The White Hart Inn in the centre of Andover dates back to the 17^th century and shows signs of its age. I don’t know how long Marstons have owned it but it could do with a bit of tlc, certainly with the carpets in the common areas.  I booked in and asked where I could leave the bike, having been told by Marstons central that there was a cellar.  The receptionist scratched his head and said no to the cellar; but if I was leaving before 10 it could go into the function room which was going to be used for a tabletop sale later.  So that’s where it spent the night.  Panniers, battery and I were banished to Room 28 which was the furthest possible point from reception and up and down a few flights of stairs.  However, the room itself was large and airy and the bathroom not too bad.  It’s interesting that nearly all the hotels I’ve stayed in have had bath tubs with a shower over and this was no exception.  The major plus point was that there was a fan heater in the room, and I was able to dry out my shoes, socks and bib tights ready for today.

Having washed and put everything on to charge I decided to go to Wetherspoons which was just around the corner. Marstons menu and prices were very similar but in ‘spoons I got a free beer thrown in and the second pint only cost £1.79.  I ate sausage and mash with some extra roast veg and garlic bread followed by ice cream with shortbread and blueberries.  All absolutely fine.  On the way I ditched the cycling jacket that I had got so covered in mud.  It had seen better days and 2 of the 3 zips were broken, so it went in the bin.  I do like the Wetherspoons app.  You sit down at a numbered table, put in your order on-line, pay for it (in this case with Paypal} and a minute or so later a beer magically appears followed by your food when it’s ready.  All very efficient.  What’s not so good is the ambience with a lot of noisy lairy people around you: you can’t have everything.

I skipped breakfast this morning and still didn’t get on the road until 0900.  It was distinctly chilly and remained so all day.  I regretted the fact that my full cycling gloves were at the bottom of one of the panniers (I couldn’t remember which) and I was wearing mittens.  It took me a little while to pick up on the route out town but, once on it, Rita gave clear instructions.  I arrived at the tunnel under the A303

And was soon on the road to Salisbury.  I stayed north of the main road making my way through some charming villages.  I found myself passing by the farm of a good friend of my son and the tractors were out working. For almost ten years they organised a charity bike ride called Nelson’s Tour de Test Valley in memory of a son who committed suicide.  Over those years they have raised hundreds of thousands of pounds for CALM, the campaign against living miserably.  I participated in three of the events, on one occasion cycling to Grateley from home and then cycling the 50-mile organised route giving me a 100 mile day in the saddle.  I then grabbed a lift home in the car.

Plenty of big arable fields in Hampshire with many of the old hedges grubbed out to make room for the massive equipment that is now de rigueur and the old open grass downs now growing cereals and oil seeds instead of grazing the traditional Hampshire sheep breeds.

I wound my way through Cholderton, Allington, Idmiston and Porton, staying south of the secretive Government laboratories that have dealt with all sorts of chemical weapons over the years. There was a long three mile slog along the arrow straight Portway before I arrived at Old Sarum. I crossed the River Avon, one of eight by that name in Great Britain.

 Unfortunately my plotted route took me up a path so narrow and steep that I had to GOAP for about 200 yards but once over that I made my way past Old Sarum Castle

Originally built as a Motte and Bailey by William the Conqueror within an old Iron Age fort which dates back to 400 BC, the structure was added to and strengthened until it lost its defensive value and was allowed to deteriorate until sold by Henry VIII.  It’s now administered by English Heritage and is a popular destination for tourists and locals.

Once past Old Sarum I was on entirely familiar roads that I have travelled often, so the navigators went to sleep, and I kept pedalling until I thought I’d better stop for a bit of nourishment at Barford St Martin where the Budgens supplied a Costa Coffee and some cherry Bakewells to keep me going for the second half of the journey.

Now in Wiltshire (the final of my 10 counties) The scenery changed back to smaller fields and more hedges as corn gave way to horn.

After that the camera stayed in my pocket as I wound my way home.  I dropped in to see son Rob for a cuppa on the way past and was back at Home Farm by 1530hrs.

It’s been an interesting journey with highs and lows.  I’ve done an awful lot of climbing and I’ve come down some steep hills with dodgy brakes squealing in protest. I haven’t seen much sun and I’ve been absolutely drenched, but that’s probably because it’s late in the year to be adventuring. I’ll piece it all together over the next couple of days and let you know the total travelled

As I said yesterday,  Mike Bamber mikesbikeworkshop.co.uk, came to my rescue by sorting out my front brake but it’s worth repeating as he is the epitome of a local bike mechanic, prepared to drop everything and help where he can.  Once again Mike, thanks. We loaded the bike back into the car and went on to Firebird brewery, founded in 2013 by two professional brewers who met at the University of Birmingham Brewing school.  It is now a meeting spot for hundreds of people, busy when we arrived at about 1800hrs and when we left, after a couple of pints of Heritage XX.

