When I imagined this trip with its “civilised” mileage averaging just over 50 miles/day, I thought we would have heaps of time to stop at cute little cafes, enjoy cream teas (tea+scones+jam+thickly spread buttery cream) and roll into our quaint B&Bs in mid-afternoon with time to stroll through the village. Not on your life. So far we are averaging less than 10 miles per hour, with as much time standing with our bikes leaning on farm gates, wondering if we go left or right at the horse, sheep, or cow. The good news of this slow pace, is that it is easy to soak in the landscape.
Each morning, we leave right after our English breakfast (or bowls of yogurt after one too many fat sausage, thick slab of bacon, pile of baked beans, fried toast, tomato, and egg). We determine which way is north, and begin to hunt and peck our way, cycling on lanes that most often are the width of a small car that doesn’t mind scratch marks.
We feel victorious when we arrive at our evening accommodation in 10 hours. Some inns are lovely, while others offer local color like the one in Wales literally located across from “booze corner” (Welsh for pub)?!