'It is better to fail in originality, than to succeed in imitation.' Moby Dick by Herman Melville.
I wake up for the second phase of the tour and immediately curse the fact that the Gravesend to Tilbury ferry which has run for 450 years ceased operation on 30 March this year; this means I will soon need to decide on a long day with a lift across the Dartford Crossing or a shorter day in the saddle by taking a train into London and back out again just to get over the Thames.
So far on this tour I have been imitating others by following an established circular route in Kent and doubly so as the Cantii Way itself makes use of other established routes set up by Sustrans so instead of looking out for guidebook highlights I hope to be delighted by the unexpected. For the first day of this section I hadn't mapped out a route and my hastily created direct route doesn't look promising but as it is already 70km dragging the route to take in more of the Kent Downs will be distance and elevation my legs don't want and don't need. As it turns out technology has worked and the route across Canterbury is excellent.
Then past Canterbury I am immediately into woods and on a good surface too. Blean Woods Nature Reserve to be precise; perfect.
The way to and through Faversham and Sittingbourne are comprised of small country lanes and I see I have been following National Cycle Network route 1. A fellow cycle tourer pulls up and starts chatting. We are both heading in the same direction and he is keen to talk. He is using the Warm Showers network where cyclists act as hosts to touring cyclists and is a great way to meet like-minded people. He and his hosts of the previous night discovered that they both took the ferry across Lake Tanganyika while cycling in Tanzania in the late 80's. It was frustrating trying to keep track of my voice navigation and his stories so I wasn't too unhappy when we finally parted company.
Classic Kent oast houses.
Hurray for sustrans.
At last, a classic Kentish 'garden of England' view for you.
The end of today was admittedly a main road bike ride though often on good cycle ways running alongside the A2. With 5 miles to go I realise I need to stop and take the time to inflate tyres, lubricate the chain and consume some energy food.
Though there is no ferry running from here (Gravesend) I am in a good position to re-stock the larder; I may have already mentioned that the Gravesend to Tilbury ferry is suspended pending a new operator.
The ferry used to run from here.
Leaving Gravesend and I am following Watling Street. Londoners think of Watling Street as the A5 heading north out of London but Watling Street starts in Dover where it is the A2 and runs up to Wroxeter via London and St Albans.
Being pulled west from to the Dartford Crossing isn't the most entertaining of rides though my legs feel fresh with just a faint background feel of fatigue from. The cycle signage for the Dartford Crossing starts early and I am soon faced with the yellow phone for me to summon a driver to get me through the tunnel; the bridge is used for the Essex to Kent crossing. By the time I have taken in my surroundings and taken a photo someone in a van has pulled up asking me if I'd like a lift so I don't get to use the phone.
I see there is also a National Highways pickup truck with a rack for bikes on the back but I get the van and haul the bike with panniers still attached into the back and secure it with the bungee cords provided.
Safely over the Thames the route from the crossing to Basildon is on cycle paths following main roads. Uneventful until a hill just before Basildon which highlights that the earlier feeling of fatigue has quickly grown and my legs are now properly tired. Settling down in Basildon town centre for liver and onions I overhear conversations and am struck by how much difference there is in the accent; this isn't really a surprise as the Thames is such a geographic barrier but I am still struck by the differences. No hop growing in Essex thank you very much.
My dismal entry into Essex is all my own doing and perhaps I should have invoked a rest day and used the train. The campsite is 5km south of Maldon and not too far from RHS Hyde Hall. It is a field with portaloo and outdoor sink. Tent pitched I make straight for the local pub and am early enough to get a table despite it being a Friday and fully booked later. Essex suddenly got better; I had spied a vinyard once I was close to my destination and I try the local asparagus which is in season and delicious.
Building on last evening's beer and a solid night's sleep I am away early and enjoy a straight 20-mile ride choosing a single banana for breakfast. The countryside roads are good, slightly undulating and my legs are in great shape. This is the cycling I love. It is a Saturday so there are lots of cyclists out and most are of the MAMIL variety - Middle Aged Men In Lycra.
The first group of eight are in matching kit and I see them from the side as I pull up at a junction. There is shout from the centre of the close line of bikes that they have dropped two riders and indeed a two-bike gap has developed. They have formed a pace line (a train) so they can draft - though the line isn't travelling that fast - and someone hasn't managed to hang on.
I stop at what I think might be a place serving coffee and there is a group of four cyclists gathered for a ride. They are too wrapped up in their lycra to acknowledge me and the supposed coffee stop is a lunchtime burger place so that's no good.
Two cyclists overtake me; something I am used to. In contrast to the other weekend cyclists they are travelling at speed, they shout a greeting and don't slow when they are past me. Compared to the other members of the carbon fibre and lycra brigade the absence of body fat and the chiselled calf muscles set them apart. A mile later I am maintaining my healthy BMI with a St Clements cake.
They say that travelling by bike is slow enough that you get to see things but quick enough for you to cover some distance. I would have missed this in a car and let us hope it is how they would want to be remembered.
I pass through another Essex village and almost regret that I'll soon cross the border into Suffolk. The Internet has everything including a site that will answer the question, what county am I in? Mount Bures is in Essex.
Spooky.
I couldn't resist this picture.
I have made good progress and make a small detour into Sudbury which provides a rest, culture and cake before reaching the more isolated campsite.
Sudbury was the birthplace of Thomas Gainsborough and the place he lived until he went to London to train as an artist at the age of 13. He later moved to Ipswich where there is another Gainsborough gallery. The Sudbury House and gallery is open to the public and includes works by Gainsborough and other artists. A non-Gainsborough charcoal tickled me by including a go-faster dick-dastardly style hay wain.