It’s not quite what I’d call a pub, but it’s pleasant enough and clearly popular.  They brew half a dozen different beers and stick them in cans and bottles as well as the draught that we drank.  We returned to a delicious supper cooked by Julia whilst we were out enjoying ourselves. (she also washed my smelly clothes). One of the nicest things about eating with friends, as opposed to in Wetherspoons, Premier Inns etc, is that there are always well cooked vegetables and that, to me, makes all the difference. An excellent meal in good company.

Just a little history: Tony shared a flat in London with my now wife Annie and her childhood friend, also called Annie back in the early 70’s.  I then got to know Tony when I took a job with Guardian Royal Exchange, managing part of their substantial property portfolio.  There were a gang of us, assorted young professionals, who would meet for a liquid lunch most Tuesdays in the Lamb in Leadenhall market.  Needless to say, not much work was done in the afternoon. Tony married Julia who, co-incidentally, was born in Malaya as were my sister and I.  Tony is also godfather to our daughter Kate so the friendship is deep.

This morning Julia went above and beyond and cooked me eggs and bacon before she went off to play tennis and I departed at about 0930 to ride 57 miles to Andover.  Tony waved me off before driving to the tip and then on to play golf..

The weather was, once again overcast with a threat of rain and I was dressed accordingly as I made my way through Cranleigh

I had noticed that there was an off road track that led north west from Cranleigh towards Peasmarsh and Mike and Tony confirmed that this was an old railway line.  The surface looked a bit dodgy from the start with puddles and slippery patches of mud that I gingerly tackled with one foot unclipped.  A mile or so in there was a tree completely blocking the way and I had to lift the bike through and over it.

Worse was to come as I swerved to avoid a particularly large muddy puddle, hit my shoulder on a tree and fell into the middle of the puddle, covering all the nice clean clothes in black mud, losing my phone from its pocket and grazing my knee.  My jacket, particularly, suffered and I took it off and stuck it between the panniers, held on by a bungee.  I cleaned the phone as best as I could, donned my fluorescent yellow waterproof and continued.  There was yet another tree down which had to be negotiated but there were a large number of cyclists in both directions, all on mountain bikes.

After about 7 miles I was on tarmac and made better progress but was soon back on tracks, one taking me part Puttenham golf club (surely nominative determinism at work there) crowded with Saturday morning golfers, the tracks going through quite dense woodland

I took to a road that shadowed, to the south, the A31 Hog’s Back, a notoriously dangerous stretch of road that has caused many deaths, most famously that of Mike Hawthorn, the 1958 F1 driver’s champion when he lost control of his Jaguar whilst racing a gull-wing Mercedes.

No such drama for me as I once again took to the Boondocks, past a couple of friendly horses

The path grew narrower, until it was barely showing

And I was faced by a kissing cycle gate that caused some difficulty, doubled because 100 yards further on there was another.

I was now approaching Farnham, in gridlock by the station but fortunately not on the road that Rita was sending me down. Once again I had to take to a narrow footpath that was, thank goodness, the last bit of off-road for the day.

I safely crossed the dual carriageway Alton road and re-entered Hampshire last passed through around Emsworth on Day 11. I was heading for Upton Grey, the village in which my mother and her two sisters grew up. My grandparents are both buried in the churchyard, along with many other ancestors, and I paid my respects just as it started to spit with rain.  The gravestone is in dire need to cleaning and the grass trimming; but my sister and cousins plan to remedy this next year.

North Hampshire is a country of rolling downs and woods

but the general direction of travel for me, at the half-way point, was now downhill.  I passed under the M3 just before North Waltham, voted Hampshire’s prettiest village according to a plaque on the side of the bus shelter where I stopped to eat the banana and clementines that Julia had pressed upon me

The weather was improving with glimmers of sun and the last ten miles of the journey over rolling roads was quite pleasant.  I crossed the River Test, seeing a few small fish but none of those monster trout for which the river, with its gin clear water is famous.

And finally, I was in Andover, although wrong turns took me around the town by a much more circuitous route than necessary, and I booked into the White Hart Inn, a Marston’s house, at 1640hrs.

You know what you’ll get with Premier Inns and that is where I ended up last night at Faversham.  I’d booked an evening meal in their Thyme restaurant and went for the same salt and pepper calamari that I’d enjoyed earlier in the trip.  It was as good as I remembered, and I followed it up with chicken topped with bacon and mozzarella served with coleslaw and chips – not bad but not outstanding. Sticky toffee pudding and custard rounded things off.  Sadly, they had no real ale, so I had to make do with a pint of Atlantic keg.  I nipped across the car park to Aldi to buy a bottle of wine to help me write the blog and bought some Jaffa cakes for the next day.

The usual excellent help yourself breakfast filled me well and I was on the bike at 0900.  I was heading to stay with more old friends in east Surrey and Tony had managed to find a local bike shop who would fix my brakes if I got there in time.  75 or so miles to travel over not very hilly terrain should take me about 8 hours.  The weather was sunny and bright but distinctly chilly and I wore bib tights.

