Since my OS Maps cycling adventure in 2022, I have become happily reconnected to a number of long lost relatives and friends. It has been a most rewarding development and a source of genuine pleasure that I would otherwise never have experienced. It also means I now have people I can stay with in a number of places that I didn’t before, and Suffolk is one of them. Since I was heading for Lowestoft, at the top of the Suffolk coast, this was very good news, and made an obvious place to end another sensibly modest day of hot weather cycling.
I’m not sure exactly how I’m related to Rachel, but it doesn’t seem to matter. We are family, and she and Paul make me very welcome each time I pass by. This was my third time on a bicycle, and I had approached from a different direction for a different (albeit silly) reason each time. But first I had to get out of Essex.
Things began after breakfast with the day’s first passenger ferry, which left directly from the end of my road in old Harwich to cross the harbour to Felixstowe. I was one of three cyclists aboard this morning, the other two – a retired couple from Devon – having appeared in Harwich on the overnight ferry from Hook of Holland. They had been cycling in Australia for several weeks and had flown back into Amsterdam. It sounded like they do this sort of thing fairly often together.
Like yesterday, we landed on a beach, which was quite a surprise given the size of the boat and the place we boarded. We were along the shore from the container cranes, facing inwards to the harbour, but close to its entrance where it was guarded by an old military fort, open to the public. From here, a path led us along the coast and onto Felixstowe promenade. I was surprised to discover that, out of sight of the container terminal, Felixstowe was and still is quite a large and genteel seaside holiday resort. The beach was already getting busy in this prolonged hot weather, and it was not at all the start to the ride I had anticipated.
When the promenade, the beach huts, and the Victorian hotels and houses ended, we followed the coast over a small headland and past a golf course, and descended to another pretty river estuary, under big, open skies. Here, the River Deben meets the sea, and the road ends. On the Felixstowe side were a couple of cafes and a sailing club, and here we immediately had another ferry experience. It already felt much more low key and rural here, and the small, open boat we crossed in held only our three bikes and people. From the far side in Bawdsey, not a great distance away, you had to summon the ferry by waving a paddle. Again, we were let out on a beach, and the three of us helped each other and our luggage to higher ground.
Now the rural Suffolk lanes began in earnest and we saw quaint flint cottages and pretty churches behind neat walls and hedges. The traffic was very light. This seemed to cheer up my cycling pals, who were finding it strange to readjust to English surroundings on their first morning back in the country, still far from home. After a while we parted ways and I stayed as close as I could to the sea, which in reality is not very close. That is because of the presence of Orford Ness, a long finger of land that separates part of Suffolk from the open sea. But I wanted to see Orford village, which has a quay on the River Alde, and a ferry across into the weird open spaces beyond.
It’s a bit of a dead end road that leads to Orford, but the place itself is full of history and rewards the extra effort of the few miles that must be repeated. It has a fine old castle keep, a large and impressive church, and several fine looking pubs and hotels. For my refreshment, however, I chose the small tearoom at the rear of the Methodist chapel, which had a couple of outdoor tables. It was a simple, friendly place and they had a hugely impressive range of jams and preserves. I bought the one that the serving lady felt was the most unusual – a marmalade containing honey- as a present for Rachel.
Orford Quay was at the end of the road and it felt like somewhere you really should be in a boat, as a few lucky people were in this hot weather. There was a tea room, an art gallery and a pub, but the main elements were a broad expanse of water, flat land beyond, a warm breeze, and the enormous blue sky.
From Orford I cycled to Snape Maltings, an upscale arts venue in a large complex of converted malting warehouses that stand at the highest navigable point on the River Alde, some miles inland from Orford. Tall masted wherry like barges were tied up alongside the expensive galleries and workshops, and there was much activity due to the ongoing Aldeburgh Festival. But for me it was time to ride the last few miles along narrow lanes with a permanent coating of fine sand at the edges, until I arrived in the tiny estate village of Marlesford. And just like once before, I somehow managed to arrive with a flat tyre, leaving me to walk the last quarter of a mile to Rachel’s cottage. This was only my second puncture since Penzance. It is strange how history repeats itself.
