Noise! Traffic! Rain! But a great cup of tea. Ellesmere to Chester. Day 7

Just a wee 33 miler today. Had the energy to keep going, but I was faced with a navigational minefield. Throngs of A roads, dual carriage ways and motorways were surrounding me. I needed  time to plot my route for the next day where I would be Liverpool bound, the part of the journey I was absolutely dreading.

Rainy, feeling sorry for myself and oddly panicky in Chester, I sat in a christian cafe and nursed a steaming sugary cup of tea and gobbled an egg sandwich. Pondered over my maps but could make neither head nor tail of it all. It seemed that it was going to be impossible to find a scenic way to bypass the traffic. But then... As though sent from the holy man himself... I saw a tourist brochure for the Wirral Pensinsula. I'd never even heard of this area before, but if I followed  the Wirral Way (despite the fact that I'd  be adding about 20 miles more to my journey) I would bypass the majority of ugliness en route to Birkenhead!

With a hop skip and a jump I headed back into the rain to find a campsite near Chester. Hot and flustered again and having a mini meltdown as traffic roared past me, I desperately tried to find myself  a nice-ish campsite. An elderly chap noticing that I'd been stood in the rain looking at my map for about 10 minutes kindly offered me a cuppa that in my stressed state I turned down. Perhaps I should have had that tea.

Laundry day... Once I finally found a campsite!

Thought I'd be indulgent and treat myself

Making friends wherever I go

The Loooooooong Mynd to Ellesmere. Day 6.

The headwind was back and blowing stronger than ever, but it couldn't detract from the surrounding beauty. Today took me out of the small rolling hills of Shropshire up the long Mynd.... Which was as the name suggests...Long.

The previous night after salvaging my pasta and oats I was too exhausted to bother cooking and stupidly just had a peanut butter sarnie for dinner. Heading up the never ending incline of the long mynd I noticed how lacking in energy I was and swore to never skip my carb loading ever again!

Stopped off in Shrewsbury briefly and admired the grand old buildings, but quickly found the noise of the city overwhelming, so shot off sharpish into the rain towards Ellesmere.

Campsite lady gave me fresh towels and shower gel. One very happy Kerry.

Daily total: 59.4 miles

Tackling mountains and pesky dogs. Llanthony to Bucknell. Day 5

"Pitter patter" went the raindrops. "Pitter-patter pitter-patter."

 “Oh no” said Kerry Froud, “ I can’t stand this” but she got up and packed up anyway.

The weather was frightful. True mountain drizzly miserable weather. Time to dig out my serious cycle leggings. Think 70’s purple spandex. Unfortunately I never got to get a photo of these beauties before they found themselves in the Oxfam charity bin. To top of the look I wore Tesco’s medium size ziplock bags inside my shoes. No gear, all the idea.

As I drew ever closer to the challenging mountain-ness of the mountain pass, a Welsh white van man grabbed my attention.

 “you been yer before?” he questioned

“nope, first time”

“ you know it goes up like this?” gestures with his hands, indicating a very very very steep hill. Maybe slightly exaggerated. 

“I can see from my map, but it’s ok…It’s downhill all the way after that!” 

They look at me like I've lost the plot (But then a 26 year old wearing purple spandex and plastic bag footwear in 2013 is hardly sane). I jest, but inside quiver with dread. I’m about to cycle up a mountain pass with what feels like a small herd of elephants on my pannier rack.

As I began the descent I realised that I must have made it past Gospel Pass. With all the rain and mist I didn't have the opportunity to appreciate it in all its glory. Despite the weather I thoroughly enjoyed myself, and was elated at the fact that I had managed to cycle up a mountain pass!

Descending into Hay on Wye (second-hand book shop capital of the world) the skies brightened and I began to get a little warm in my purple leggings and fluorescent yellow jersey.

Here I met Andrew, a keen biker who was hoping to someday carry out his own long distance  bike adventure. He stopped me to pick at my brains as I was obviously now and expert in the art of cycle touring. I offered my expertise and to give him an idea of how much weight I was carrying with me, I suggested he lift the rear of my bike. He tried, then exclaimed “I had my arm in the wrong gear...Let me try again…My God that’s heavy!” or something along those lines. Of course if I really was an expert  in cycle touring, I probably wouldn't be carrying quite so much crap. He later found my justgiving website and kindly left a donation. What a lovely chap.

‘Food for free’, a mini copy of H.G Wells ‘The time machine,' yoghurt coated raisins (my new addiction) nuts, oats, chocolate, peanut butter and bread purchased, and it was time for me and  my spandex to bust a groove.

