It is a long way by train from Hathersage to Poole at the best of times, but it was a journey I needed to make after repeatedly putting it off due to wet weather. Now, however, there were no excuses. It was time to pick up where I left off in May after the first stage of my Going to Extremes cycling adventure. My trip had so far taken me from the most Southerly inhabited place in the UK – the island of St Agnes in the Scilly Isles – to the Southern most point on the British mainland, Lizard Point in Cornwall. Three beautiful but brutally hilly days beyond Lizard – after crossing the counties of Cornwall, Devon and Dorset – I had reached Poole.
I had broken my journey for various reasons, not least to walk several more days of the Offa’s Dyke national trail with Jenni, my wife, but everything now pointed to resuming my cycling, and there were more extremities to reach. The next would be Lowestoft, in Suffolk, which is as east as the UK gets. But I was currently far from there, and my already long train journey south was now made longer when my train to Poole, out of London Waterloo, was cancelled. Hmm.
Disappointing though this was, I took a series of shorter trains, changing in Basingstoke and Winchester, that at least kept me moving without having a long wait. This also brought me into contact with another long distance cyclist who was just returning from a major European trip, and had many stories to tell. Still, the overall experience cost me significant time I didn’t really have to spare, and I set off cycling from Poole station at 4.30pm, in slightly overcast conditions knowing that I might need every minute of available daylight afforded by this mid-June day. Which, as it tuned out, I did!
The weather got brighter as the day got later. I followed the shore of Poole Harbour around in a big arc, through the cobbled Old Town and along the quaint quayside. Poole is a quite a big town and it has a fantastic waterside location on one of the finest natural harbours anywhere. At the far end, opposite Brownsea Island, is a neck that opens out into the sea, separating Poole and its very desirable suburb of Sandbanks from the coastline of the Studland peninsula. A large chain ferry takes cars and people across the gap, while the signs on the road suggest that at peak times there can be long queues. But not today: the ferry was running with just a handful of vehicles as I watched it from some of the most expensive real estate in the country.
Sandbanks is notorious as a home to the rich and famous, and there are plenty of exceptional large properties on this narrow strip of land, facing either the sea or inland to the calmer waters of Poole Harbour. Many of these grand properties are from the Art Deco era, although there are also more modern properties including some grand designs. But large as they were, the posh houses stood quite closely side by side, using up any available waterfront. Space was clearly at a premium.
A short up and over the low cliffs from here took me to the start of the long sweep of golden sands that is Bournemouth beach. It arcs for several miles unbroken, and there is a cycle path along the beach all the way. I made my way under now much brighter skies with the sand and sea to my right and an unbroken chain of beach huts under the low cliffs to my left. Just up there somewhere was a large city, but you couldn’t see it. The beach can certainly get very busy here at times (famously so in the COVID pandemic), but today the scene was peaceful and I was happy to have only the late afternoon joggers and walkers for company as I stopped to take pictures whenever I fancied.
When the long beach promenade ended, it was only a short distance, past small boats moored prettily in sheltered waters, into Christchurch town centre, whose narrow streets, filled with busy bars and restaurants, were dominated by the large priory church with its ancient square tower. It all felt very welcoming on this warm evening, but I had a ferry to catch an hour away in Lymington, so it was time to cycle with purpose!
An hour or so later I reached the ferry port just in time to see the boat disappear from its berth and thread its way through countless rows of luxury yachts. That meant one thing: eat! Luckily, the cafe in the check in area was still open, so I made the most of the enforced delay and lost no time. I sat out in the sun to consume my panini and pasta salad, and drink some “Ale of Wight”, which in the circumstances was not disappointing at all. And then I was first on and off the next ferry departure.
Even so, the crossing to Yarmouth is over thirty minutes long and I wasn’t cycling until after 8.30pm. And I still had about twenty miles to go. No matter. These long, sunny June evenings last for ages and the roads were blissfully empty. I arrived on the far side of the island in Shanklin by ten in the gathering twilight. I love these rides. You find extra energy from somewhere and it is a delight to sweep through the emptiness of the countryside. From up on a hill I watched a late sunset over the Solent, with the distant oil refineries of Southampton looking about as good as they ever can.
