In which Sid and Doris cross the Thames and The Ridgeway, battle through the Chiltern Hills and muse on punctuation marks. !
Yesterday we set off up Portsdown Hill. Are there groundhogs in Berkshire? Today we immediately set off up a steep hill and there were going to be a lot more, on small roads and rough surfaces. We go over several “Beacon Hill”s – in the days when you used beacon fires to relay messages across the country then this hints that the hill might stick up a bit out of the surrounding scenery. These are a bit like the hills after Ezirne, real switchbacks and yet about 15 degrees cooler – quite a big mercy.
At the top of the first mini-range we are at Chapel Row where Sid spots an early conveyance of the day. Note the alloy wheels and light weight body, also the picture does not capture the cheery wave from the driver when she sees us taking a picture.
We do later see a Ford Granada, about which you could kindly say Ran when parked. More convincing was a McLaren 12C but despite the carbon fibre construction a bit heavy.
We have been a bit quiet on war memorials lately. Same old wars, same old formula until we found this on a road junction at Bradfield. This tells you what they were doing and where they died [I refer you back to my notes about a museum needing to tell a story – D – so I have posted a large version of this picture in the hope you can read the detail.] Note the last entry on this face: William T Small died 1921 from effects of poison gas.
Also at Bradfield this rather French looking building, part of the College. It looks a lovely place to go to school. [You find this quite often near us in Herfordhire and Essex, where the school is entirely part of the village and public roads run between the school buildings – D.]
We have fun spotting different livestock; today we saw llamas, not that uncommon in England. Sid wondered if with the Ll they might be from Wales: Llandrindod and the like. Then realised that llama sausage would surely come from Llanrwst. Think about it, it is a bit contrived but What do you think about when cycling?
Today’s Game started over coffee in Pangbourne. Many tin top convertibles were closed despite it being a balmy day. So we spotted open vs closed convertibles and by the end of they day eventually had a score draw – even the most determined closed-roofers had cracked by mid-afternoon.
Just beyond Pangbourne is the toll bridge over the Thames at Whitchurch. In the coffee shop we were carefully given coin change for the crossing, then told No charge for cyclists. We rewarded their kindness by posing in the middle and holding up the traffic. Say what you like about the English, they don’t often do a good river, but here is the Thames at its most English, oh I say darling that lawn doesn’t look terribly well manicured.
Today has been quite hard work. Here is Deadman’s Lane…. and for those of you racing at Silverstone here is good advice for Woodcote Corner (Olly Allwood please note).
We decide we owe it to you, our faithful (if not precisely numerous) blog-followers to take pictures of English Things. Here is a cricket pitch, sit there, breathe in. out. in. ouuuuuut. And hear the snick on willow. And, occasionally, some genteel clapping,
Ommm.
Ok onwards let’s go up these “downs”again.
Here is a 14% hill sign, another place where we have fallen foul of Mr Google’s Helpful Cycling Shortcuts. Sid is not much given to Walking With Bicycles but decided not to bust his knees getting to Uphill Farm on what we know is sub-optimal gearing.
Balancing carefully Doris’s Spirit Of Childlike Curiosity against Sid’s Oh For God’s Sake Let’s Get to the Hotel, one of us stops to find out what the plaque is on these strange blobby things which apparently are puddingstones, we hope Her Maj was jolly impressed by that, we leave you to have the fun of imagining the reaction of the Duke of Edinburgh.
Sid is more interested by this windmill, tucked away. Showing you this is mostly Sid’s excuse to tell you it is at Cholesbury-cum-Saint Leonards. We cycle onwards wondering how many times the locals find that their village name is rejected by unimaginatively-written web form filters. Says the people from Bishop’s Stortford (yes there IS an apostrophe in our town name).
Berkhamsted is still a little way away over another saw-toothed range of hills. Home of Graham Greene (everybody please read Travels with my Aunt) the GG Festival is not for a few weeks yet but we will move on. There is more to see than we can see.