Iiiiit's time for yet another overly long ride report!
Audax o'clock alarm a bit earlier than usual, for ECEing a 200km event: Martin's Ship of the Fens. I haven't done this event before, as the dates don't normally work out for me - so I'm very excited to do it today.
I wake up with a start - a strange scary dream about a train running on a path instead of rails near my mum's house (which is next to a railway line in real life). Oddly, it's a dream I have quite often. I wonder why. My direct route to Huntingdon is 42km, so a diversion to Haslingfield to get the miles up. The birds are tweeting already when I leave, and I pause to watch the sun rise over the radio telescopes.
My ECE route is on the A1307/old A14 path - it's a bit more sheltered than the busway. In Hemingford Abbots, I take note of the location of the phone box for future use as a control. The common to Godmanchester is lovely at this time of day. A black squirrel watches me go past.
I arrive at the start in Huntingdon ten minutes before the official start, and join the queue. GdS looks like he's been busy with people all morning. The only other familiar face is Dod, and he waves hello. Then we're off! I had planned to avoid the A141, but it wouldn't be safe to peel out of the bunch. By Wistow, I am at the back with the stragglers. Music on; I settle into the landscape when Lightning Phil appears from behind. Hello! He'd started a bit late, due to trains, and had had a near miss of getting on the wrong train. Argh!
In Ramsey, we make a mental note of the control answer. The remains of Ramsey Abbey are quite spectacular, I must come back to have a proper look. Even the wall, presumably round the kitchen garden, is a stunner with little pretty pieces of the abbey embedded in the wall. Up to Ramsey Forty Foot, it becomes clear that I am slower than Phil today. I just don't have the strength in the wind, and it doesn't ever feel worth fighting it. Phil says he'll stick together to March, then carry on.
In March, a hefty group are outside the One Stop - I'd forgotten about this shop. I polish off two cream buns, ask for help opening my juice, and enjoy a sit before pressing on alone. On the way out of March, a sharp curve in the road allows a lovely view of oilseed rape in the foreground, and two audaxers pressing into the wind in the distance. I enjoy soaking in the landscape on my own, until I get to the B1098 where I wish I'd made the effort to stay with others. Two deliberate close passes and a fist-waving-toot. It's a relief to turn off.
At Nordelph, a few audaxers appear behind and we agree on the control answer. One of them turns out to be Felix, and we set off together. It turns out we have both been looking at similar things throughout the ride. We get to a section of road that clearly runs parallel to the river, pop our bikes down and scramble up for a look at the Great Ouse. Fantastic!
The first spots of rain start, and I pop my jacket on while taking a photo of passing audaxers.
Through Wiggenhall St Mary Magdalen. Is it pronounced "Maud-lin" as in the Cambridge college, or "Mag-del-en"? I remember that there is a Magdalen square and street in Norwich which is (or used to be) pronounced "mag-del-en". We admire buildings - Barnack limestone on the churches, clunch, Dutch gable ends, carr stone - and wonder about old railway lines. The wind picks up, and I start to drop back; Felix invites me to hop on his wheel and I accept gladly. Then the rain starts in earnest; it is heavy, but doesn't last too long. Peeling off to the cycle path into King's Lynn, Felix is full of all my favourite trivia; sand quarried locally transported by rail to Warrington for glass making, carr stone quarried at Downham Market, the Campbell's soup factory. We live in such a small and interconnected country; I love understanding how it is that things start off over here but end up over there. We think we modern folk are so smart, don't we, with our motorways and logistics hubs; but we forget that the move from water to rail to road is a recent development - and that people have been transporting heavy and difficult things for hundreds of years.
In King's Lynn, Felix presses on but I am gasping for a cup of tea and stop at the first cafe for a takeaway tea on the quayside next to the ferry jetty. People mooch around. The wind doesn't let up, and all my things need holding down. Chris texts; "looks like you're doing well!". I'm not feeling great; the wind has taken its toll and my belly is not happy about food. I manage to eat a sandwich by washing each mouthful down with tea. Come on, you'll feel a bit better with that tailwind.
Off again. Round the customs house, round the market square, off onto a nice cycle path. Nice to pick up the cycle path that Chris and I did a year (or was it two?) ago, when we had a one-off night off and took the train to King's Lynn before cycling up to Hunstanton. On that occasion, the A1078 was being dug up - but now there is a lovely shiny new cycle path! Thanks GdS!
