); along the canal on the way to Appledore, there were a couple of what Nige said were shooting outposts. Being in "1066 Country" is quite mindblowing when you start to picture the battle that took place right there on that land. Being so close to Hastings made the whole thing feel more tangible and awesome and awful, all at once. These things happened, right here on this land! While I'm not like my sister Daisy, who's off to Oxford University in October to read History, the reality of the historical events felt both relevant and simultaneously irrelevant over the weekend.

On Saturday, we cycled 20.8 miles and on Sunday, 33.7, giving a grand total of 54.5 miles, certainly the furthest I've ridden in a two day period. We took it really gently though, and in contrast to Sussex, Kent is extremely flat, with literally one sloping hill to clim near the farm we were staying at. My legs turned all weekend, but didn't ache on Monday morning.

Upon arriving and returning to Cliff Farm, Pat, the owner, made us a lovely pot of tea. I love the ritual of stopping for a pot of tea. It's one of my life's simple pleasures.

Saturday night was very interesting indeed. We went to a gastropub called the Ferry for a delicious supper of steak and ale pie (Nige) and liver and bacon (me), and when we got back to the B&B, an alcohol fuelled gathering was in full swing. The long and short of it is that the owners had four friends over for the evening; the alcohol flowed; the voices raised and sounded like they were in the bedroom with us; the smells slipped effortlessly through the wooden floorboards until we were ensconced in their fumes. I went downstairs at midnight, thoroughly pissed off that our quiet weekend away was being disturbed.

This had happened in Glastonbury, when we'd managed to stay in the noisiest B&B ever - a strange squelching sound emitted from the bathroom at ungodly hours of the night, preventing us from getting to sleep. Here, 9 months later, the same thing was happening again. What was it for?! Taking a deep breath, I spoke to the owners and expressed my disappointment, and initially, things were tense. For a while, it looked like we were going to leave on unfriendly terms, which I'm not at all comfortable with. I wanted to see their innocence, and yet it was important for me to express my disappointment too, simply as a paying customer.

The next day, we learned that it had indeed been a celebration. For six years, Pat and her husband had been living directly opposite the neighbours from hell. The neighbours were intimidating to guests. They had CCTV cameras pointing onto the farm. They were rude and unfriendly. They set their dogs out when guests were loading and unloading their cars. And they had just moved out.

No wonder they were celebrating.

Pat kindly gave us a dozen eggs as a peace offering, and I felt so grateful that we'd been given a window of insight into her life. I can honestly say that I would definitely stay there again. If you'd have asked me that in the middle of the night, when I only had our side of the story to go on, I would have said no way!

On Sunday, we rode to Dungeness. En route, we had a fairly intense yet quickly dealt with crisis. To read the ins and outs of this, see my other blog. To summarise, we rode into Dungeness as friends rather than enemies.

Friends again!

Dungeness was cool! It's a bit of a wasteland, situated right in the South East corner of England.

 Little huts and shacks populate the shingly, inhospitable land, and Derek Jarman's house stands like a square bumblebee right in the middle of it. His garden is amazing, and if you've not seen the film he made, I can't recommend it (having not seen it myself), but I can say that Nige would recommend it! The next door neighbours had clearly taken inspiration from him, and had made a lot of 'art' in their garden too, but it wasn't, um, quite as stylish or of the same calibre. I can see the appeal of living there. I imagine it's a place full of arty, solitary types. It'd be a great place to hole up if you were working on a creative project that required one to go deeply into the core of one's being, isolated from society, alone with your thoughts and only the crash of the waves to keep you company. It's not quite the life for me though.

After our ride, after the marshes and the tension and the giggles and the sheep and the food and the tea breaks (50p doughnuts in Dymchurch went down a treat!), we ate our fish and chips in a layby as the sun set, both thoroughly satisfied with the weekend, both slightly sad to have to return home. And then we got a Mars Bar each. I swear to God, I have never seen anyone gobble down a Mars quite as quickly as Mr. Atkinson did that evening.

