Worcester to Cirencester

The first mile or two this morning, required cycling past queuing traffic. I was feeling uncharacteristically self-conscious, though the occasional toot of a horn, a thumbs up, or a child screaming out of a window 'awesome!' or 'I love our bike mate!' left me feeling more confident. Besides, I was soon on to a quieter road, cycling in parallel with the Malvern hills, a couple of miles to my right. In the morning sunlight, the countryside once again had a fresh, clean look about it. Apart from some sheets of rain brushing the tops of the Malvern's as I left, and one brief shower midmorning, I enjoyed largely blue skies and a warm wind all day.          

One of the loveliest sights in Worcester is the cathedral, on the bank of the river Severn. Built between 1084 and 1504, it has impressive architecture reflecting different periods of history, from Norman to perpendicular Gothic. The west side of its main tower appeared on £20.00 bank notes between 1999 and 2007, along with a portrait of Sir Edward Elgar. The cathedral, together with 'Glover's needle,' the tall spire of the  Saxon15th century, St Andrew's church, are prominent features of the city, and could be seen for miles after I left the city.      
 
I love maps, and am reluctant to purchase a GPS system. But the maps I am using, are far from satisfactory. They are the pages I cut out from the sort of map book that can be purchased at a garage. Anything else would prove to be too heavy. I keep the page I am using each day in a plastic wallet on the front bike bag, below the handlebars, in order that I can read directions as I go along. However, this wallet is not entirely waterproof. In persistent downpours, the rain leaks in. Several pages have been soaked and dried - in the sunlight, or on a breeze, or under the hand drier in a public convenience - repeatedly. At times, the lack of detail on the maps can be very frustrating. I try and keep to minor roads, but when I follow some of the minor roads marked on the map, I find myself going down a dead end. Yesterday was a good example. I saw a minor road cut out a good chunk of a busy A road, passing through a couple of small villages. Having cycled a few miles, I found the road simply circled back on itself, across the M5, to the very A road I had been attempting to avoid. And that used up three-quarters of an hour.

After a couple of miles of cycling down the A road I'd wanted to detour around, there were bollards blocking the way, together with a large red sign saying 'road closed.' I cursed, and was about to look for an alternative, in great frustration, when a woman in bright green fluorescent trousers and jacket told me I could get through as a cyclist, but that the road was closed to all other traffic. As she told me this, a smart looking Audi and a Porsche screeched to a halt, did hasty three point turns on the gravel, and then sped off back the road they had just come down, with a screech of tyres, a roar of engines, and a cloud of dust. I meanwhile thanked the woman, and cycled, or leisurely zigzagged down the A road, through Bishop's Cleeve, feeling very content to have the road to myself. It took me past dozens of workmen, in bright orange fluorescent jackets and white hard hats, resurfacing the road, a strong smell of tar filling the air. Several of the men stopped work and chatted with me. One shook my hand. "The very best of luck to you mate!" The road eventually brought me out in Tewkesbury, a delightful town with medieval streets and abbey. Here I found several women busily sweeping the pavement, in preparation for Britain in Bloom.

At other times, I find the maps work well, taking me on meandering routes where I barely see another vehicle. Yesterday I took a delightful minor road through old villages, the roofs of the old stone cottages, far from horizontal, resembling the curved tail end of a fish. It's remarkable that the buildings stay standing at all. I ate lunch - fresh bread, cheese and tomato - sitting on a silage bail, surrounded by fields full of sheep and cows, and wonderful views across the Worcestershire countryside. Cycling on, a woman climbing a gate, cried out enthusiastically as I passed. I stopped, and we chatted. She was keen to know where I had come from and where I was headed, and I informed her how I was cycling end to end, and told her all about he charity I am raising money for. As I was about to say goodbye, and demonstrate to the woman how one mounts a penny farthing, I noticed a huge cross on the other side of the road, covered in dirty, faded, red plastic flowers. Some of the flowers had fallen off. "Oh dear," I said, "it looks as if someone had an accident." She proceeded to tell me how a young gipsy man had smashed his car head on into a tree, with such impact that the tree had been removed. "Hundreds, maybe thousands came to the service," she said, "many barefoot. Then they came to this very spot to say their goodbyes. I've never seen so many people attend a funeral. And so they came every year, for years. But they haven't been back now for a long time. That cross was so bright and garish when it was first put there, it looked completely out of place. Now you hardly notice it."

When you cycle slowly, and I'm sure the same would apply to walking along our highways and byways, you become acutely aware of death. I have seen numerous dead badgers, foxes, deer, hedgehogs, birds, and the carcass of a sheep. Yesterday, I found myself looking at the feathers of a recently killed magpie, marvelling at the iridescent blues and greens of the wing and tail feathers. I also came across a dead buzzard, intrigued at the complexity and intricacy of its patterning. Nature of course, as well as being beautiful to the observer, relies upon one creature consuming another. I have seen dozens of crows on this journey, greedily pecking at roadkill. But there is such a contrast between the pace and brutality of death on our roads, compared to the natural pace and order of things in the countryside. Yesterday, tired of the sound of cars rushing past, I stopped for ten minutes, parked the bike up against a gate, and looked at the flowers in the hedgerows and on a large patch of grass. I felt as if I'd been transported from one time zone, and one pace of life, to another. There were numerous butterflies -  such as Marbled Whites, Lulworth Skippers, and Meadow Browns - flitting between flowers, such as meadowsweet (with it's perfumed scent), early purple orchids (with such delicate shaped leaves), blue periwinkles, rosebay willow-herb, bull thistles, elderflower and field scabious. Large honey bees, buzzed from one flower to another, collecting pollen. I saw chaffinches and wrens. And again, there was the sound of skylarks from neighbouring fields. Later, in Cirencester, I was to see a sign at the entrance to a park. 'Nature does not hurry yet everything is accomplished.' It was attributed to Lao Tzu.

My road into Cheltenham took me past the racecourse. I had no idea it was so big, or just how many entrance gates there are, stretching out over a couple of miles. I was keen to reach my destination, and so didn't tally. Maybe I was in too much of a hurry, for I set off a speed alert system. 'Your speed is 29 miles an hour,' it flashed. And then I realised there was a car immediately behind me. The road out of the city was a half hour push up a steep gradient, and I feared I wa
s to end up walking much of the afternoon. However, the next ten miles or so were a delightful cycle along the Churn valley, with willows stretching to the edge of the water, their silvery leaves dancing in the strong breeze. Similarly, fields of broad beans were producing wonderful swirling patterns, sometimes silvery-green, the next moment dark green. There were forests, with row upon row of trunks receding into darkness. I saw huge snail shells all along the road, bigger than any I'd ever seen before. Most of these appeared to be empty, but one or two still contained a living occupant. A pair of noisy red bi-planes passed overhead, exuding trails of white smoke. Tired, I stopped briefly in a wooden bus shelter, with a stone front, close to Rencomb college. There were initials carved into the stone, and on the wooden panels was written, 'I love Stimpy;' 'BCFC rules;' and 'Ange 4 Meg.' A mile or so down the road, I came across a sawn up tree, the remaining trunk of which was at a forty-five degree angle. I guessed the tree must have fallen across the road at some point. On the sawn off trunk, were two laminated hearts screwed down to represent eyes, and a laminated black smile, for a mouth, again screwed down. I wondered what the story was behind these decorations.

I eventually arrived in the ancient Cotswold, market town, of Cirencester, the second largest city in Britain during Roman occupation. It has ancient houses, with 17th century dates inscribed above doorways, made from warm, sand coloured, Bath stone. The church bells were ringing. And so they continued to ring for the next couple of hours.