R.I.P.

R.I.P. - Rest in Peace.  No, this is not to announce that I'm posting this from the great computer in the sky, on the contrary, I am safe and well and have survived more stretches on A-roads than I care to remember.  No, it is my untrusty little sat nav who is now resting in peace back at the Garmin factory where it came from.  Yes, I know we had a love-hate relationship but over the miles from Looe to Berwick on Tweed I had adapted considerably to its idiosyncrasies - it clearly was refusing to adapt to mine, so I was going to have to be the bigger person here.  And adapt I did and from Carlisle onwards we were jogging along together quite nicely; I was no longer fazed when the sat nav threw up a random instruction for a split second before correcting itself and carrying on as though nothing had happened; or when the screen froze after the last instruction I would calmly get out my iPhone and take a look at the maps there to get a rough idea of where I should be heading.  The sat nav had definitely developed a lot of quirks, sometimes it gave me the silent treatment so I either risked missing a turn or kept my eyes glued to it and risked riding off into a hedge or ditch but between us we were making our way around the coast and that's all that matters.

Well, truth to tell, it wasn't only between the sat nav and me - I had a lot (and I mean a lot) of phone calls from David bailing me out when I'd gone wrong or phoning simply to say "you don't seem to be moving, is there a problem?" which there invariably was.  Now, you might well be wondering how on earth David knows where I am at any given point or whether I've stopped or am belting down an A-road as fast as my little legs can carry me.  This is not a case of Big Brother is watching you, more a case of Big Husband is watching you - via a nifty app on his iPhone.

So, did I throw this sometimes frustrating but very necessary little machine into the sea in a fit of pique?  No, I was cycling into Southport on Tuesday evening when the screen went blank.  I assumed the battery had died but knowing I was nearly there I navigated the rest of the way with the iPhone, charged the battery overnight, turned it on the next morning to guide me through Liverpool, across the Wirral and into Flint in N Wales - and the screen flickered into life and promptly died on me :-(   I mourned its passing all day, especially as I had to go analogue and buy 3 different Landranger maps to get me the 60 miles (100 kms) from Southport to Flint and I still got very lost on the Wirral!

I say "I" but actually it was "we" because my brother, Jim, has come over from Germany where he lives to join me for the stretch from Morecambe to St David's - so, being without a sat nav and getting badly lost wasn't such a daunting experience as it would otherwise have been.  Jim has been a tower of strength, two heads are always better than one and it's very comforting simply to cycle in his slip stream.

So, there we were in Heswall, well gone five o'clock, with unscheduled B&B thoughts buzzing round our heads - where were you Jackie of Heswall? However, we finally made it to Flint having been on the road for the best part of 12 hours.

Tomorrow, Bangor, opposite Anglesey, here we come! Jim was last there as a student just under 40 years ago when he studied there: a trip up many a hill and down memory lane.

Has the road changed me?

Well, looking at the nifty little map that Tom Nicholas devised to plot my journey it seems that I'm over half way now in terms of mileage, although perhaps not in terms of elevation.  http://tweetedtrips.com/map/408/sarah-bowen-aroundthecoast/?loggedout=hjtw6w8d4ptydpf
So it seems like an appropriate time to let you in on a few little secrets... This journey has changed me. And the first secret is I LOVE BEING ON THE OPEN ROAD! There, I've said it now and I feel much better for getting that off my chest.

But that's not the only change. To explain the next one I need to introduce you to one of my hosts from the south coast. Now I don't usually talk about my hosts but in this case I have Charles' permission. His wife, however, shall remain nameless because I sense she would prefer it that way. Now Charles is a very affable man and, like all my other hosts, he and his wife went out of their way to make me feel welcome. This included the offer of pre-dinner drinks. I explained to Charles that I don't drink, not because I have anything against drinking but simply because I've never found a drink
I like - apart from the very occasional Snowball but that is truly very occasional because advocat goes off so it isn't worth buying a bottle. Well, this news greatly perturbed poor Charles who was not to be defeated and asked if I'd ever tried Pimms. No, I hadn't but clearly I was about to! And guess what? It was delicious and I just about downed it in one. After that Charles, wise man that he is, kept me topped up with fruit juice :-) A bottle of Pimms was promptly added to my birthday present list. Then matters got worse when I reached Holy Island and discovered Lindisfarne mead and cream liqueur - sheer nectar!  The trouble with all this is that my dear hubby, who has enjoyed the uninterrupted services of a chauffeur home from dinner parties and other social events for the last 30 years or more, is not going to enjoy taking it in turns now!