I had a lovely ‘antique’ map for the next stage of the journey. It was a bit of a risk taking such and outdated map with me, but at just  99p  from Oxfam, I was willing to take the risk. Perplexed expressions greeted me whenever I asked folk to clarify directions for me. Looking at the map they must have wondered how I ever got as far as Wales.

Showery weather provided some dramatic skies looming over golden fields and quaint black and white cottages. 

Hopped into a bush to change cycle shorts. Saddle sore inducing purple leggings have no place in my life. Good riddance to bad spandex. 

Utterly exhausted from the unrelenting undulating terrain of Shropshire, I reached my campsite in Bucknell where I had barely dumped my gear before heading sharpish to the shower. Re-emerging from the dripping excuse for a shower, transformed into a clean and squeaky muscular goddess…Ahem… I was presented with a scene of utter carnage next to my panniers. A pile of pasta and a scattering of oats trailing away towards a scarpering dog with it’s owner in hot pursuit exclaiming “bad boy! Bad boy!”

But who could be mad at lovely Welsh Roy from Shrewsbury and his wee dog? Not me. Roy has been visiting this campsite for years. He used to holiday here with his wife and had such happy memories. But sadly she lost the battle to cancer two years previously. He still visits the place to come to her grave and to remember happy times. A wonderful man to chat to, and as we said our goodbyes he placed £3 in my hand to go towards my sponsorship. 

Daily total: 45 miles

Bristol to Llanthony... Wales! Day 4

Just a wee jaunt until I reach the Severn bridge I thought. Hmm. No matter how many miles I covered, through dusty, polluted  industrial parks and makeshift nature reserves dotted between the man made ugliness, the Severn bridge seemed to get further and further from me.

At 10 am it was time for my second breakfast and so I stopped off at a truckers cafe. Met the loveliest woman who was so keen to hear about my adventures. She seemed even more excited than me! She told me of a hiker who had passed by the café a couple of weeks previously, hiking to John O groats. Biking is tough enough, I can’t even contemplate how hard hiking that distance would be! Demolished my sarnie and hopped back on old study to catch up with the Severn bridge before it decided to move away from me again.

With motorways and busy A roads apparently surrounding me, I managed to weave my way through small lanes and finally reached the Severn bridge. Bit ugly really isn’t it? Left behind the blue sunny skies of England and entered an overcast Wales.

In a Chepstow park  I re-oiled my bike (thinking I was  being a dab hand at bike maintenance) and got chatting to Mr ‘I can’t walk too far as I’ve just had heart surgery’. Leaving Chepstow I found myself having to peddle downhill…Yes you read that right. Peddle DOWNhill. It seems I should have cleaned my bike before  oiling. Dirt and grease combined in the chain to not make for easy cycling.

Approaching the mountains and getting strangely anxious AND excited

My love for SUSTRANS began on this day. National cycle network route number 42 became a firm friend of mine up to Abergavenny. Back home in New Milton, I had dissected maps and tried to plan which route I wanted to take to Hay on Wye. It was a case of either taking the easier ride by the Wye valley, with some larger roads, or heading on the cycle route through the Black mountains... the wrong way. Meaning many miles of uphill. I opted for the strenuous up hill  route as I am completely bonkers. 

A second wind in Abergavenny propelled me upwards to Llanthony past grassy mountain sides, rugged peaks and meandering rivers where I then spent the night in a basic campsite, watching the sun set set against the ruins of an old priory. 

Heading into mountain country

Campsite for the night

Daily total: 67.19miles

Wrinkly cyclists and threadbare shorts. Frome to Bristol. Day 3

Hazily awoke to another sunny day. Distinct lack of sleep due to chatty, nocturnal teenage DOE girls camping nearby, but by 8am with a belly full of porridge, I was back on old sturdy peddling furiously to conquer the first hill. 

I spent the first part of the morning undertaking some sort of unspoken race with a jogger. He managed to reach the top of the hill ahead of me however, once I summited,  quick as a flash I steamed past him on the descent. Thinking I had thoroughly left him in my wake, I sluggishly rolled up the next hill only to feel the rush of air beside me as he flew past again! 

Overtaken by a runner! Oh the shame of it all.

After a few more episodes of this I finally put some distance between us and took a break to refuel at the top of yet another hill. As I munched on the                                                                                                 cereal bar given to me by Aunty Cathy, whom                                                                                               should I spot bounding towards me?

                                                                                         The bugger overtook me AGAIN!

Rolling fields, burnt orange Somerset soil, scorching sun, and curious cows.

So far on the journey, myself and old sturdy had conquered every hill. No matter how slowly we crawled I was determined not to put my feet down  and walk.

