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Last night was a later one than intended and ended with me falling asleep as we watched a film together. But by the time I left this morning I was well fed and watered, had more cleaner clothes than when I had arrived and my tyre repair had been made good. I had also recovered my cycling focus which had drifted somewhat after the normality of my time with Anthony and Stacey.
I left into an overcast Much Wenlock and headed out of town. My first objective was the town of Bewdley on the river Severn, followed by a hopefully flat ride southwards along the river valley. Firstly though I had to cross a series of small hills, like a wave of green ripples spreading twenty miles across the Shropshire countryside. The character of the hills has been changing as I have moved south. No longer are they the long gentle inclines of three days ago that could be won by simply maintaining momentum. Now each hill was an effort, an individual battle where I worked hard to reach the top, often dropping into my lowest gear early on because of quickly tiring legs. And although I was surrounded by a pleasing landscape of fields and woodland my focus tended to be on the climbs; even when I was not slowly pedalling up a hill I was wondering how hard the next climb would be and when it would come.
It took two hours to reach Bewdley, a small and beautiful town on the river Severn with charming old streets and red sandstone Georgian buildings. After yet another - and unexpected - steep climb out of the town I was eventually on a country road alongside the Severn. The river itself was lost behind a tree line and hard to see and my hoped for flat ride proved optimistic as more climbs had me again dropping down my gears. Eventually though I was on the relative ease of a main road for the last eight miles to Worcester.
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| Bewdley |
As I dropped down into that city from two miles distant the solid structure of the cathedral stood out. It was here I was to meet Mark, a colleague from my military days, and to catch up over lunch. For convenience we ate at a chain, sitting outside in the shadow of the cathedral and an hour later I headed out of the city for what would be a far easier second half of the day. I continued south along a quiet main road on the wide valley floor of a small and youthful river Severn. Ahead the road was pleasingly flat while to my right and six miles distant I could see the Malvern Hills standing stark from their surroundings until they were lost behind me.
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| Worcester |
Ten miles from Gloucester I crossed to the other side of the valley floor and a pastoral landscape of bird song, narrow lanes and occasional houses. It felt isolated and peaceful and completely removed from what I knew was coming as I approached the outskirts of Gloucester: it is a city that appears as if it wants to be impenetrable to anything other than the car, surrounded by a protective band of busy, fast roads and dual carriageways on and across your path. After picking my way along, underneath and across that tangled web I eventually broke through their concrete modernity into the calm of the old city centre. I had only ever visited Gloucester’s outskirts and was surprised by the age and charm of many of its buildings and the prominence of the cathedral standing out bright and white in the afternoon sun. However, despite that image of age and charm, it would appear in part to be hiding another truth: as I looked more closely there was evidence of a city centre in decline and obvious poverty.
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| Severn Valley |
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| Severn Valley |
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| Severn Valley |
Tonight I am again staying with a friend. It was just after five when I arrived at Mark’s in the eastern outskirts of the city. As we sat drinking in his garden making plans for the evening I realised once again that I was facing the Siren call of domestic normality in the midst of a challenging ride. Tomorrow though will be even worse when I head for a night in my own home.
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