Faversham is 100 foot asl but I had to climb up onto the Kentish Weald at about 500 feet so switched the motor on quite early.  Once up there it was rolling countryside covered in woodland, especially sweet chestnut coppice which is used for fencing.

I was in end of term mood: I’d achieved my ambition of cycling from Watchet to Whitstable and it was now a question of getting home.  Although the countryside with autumn colours starting to appear is always interesting, I found little of specific note to photograph.  One thing that is clear is that squirrels have become a serious pest and are taking a toll on decent forestry. 

Nothing much of interest as my route took me well to the south of the Kent County Town, Maidstone, until I reached Tonbridge 35 miles into the journey.  Having got used to the excellent bike paths by the sea it was disappointing that I had to take to narrow pavements to avoid the heavy traffic on A227.  I had no need to cross the River Medway as it flowed through the centre of town on its was to the Thames estuary at Rochester but had to Goap through the grounds of Tonbridge Castle as cycling, and pretty much everything else was banned.  The castle has been  restored but I didn’t stop to look, passing the Motte which rears up beside the track.  Once away from the castle grounds I remounted and made my way along a mixture of surfaces beside the rugby club and through woodland before I emerged on tarmac at Powdermills.

Through Edenbridge I stopped to eat my Jaffa Cakes before joing the A22 at Blindley Heath

I made my way around Horley the town just to the north of Gatwick Airport which, knowing that it is in Sussex, made me wonder about how many counties I have visited and how many of them more than once.  It’ll be 10 in total after tomorrow and, I calculate that I’ll have visited Somerset, Devon, Hampshire and West Sussex more than once.

Little more of interest to report, but a fair bit of up and down towards the end of the journey which made me reach for the battery switch.  I reached my destination in Cranleigh at about 1645, amazingly, earlier than I had projected.  I had a quick shower and Tony put the bike in the back of his car and we drove to Mike’s bike workshop where Mike Bamber generously resuscitated my front brake for free as I was on a charity ride.  If you’re ever in need to an LBS in the Cranleigh area, he’s your man www.mikesbikeworkshop.co.uk.  His workshop is an old glasshouse that has been clad in timber

A couple of pints at a local Brewery converted from farm buildings put us in good order for supper.

I pitched up at Alison’s house,where I have stayed on many occasions, as night was falling.  I wheeled my bike around the back of the house and Alison opened the door and welcomed me. At that point I noticed my front tyre was completely flat; but it was late, I wanted a shower and a drink, and it could wait until morning.  Pete and I played rugby together at Blackheath and although he’s a good bit older than me we have similar farming backgrounds and a shared interest in game shooting, so we’ve kept in touch for 50 years or more.  He and Alison have known each other for even longer but only earlier this year decided it was time to get married!

We had an excellent meal of ham hock and vegetables and a fruit pie and rather too much red wine.  I still had the blog to tackle when we went to bed at about 1130 and I only managed to write about half before calling it a day.  After 5 hours sleep, I woke up and continued writing, but when I came to publish, the internet connection let me down and I went back for another couple of hours in bed before I was up at 7.30 and getting packed with the hope of leaving at 0900.  We fiddled about with the Internet dongle but to no avail, so I delayed publication until this evening.  Alison cooked us a splendid FEB so the day started well but I’m not sure what I’ve done to deserve the bad breaks over the last couple of days which continued when I tried to fix the puncture.  The first tube I tried didn’t have a long enough valve and I couldn’t get my pump to work with it.  I tried another tube which seemed to work but when I started to put the panniers on it was losing air and I was losing patience. Eventually I found a small hole in the tube and put on a self-adhesive patch.  Praise be it worked but I had the distinct feeling throughout the day that I would have to do it again.  All of this faffing about meant that my projected 0900 start became 1010.  I was due to cycle the best part of 75 miles so, with stops for pictures and inevitable wrong turns it would take in the region of 8 hours – another finish in semi darkness.

To start with I made my way towards Dover by the back roads, heading roughly south east through the Kentish Weald, narrow roads with trees either side often meeting in the middle and creating a dark tunnel that opened up to provide views of grassland. Past the Black Robin pub at Kingston and the Duke of Cumberland at Barham, the roads rising and falling for the 15 miles to Dover.  I by-passed the port area and climbed up past Dover Castle the head of which is Lord Warden of the Cinque Ports, all of which (Hastings, New Romney, Hythe, Dover and Sandwich) I have visited on this trip.

At the top of the hill, above the famous White Cliffs (unsurprisingly not a bluebird in sight) I joined a delightful cycle path that descended at a pleasant gradient through St Margaret-at-Cliffe and found the sea again at Kingsdown.

