scilly

UK Tour Stage 1:
Cycling Distance – 340km / 211 miles
Ascent – 2912m / 9551 ft (0.33 times the height of Mount Everest)
Toughness Index* – 85.66 (100 = a proper tough day)

UK Total Cycling Distance – 340km / 211 miles
UK Total Ascent – 2912m / 9551 ft (0.33 Everests)

Well, that hurt a bit more than I expected.

I’d intended to write a post between the start and today’s (Wednesday’s) first rest day. But when the time came, I was exhausted enough to nod off while thinking about what to write, and it didn’t quite happen.

So there’s a lot of ground to cover; the whole of stage one of my ride up the country. All the way from the Isles of Scilly up to Bristol. Sunshine and rain; hills and, erm, more hills; sweat and vomit. It’s all here. But we’d better start at the start. At the very end of the UK.

The Isles of Scilly are 30-odd miles into the Atlantic Ocean, south-west of the tip of Cornwall. St Agnes, which you can see in the background of the photo above, is the southernmost inhabited place in the UK. Despite being stuck out in the ocean, the Scillies seem to benefit from a microclimate, and were noticeably warmer than the rest of the country. I had a little pootle around the main island, St Mary’s, partly to get used to riding with bags on again, and partly to calm the Beastlet, which was understandably traumatised after being consigned to a container for the trip over.

A sit down overlooking the bay at Hugh Town (above), and a pint in (roughly) the third most southerly pub in the country, and my time on the islands was up. The grumbling bike was containerised again, and it was back to the mainland on Friday evening. The proper riding would begin the next morning.

I was up early, encouraged by my early success in putting my tent up in the dark the night before, and was on my way before eight. There are few better places to wake up than next door to St Michael’s Mount at the eastern end of the bay at Penzance:

Tanked up on greasy food and coffee (as any sports nutritionist will tell you, it’s the only way to prepare for a long bike ride), it was time to move. The north awaited (well, everything’s north from here). And the hills.

Pretty soon, Cornwall was teaching me lessons.

Lesson 1 was that, if you want to avoid the main roads in the south west (which you probably do, as they’re basically 70 mph motorways full of trucks and caravans), you’re going to be punished by climbing hills. The smaller roads in Cornwall link the towns together, and pretty much every town seems to be on top of a vicious little slope (or at the bottom of a steep valley, which you need to climb out of). I’d later discover that in Devon, they don’t even bother to put towns on top of the hills; the roads just go there anyway. These small roads are nice and (fairly) quiet, and the countryside is lovely, but you’re not going to be setting any speed records in this part of the world.

Lesson 2 taught me that, despite my earlier statements about being fit enough to get back to touring, my back’s still struggling a bit. Not so much with the cycling, but just with being up and about all day, bending and stretching, without the option of three or four hours in a comfy seat. I’m hoping that the rest day today will give it a chance to recover, and that things will get easier. We’ll see, I guess.

Third, I’ve learned to avoid fish while I’m riding. That’s eating fish, obviously; it’s relatively easy to avoid running them over on the road. Top protein source that it is, fish has a greater chance than most food of, erm, going a bit wrong on you. And, as any sports nutritionist really will tell you, the explosive loss of half a day’s carbs and protein is not a good way to set yourself up for another day in the saddle. Sadly, that’s exactly what happened on Saturday night, and I wobbled across the border into Devon on Sunday afternoon, running on fumes.

Leaving Cornwall, you get another reminder of the impact of the great Victorian engineer, IK Brunel, on the infrastructure of the south west. I’ve gone on about Big Isambard before while trundling around Bristol, so I won’t overdo it this time. But his railway bridge across the Tamar marks the end of Cornwall, and the beginning of England proper (Cornwall, or Kernow, is a little bit different from the rest of England, with its own Celtic language, which you might have noticed on the picture near the top of the post, and its own flag, which you see on a lot of cars and houses; some people there think it should be a separate country).

Devon turned out to be a struggle. Having limped out of Cornwall, I assumed that a good feed and a decent night’s sleep would sort me out. I also assumed that the rolling Devon countryside would be a little kinder than Cornwall’s rocky outcrops. In fact, Monday was spent slogging up and down more hills. A lot more hills. My depleted energy levels made themselves felt again, and I finally rolled into Exeter absolutely stuffed.

I had a sit down next to the fine cathedral, and pondered the facts. I had no energy left. And while that would have been fine at the end of the day’s ride, I wasn’t at the end of the day’s ride. I’d like to claim that I agonised over this for hours, but I really didn’t. I got on the train for the last few miles to Taunton. And spent the evening wondering whether I could actually make this trip work (or, at least, whether I needed to double the amount of time it’s going to take).

