Day 18 Kineton to Monkton Combe

I had a shocking night's sleep in rain and heavy gusts, but still managed to be away by 7.30, headlamp on in the gloom.The River Windrush was chocolate-brown after the rain, which thankfully had stopped. After a busy couple of k's on a B road over the Naunton Downs it was bliss to get onto the backroads through Salperton, Compton Abdale and Cassey Compton. The steep climbs were less blissful, and it was a rollercoaster of a route. Just down the valley from Cassey Compton was Chedworth Roman Villa. Anywhere discovered by a gamekeeper digging for his errant ferret has to be worth a look, but it would have to wait until next time.
The White Way, another Roman road was relatively level going, though the knee was still quite sore and a bit of a worry. Cirencester was busy, with stalls, bunting and folk dressed up in peasant clothing. Fearing an outbreak of morris dancing I fled to the nearest Costa, and lined up two flat whites, a croissant and a carrot cake. I left Cirencester in drizzle, struggled to find the NCN45, but eventually escaped, eventually joining the NCN254 into Malmesbury, then Foxley and Norton. I had a second lunch in Corsham (mum's packed lunch was on its second day!), a town which had good NCN signs (though I confess I was cursing at one unsigned T junction until I realised it was one-way!) Back roads and a short section of B road led to Bradford-on-Avon, picturesque and surprisingly busy. I fled the travel and scuttled down to the Kennet and Avon Canal and the NCN4, for instant peace and quiet, but with some trepidation. I was still carrying the scars of the Coventry Canal puncturefest.

Bradford-on-Avon

The towpath was wide enough for a car, and I followed it for 7km. The Avoncliff Aqueduct was confusing, and I was pleased to see four other cyclists looking equally bemused. Once you realise the towpath changes sides it makes sense. I was soon at the Dundas Aqueduct and the Dundas Wharf where the original crane, tollhouse and warehouse still stand. It was a great wee trip along the canal: no punctures, and a light calm evening with even some patches of blue sky.

Kennet and Avon Canal

I followed the NCN24 along the Somerset Coal Canal for a short distance, then joined the railway line which put the canal out of business. At Monkton Combe I was planning to continue along the Collier's Way which went through farmland and would be ideal stealth camping country.  At that point though I spotted the Wheelwright's Arms, and temptation set in. It was only 4pm and I could have biked for another half hour, but the knee was nagging away, so I went in to see if they had a room. It was nearly twice the price of The Priory and didn't serve breakfast until 8, but they had a row of real ale pumps at the bar, and a very tempting menu, so I booked in. They even let me put my bike in the room! I hung all the damp gear up, but couldn't get the radiator to turn on, so reception sent over a chap with some pliers. He twisted a hidden knob and got it going, so I headed off to the bar for food and beer, both of which were excellent. There were two couples also eating in the bar. Remarkably four of us were ex-teachers, and I wondered what the collective known would be. An escaping, a relief or maybe a husk of ex-teachers? One chap asked why I was cycling to Land's End, and I said it was my diet plan. "Is it working?" "Yes it certainly is" He nodded to his not insubstantial wife and said "There you go." She shot him a look that suggested he could forget about sex for the foreseeable future.

Dundas Wharf

Back in the room the heat hit me as I opened the door. Plier Man came back and turned off the radiator, but I still lay there spreadeagled on the bed and sweating profusely with all the windows open, for at least an hour. I greatly feared for the prawn mayonnaise sandwiches that I'd bought for tomorrow's lunch, so I filled the sink with water and left them floating there for the night. At least the kit would be dry.

Day stats 102km  733 Metres of ascent
Off road 9km 
A road 0.5km 
B road  8.5km 
Unclassified road 84km