Now heading along the promenade through Walmer and Deal with its stumpy pier and fishing boats pulled up above the tide-line

I passed the Royal Cinque Ports Golf Club, down a toll road, which I got through without paying,

 and kept inland from the golfing gem of this area, The Royal St George’s which has staged the Open Championship15 times, last time in 2021.

Through Sandwich I joined a track alongside the busy A256 and then made my way by back roads, stopping to take a picture of a Viking Longship replica

past Ramsgate port and marina

through the centre of town and on up the coast through Broadsdtairs

My main objective was to cycle around the North Foreland, not the eastern most point of Britain, that title belongs to Lowestoft Ness but the easternmost point of the south coast of England.  I have to confess I was confused as to when I actually achieved that, but it was around Kingsgate

Once around the bend there about six miles of concrete promenade, in places with waves throwing water high over the sea walls and onto the track

Past Margate and Westgate at Birchington-on-Sea I dived inland for about 8 miles, avoiding Reculver, at one point following an arrow straight farm track close to the A299 Thanet Way and finding the sea once again at Herne Bay.

More excellent Promenade, with cycling banned from 10 until 6 from May to the end of September.  Herne Bay once boasted the second longest pier in the UK but it was largely destroyed by storm resulting in the strange anomaly of the pier head remaining as an island over a kilometre from the shore.

My main objective was now Whitstable where I would leave the coast and head inland for the rest of my journey, my by-line of Watchet to Whitstable achieved.

There was a steep climb out of the town not helped by slow moving traffic but once over that it was a straightforward ride for the final ten miles to the Premier Inn at Faversham which I reached at about 1820 in gathering darkness.

When I arrived at Newhaven last night at 1945, in the dark with a defective front light and no front brakes, I wondered if I was completely mad to be trying to achieve my aim. Claudia, my host for the night had been trying to contact me to find out where  was but welcomed me and showed me what I needed to know. She also told me that there was an Italian restaurant and a pub within walking distance who would provide food. On my way I passed through Peacehaven which had more fast food restaurants than I had ever seen in the space of a mile, but I didn’t stop because I was intent on getting to my destination.  Unfortunately by the time I had washed and charged  and walked to the Haven pub in the start of a thunderstorm they had stopped serving.  I had a couple of pints of excellent Harvey’s best bitter and some crisps to keep me going before walking 5 minutes down the road to the Coop which stayed open until 2300 to buy some chicken drumsticks, bread rolls and cheese to keep me going.

Amazingly I slept quite well, but my kit, that I had washed, didn’t dry overnight.  I put some of it on damp but had some dry bib trousers. I’d bought a Soreen malt loaf in the Co-op so that was my breakfast, and I made my way to Seaford to renew my acquaintance with the coast.  On the way I took a picture of the ferry that had just docked from Dieppe.

I was making my way to Eastbourne over the seven sisters national park and the first section was a doddle along  a bike path to Seaford

A somewhat different story after that as I climbed over a significant lump making good use of the motor.  I by-passed Beachy Head and sped down into Eastbourne where I spent a bit of time finding my way to the front where I joined a bike-path that took me 3 miles along the prom, still quite a number of people enjoying the sea air. At the end of the prom is Sovereign Harbour a complex of housing and commercial property that has been developed since 1990 on an area of shingle.  I had to go inland to get around it and then stayed away from the sea until Bexhill

Where I joined another excellent tarmac bike path which took me along the sea wall and through Hastings, past the grand pier

and through to the end of the prom, with its quaint fisherman’s huts for the storage and drying of nets that have been turned into shops and restaurants for tourists.

Uphill once more because cliffs get in the way of a sea path, quite a substantial climb up to almost 600 feet above sea level and fast down again to Pett Level where the road was closed to motor traffic for about 3 miles as they resurfaced it.  I, therefore, had a traffic free run all the way to Winchelsea where I once again had to veer inland to get around Rye Harbour, through the town of Rye which had me singing “Sing a song of sixpence” in my head and across country through sheep pastures for a mile or two until I joined yet another off road cycle track to Lydd where a short sharp shower had me reaching for the rain jacket but not before I got a good soaking.

I was making my way around Romney Marsh, famous for sheep farming and Dungeness, famous for a couple of nuclear power stations, both now closed since 2021.  The billion or so cost of de-fuelling these stations falls on the tax payer and it is unlikely that another one will be built on this site.

At New Romney I followed the A259 along the coast, still on a cycle track until at Dymchurch I joined the grandest cycle track I had yet seen, along the sea wall

all the way to Hythe where I had to take to the highway for a short time.  My route took me alongside the Royal Military Canal and some unsurfaced tracks which caused an amusing incident as a very yappy dog chased the bike causing me to swerve and gently fall over as the tyres slipped on the grassy surface.  I immediately got up and carried on up the hill for half a mile or so until I realised that I only had one pannier.  Consternation.  I turned round and found the pannier where I had left it. Relief.

