Steady Pedals

After Berlin I had planned to be going on a camping trip “Up North” however fate intervened and a very nasty chest infection, followed by work and other commitments, including god forbid, non bike related holidays , had kept me away from starting touring again until earlier this week.

With a free week and Glen an ex work colleague eager to try cycle camping, a two night trip was arranged, close to home in the Chilterns. Nothing too strenuous was the idea, so days limited to around 40 miles max.

The trip would give Glen an idea of the “joys” of cycle touring and a chance for me to test out my new tent and Trangia stove.

We were going to start the trip in Datchet, just to the West of London. For me this meant hopping on the cycle friendly Elizabeth line and then a short cycle from Langley to Datchet.

It was only whilst waiting on the platform for the train that I began to question the wisdom of buying a less than inconspicuous fuel container. Somewhere in my head I seemed to remember flammable liquids might be banned on the train as it goes underground.

Fortunately, there were no station staff on the platform, but I stood in front of the bike hiding the container just in case.

In the event, the journey was trouble free. After meeting Glen we set off for a gentle (flattish ride) along cycle paths and quiet roads, towards Henley where I had planned a lunch stop at a pub that used to feature a lot on club runs some 10-15 years ago.

Then it was a slightly run down, but very pleasant pub, serving world beating ploughman’s lunches. As we neared Henley, things got a little hillier, but we were fortified by the thought of a slab of vintage cheese and salty ham. There was of course the question of whether the pub was still there !

It was ! and looking very well. After grabbing a table in the beer garden, we ordered drinks then looked to the food. The menu didn’t seem to contain a Ploughman’s nor was there anything resembling what I would consider “pub food” or affordable prices. Asking the young bar person if they did a Ploughman’s just got a blank stare. I was going to explain what it was but lost the will to live, so I went for the nearest alternative.

Avacado mash with spring onions, sun dried tomatoes and chilli on hummus buttered bread – all at a price with beer that exceeded the cost of the two nights campsites, a bargain ! (No really, the cheapest lunch of the trip) To be fair it was quite tasty and probably marginally healthier than a slab of cheese.

Suitably feed and refreshed, we headed off on the second half of the day’s journey. It was warming up and we knew it would be a bit of a slog as we had to climb from the valley bottom up and over the Chilterns. It turned out to be a very long and hot ride, pretty much continuously uphill, at first quite gentle but then with some cheeky little gradients that had us both puffing and panting as we pedalled our loaded bikes. Not a word of complaint was uttered by Glen, as he gamely pushed on. This was mainly due to him being incapable of speaking until we got to the top at Christmas Common. From here it was downhill all the way to the campsite at Watlington, losing all the height gained in a short descent.

We popped into the village first, checking out the local eateries (pubs) and picking up some pastries to have with a well deserved brew (tea) at the campsite.

Tents up, I fired up the Trangia. No gentle flame for me the stove went into full on blast furnace mode, with flames licking up the sides of the pan, after a little adjustment I managed to bring things slightly under control, but clearly more practice is needed. The vigorous burn had got the ethanol boiling and the extra evaporation made things hard to regulate. Lesson learned.

The campsite itself was lovely, set at the foot of the Chilterns it was close to where Red Kites has been re introduced to the UK in the late 1980’s. The program was a major success with an estimated 6000 breeding pairs in the UK. It seemed most of these were circling the campsite, many at quite low altitudes.

Out of an abundance of caution, I chose to hide my Pain au Raisin under my chair when not eating it. Glen took one bite of his, but sadly didn’t get chance to savour any more of the buttery goodness, as seconds later it was being carried skyward, paper bag and all. The Red Kite did what seemed like a victory lap of the campsite, before disappearing over the trees, leaving Glen stunned and hungry !

A substantial dinner followed at a local pub, followed by a well earned rest, for the next day’s ride started with a fearsome climb out of the valley. To be continued …..