Another change is that I've taken up singing. Well, not necessarily out loud because I don't want to
frighten the wildlife, but certainly in my head and I think it's about time I taught you a couple of my favourite pedalling songs that have been helping me up the hills. Now you need to get into the rhythm of this one...
Left - left - left right left
I left my job
For thirty bob
M'boss and me
Could never agree
So I left
D'you think I was
.. Right?

Now this little ditty can be repeated endlessly until you get to the top of the hill no matter how high or long it is.
Another favourite, and forgive me those of you who don't have children and so may not know the tune to this one, but if you search for "the wheels on the bus" on YouTube you should get a fairly cheerful rendition of the original. My version goes as follows:
The pedals on the bike go round and round
Round and round
Round and round
The pedals on the bike go round and round
All day long

The gears on the bike go clunk clunk clunk
Clunk clunk clunk ...

The rider on the bike goes puff puff puff...
The brakes on the bike go squeak squeak squeak...

Yes, I can see you've got the hang of it already! It's amazing how fertile the human brain is and how many extra verses you can make up. Do let me know of any interesting ones you may come up with, I think I'm going to need to make this song very long indeed to get me round Wales.

I'm sure there will be a few more changes before 1st Oct when I finally cycle back in to Looe to catch my train home, but that's enough for now.  Till next time

A hypochondriac on the road

I suppose it's only fair to assume that something close to a 4,000km ride on a new bike powered by a 56 year old body is asking for trouble and the trouble is that I tend to think that my body is as fit and strong as it was aged 26 and I probably had this assumption in mind when planning the whole venture...

I started out with a gammy right ankle - a legacy of school days and too much lacrosse on freezing cold Saturday mornings.  It's a brutal game, played by posh girls who, underneath their plummy accents, are infinitely more brutal than the Native American Indians who invented the game.  In addition to that I have a dodgy left knee which is a left over from my running days and these also triggered problems in my right hip - I swear running should come with a health warning, a bit like packets of cigarettes.  Anyway, it was these three ailments that pushed me back into cycling a couple of years ago.  I'd always loved cycling, ever since I fell off my bike as a child and broke my arm - but that's another story.  So, I was doing really well with my training last year until I slipped on the ice in Reykjavik last December and managed to break my shoulder.  That kept me off my bike for a good 3 months, although I did make it to some spin classes after a month trying to keep up with the other sweaties, my left arm dangling limply by my side...

Well, the old joints seemed to be bearing up tolerably well for the first few days until the left knee started to play up a bit.  I think I must have mentioned this somewhere along the way and whoever has been offering prayers for my left knee, thank you very much. You'll be pleased to know that it has been absolutely fine since and in fact the right ankle, left knee, right hip and left shoulder have all been behaving themselves perfectly - don't you just love the symmetry of my ailments?  Now, I think I may have mentioned the effects on the hands of leaning too long on the handlebars.  Well, I can only assume that although I must lean very heavily on them and have probably compressed the nerves as flat as pancakes by now, someone out there has been praying for that too because my hands have not got nearly as bad as I would have expected.  Yes, my fingers still feel like 8 fat chipolatas and 2 fat cocktail sausages but I still have some use of them: doing up buttons and zips is difficult, I can hold a knife and fork in a reasonably civilised fashion but cutting up food is tricky, I can brush my hair but putting on eyeliner becomes a dangerous sport... and so the list goes on.  In fact, most of the things I struggle with are ADLs - actions of daily living - maybe I should apply for benefits!!

Now to this list of woes I really should add my wonky eyes: chronically short-sighted at the best of times I now have the added feature of double vision.  Not such a bad thing when watching a George Clooney film but less appealing when the oncoming juggernaut ominously splits into one and a half and then sometimes two, half of which appears to be heading straight for you and you're not quite sure where on the road it is in reality until it's passed you. At which point, you heave a deep sigh of relief.  Now, wonky though it is, I treasure my vision because it's the only vision I've got even though prescription glasses can't make it 20/20. So when I'm pedalling along minding my own business and suddenly notice a small dark splodge distorting my vision, I can't help but panic just a teeny bit.  Is my retina getting detached?  Am I about to go blind??  I shake my head in the hopes that dark splodge will disappear (probably the worst thing to do if it is the retina) but no, it's still there, just off the centre of my line of vision.  Then another one appears and I start to get seriously worried and begin to sympathise with Saul on the Damascus Road - poor bloke, but at least he was only blind for 3 days and had an amazing career after that.  But I digress.  I'm now cycling along like Cyclops and wondering what I should do.  I force myself to squint and focus on one of the dark splodges and then it dawns on me... I stop, take off my glasses, flick off two tiny insects and carry on.  Phew, wonky sight restored!