Now 68 miles into the journey the climbing started again in earnest.  I was heading inland to stay the night with some dear friends who, unfortunately for me, now getting fairly tired from all the pedalling I had done, live about 550 feet above sea level. I crossed the M20 at Frogholt just as it spurs off for Le Shuttle and continued on through Lyminge, eventually arriving in the deepening gloom of the evening at about 1820hrs.  It’s been a long day on the flat which has meant little rest from pedalling but helped by some excellent cycle paths.

I can’t connect so yesterday’s blog will have to wait until tonight

Leonardo Southampton is like Leonardo Plymouth (without the noise) and probably any other Leonardo in the world. The receptionist welcomed us and said we could take the bikes to our room or leave them in the Luggage store, which is what we did.  As Rich hadn’t used the battery at all there was no need to charge it and I. as usual, took the Fazua battery to our room and put it on charge overnight.

We went to the ‘Spoons for a couple of pints of Greene King IPA at £1.79 and Doom Bar at £1.99 and had a bowl of Nachos to nibble before we went to Diego’s a Portuguese restaurant just round the corner.  A chicken wrap and chips and a Portuguese sausage and chips with a Becks beer, gave us a bill of £45 with a fairly generous tip.  A pleasant meal.

I filled my boots at breakfast while Rich was more abstemious, sticking to cereals and fruit.  As we checked out and were leaving the heavens opened and I got soaked, whilst getting lost on my way to the Itchen toll bridge, fortunately toll-free for cyclists.  Rich was heading back to Dorchester so retraced his steps from yesterday.

That was the last real rain of the day.  I got caught in some little flurries but generally stayed dry.  Unfortunately, it was far from the last of the problems.  As I was coming down the hill towards Bursledon bridge, I felt the familiar bump as the back tyre deflated.  I pulled into a small housing close and unpacked everything, turned the bike upside-down and removed the back wheel thinking that it would be easy to replace the tube and carry on. Usually it’s quite easy to get a tyre off the rim but not in this case.  I struggled to get the tyre lever to work easily but after much cussing and swearing off the tyre came.  I put in one of my replacement tubes and then found it almost impossible to get the tyre back on the rim.  Quite why it was such a problem I don’t know.  I don’t remember having trouble putting it on the wheel originally but it was a very tight fit and it must have taken me about an hour before I finally got away again. I was following the A27, mainly in cycle lanes or on the pavement, so the day was both noisy and, at times, noxious.

I was able to turn off the main drag and make my way across country on rough tacks along the Hilsea lines, an area developed by the military from the 17^th century onwards to protect Portsmouth.  It’s now been turned into a nature reserve and play area.  I manged to get lost, wasting yet more time before I picked up the bridge across an arm of Russell’s Lake that brought me into Havant. Punctures seem to go in pairs for me and, sure enough, twixt Havant and Emsworth down it went again.  This time an even greater struggle to repair and well over an hour wasted.  I determined to change the tyre at the first available opportunity which, fortuitously happened at Fishbourne where I spotted Barreg cycles.  They couldn’t have been more helpful.  I’m not sure if it was Barry or Reg that dealt with me, but he sold me a tyre and tube and spent a fair bit of time putting it on, for no cost other then the materials.  Typical LBS and sure to have plenty of customers because of the service they provide.

At least now I felt that I had solved the puncture problem but was running very late.  My projected journey of 77 miles would normally take about 8 hours with stops, so expected arrival at Newhaven would be the usual 5 pm.  I plugged on, by-passing Bognor (bugger Bognor) and hit the sea again at Littlehampton.  The wind was getting up but was behind the beam so, if anything, helpful.

I now had to do a 5 mile detour inland, as there is no cycleway along the coast between Rustington and Goring.  Yet more delay as I was held up at rail crossings on the way.

However, from Goring I was now on cycle paths or lanes for most of the rest of the journey and then, to cap a horrible day my front brake, once again started binding for no accountable reason.  It was holding me back so badly that, eventually, I stopped and removed the brake pads, hoping that the rear brakes, used sensibly would be sufficient, particularly as there were no steep hills to come. 

Daylight was fading fast as I hit Brighton with another 10 miles to travel.  I switched on the lights and they worked admirably until the front light dimmed and wouldn’t come back to full power, so I finished the journey through Rottingdean and Peacehaven with inadequate lights and dodgy brakes, arriving in Newhaven at 7.45pm.

As it has been such a traumatic day I’ve taken no pictures, so the blog is just a load of blether.  Maybe tomorrow will see some improvement, both in the weather and my fortunes.  I’m not sure what to do about the brakes; tomorrow is the longest projected journey but again, mainly flat until the last 5 miles. I’ll sleep on it whilst the thunder rolls around Newhaven and the rain, once again, lashes down.

Rich is one of my oldest friends, we’ve known each other for well over 50 years and cycle together about once a week.  He joined me for a couple of legs when I cycled from John O’Groats to Land’s End in 2021 and asked if he could come along this year.  Originally, he was going to join me for the Exeter- Dorchester leg but, as it turns out fortuitously for him, given the atrocious weather, he changed to today’s leg from Dorchester to Southampton.

