Maps 173 to 175 – Box to Cheapside, Ascot

Having forged my way across South Wales in great weather, it quickly became apparent that the following day was not one to be cycling. The forecast, and indeed the weather that followed it, was very unpleasant and I was lucky to be with friends Matt and Hazel who more or less made the decision for me. So I enjoyed a rare day off from cycling and caught up with various other things, including my friends. It was absolutely the right thing to do. Rule number one states clearly that this adventure has to be fun, or there is no point to it. I obeyed.

But when Saturday came, it was back to sunshine and bright skies. No more excuses. I was all ready to leave their house when I discovered a flat back tyre. So that took up another twenty minutes. My deadline was to meet my nephew, Thomas, at Newbury station to ride the last 35 miles or so of today’s ride in the remaining daylight to Ascot. He would then get a train back to London, where he lives. So I needed to make sure I didn’t get behind during the morning. Only I did. Because I got about 5 miles down the empty, leafy Wiltshire lanes and found that my back tyre was flat again. Which wasn’t funny. I replaced the inner tube again, only to find that the next inner tube was a dud, with a big rip in it. I was now getting low on inner tubes, despite buying four only a week ago. But good things often follow bad, and a helpful local cyclist pulled up to help me. And then another, who didn’t hang around but insisted on leaving me an inner tube. This all at least made me confident once again that I had been doing all the right things, which they did, too. So between us I managed to get moving again and began to rack up the miles, fearing the worst at any moment.

I passed through Devizes, a fine market town that I knew many years ago when my friend Simon lived there. The Wadworth’s brewery still graced the high street, and it was all much as I remembered it. After that, I headed onto quieter roads through the Vale of Pewsey and came within sight of the white horse cut into the chalk hillside above the village of Alton Barnes. I knew roughly where I was because, a year ago, Simon and I went round a 50 mile ultra “running” challenge together, called The White Horse Ultra, linking together the various white horses in this part of the country. It was the biggest and arguably hardest non-cycling single day’s activity we had ever attempted. This particular white horse came after about 40 miles, as I recall. “Only” ten more miles can seem a huge distance at that stage in the day! Worse, they made us come all the way down into the village for the final checkpoint / pit stop and then all the way back up again. Hmm.

Anyway we both did very respectable times and Simon’s wife, Sue, followed us in a bit later that evening. And we could all walk the next day, after a fashion.

Today, though, I had the impression my back tyre was getting soft again. Really not funny. I gave it more air and limped on over the hill and down again into the delightful and well-to-do market town of Marlborough, with its large public school. I quickly found a bike shop and set them the task of replacing my back inner tube and the tyre itself. In 15 minutes. Which they not only agreed was a very good idea, but expertly delivered, while I ate my pre-prepared sandwiches (thanks Hazel). I messaged Thomas to have some lunch as well, and powered my way through the remaining twenty miles or so to arrive at a respectable and workable hour, if not quite when I had originally hoped. 

It was a true pleasure to ride with Thomas again. When he was younger I did my bit as an uncle and took him and my son, Jude, on a couple of cycling adventures, island and ferry hopping through the Hebrides, or the English Lakes. Now he is 24 and has just this month run a marathon in the outrageously fast time of 2 hours 44 mins. He also routinely cycles about 100 miles a week commuting in London, so you can take it as read that he is very fit. I thought I was doing well; but this put things in perspective. True, I had panniers and he didn’t, and I was giving him an advantage of 30 years and the 50 miles I already rode that morning. But this was different. With all my other cycling companions on this trip I have generally found that I can match or better them despite the extra weight I have on my bike. Thomas was simply too fast up the hills for me and I am afraid I had to let him wait from time to time. He didn’t seem to mind.

We reached Ascot via a very pleasant route through quiet roads and prosperous looking, leafy villages in the rolling country between Newbury and Reading, finishing off on a dead straight line for nine miles (called the Nine Mile Ride) across the heathy, forested region west of Ascot. And there we parted company. I rode the remaining mile or so to another welcoming home for an evening of fine food, drink and conversation with Neil, Susannah and their neighbour, Bob. And I had so much fun, and the weather was so bad the next day, that I stayed on an extra night! Because I could. And because my daughter Izzy lives a few minutes away. For all of which, I am extremely grateful.