But yesterday (Tuesday) was another day in every way. The sun was out. A proper sleep and feed seemed to have sorted me out. Or maybe it was just the psychological aspect; knowing you’re heading home for a rest day definitely makes things easier.

It also helped that the first half of the day was across the Somerset Levels. As you may have inferred, the area has that name because it’s flat. Or at least mainly flat. There are a couple of ridges and artificial hills, but it’s flat enough that the tower of Glastonbury Tor sticks out from miles away (above). In any case, it was pleasant, and relatively easy riding to lunch at Cheddar.

While Glastonbury is famous for the music festival, the little town of Cheddar should also be globally famous; after all, you can buy ‘Cheddar’ cheese pretty much anywhere in the world. Unfortunately, the region was too late in protecting the name, so its rightful place as the home of the world’s finest cheese has been a little lost, usurped by plastic ‘cheddar’ in plastic pouches. How very sad…

Cheese-related rants aside, Cheddar does have another string to its bow; the Cheddar Gorge. I could have looked for a flatter route to Bristol, wiggling around the Mendip Hills, rather than pushing straight over, but the Gorge is a special climb, which I really wanted to ride. There are a bunch more pictures and a review of the climb here. Not wimping out of it definitely shows how much better I was feeling.

After fortification with chips and sugary drinks, it was time to hit the climb. The steeper section is about 150 vertical metres, but it’s over 200 all the way to the top. Which is not massive by world standards, but it is a decent little hill. And, despite the 16% gradient, the Beastlet and I did OK. There were even enough tourists around to give encouragement (once they’d finished laughing at the number of bags I was lugging up the hill), which was nice. And because the really steep bit is relatively early on the climb, the top section, which is somewhere around 4-5%, feels more-or-less flat. I’m putting it down as the first loaded climb which I actually enjoyed on this trip.

Once over the Gorge, I was nearly on home turf. Another big lump over Dundry, and then the drop into Bristol (complete with Brunel’s – again! – iconic Clifton Suspension Bridge, below). Past Ashton Gate, along the edge of the floating harbour, and up the familiar railway track. Home in time for tea. And that well-deserved day off.

How it goes from here is going to be largely determined by how well the back recovers; if yesterday’s anything to go by, things should be OK. There’s even a rumour that August’s awful weather may be replaced by a drier spell, at least for a few days.

And so, tomorrow (Thursday) it’s off to Wales. My second country of the UK. Another language. More hills. But definitely no more fish.

*The Toughness Index (TI) was developed in New Zealand, in 2014, after a conversation with fellow loaded tourer (and hill climb obsessive) Ben Greeve. It gives you an idea of how hard the riding is on any given section. TI 100 is a benchmark ‘Tough’ day on a fully loaded (say 35-45kg) touring rig. TI 100 is equivalent to climbing 1000 vertical metres per 100km (roughly 3280ft per 62 miles). A lot of the riding in New Zealand’s South Island comes out around TI 100. For comparison, crossing the Great Divide in the Rockies took me over Wolf Creek Pass, and down the other side. That 98km / 61 mile day had a TI of 90.1.

The bags are packed. The bags are on the bike. One of the bags is hanging off a bit, which is not so good. And the bags, the bike and me are in (currently) sunny Cornwall, ready to begin touring again. That’s a good day (even after getting drenched on the four miles to the station this morning).

Here’s The Beastlet raring to go at Bristol Parkway station this morning, fresh from its early shower:

So, where am I going? Well, I’m riding (as close as sensibly possible) the length of the United Kingdom from south to north. And I’m going to all four of the UK’s countries on the way. This sounds deceptively simple, but even among my fellow British Citizens, there may be a little confusion about exactly what it means.

There are a lot of misconceptions and misunderstandings about where the UK starts and stops.

Many people I met in the US, for example, think that England and Britain are the same thing, and labour (or ‘labor’) under the odd impression that there’s such a thing as a ‘British accent’. They aren’t, and there are hundreds, including a bunch of Scottish, Northern Irish and Welsh ones.

At the same time, as a citizen of the UK, I had to check whether (for example) the Channel Islands or Gibraltar are part of the country. They aren’t. Good job, too, as it would be a much longer ride from Gibraltar…

So, first off, a little geographical ‘clarification’ for you. This may need reading carefully if you’re not over-familiar with our little archipelago.