I pitched up at his house in Dorchester at about 5pm to be met by his wife Lynne and immediately sent upstairs for a shower and change of clothes.  I brought all my soggy kit down and stuck it in the washing machine and thence to the Dyson airer that got everything dry and toasty warm by the morning.  Rich and I wandered into town for a couple of pints of Butcombe  at the King’s Arms which was somewhat chaotic, with dirty glasses stacked all over the bar and a couple of barmaids who weren’t keeping up with demand.  Anyway, we got our drinks eventually and went back to the house for a delicious supper.  I composed the blog while Rich and Lynne watched TV and so to bed.

This morning, I was awoken by what sounded like someone having a shower but was, in fact, a huge rainstorm – not a good augury.  After breakfast of cereals and toast, we set off, after Rich faffed about changing the battery in his remote control, and hit the road just after 9am.  The skies were dark as we cycled out of town past Max Gate, home of author Thomas Hardy, through West Stafford, meeting a huge fleet of Silage trailers waiting to harvest maize and onwards to Crossways.  We turned down through a housing estate in Crossways which had some rather grand pillars with a sign saying slow down for hedgehogs – ironically there was a flat one in the middle of the road.

The route was pan flat, a pleasant change from what I had been experiencing up to now; but the weather deteriorated to a heavy shower about 8 miles in which had us sheltering under a tree whilst we donned rain-jackets.  The weather cleared for a while and then the rain came pouring down again whilst we were out in the open, with no sign of shelter.  We trudged on hoping for the best which came to pass as the storms disappeared and we were left with ideal cycling conditions through Corfe Castle. The ruins of which guard the entrance to the Isle of Purbeck.  The castle was owned by the Bankes family who sided with the King in the Civil War.  The parliamentarians besieged it twice, the first time unsuccessfully, but Lady Mary Bankes whose husband was away with King Charles in Oxford, eventually surrendered the castle in 1645 and it was slighted (demolished) by Cromwell’s forces, leaving what we see today, now owned and managed by the National Trust

We were heading for Swanage as the sun peeped through.  Nearly seventy years have passed since I was at school in Langton Matravers, and we passed close by that village on our way from Harmon’s Cross to the popular tourist town of Swanage.  The sea was fairly calm and there were hardy souls swimming as the sun peeped through.

From Swanage we climbed up Uwell road, causing a short blip of motor for me but Rich managed to get through the entire trip without using his.  Over the top we dropped down to Studland Village, past the unseen Old Harry Rocks, chalk stacks that are now much eroded and will eventually disappear

and the Knoll House hotel where we took lunch and tea on our school exeats

The Studland Peninsula has excellent sandy beaches, including one favoured by Naturists and inland is an area of heathland and acidic lakes that is a site of special scientific interest.  On the end of Studland point a chain ferry runs across the narrows of Poole Harbour to Sandbanks.  We stopped for a cup of tea at the Shell Bay restaurant before boarding the ferry which took us across for the magnificent sum of £1 a head.

We cycled through Sandbanks, once said to be the most valuable real estate in Britain, before taking to the promenade which runs for seven miles past Canford Cliffs and Branksome Chine, Bournemouth pier, Boscombe and Southbourne beaches until it runs out at Christchurch forcing us inland to cope, once again, with traffic.

During the journey along the prom, my brakes were squeaking and when I stopped to investigate it was clear that Devon and Cornwall had worn them out.  I stuck a new set of pads in the back brakes which helped but the sand we were picking up as we cycled along caused the front wheel to seize up, so I had to stop and replace the front pads as well.  I had to do a lot of fettling before I ended up with a rideable bike and it wasted the best part of an hour.  Finally, all was well as we cycled through Christchurch and joined the busy A35, mercifully with a decent wide shoulder to keep us away from the fast-moving traffic. 

We branched off onto the A337 following, but out of sight of, the coast at Highcliffe, New Milton and Milford-on-Sea where my paternal grandmother lived for many years, so it is an area of which I have fond memories.  We once again saw the sea as we crossed the river in Lymington, a chocolate box town with a busy harbour and home to what is said to be the most expensive ferry crossing in the world, for the distance travelled, to the Isle of Wight.  We arrived as the gates on the railway crossing were rising so sped on across a cattle grid into the New Forest National Park, famous for its ponies which roam unfettered.

The road runs straight and true across the heathland which is a bit disheartening as it seems to go on longer than the five miles to Beaulieu, home of the National Motor Museum, founded in 1952 by Edward, Lord Montagu, owner of Beaulieu Palace.  It has grown from a collection of 5 cars to a purpose-built museum with over 300 exhibits, a monorail running through the middle of the main building.  It’s many years since I last visited it, and it certainly warrants another trip.