On the approach to Bath after posing by a  'Cotswolds’ sign (I’m pretty sure I was nowhere near the Cotswolds and it was a sign-maker's idea of a joke?), the steepest hill you ever did see loomed ahead of me.  Four turns of the pedals was enough for me to realise that there was no way I was going to bike up that beast.

 Bath to Bristol canal path provided me with some relief from the somerset hills. 

The canal path was heaving with throngs of fellow cyclists, though none with quite as much baggage as I had. I attracted rather a lot of attention and one curious ageing cyclist came alongside (and unfortunately slightly ahead of) me. 

He asked me where I was headed and the all the other sorts of questions I would soon get used to being asked. It would have been most pleasurable chatting to him had it not been for the fact that he'd obviously owned his lycra cycling shorts for the majority of his very long biking life. As a result, the seat of his shorts were more than a little threadbare. It was hard to answer his firing questions with his revealed wrinkly crevasse in my field of view.

Reaching Bristol in a sweaty sticky mess all I needed now was to locate Sam and Steve's house in Clifton. How hard could it be?  Very.

I've come to realise that I can make my way across a whole county, but faced with a city I lose all sense of direction,  Panic and get lost. When I finally reached a clean and gleaming Sam and Steve they asked

 “Which way did you come through Bristol?”

“Erm… I’m not sure…but I went up constitution hill”

“Constitution hill?” they replied dumbstruck, “that’s probably the steepest hill in Bristol!”

Note to self: Work on city navigation skills.

Cider and sun on the Clifton downs, hearty food and wonderful company.

Daily total: 37.5 miles

Loves it in Daarset. Wimborne Minster to Frome. Day 2

The morning was filled with whoops and shouts, bells, accordions, fiddles, clogs and of course, cake. But there was only so much fun I could have at the fair before I needed to knuckle down and embark on my grand adventure.

Anxiety began to seep in at around midday as I realised the enormity of what lay ahead. Yet here I was at midday still frolicking in Wimborne!

I need not have worried. Racing the clock with some beasty hills around the Shaftesbury area was challenging, but overall I was pleased at the amount of ground I could cover when carrying such a hefty load and with relatively little training.

The Dorset countryside was as glorious and appealing as ever. Hills never once got the better of me and I was delighted to finally be on my way, with all this freedom ahead!

No matter where I travel to in the world and no matter how many breath-taking sights I see, Dorset is always where my heart lies and I love coming back to this county. On a sunny day with clear blue skies and the smell of manure, where could be better?

46.1 miles later I arrived on the outskirts of Frome, Pitched tent, drank tea, ate a vat of pasta. Bed.

Thunder storm, ducklings in distress and Morris dancing. Day 1

I awoke this morning to hear the rumblings of thunder from outside. What a good sign for the first day of my North bound adventure! The heavens opened and the morning passed by with a torrent of never ending rain. Luckily I was breakfasting with Mum and Em and this point and so was pleasantly dry as I consumed my full English breakfast. Come mid day the sky cleared and a glorious day was revealed.

After I dipped my toes in Barton-on-sea's water (and got a little damp from a freak wave) it was time to set off towards Poole where I would meet a Jon, whom I first met on the Azores last year and who was  staying in Poole.

After picking up a shell trinket from the South coast, we set off leisurely to Wimborne, unaware of the adventure ahead of us.

Ambling along, chatting away we became aware of a duck being chased by a dog! Alarmed at this spectacle and worried about the ducks welfare, we approached. The dog plus owner passed by leaving the traumatised duck behind them. As we drew nearer we realised that in all the chaos she has lost some of her ducklings! We heard cheeping coming from a small concrete hole and inside were 7 very bemused ducklings. There was no way these poor littleuns would be able to get out of there and so we stepped in and reunited them with Mum!

Just when you think it is about to be a happy ending, who should we spy stalking down the hill coming to rest     on the track ahead of us? MR FOX! No joke of a lie.

Now we were fine to interfere when it was a man made disturbance... But now that it was nature, what should we do? Well... We may or may not have shepherded them to safety. (Not before they went into a pub garden and nearly got squished on the main road... Ducks with a death wish. Perhaps natural selection should have taken place.)

Auntie Cathy and Uncle John then welcomed me with open arms, fed and watered me before we went to see Anonymous Morris and The Dorset Buttons perform in the corn market. 

The amazing pavlova created by A.C

Onwards and upwards!

Day Total: A leisurely 33 miles

A travel companion

This is what greeted me this morning...

Any good at puzzles??

Now how does one go about fitting all of this...

On to this....

???!!!

Thank you to all those very kind sponsors out there. I have so far raised £228.94 for the royal society of wildlife trusts. My just-giving site will stay open until well after 1st of July when I should have hopefully reached Mull! 

Thank you!