Deep breath. Here we go…

The archipelago known as the British Isles lies off the coast of mainland Europe. It’s made up of hundreds of islands, and is shared between two nation-states, the UK and the Republic of Ireland. The two biggest islands are Great Britain and Ireland. All of Great Britain (comprising most of England, Scotland and Wales), a bunch of other islands, and the north-eastern chunk of Ireland (Northern Ireland) are in the UK. The rest of Ireland (and some other islands) is a separate nation-state, but was part of the UK until independence in the 1920s. So, Ireland is an island. And most of Ireland is not in the UK, but some is. And all of it used to be.

Clear as mud, isn’t it? Let’s simplify things by looking at sport. In the Olympics, the UK competes, slightly confusingly, as ‘Great Britain and Northern Ireland’. In football, England, Scotland, Wales and Northern Ireland play as separate countries, and so does the Republic of Ireland. Obviously, as it is. Except in Rugby, Ireland and Northern Ireland play in a united Irish team, meaning that the one team represents two nation-states. But one island.

That might still not be clear enough for some people. So here’s one more try. The UK is a proper country. It’s on the UN Security Council and everything. It issues its own passports and money (the pound). It’s governed from London, which is in England and in the UK (technically, it’s governed from Westminster, which is next door to London, but that’s an entirely different set of ancient confusions). It has military forces, a single foreign policy, and a single Prime Minister who deals with that sort of stuff.

So, it’s a country. But… England, Scotland, Wales and Northern Ireland are also called countries. Together, these four countries make up the UK, which is a country. Banks in Scotland and Northern Ireland (but not in Wales) can issue their own banknotes. They are authorised to do this by the Bank of England, which manages the currency and sets interest rates for the whole of the UK.

Scotland and Northern Ireland (but not Wales) have their own legal systems. England and Wales share the same one.

Scotland has its own parliament, Wales and Northern Ireland have their own assemblies. England has neither, just relying on the UK Parliament in Westminster. Which obviously has elected members from Scotland, Northern Ireland and Wales in it.

And all four countries have their own capital cities; England’s just happens to be the capital of both England and the UK. And everyone who has a UK-issued passport is British. Including lots of people from places which aren’t part of the UK. Or Great Britain, which, as we established at the start, is an island, like Ireland.

Clear enough?

Well, finally (I promise!), there’s one place from where, on a clear day, you can apparently see all four of the UK’s constituent countries. It’s right in the middle of the UK. This place is another of the British Isles; the Isle of Man. The sportspeople of the Isle of Man (for example, the great cycling sprinter Mark Cavendish) compete for Great Britain and Northern Ireland. Unless it’s the Commonwealth Games, of course, when they compete as the Isle of Man. The island uses the pound, and is protected by the UK military. And obviously, the Isle of Man isn’t part of the UK at all.

It strikes me that it might be easier just to say where I’m going.

After a lot (and I mean a lot) of internet-bashing, I finally worked out that the southernmost point of the UK is in the Isles of Scilly, three hours south-west by ferry from Penzance in Cornwall, where I now sit. And the northernmost point is in the Shetlands, which are a surprisingly long way north. You get palm trees down here in Cornwall. The north of Shetland is roughly level with Anchorage, Alaska, and the bottom end of Greenland. It’s about 200 miles from Bergen, in Norway, and over 600 miles from London. Thankfully, they’re both marked on the map (thanks, Wikipedia!) up above the confusing stuff.

Here’s the plan.

[Edit – don’t think the map’s showing up as it should be – try this instead – https://www.google.com/maps/@55.357832,-3.658619,5z/data=!3m1!4b1!4m2!6m1!1szZYTuYtj57uU.k2f-gGvpi1Xo – and if that doesn’t work, either, I need to do some sort of Google Maps course…]

I’m setting sail for the Isles of Scilly tomorrow morning (Friday), and then heading over to Land’s End, which is back on the mainland. Then it’s back up to Bristol for my first day off (I’ll hopefully update the ‘Progress’ page on the website with some more realistic stats and maps while I’m there). Then it’s up through the Welsh borders and Liverpool to Lancashire, then another ferry to the Isle of Man (I know, I know, it’s not in the UK). From there to Northern Ireland, then across to Scotland, and all the way up to the top of Great Britain. Then Orkney, then Shetland.

Roughly a month, and there are quite a few ferries involved…

The Beastlet has recovered well from its conversion to a touring bike. New wheels, a mountain-bike chainset, and the mandatory racks have made it considerably heavier, but it feels pretty rugged, and rides really nicely with the bags on. All should be well.

And Cornwall, which I’ve unforgivably never visited before, looks lovely (if very hilly). This picture is looking out from Penzance; the castle on the hill in the distance is St Michael’s Mount, which is more-or-less an island.

So, a day-trip with minimal cycling tomorrow to get things kicked off. Then the business of touring begins in earnest on Saturday.

Shetland, here I come!

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Out of the West

Here I Go Again…

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