At Dibden Purlieu we joined a cycle track that took us either offroad or on pavements all the way into Southampton.  On the way we crossed Eling Mill Pond, home to one of the oldest tide mills in the country.  It is currently being refurbished but will soon be back to grinding flour.

We were now cycling along the A33 but on a well-marked off road path.  The only problem came when we needed to cross the busy dual carriageway to make our way to the town centre, requiring us to double back on ourselves.  It was a nail-biting crossing but, once over we were on back streets or paths through the Park before arriving at Leonardo Hotel at about 1815hrs.

It was a very different day to the one’s I’ve been experiencing and nice not to have to do so much climbing.  Tomorrow will be similar, but tonight our bikes are in a store, and we have a good-sized room on the 6^th floor. We part company as Rich cycles home and I continue east along the coast.

The Toby Carvery is one of a chain of hotels/restaurants owned by Mitchell and Butlers and the operation at Middlemoor, Exeter provides motel rooms with a large restaurant.  I booked a room there quite a while ago as it seemed good value for money in the right area.  I arrived about 5.30pm and, having booked in online, was given a key and left to get on with it.  You have a key fob to get you into the communal areas and a traditional door key for your room, something that is becoming less common with most hotels having programmable cards. The room was quite cramped, and a little bit tired looking, with a large double bed but my bike fitted in fine and the modern bathroom with shower was excellent. A kettle for making coffee or tea seems standard nowadays but no biscuits as you get with Premier Inns and Travelodge.

Having done the necessary and hung up the washing to dry with the aid of an electric fan I went in search of food.  The restaurant was a couple of minutes walk from my room and I soon ordered tomato soup (tasty but underheated) and the Carvery with choice of 4 meats and help yourself to as many vegetables as you want and come back for more if still hungry.  The lamb was excellent, beef ok and the turkey nice and juicy.  Lots of vegetable choice but sadly the only greens were peas.  I finished my plate and went back for more cauliflower and dauphinoise potatoes and that filled me up, so no pudding and back to the blog after a couple of pints of Proper Job.

Breakfast was help yourself to as much cooked as you wanted but little other choice apart from toast and a couple of cereals – certainly not up to PI, Leonardo or Travelodge but it was enough to keep me going for the day.

The weather forecast, after heavy overnight rain, was bad with substantial rain due from midday, so I dressed in full bib tights and knit-lock jacket with my waterproof jacket accessible at the top of one of the panniers.  I got underway in overcast conditions at 0930 and made my way back to the Exe Estuary trail but on the other side of the estuary.  There’s a long section of wooden decking built up over the Marsh with view-holes through to watch wildlife.

 I decided not to go all the way down to Exmouth and Budleigh Salterton but cut across country from Topsham to Sidmouth, stopping  at Mutter’s Moor nature reserve to put on my waterproof jacket.  At Sidmouth the weather had deteriorated to a thin mist that fogged up my specs.  It was hard work to navigate with wet fingers making it difficult to control my phone.  My cycling mitts were soaked through and, although I wasn’t cold, it was pretty miserable.

Several climbs on the way but no need for the motor until I got to the hill out of Sidmouth which went up to over 16%.  Above Sidmouth my route took me past the Donkey Sanctuary, which daughter Kate and her son Matty visited when they were over in summer 2023 and “adopted” one of the residents called Ruby.  Unfortunately, Ruby died earlier this year, and the adoption papers were passed onto Cleo.  I didn’t manage to see Cleo, indeed the picture shows just how bad the conditions were, but told Kate that I’d looked in.

It was now downhill to Branscombe, a pretty village in some steep sided valleys which sprawls down to a beach

The hill out of the valley was steep and needed full motor power.  Part way up I met a camper van coming down and had to GOAP for fear of falling off.  No chance of remounting for about 50 metres but eventually got going again to come back down to sea level at Beer and its adjacent village of Seaton as the weather cleared up for a while.

 At Axmouth,  another steady climb  for about 3 miles on my way to Lyme Regis.  I was seriously behind schedule and started to realise that I wasn’t going to be able to complete the route that I had planned.  I sped down into Lyme Regis which looked busy as the rain was starting to fall again.  I took the by-pass around Charmouth and headed to the top of the hill at Morecombelake, home of Dorset Knob biscuits.  The rain was now so strong that I sought shelter under a canopy of Felicity’s Farm Shop.  It took me several minutes to cross over the road for the weight of traffic and I was now wet through despite my waterproof jacket.

As it looked unlikely to let up any time soon, I pressed on, the rain almost blinding me as I came down the hills around Chideock.  At Bridport, where I had intended to carry on along the coast through West Bay and West Bexington to Weymouth I decided to cut my losses and make directly for Dorchester where I was staying the night with my very old friend and often cycling companion Rich who will join me on the next leg. It was utterly miserable and I don’t remember a worse day on my bike since I was travelling around Ireland in 2018.

