A pleasant, flat 200 to finish the year on Saturday. I even had a following wind half the way round. Rode straight through Malmesbury, resisting the temptations of the Summer Cafe (why is it called that? it's open all year) and up the twisty little hill to Milbourne, where a roe deer was lying dead on the verge of someone's garden. Thought about pushing on to Lechlade but stopped in Cricklade – soup made from various root veg, very seasonal, cake, always good – then using the handy path alongside the slip road to cross the A417, a road which has strangely never had the (M) added to its number. It then feels like ten miles riding along the perimeter of Fairford air base – all the lanes round there are marked with double yellows, presumably to ward off feral plane spotters – before coming to the edge of the Water Park, where there was a "white road" I wanted to try. It turned out to be rather muddy, but fortunately it wasn't claggy mud – I was to have plenty of that later on. Lots of rather smart "waterside living" going up here. In and out of Lechlade in no time, riding out past the house with the Winged Wheel – presumably it used to be a hotel or inn or something. Then along a narrow lane with a weak bridge sign, past an old mill and more flat lanes heading east.
Which brought me to Langford and the lost man. Last time I was here, there had been a box of windfall apples on a garden wall. I had a look as I rode past but they'd all gone. I did notice that the house was called Lime Tree House – would I have been so happy to see windfall limes? I can't remember the name of the pub there, but it seems very busy, always lots of people around it whenever I pass. On this occasion there was a man of I would guess mid-fifties standing outside in maroon trousers, hiking boots with yellow bands round the ankles and blue hair. The lost man was of far more conventional appearance. He was staring at the signpost in the middle of the village, carrying two rucksacks. "Are you lost?" "Yes. I'm looking for – " and he named a place in a bit of a Spanish accent. He spelled it out and I still couldn't make it out, but he had it written down – Ansel's Farm. "I don't know where it is but if it's a farm it's not going to be in the village itself." "I came in a taxi, the GPS said it was here." I advised him to try the pub.
Not long after that I had to cross the A420, which I anticipated could take a while. I was glad to get there while it was still daylight. In fact I didn't even have to stop – no traffic at all! I now started heading more or less west. Half way round, or a bit more – feels good! There was a tower with a curious white light on top visible off to my right. I wondered if it could be something to do with navigation for Fairford or Brize Norton, but it was probably a little hill outside Faringdon called Cromwell's Battery. A civil war battle? Then stopped in Shrivenham at the Co-op for a sandwich and a yogurt, remembering shopping there in the summer when on my way to camping at Uffington.
Mud came back with a vengeance in Blunsdon, real claggy stuff this time and I spent ages trying to dig it out of my mudguards and pedals. Seeing as SPDs were invented for mountain bikers, how come they get jammed by mud so easily? And how come it's the right pedal that jams when my left foot is my putting-down foot?
Having finally cleared all that, all went smoothly until just before Little Somerford, way on the home side of Swindon now. I could see on my Garmin a left turn coming up, then suddenly I'd overshot it. How did I miss it? Retrace and... where is it? Turned out Ride with GPS had routed me through someone's garden! Looking at the OS map now I can see a footpath there and a private drive through Dauntsey Park. I'm not sure which I was meant to take but I couldn't even see the first in the dark, let alone ride it, and the second is private and gated. So I followed the road into Little Somerford and on to rejoin the route in Great Somerford.
Where I met the police! I stopped in the pub there for a cup of tea and a snack – very quiet, only five people there including me at 8pm on a Saturday – when the police drove up, parking in front of my bike in order to guard it. Then they talked to the chef about some incident earlier – I don't know what, so no gory details. They were, of course, ridiculously impressed at the idea of riding to Bristol.
Nothing more happened apart from fog, which was pretty thick especially at the top of Hinton Hill, making the steep, narrow descent quite attention-demanding. Then I got home and there were potatoes and mushrooms out in the kitchen but I didn't feel like eating anything. Woke up the next morning thinking how good those mushrooms would be with scrambled eggs for breakfast – and they were gone! Mrs Cudzo had got up before me (as she almost always does, tbf) and eaten them! Still, there was a very nice banana and walnut cake.