Here is the photographic evidence:

gobble... gobble... gobble...

Yum yum. Thanks for reading.

x

... Welcome back to Blogland ...

I'm back! I've decided that despite now not riding LEJOG, I still have a right to write.

Ah, British Summertime... a time of long days... long delays... and lots and lots of rain.

Today, for example, it has been grey, blue, sunny, rainy, and even hail-y (if that's a word). Today I have not been out on the bike, but Nige and I went out together about a week ago, and because, at 13 miles, I decided that we ought to turn right instead of going straight on, we ended up drenched, caught unexpectedly in a proper , movie-esque storm, hailstones falling onto my eyeballs and rain soaking through three layers of bike clothing through to my skin. As we rode, a sheet of lightning lit up the suddenly darkened sky, and the explosion of thunder scared me half to death. I screamed a bloodcurdling scream as we pedalled along, terrified, exhilarated, and above all, alive! My cheeks ached as I beamed from ear to ear. We are so intent on avoiding getting wet in this country, our golf umbrellas fighting for dominance on the narrow streets. It was such a relief to simply let myself be a soaking wet human riding along in the rain behind my riding buddy and best friend.

Riding a few times through winter has been pretty harsh on my poor Gary Fisher mountain bike, and there is rust appearing on the bike that I haven't even finished paying for yet. I welcome the arrival of spring, with its promise - however unfulfilled - of sunshine and warm days. Nige and I are planning whole days out on the bike, about which I'm becoming ever more excited. For the first time in months, I wore my fingerless gloves the other day when I went out riding, as well as my cropped riding trousers instead of my heavy duty leggings. I was also somewhat thrilled to discover that my cropped pants are now hanging off me, just a few months after taking up cycling. It seems that riding once or twice a week has caused the extra weight I've been carrying for a while to practically fall off me, with little effort on my part excepting that which I've exerted during hill climbs and the occasional sprint. It's a joy to be able to eat cake guilt free!

My body feels stronger, too, particularly my legs. In short, I love cycling! I would love to go on a proper bike tour with Nige. I've just finished reading "Lance Armstrong: Tour de Force", by Daniel Coyle, hailed as "the best Armstrong book ever written". I've read Armstong's books "It's Not About the Bike" and "Every Second Counts", and while "It's Not About the Bike" was truly inspirational in terms of his journey with cancer and the first Tour he won, I'd have to agree and say that this book is a fascinating insight into Armstrong from an outside perspective, as well as being a brilliant read about cycling as a competitive sport and the Tour de France. One day, I'd love to go and watch the Tour, even if just to see the peleton whirr past in a blur.

Nige has lent me a book by a lady called Anne Mustoe. The book, "A Bike Ride: 12,000 miles around the world" tells of her adventure, quitting her job aged 54 and cycling round the world, unable in the beginning to even change a punctured tyre (there is hope!). Sadly, I think she has passed away (from cancer, incidentally), but I'm thoroughly looking forward to getting into her tale.

I've also been watching "The Man who Cycled the Americas" on BBC iplayer. Mark Beaumont is from Scotland and, having realised that cycling round the world was not enough of a challenge for him, embarked on an adventure, cycling from Alaska to Argentina andclimbing both North and South America's highest mountains while he was at it! I am not a fan of the telly in general, although I can get as sucked into it's brain numbing glow as the next person, but this, oh this is good TV. Good TV should inspire the watcher to go into the world and live, and this is definitely what this show has done for me. The third part of it is on this coming week...

Since buying a bike (and setting up a 12 month payment plan - thank you Evans!), cycling has become an ever-increasing part of my life. I love the freedom it has given me, the way of life it has opened to me, and the endless possibilities for adventure it presents. It's been a brilliant anchor in my relationship with Nige, too, providing us with shared experiences, laughs and goals. I wonder where the bike will take me this year...?