Day 1 - Sunday 12th September, 2010
London to Ditchling, Sussex (Blackberry Woods)
51.9 miles
4:41 moving time, 6:36 total, 11.1 mph moving ave
The day of departure arrives!
John cycled the three miles or so over to mine (since my house was on route), and after a bit of tweakery and re-distribution of the gear, and a few last minute bits of planning, we finally set off into the unknown (well, South West London) at around 11am - full of excitement and anticipation for what is planned to be our longest cycle trip ever, and only our second cycle trip abroad.
We're pretty laden down, having made the decision to take lightweight gear but not to scrimp on the comfort - our thinking being that we can always get rid of things if we have to - which is probably easier than trying to track down something we decide we really need while on the road.... We'll see how that pans out!
Out through a busy cycling event at Richmond Park (we fit right in!), we're forced into a weenie diversion but then through to Wimbledon Park. So far it's park tracks, not even remotely like London, and the sun's out and it's a lovely day.
After the posher bit of Wimbledon, soon we're into South London and the outskirts, and things aren't nearly as pretty. And that's being really polite.
Having done a few London to Brighton's in the past, as well as a London to Paris along a similar route, some of this feels pretty familiar although neither of us can quite be sure this is the actual BHF route, which is what we planned to join up with.
A mix of roads, some nice, some with a bit of traffic, and some not so nice - until we get past the M25 and out towards Turners Hill where things generally get a bit prettier but also a a few hills start creeping in.
After slogging it up a hard hill, we have a strange encounter with two of the finest examples of low-IQ Neanderthals living in Britain, where, with John out upfront, the pathetic excuse for a being leans out of the passenger side of the knackered old blue van, shouts at us and tries to hit John on the head as they speed past. I bet they felt so pleased with themselves - what a pair of muppets. Thankfully no accident was caused this time, but I'm sure it won't be too long before they cause someone some misery. We make a pledge to search through the GoPro HD footage at a later date (which was taking stills every 60 seconds at the time) in the hope of getting a number plate.
We pass under the M25 and see a shooting event taking place, which we could hear from a few miles back. So that was gun shots! The van event forgotten, (albeit leaving us a bit wary on the bikes and us praying for the world), we make the first mistake of the day, which is to see somewhere nice to eat - a lovely, sunny, country pub - but decide to push on and eat later as although we're getting quite hungry it's not quite 'lunch time' yet. We made similar mistakes a few times on the Paris trip and said we wouldn't do it again - we'd eat whenever the opportunity presented itself. But this is England, and there's bound to be a nice pub a few miles along?
As it turns out, and having not learnt from past mistakes/experience - there wasn't, we got really hungry, very tired, hit the bonk, and struggled on in the heat hopeful that at some point we'd go past somewhere to eat. And about an hour and some hilly miles later we did, and we ordered and ate a very average meal (mine was a fish pie, John's was a roast) at a very below-average place, feeling really week and stupid.
The late lunch
Shortly afterwards, with full stomachs and still not recovered, we hit Turners Hill.
We remembered this well from the BHF London to Brighton, but even with the roads free of slow cyclists and walking cyclists, it was a tough hill fully loaded, and had me right down in nearly lowest gear. I thought I was saving those for the Alps! Clearly we aren't that fit yet, the bikes are too heavy, and we didn't eat properly. Idiots.
At the top we're almost expired in the heat and stagger into the pub to try and get a desert and some sugar fix of energy, but the kitchen's closed as it's so late so we grab a couple of coffees and take a quick recovery lie down on the benches outside. Totally knackered! Will we ever learn?!
Quick look at the view and then we press on towards camp.
Steve practices taking photos of himself
South Downs loom ahead
The countryside for the journey from Turners Hill to Ditchling was lovely, but still we were getting pretty tired as we approached, and it really didn't help that the final bit of GPS routing to the campsite took us slightly up into the south downs, along a mile or two and then back down again, when actually we could have gone the other way and made a really short, easy, ride. We were both cursing the Garmin, and really, really, knackered now.
It's a really nicely designed campsite for holidaying as all the pitches are sculpted into the woods, with their own pathway and a bit of seclusion. However, on first arrival with sunlight fading, it's pretty difficult to work out where to go, or even to find anything that remotely fits the map we've been given. Maybe it's a maze? But we think we've found our pitch, and after kicking away the apples that have fallen from the trees, we start to set up camp in this shaded, wooded spot.
John makes the final tweaks
It's our first night camping, and after our first days riding fully loaded we're knackered. The one downside of secluded pitches in the woods is the lack of grass - we're really camping on dried mud so thankfully it's not raining. We're not in the swing of camping, and John's never put the tent up before (I had one trial in the garden) so it takes us ages to set-up camp and try and organise for tomorrow.
Steve's tent. Shame the 2009 groundsheet doesn't cover the porch.
The nearest pub's a 45 minute walk or short bike ride away - but we can't face getting back on the bikes or going anywhere, so we buy some firewood, and as night falls, get some basic food on the go on the fire. Flavoured noodles and tea don't really fill either of us up, and now sitting in the dark with all our gear out and thinking about cleaning up we start to reflect on whether we should have gone to the pub after all.
There's nothing like a real camp fire.
The place is even more bizarre as there's no wind and everyone's got their fires going, so the whole site is filled with smoke, dark, and very surreal. There's no lighting or signposting anywhere - which is nice as it's all very natural - but just finding your way back to the toilet block is crazily hard, and means wandering into other peoples pitches. Ooops, sorry! 'Most' people seem to have a sense of humour about it. Before we hit the sack, a quick look at the GPS seems to show that the ferry port's actually a little closer than when we planned it on the computer, so although we know we need to leave early, we're a bit more relaxed about it.
We finally get into the tents and are exhausted, and everything stinks of smoke. It takes ages to fall asleep. Not least because I'm not used to the tent and it does seem a bit claustrophobic (as expected), but also because of the screaming babies/children, animals scuffling around, and apples falling from the trees above and thudding into the ground near (or on) the tent. I guess that's why they call our bit the Orchard pitch. From the movement inside Johns tent I can tell I'm not the only one still awake, so hopefully we both get 'some' sleep before the big day crossing into France tomorrow.....
Next Day
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