Day 17 Nuneaton to Kineton

Old farts re-united

Warwick, West Gate

After a reluctant goodbye to the folks it was back down to the Cat Gallows Bridge to meet an old friend Martin who'd borrowed a mountain bike and was going to accompany me as far as Coventry, which was great! After 5 minutes I had the first puncture of the day, but it was the front wheel which made a pleasant change. It was  quick change as well: I was getting quite slick after all the practise! At the Coventry Basin, where the canal terminated  I said goodbye to Martin and headed across the city centre to join up with NCN52. As usual there was a dearth of signage but after a couple of detours a posse of taxi drivers pointed me in the right direction, and it was off-road all the way to Kenilworth, where the signs once again dried up and I struggled to find the NCN52 where it left the town. A combination of back roads and cycle paths saw me into Warwick where a sign proclaimed 'NO MORE CYCLE SIGNS'. I liked that; at least they were being honest! Christmas lights were out in force even though there were still 33 days to go!  I took the NCN41 out of Warwick, but missed the turn-off at Sherborne, so took a drive that was marked on the OS map, through some very large well-kept lawns. By the time I reached the PRIVATE NO ENTRY SIGN I thought I might as well be hung for a sheep as a lamb, so continued blindly on, emerging by the church and onto the Hampton Lucy road. I chatted to a chap sweeping leaves. "You came through the hall?! Bloody hell, you're lucky they didn't shoot you!" The Hampton Lucy road was an absolute delight, and I stopped for lunch near the Royal Shakespeare Theatre in Stratford, one of the few towns where I didn't get lost! From Stratford I joined The Greenway, another extinct railway line, then through Pebworth and Honeybourne, and along Ryknild Street, an unclassified road but quite busy. From Saintbury my route was an unrelenting climb of over 200 metres, and I had sore legs and a concerning left sore knee. I found out later the hill had twice been used for national hill-climbing championships, and I belatedly congratulated myself  for such an excellent route choice......

Hampton Lucy road

The Greenway

On the summit I passed Broadway Tower, then a sign saying NUCLEAR BUNKER OPEN THIS WEEKEND. I thought my brain might be playing tricks, so I turned around and checked to make sure. Yes the Cotswolds has a nuclear bunker! At Temple Guiting I had my water bladder filled at a farm, as the day was getting late, then I passed through Kineton which had a promising-looking pub. A few hundred metres further on I saw a good camp spot in a field which had been cut and not replanted, so I led Horse down to the edge of a wood and put the tent up as dusk fell.This was one advantage of the short days: stealth camping was a skoosh. I made a brew, repaired the puncture from the morning, boiled up a sachet of rice and set about eating the cooked trout my folks had given me. It was a 3 pounder, and it had to go. I wasn't going to bike with any leftovers. Suitably replete I lay in the sleeping bag digesting and reading until it was late enough for me to go to the pub without feeling like a total jakey.
The Halfway House was a great pub, with friendly locals who offered me a bed in their converted barn for the night. If I hadn't already set up camp I'd have gratefully accepted. I had a couple of pints, and was back in the sleeping bag by 8.30.


Day stats 100km  625 Metres of ascent
Off road 35km 
A road 6km 
B road  3km 
Unclassified road 56km

An unexpected interlude

I'd planned to spend a couple of days with my folks, then continue on my way. The first day I sorted and dried out gear, cleaned Horse and then took him into town to be re-shoed with new brake pads.  I repaired the back tyre, which turned out to have two holes, followed by a long siesta and a general battery-recharge . The next day we nipped into town, and I picked up a new camera, more porridge and some rice for the next leg of the trip.

Dad didn't feel too well as we drove home, and later in the morning he staggered in from the garden looking very ashen-faced. We took him to A&E where we were told he'd had a heart attack. He spend the next week in hospital, until they could fit him up with some stents. "Is there anything you need dad?" "Can you bring my pint mug in? The cups in here are like thimbles!"

So there was a ten-day interlude in Nuneaton, and this would seem a good point to give the place a plug. It's really friendly! What's more it has great cycling credentials. Graeme Obree, the Flying Scotsman and world record-breaking cyclist was born in Nuneaton! He's the Flying Nuneatonian! Other luminaries include George Eliot, famed for her novels and sprint finishes, film director Ken Loach, comedian Larry Grayson and no nonsense Mary Whitehouse.

Dad came out on the 21st November, a new man. We managed to sneak a couple of hour's fishing at Draycote Water the next day, much to mum's displeasure, then the day after I hit the road again.