I could tell you about the pain in one of my right ribs ever since I slipped in the bath in Harwich, I was convinced it was broken and about to pierce my lung and I'd die from lack of breath, but I'm still here, still cycling, so I guess I just have to live with being an incorrigible hypochondriac until the day I die - and moan: I told you I was feeling ill.

Pet Hates on the Road

Well you might be forgiven for thinking that after 17 days on the road enjoying peace and solitude I would be becoming a more patient, easy-going person who is increasingly at ease with her environment and developing an inner untouchable calm.  But no, after 17 days on the road it seems I've had plenty of time to develop a series of pet hates; some of them relate to the weather, to technology, to people and to nature.  The question is where to begin...

• Perhaps the first one to start with is people, specifically when I approach a helpful looking individual to ask if this is the way to village X and they respond with horror, assuring me that village X is miles away - as if to say, 'you can't possibly want to go there'.  It takes a lot to bite my lip and not retort that I'm not interested in how far it is to X, and what business is it of yours anyway how far I cycle?  This has happened a number of times - clearly some people think that a woman of my age is not fit to be let loose on the countryside with a bicycle, and they may well be right!
• Another pet hate is roadkill.  Well, not roadkill in itself but more my morbid fascination with looking at it as I cycle past.  Now I know we've all done that as we whizz past roadkill in a car but on a bike it is a much more morbid thing to do. You really do have plenty of time to give the poor dead beast a thorough once-over and I think I must get rather bored at times because I catch myself trying to determine what it was when it was alive and wondering if it has left a family of little bunnies, hedgehogs, foxes, birds behind without someone to look after them?  I shall be saying a prayer for them next!
• Ok, so the next pet hate is road signs, or more precisely the inadequacy of national cycle route signs.  Now for those of you who are drivers you probably have never noticed these vital little signs which consist of a white number in a red square on a blue background.  When these signs are there, pointing you in the right direction you love them to bits.  They are enormously reassuring and enable you to speed along enjoying your surroundings.  However, I have developed the distinct suspicion that those council workers responsible for erecting these signs have a twisted sense of humour and like to play psychological games with cyclists.  So I have now taken to playing Spot-the-cycle-route-sign game and, like anything else, it's great fun when you're winning.  Now usually these signs are posted at cyclists' eye-level on lamp-posts or on signposts along with other road signs.  All well and good, you might think.  But just to catch the unwary cyclist out they are sometimes to be found way up towards the top of telegraph poles so you have to crane your neck to see them, down at pedal height, partially or almost completely obscured by overhanging greenery, set back from the road on a brick wall or simply nowhere in sight when you need them, inducing a torrent of unspoken abuse at incompetent council departments!

Well, this is by no means the end of my list but I don't want to shatter the illusion of serenity and calm in one fell swoop so I'll save my other pet hates for another day...

Encounters on the road

Well, I've now spent 15 days cycling on the road and one thing I'm learning to value is solitude.  You certainly get plenty of that when you spend on average 8-10 hours a day in the saddle, pedalling from A to B, and one thing I've noticed is how help is there when you need it.  Being a woman I'm more than happy to ask the way when I'm uncertain and it's been surprising how often someone has been available just at the right time:

• There was the time when the sat nav got confused with flyovers and underpasses so I pulled in at a service station to ask the way.  The cashiers both looked at me blankly, then I heard a voice half way down the queue offering to show me the way if I'd just wait for him outside.  Turns out he was an off-duty police officer who gave me the clearest and most precise instructions ever!
• Another time, in Sandwich, Kent, I was circuiting the town for the second time trying to find the bike shop which I'd seen first time around because I reckoned they'd be the ones to know the way to pick up the national cycle route.  I spotted this lady, about my age, walking with a Zimmer-frame, who told me where the shop was.  It turned out that their directions were rather confusing and this same lady spotted me some 15 minutes later, still trying to get out of Sandwich!  Where are you trying to get to? she asked.  I told her, never imagining that she would know the way.  And how wrong was I!  That taught me not to make assumptions about people.
• On Saturday I set off bright and early and by 6am I'd already got in a muddle trying to find my way out of Kings Lynn.  The town was dead, nobody about yet then as luck would have it, a taxi pulled up ahead of me to pick up a customer - taxi drivers have done the Knowledge I thought, what better person to ask?  And a few minutes later I was out of town. 
• Another time, in desperation, I flagged down a lycra-clad cyclist who kindly abandonned his route to escort me onto the right road, even cycling at my laden-touring-bike speed :-)

I've had help from postmen, dads pushing prams, walkers - some of them have been as clueless as me, some have thought they've known the way yet didn't, but many of them did and were right. But it's not just been people who have told me the way who have helped and cheered me up.

