Ludlow, Hopton Castle, Clun & Church Stretton

June 1, 2012

in another field

The dawn light and chorus wakes me at about 4:30, which is way too early for my liking and I snooze on and off before getting out of my cosy (even if a little damp) sleeping bag at around six.

The sky has a hint of red to it down near the horizon, but it's mostly leaden and gloomy and doesn't bode well for the day.

The back lane is nice. There's no traffic and it's doubtful there would be at any time. One or two farms are spaced out along it and the first village - Hopton Wafer (unusual name!) - is still asleep when I cruise through.

The main road intersects my route and I go straight across as the artery climbs up a very long, steep hill which doesn't appeal so early in the morning and cars and trucks will no doubt whiz alongit and at this time drivers might not be fully awake and alert to a cyclist riding along its shoulder-less path.

The sun shines for about one minute at around 7:00. That's looks like it for the day; short and sweet. It's otherwise grey, yet quite warm - close even

The landscape rolls and the lanes go steeply up and down - long sections of them flanked by trees that provide a canopy of damp, green shade where ferns and moss thrive. It's all easy on the eye.

Ludlow is a place on my map I know really nothing about, but guess there'll be a café or some place there to get food and the first thing I come to in town is a Coop store where I buy a big carton of raspberry yogurt and it's then a matter of sitting on a bench outside and I use my titanium spoon to scoff the lot.

There're a few charity shops, but none have any tea towels or anything else that floats my boat. Nevertheless, Ludlow's small centre is a delightful mix of timber-framed buildings and Georgian and Victorian brickwork. I linger for a while before heading off in the direction of Hopton Castle, following the main route north-west: the A 4113.

The turn-off north is signposted Clungunford and Craven Arms, which seems more like the name if a pub than a village. It's a pleasant route there, with few vehicles to contend with.

Hopton Castle was been saved from falling down completely a year or two ago. When Patterson drew it about 60 years ago, it must have been standing like that for centuries.

Instead of the simple planks across the clear stream, there's now a proper bridge and the place where he sketched a bike has long grass on the verge, which makes the task of replicating his picture a little hard; I do my best and then stroll into the stone, roofless structure where during the English Civil War (1642-51) supporters of Parliament - known as Roundheads - were surrounded and eventually massacred by about 500 Cavaliers.

The next scene that Patterson drew is a packhorse bridge, which is one designed for loaded horses, the sides being low so as not to foul any bags. They were usually constructed along main trade routes in the UK and mainland Europe. Usually cute, they're the sort of thing you expect to see on a chocolate box tins.

Clun's is a fine example and after I've taken a snap, I make a quick visit to the ruined castle and then buy something to eat from a shop before heading north, towards Bishops Castle.

I am again off my photocopied map, but by sticking to the main road I don't get lost and venture west into the village but decide to turn around after 10 minutes, soon making my way off the more popular, wider route east and climb a steep lane that's barely wide enough for one car. It's signposted a national bicycle route.

The incline pitches upwards and it's hard going, so much so it has me opting to get off and push for a while. A car comes down and pauses to let me pass and the elderly driver leans out of the window and tells me it gets easier just ahead. He lives down the hill he says, and has time enough to chat, with his son now running the 500-or-so acres the family owns. I show him the thumbnails of the Patterson drawing in my bar-bag and he notices Hopton Castle and says they'd been a massacre on this lane, with Cavaliers cutting off some Roundheads at the top and bottom. Then he says there's an old milestone ahead to look out for with this lane being the improbably route to London in the day of horse-drawn carriages.

Sure enough, I get to it and take a snap; the two- foot-high slab of stone saying it's over 150 miles to the English capital. The farmer had said that I'd get to Five Corners - a junction of lanes - in a few miles and I do and take the second left which goes toward Church Stretton.

The name Stretton comes from staet, referring to a Roman Road, and tun, which means settlement. The town is near another place that Frank Patterson drew, although the exact location is vague, his sketch simply saying it's on the way to Cardington, a tiny village about five miles away, over to the east. There are two ways to reach it.

I called in at one of the few pubs on pretty Church Stretton's main street for a bite to eat, have a decent pint, and show the thumbnail to people at the bar. A local man recognises the scene - Carding Mill Valley - which the barmaid says is a short distance away.

Closed long ago, Carding Mill - built in the 18th century - is named after one of the steps in making cloth: the carding, a process which involved using a hand-card that removed and untangled short fibres from the mass of raw material. The cards were actually blocks of wood covered in metal spikes.

The sun has gone for good when I get there, the time being after 7:30, and the light is poor for photography. On a good summer's evening it wouldn't be a problem. After taking a snap, I turn around and start to look for the Youth Hostel I'd seen a sign for earlier.

It's a bunk house, which the lady who runs it says is fully booked, which doesn't really surprise me what with it being a national holiday weekend.

I venture back to the main road, a horribly busy piece of tarmac, cross it and cycle down a side road in the direction of Cardington, where I guess there'd be a pub, and maybe a place to sleep.

Wenlock Edge, a high ridge, stands in the way and I have to walk up the lane climbing up it after a few minutes of strenuous cycling. The steep tarmac is shaded with trees forming a dense tunnel of dark green and the fields below are misty in the twilight and rain is trying to fall, yet I still get sweaty.

After using the internet in a pub in Cardington, and enjoying a decent pint, it's almost 10:30 and drizzle is wafting across the narrow street as I set off in darkness to find a field to sleep in, having decided that as I've lugged a tent and stuff for some 2,000 miles, so it makes sense to use it instead of forking out for a pricey B&B.

Some gates are padlocked and fields have either sheep or cows in and many others have crops growing. It takes about 30 minutes to find one that has a gate that opens and the grass is quite short, so I walk my bike by the hedgerow and set up the tent by the light of my LED, wondering if there's a farmhouse close by.

Today's ride: 105 km (65 miles)
Total: 3,377 km (2,097 miles)

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