Day 16 Stone to Nuneaton

Another early start in the dark. I raided the batteries of the dead camera and the headlamp was invigorated. Within half an hour I'd reached Sandon Lock with over 4km on the clock, then the towpath reverted to type. At one point a herd of cows had broken through the fence, so the grass was nicely cut, but pugged with deep hoof prints; I juddered along, teeth rattling and dreaming of suspension forks. I crept along slowly but surely towards Fradley Junction and the turn-off onto the Coventry Canal some 30km away.
It was another clear day, with a nip in the air: the first cold start since Loch Awe. For a couple of K's at Great Haywood, where the Staffordshire and Worcester Canal branched off, the towpath was perfect, then it was back to mud as I headed towards Rugeley. An improvement heralded the arrival of that town, but I had the first puncture of the day, the fifth of the trip. The path then deteriorated for a while, and became two thin ruts and the wheels were spoilt for choice. The front wheel took the lefthand rut while the rear went for right, and I went flying into a hedge. It was an improvement on landing in the canal.
A little further on was an ugly factory, with walls that rose straight out of the canal, like some moated fortification. Beyond this the towpath came good and I bombed along to Handsacre where I pulled off and crossed over a bridge to try and get a coffee at the Crown Inn. It was closed, so I headed back onto the towpath and sped along, soon passing an ugly factory rising straight from the canal, then spotting skid marks where some idiot had fallen off his bike. With a rapidly developing  sense of deja vu, I checked with a dog walker: "Yes you'll soon be in Rugeley". Bloody hell I'd gone the wrong way up the towpath and added an extra 4km to the day. I pedalled and cursed my way back to Handsacre. The pub was still shut.
20 minutes later I was at Fradley Junction and went into the Swan Inn. The chef wouldn't be in for another 40 minutes, but the barmaid was brilliant and made me a pile of sandwiches. At the junction I turned onto the Coventry Canal, though it's also known as the Birmingham and Fazeley Canal at this point thanks to a confusing series of ownership changes. At Whittington I had another back wheel puncture, then it was on to the Tamworth canal interchange at Fazeley. The Coventry Canal headed north-west then swung south through Polesworth where progress became somewhat intermittent: I had four punctures in as many kilometres.
To make matters worse, ominous clouds were building up: Storm Abigail, Britain's first named storm, was gathering. I don't know why we'd started naming storms; it just encourages them. With imminent inundation a distinct possibility I pumped as much air as I could into the tyre as I could and set off like a thing possessed. A kilometre later, just through Mancetter I had to  repump, and right where I stopped there was an info board about this being the spot where 4000 Romans slaughtered 70000 Iceni and pals led by Boudica. No wonder I was getting so many punctures, bloody brooch pins and spear points everywhere.
The next pumping got me twice as far,and I could pick out the distinctive outline of Mount Jud on Hartshill Ridge. It has a classic Mount Fuji-like outline, not bad at all for a slag heap.The next pump took me three kilometres and I began to wonder if by some miracle the tyre was healing itself.  At the Cat Gallows Bridge in Nuneaton I turned off the canal, and 5 minutes later reached my parent's home, bang on 5pm, a ten hour day for just 84km.
Day stats 84km  165 Metres of ascent
Off road 80km 
A road 0km 
B road  0km 
Unclassified road 0.5km Doesn't include the deja vu section!

Day 15 Acton Bridge to Stone

I woke up early, and despite the dark decided to get cracking. After the usual tea and porridge I was on the towpath by 6.30, cycling carefully by headlight. It was slow going, and by 7am I'd done less than three kilometres. Saltersford tunnel was followed by Barnton Tunnel, where a gate on the path over the top was most bike-unfriendly. I tried rearing Horse up onto his hind wheel but it was too narrow so I took off the panniers and still couldn't get through the 180 turn. Eventually I had to push him up a steep muddy slope, slipping and sliding down the far sideband bending the mudguard stays when we hit the fence at the bottom. The trees and brambles were festooned with small black plastic bags, hanging like scrotums and swaying in the breeze. At least the path was clean.
Not far beyond was the Anderton Boat Lift, though I passed it without noticing and only realised when I saw an info board. Skirting Northwich it was all very industrial, with chemical plants, salt works and scrap metal yards. At the Tata Chemical Plant I had a puncture. With the puncture-resistant tyres I was expecting to have to remove some bygone relic of the industrial age, but it was just a thorn.

 I'd managed just 13km in two-and-a-half hours, and now the towpath was the consistency of my breakfast. An hour later things took a turn for the worse. I tried to avoid a bramble that was lying in wait and the front wheel dropped into a section of bank that had seen better days. In the blink of an eye I was in the canal, and out of it a little more slowly. Luckily it wasn't a particularly deep spot, and it was as if someone had drawn a line straight down the middle of my body with one side completely soaked. Apart from a wrecked camera and notebook everything else was fine, and the weather still mild so I blew dry in a couple of hours.
At Middlewich I had another puncture, then the towpath came good near Kidsgrove, and I pulled off for lunch at the Red Bull. I could have done with a pint but not wanting to risk another dip I settled for a half. Just beyond Kidsgrove was the Harecastle Tunnel, at 3000 yards, one of Britain's longest. Overland through some parkland led back to the Trent and Mersey Canal, and a great towpath through Stoke, and all the the way to Stone, where I stocked up on food for the night, and set up camp in the dark by a set of locks. 

I cooked up a great stir-fry meal, then took stock. I was bruised down one side, had one dry sock left and the camera was comatose. I'd be at my parents' house in Nuneaton the following day, so a couple of days there and I'd be scrubbed up, and I'd buy a new camera. I turned in at 7; I'd been on the go for 11 hours and was done in.


Day stats 71km  328 Metres of ascent
Off road 70km 
A road 0km 
B road  0km 
Unclassified road 1km