• There was a lovely sight in Exmouth which made me laugh out loud.  It was screamingly hot and this middle-aged, rather stout lady was pulling her equally stout little pooch of a dog through town in a dog basket on wheels!  The dog was sitting there like the Queen of Sheba, solemnly regarding her surroundings while her soft owner was sweating buckets!
• Then there was the seriously overweight man (probably over 25 stone/158kg) riding on a large tricycle and I thought well good on you mate, you may be attracting some looks but at least you're getting out there and that must take courage.
• Probably the most inspirational encounter I have had was when a charming, stylishly well-dressed older gentleman came up to me after church to thank me for the brief talk I'd just given about African Vision Malawi and my ride.  Immediately I realised that he'd had a stroke and I thought what courage to make the effort to come up to me and engage in conversation. It seems his ability to understand language was not impaired but his ability to construct sentences of his own was shot to pieces.  And yet, with goodwill on both sides, we managed to communicate and I was blown away by this man who evidently is intelligent and educated and has been trapped for years now with these thoughts and ideas and emotions in his head and no way of expressing them.  Total enforced solitude, completely unlike my own which I can break at any time. What courage to get up each morning, look life in the eye, take pride in your appearance and smile at the world.  Whenever I'm feeling disheartened I remember this brave man and let his approach to life inspire me on my ride.  If anyone from St Swithun's happens to read this, I'm sure you'll know him.

Well, that's just a selection of my encounters, on Wednesday it'll be Pet Hates on the Road!!  Until then...

Breaks on the road

To be totally honest life on the road is not all romantic bowling down country lanes, enjoying cream teas at village teashops, visiting places of cultural or historic interest - life soon comes to revolve around much more basic things than those.  Yes, I have done a fair amount of bowling along and I have been tempted to stop off at a number of cafes but I've only had one cream tea, honest!  Most of my breaks are roadside breaks and these can be broken down into phone breaks, camera breaks (also often combined with Twitter breaks), snack breaks, pee breaks and view breaks.

• phone breaks: these are a good excuse to text someone at random and the nice thing is you usually hear the beep of a reply pretty quickly and that's an excuse for another little break further down the road, or immediately if it's rather hilly.  Now if you want to text me and give me an excuse for a break, you're most welcome!
• camera breaks: well, I try to keep these to a minimum.  I've seen so many potential shots that if I'd taken them all I'd still be in Devon!  It requires strict personal discipline though, kind of reminds me of the discipline involved in our school days.  Like not being allowed to talk in the corridors between lessons and having to walk in single file.  It must have been a nightmare for the extroverts, Tracey Dear how did you and Olwen cope???    I try to restrict myself to no more than 2 or 3 camera breaks a day and will often post them to twitter because my tweets are geotagged and come up on this website http://tweetedtrips.com/map/408/sarah-bowen-aroundthecoast/?loggedout=hjtw6w8d4ptydpf so you can see at a glance where I am (although I actually started in Looe, not Yealmpton).
• snack breaks: well, there are lots of these.  In reality I could do with a nose-bag so I can just graze constantly.  My appetite at the moment reminds me a bit of when I was pregnant - not only did I nibble non-stop all day for 9 months but I also took up a plate of goodies to bed each night :-)  So the first snack is a banana + bar of chocolate (Yorkie biscuit & raisin works well); then comes the energy bar break; followed by brazil nuts and dates; protein shake plus crisps - and that's all before lunch!
• pee breaks: ah, now for those of you of a sensitive disposition I suggest you skip this one; for the likes of Jasmine Clayden, read on!  Well, it has to be said that there's a knack to a successful pee break.  Of primary importance is the location, near a road junction is not good but on a bend can be.  Ideally you need a post or fence or gate to lean your bike, also a hedge or bush so that you can at least be partially hidden from traffic coming one way is helpful.  The terrain has to be taken into consideration - too much vegetation is not a good idea, equally very dry, sandy or gravelly ground is risky.  In addition to that you have to think about the lie of the land, is it flat or is there a slight slope?  One time I spotted some old discarded planks lying on top of some long grass near a gate, half-hidden by a hedge on a quiet windy road.  Perfect.  Until the top plank shifted at the critical moment and began to slope ominously towards my right shoe!
• view breaks: ahh, these are the best.  These are the ones where you don't text or click the camera or rummage for food.  You just stand there for a few moments and lose yourself in the magnificence of it all, feeling very small but very very grateful.