Continuing the theme of imitation, Dick Dastardly was based on Professor Fate (played by Jack Lemmon) in the film The Great Race, which was the inspiration for the Wacky Races series that featured Dick Dastardly.
Arriving at the campsite I get that sinking feeling knowing that, unlike a Camping and Caravanning Club site, I need to navigate the check-in process. The entrance is a maze of small businesses including dog grooming, bike repair and café all advertised as open and all closed. Venturing in towards the camping fields there is a notice to visit the house but with no directions. I phone and am advised to meet the owner round the side of the house; wherever that is. I ride around the farm yard until a car pulls up and I follow my host to my pitch where I pay my £15. Administration done it is an excellent site with a very clean toilet and a hose dispensing drinking water. I am in Glemsford after a fruitful day of cycling and scenery; the golblin footfall of yesterday must surely be behind me now.
It is 10am on the third day of my ride from Canterbury to Norwich and I've already covered 20 miles at a decent pace for me. I am trying not to focus on times and distances though I am around halfway on this phase (though see later remarks!) and am in Stowmarket. The red dot shows the café I have chosen.
Stowmarket.
It has been a morning ride of villages and chocolate box cottages with blue skies.
A few people have messaged me regarding the headwinds on the Kent coast and headwinds generally. 'When I was a lad with a paper round I was always cycling into a headwind' is the usual response. If you are cycling at 18.9 km/h (my average speed this morning) you are creating that amount of headwind so you need a true and healthy tailwind to take away that headwind sensation. Though with a 18.9 km/h tailwind you will be travelling faster and again feeling a mild headwind sensation allowing you say how fast you were cycling into a headwind and how strong your legs must be. I ought to be honest and say that today's leg pulls me east and the 20km/h wind is from the west so I have benefited from the tailwind.
If, unlike me, you like an occasional headwind challenge then look no further than the Dutch Headwind Cycling Championships which are raced when storms provide at least 50 km/h of headwind. The organising committee monitor the weather and provide three days notice that the 8.5 km race is on. They also helpfully provide the required single speed upright Dutch style bikes. The time trial format means there is no strategy or tactics involved other than getting to the start line with thighs of steel and don't wear loose wind catching clothing.
I am really enjoying the lost lanes of Suffolk and wonder at the current trend for the secret, lost and hidden naming convention for destinations that are so well signed.
At Stowmarket I meet a couple of cyclists just back from their 20-mile Sunday ride. One is keen to chat and within 5 minutes he has name checked both our kit. Ortlieb, Garmin, Komoot, Shokz, the list goes on. He is keen we meet up sometime for some longer rides and I take his business card though this encounter only serves to further crystallise my view that I enjoy the freedom of solo tours.
Sudbury to Saxmundham is 77km and with 20km to go I deserve a Sunday lunch if only to get some vegetables and the nutritional benefits of a locally brewed beer especially as last night's experimental noodle dish didn't work as planned.
I have put in a solid effort today though that tailwind has made all the difference to what would have otherwise been a long day.
I realise that I stink and with a day to Norwich I am looking forward to a service wash at a laundrette; for my clothes that is. I am still sufficiently young and mobile that washing myself is a self-service affair.
Ok, I made an error and find I have finished my fourth day on this phase and tomorrow I arrive in Norwich. With careless navigation at the end of the day I covered 84km.
The last day of my march towards Norwich is blighted by a changed weather picture. Packing up and departing in a window of dry and cold I am heading north and the 17 mph crosswind hitting me is bitter and biting. A soft light rain soon creeps up on me, soft enough not to prompt the use of waterproofs and after 20km my hands are numb and I am cold and wet. Arriving in Halesworth I scope out the available coffee shops for breakfast and select the one attached to the co-op supermarket. Their coffee machine is broken and they are waiting a delivery of sandwiches for toasting. I cast an involuntary glance behind me at the large fully stocked supermarket though the large mug of steaming tea and a large flat square teacake do pick me up. I have been following the National Cycle Network route 1 which I assume was my general intention in a route from the Thames to Norwich that sweeps further east than you'd expect.
The cold wind had found its way inside the coffee-free coffee shop and I am still cold prompting me to depart and robe up in full waterproofs; in two seconds I feel much better. Ploughing my lonely furrow through the Suffolk countryside I defrost just enough to enjoy the surroundings which comprise rich rolling verdant fields and a large open sky. The clouds part, the wind is blocked by a hedge and the warmth of the June sun transports me to a country pub's open log fire. Then I am brutely thrown out from the fire's warmth into the wintery conditions again. Conditions slowly improve and I make a note to pay closer attention to my wardrobe and not bore you with weather reports.
In the UK if you travel the back roads you will eventually encounter the 'not in our back yard' campaigns. There was the revolt against the building of 1,000 new homes where the slogans on placards drew attention to the number of extra cars and volume of sewage. A complex formula must have been used to calculate the number of extra cars and they put a precise figure of 2,000 on that. The second example I forget but it related to business development. The third was a big no to solar panels in fields.
With 12 km to go I am making good progress on what is now a fast main road; I treat it as a workout before my rest day. Cross keys is the symbol of the Pope's authority, snake/serpent coiled around a staff for medicine, and an artists palette. This list of Heraldic Symbols doesn't help with the palette; painters feels too specific and the arts too broad.
Norwich itself is a treat with a cathedral gate and precinct similar to Canterbury. Yes, Norwich has an Ivy Brasserie and a Côte Brasserie like many cathedral towns but it isn't all gentrified and maintains a rich array of establishments. Dinner was at a Chinese restaurant simply call Tasty where the staff don't speak English, there is not a spring roll in sight, lots of tripe dishes, a few pork knuckle dishes and my sliced pigs kidney was delicious.
This is the hotel J. B. Priestley stayed at on his East Anglian tour in 1933.
