Less of a ride report than a couple of notes for people doing the Sustrans 1 to Sustrans 2 to Viking Coastal Path (NCN 15) route.
Overview
I rode from Wimbledon to Romney Marsh via Rye on Saturday, spent the night in a tents-in-a-field campsite and got up early for breakfast on the beach between St Marys Bay and Dymchurch. On Sunday I headed round the coast, staying on the Sustrans and NCN routes as far as was practical. It was very beautiful, mad-varied (we are in peak holiday season on the coasts of England) and, with Sunday’s westerlies, pretty hard work at times.
Here are a few things I’d watch out for next time.
The Sevenoaks-Tonbridge-Tunbridge Wells sprawl takes a bit of navigating. I ended up heading through Southborough, which is really just a string of retail parks. I cycled on the unused pavements up the hills, which seemed a fair compromise between my safety, the law and convenience of other road users, who were exclusively car users. Not sure quite how I feel about this tactic, but there it is. I think next time I’d streetview it and wiggle my way through residential streets. The only other way is to head a fair way south before cutting east after Tunbridge Wells, which looked a bit too far out of my way.
Romney Marsh is (get this) flat. So there’s no shelter from the wind. This was fine as I rocked along with a howling tail wind. Less fine when I was in my tent. Even less fine when my stove out blew out when I was trying to simmer my pasta. And I know it’s the country and all that, but does it really have to smell so strongly of cow excrement?
Sustrans nano-signs keep cyclists alert, but having them disappear altogether is a pain. Some of them had been removed from gateposts, but there were points when Sustrans Man assumes you know the way. A bad trait in the signing industry I would have thought. Most of the time my GPS and Landranger did the job, but Dover defied technology and paper. I dutifully followed the route along the seafront and just as I was getting near the port, there was an “Alternative wheelers’ route to Deal” signpost pointing up a hill. “That’s fine,” thought I, “I’ll stick with the non-alternative one.” On towards the port, across a car park, where I was told to, “Just follow the red line,” by the parking attendant. Over the bridge, and bang! Passport control. Back I go: dual carriageways, port traffic, roundabouts till we get to the ‘Alternative’ route sign again. Up, up and…..stairs. Stairs? OK. Stairs it is. Up to the National Trust visitor centre, then the trick here is to bear left and get yourself on the road to St Margarets Bay. Do not, as I did, plough on through the visitor centre onto the chalky/flinty footpath that takes you up to the splendid views over the port. It was good to go up there, but all that bike pushing/carrying? It’s just a pain.
Broadstairs is worth a visit. It’s got a sort of reserved dignity about it. You’ll be bumbling along wondering about the whole Viking thing and wondering whether the Vikings really bothered that much with the steep chalky cliffs or whether, on balance, they have preferred a flit up the Thames to the juicy pickings of London or landing on the softer shores of North Kent, when Bang! A no-cycling sign. There’s a lady in a Tourist Info pillbox who’ll tell you it is still part of the route – you just need to push your bike for the next few hundred metres. At the end of the few hundred metres you’ll emerge onto a road with, er, no signs. Well it’s obviously as straight on as imaginable, straight past the restaurant and through this little pedestrianised group of houses and round to the left and a dead end. Back track to the road again, er, ah! That’s it! And it was. When you get to the road, cross and turn right and go through the archway. That takes you back to the promenade above the coast .
It started raining a bit as I reached the outskirts of Margate, so I ducked into a sheltered-bench-sea-viewing thing. If you’re on the outskirts of Margate, stay out of the sheltered-bench-sea-viewing things. The smell of urine nearly knocked me flat. How do you get something that’s basically well ventilated to smell so bad? Get half the town to piss in it every day, I guess. I must have hit on the townspeople’s brief respite. Seriously Margate, get some self respect already.
My final indignity at the hands of the cycle signers’ hands was in Westgate Bay, Westgate-On-Sea. The sign very clearly says, “Onto the traffic-free beach path with you, you fine, svelt figure of man,” so down you go and along you noodle, until the path ends. And it really does end. Iron fence. Cliff. End. So back you go, up the stairs you just passed and back onto the sodding road you left 50 yards previously. A double git because that’s the second time I’ve fallen for that one.
That aside, all the Sustrans routes were pretty good. I’d definitely do an en famille thing along any of them. And if you’re fully laden and don’t want to rush, they’re a nice respite from the traffic.
