It was a little cooler and cloudier today than yesterday’s bright sunshine; but still a great day for riding a bicycle to the coast. Especially since the warm breeze, which was not inconsiderable, had chosen to go the same way as me today. That always helps.
I made my way up from the lower part of Lincoln to the top of the hill and passed through two of the surviving mediaeval gateways close to the cathedral. From below I had seen it in full side on profile, dominating the skyline. Now I felt quite small in its immediate company. As the bells chimed ten o’ clock, I rode right around the cathedral close to recapture my route in from last night, and then made my escape. After all, I had a train to catch at half past five – in Cleethorpes, 80 miles away. I knew already that would be a tough assignment. I had to get miles under my belt.
Luckily, once I had rejoined my west to east line, things moved along quite swiftly. It wasn’t flat, but it wasn’t hilly either. The quiet lanes led away in long, direct lines between small, pleasant villages, and the modest rolling hills of the Lincolnshire Wolds grew ever closer. I had no real plan for sustenance and it was 50 miles east to the coast, which is a long way without fuel. As luck would have it, after a couple of hours I came across a small, private airfield at Wickenby that advertised a cafe. I applied my rule and was immediately glad that I had. The cafe was delightful and it had outside tables from which you could watch small planes taking off and landing. They served perhaps the best sausage and egg ciabatta I have ever had, and there were various items of retired aircraft memorabilia displayed on the surrounding lawns, including one of the Red Arrows. It was a delightful and unexpected find.
But that put more time pressure on me to get to the coast. Powered by my excellent Lincolnshire sausages, I flew across the Wolds along typically empty lanes with wide grass verges and high hedgerows. There were a couple of proper climbs to tackle, and some very enjoyable downhills, too. But I slowly found I was dropping in height onto the coastal plain, and though I couldn’t yet see the sea, I knew it must not be far away now.
I was right. A few more miles brought me out onto the A1111, a road about which a song has been recorded by Sheffield pop sensation John Shuttleworth (aka Graham Fellows and Jilted John). In it the lyrics proclaim it is “like the A1 but four times as good” and I don’t think that’s over egging it. I mean, the A1 is a bit rubbish, for cycling anyway. The A1111 runs for about 7 miles from the small inland town of Alford to Sutton on Sea, my cardinal destination today. I only rode along its final mile past some fishing lakes and into town; but it was worth any four miles of the A1 you’d care to mention.
I cycled up onto the sea wall that protects this whole coast from flooding and was greeted by a sweeping beach of golden sand on the other side, running as far as you could see north and south. Small waves were breaking quite far out and families were playing on the sand. A fancy new pavilion was under construction in the adjacent park, which will command sea views from behind the sea wall in future years. But otherwise, a few beach huts and a small cafe apart, there was little development. I had completed my ride, and now I needed to push on for my train, 30 miles away. I had time, I thought, for a quick stop in bigger and brasher Mablethorpe, a couple of miles up the promenade, for fish and chips. And I guess it was a wise move, because after that I rode strongly for two hours and made my train with ten minutes to spare.
The Lincolnshire coastline is not the prettiest and its resort towns are pretty tacky, but the beaches are superb and, let’s face it, on a nice day in August, that’s what matters. Oh, we do like to be beside the seaside.