Amazingly the weather started to clear, and by the time I reached Winterbourne Abbas the sun had begun to shine, and I arrived at my destination at about 5pm, drenched to the bone.  Needless to say, photography was impossible once the rain started.

I thought that yesterday might be a bit of a break, but it was not to be.  Despite being the shortest distance I have travelled so far, the climbing meant that it was as hard as any other.

The girl who checked me in at Leonardo Hotel, Plymouth (formerly Jurys Inns) was friendly and efficient.  We chatted about my challenge which I described as Watchet to Whitstable via Weymouth.  “Whitstable in Kent?” said she, “I grew up there!”  My bike was put into a store-room overnight and I was assigned Room 227 which proved to be about as far from the lift as possible which wasn’t a great start.  The room was spacious and the shower worked well.  I hung the washing up and ventured out for something to eat.  On the way to the hotel I noticed a Chinese buffet, eat all you want for a fixed price and that was where I went.  In the event the £9.99 increased to £15.99 on a Friday night and the pint of cider cost £6.  Unfortunately, it was a bad choice.  The food was unappetising with soggy batter and swimming in liquid that I hesitate to call sauce.  I made a meal of it and went back to the blog.  Whilst writing there was a great deal of loud music coming from the street below together with the noises of cars and motorbikes one expects in a city.  I closed the window which had been open to dry the washing; but it made not the blindest bit of difference.  I hoped that, at least, the dance music would cease at a sensible hour, but no it went on into the wee small hours and coupled with boy racers taking off down the road after midnight, meant that I got no sleep at all, and got out of bed this morning feeling groggy.  Breakfast put me in better humour; help yourself a la Premier Inn, with everything from fresh fruit to a full fry up (and particularly good sausages). I checked out and complained about the Room.  The different receptionist accepted the complaint and suggested that I write to HO as well, which I have done this evening. I’ve booked to stay in the Leonardo Hotel in Southampton on Monday so I trust it will be a better experience.

I was on the road just before 0930 and made my way along pavements to the Laira Bridge which has a dedicated cycle bridge, formed from a former rail bridge, running alongside the dual carriageway road bridge. 

It is firmly closed for safety reasons but there are dedicated cycle lanes marked on the main bridge so no great problem even with the fast moving early morning traffic.  As usual I got myself lost: it’s all too easy to get in a cycle lane that takes you in the wrong direction and I had to back track and make some looping diversions before I hit the A379 which makes its way towards Dartmouth.

My route took me away from the main road and up some steep hills, giving me views of the rolling Devon Countryside with Dartmoor in the distance.  I’ve cycled across and round Dartmoor on many occasions but not this time.

I decided quite early in the planning not to venture into the South Hams, keeping away from Kingsbridge and Salcombe.  There’s basically only one way in and out and it involves a lot of steep hills so I cut the corner and headed directly to Dartmouth where I crossed the River Dart on the Higher Dart ferry at a cost of £1 for a cycle.

I was agreeably surprised on the other side to hear and see the steam train for which we had to wait before the long climb out of the valley

The climb isn’t especially steep, and I was able to avoid using the motor for a lot of it; but it does go on for over 2 miles.  It was then largely downhill until I reached the sea at Paignton with views across the red sands to Torbay

Cycle tracks, though a bit hit and miss in places, take you all the way to Torquay which was buzzing in the autumn sun.  Lots of people on the streets at lunchtime but not many on the beach in the fresh breeze.

There’s a significant hill out of Torquay and the motor had to go on as I made my way over the headland to Meadfoot beach

More climbing past Kents Cavern, Torquay’s answer to Cheddar and Wookey Hole and on through Babbacombe, now four hundred feet above the unseen sea. The motor was going on more than I had hoped, and the battery level was, once again, looking a bit low for comfort.  Back down to sea level at Shaldon before crossing the estuary of the river Teign by the long bridge, in the middle of which I stopped to take a picture.  Unfortunately the cycle way ran out just as traffic was beginning to merge for some road works and, although I signalled, I cut up an angry driver as I was trying to stay upright.  In the event all was well.

The road switchbacks to Dawlish Warren where I picked up the Exe Estuary cycle path.  The railway journey between Exeter and Newton Abbott, which I was shadowing on this stretch of road, is one of the most picturesque in Britain, staying close to the river estuary and sea, indeed so close that in February 2014 a section of it at Dawlish was washed away in a storm, leaving  West Devon and Cornwall without any rail link to the rest of the UK.  Amazingly, given the devastation, they were able to re-open the line eight weeks later, although it took eight years before the sea wall was completed.

The estuary cycle path is a 26 mile round journey from Exmouth to  Dawlish but I only had to cycle about 10 miles of it and then through the southern ‘burbs of Exeter to my hotel at Middlemoor.  It’s chucking it down as I write and more rain is forecast tomorrow on my way to Dorchester but I’ve been lucky with the weather so far.