Roydon common is just lovely. Dappled light through silver birch trees and inviting grass glens. Woodland birds dot about. Yellow gorse interspersed with woodland. I think about this sandy streak that runs across East Anglia, between here and Dunwich. More and more carrstone in the houses - even modern new builds, which is nice. The older houses have huge chunks of carrstone. In Grimston, I stop to take a picture of the clock tower, and think about the prevalence of clock towers round here.
Felix had pointed out the number of chapels - rather than churches - like in Wales. I'd said that I have a friend who is a methodist minister, and I had been very disappointed to learn that Primitive Chapels didn't consist of parishioners sitting round a fire, wearing animal skins, singing hymns that go "uuuuuggg, ugg ugg ugg". I wonder if the increased number of chapels round here - which don't normally have clocks, unlike churches - explains the increased number of clock towers too?
On the way down to Gayton, Amy and a few others come up and we ride together. A promising field of tulips beckons from behind a hedge; we turn into the next gap and are met with two enormous piles of muck, which amuses me greatly.
The tulips are astonishing, the colours so vivid against the huge blue sky.
We head off, collecting other people, and wiggle round to the control which is the site of the next tulip field. Sadly it's not quite as impressive. I head off again on my own, still not feeling fast enough to sit with others.
Denver Sluice is as interesting as I remember from last coming through here - I think not since our 2018 summer tour.
A great-crested grebe dives, his beautiful snakey neck barely breaking the water. Round to the sluice where the Great Ouse and the Ouse relief channel meet, and there is Felix! We sit in the sun with our picnic. He has done some offroad to get here, past a church with a great doorway, and it sounds glorious. We ride off together along Ten Mile Bank, marvelling at the idea of living out here. I'm not sure if I could cope with living here, but it is glorious to spend time within this landscape. To feel the enormousness of the world, to see the size of the sky - a feeling of "you are here" with a big arrow, X marks the spot. We ride along contentedly together, trading trivia and tales of family life. Then there's Ely Cathedral, the ship of the fens! We stop to marvel at the stonework and gargoyles, some of whom seem quite new.
Joe is outside the co-op so we leave bikes with him. My stomach has revived and I am desperate for protein. Ooh, and coconut water - that'll perk me up and should be able to last until Huntingdon for a wee. Off we go again. I lead Felix onto the A142 cycle path; we drop into Witchford and through Grunty Fen. It always strikes me as a bizarrely empty place where anything might happen, like a little taster for the really big open fen landscapes in Lincolnshire. A road called Station Road and a row of railway workers cottages - hmm, what's that about? Later Wikipedia clicking reveals it was part of the Ely to St Ives line, calling at: Ely, Stretham, Wilburton, Sutton, Earith Bridge, Bluntisham and St Ives. A brief view of Berristead House in Wilburton has us marvelling at the huge frontage, and all those handmade bricks.
I'd been dreading Twenty Pence Road, but it passes quickly enough with company - and at this time of day, there's no traffic. We pick up Joe and Alex in Cottenham, and then it's off to the busway. Felix is thrilled at the expanse of tarmac; it's easy for locals to get complacent about the busway. At last, I have useful energy to sit on front, and tow our little band to St Ives. In Hemingford Abbots, I pull up by the previously-identified post box: another group turns up and says the control is the next post box, so I write down both answers. Through the common (look Felix, another old railway line!) bunnies leap about. I hold the gate open and end up at the back of our group - they all head off round the one-way system in Huntingdon and I nip through the town, and somehow I arrive at the pub first. A lovely welcome inside the pub, then a cup of tea and some food. Somehow the wind and rain is forgiven and forgotten, and everyone is happy and pleased to have made it. It's nice to sit with Felix and Joe, digesting the day.
Podcast on and my journey home is unremarkable until I get to near the Barton Road roundabout between Grantchester and Coton. By that stubby siding to a farm are a couple of cars parked half on the grass verge, half on the cycle path. No problemo, plenty of room for me. I round the corner, and there are three cars parked up blocking the whole path - and about twenty people milling about on the grass. Not wanting to lump down into a potentially potholey road in the dark, I charge through on the grass "'scuse me! Thank you!". Bizarre. Then at the end of the Barton cyclepath, another strange happening: in the petrol station, there are about eight cars all parked up, and another fifteen to twenty people milling about. One car is up on jacks, and they are changing wheels. I fully expect to be chased down the road, but see no more of any of them. How very odd.
Chug chug chug, home! Back inside 18 hours. I'm pleased with that, given the headwinds earlier. Lovely day out, lovely to spend time in the Fens. Thanks GdS!
