August 22, 2007
Fakenham - Long Sutton
In which the Weather is yet unkind, the Lodgings sparse and Mistress Poole sinks into Despond.
The TV weather forecast, on which we were both by now, intensely concentrating, offered little relief from Tuesday's meteorological gloom. Breakfast, prepared and served by two young girls, was slapdash and overcooked. We asked directions out of town from the barman and set out under a very unpromising sky. We headed east on very quiet back roads. There was little traffic. The wind appeared to have veered to the North East. So far so good, but then, after an hour or so, the forecast rain began to fall. Properly equipped, neither of us mind much riding in the rain. We pushed on towards Kings Lynn and five miles or so outside the town, the rain stopped. Not so the wind, Kings Lynn town centre was especially draughty. We were hungry, but disinclined to indulge ourselves in our usual style of lunch. I bought take-away sandwiches and we ate them standing up, while sheltering in the goods entrance of the local Marks and Spencers store
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A furious squall hit the town. The wind speed increased as the rain lashed down. Barbara had had enough. 'Let's get the train somewhere a bit further north,' she said. We rode to the railway station. I've never much liked hopping the train on bike trips, but as Barbara would say, 'It's my holiday,' and if she was miserable then on the train we would go. There was no relief though. Train services from Kings Lynn only go to London. We would have had to go south, then change at Ely and Peterborough to go north., so when the rain stopped, we followed National Cycle Route 1, crossing the River Ouse, out of town. Much to my regret, the weather prevented me from photographing Old Lynn, the Dutch style riverside area of the town
We were now in the Fens. This is an area of 1500 square miles of dead flat, former marshland now drained for agricultural purposes. For more on the Fens: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/The_Fens I find the area fascinating even though it's totally free of mountain ranges or any other dramatic physical feature. It's not too challenging for a cyclist, of course, unless of course the wind's blowing. This reclaimed land is very fertile, in effect it's England's vegetable patch. An acquaintance of mine, a diesel fitter for a plant hire company, used to drive to Kings Lynn once or twice a week.
"You could stick a broom-handle in the ground and grow brooms," he used to say.
By way of reading about the area I would strongly recommend the novel, Waterland, by Graham Swift, set around Littleport, north of Ely. My brother, who teaches in a small town to the west of the Fens tends to regard Fenlanders as flatland hillbillies whose brothers fuck their sisters.
Barbara doesn't share my interest in Fenland, like many others she thinks it's flat and boring. Her enthusiasm was not much increased by our damp, dismal, windy ride south of the Wash. The route we were using was quiet, with even a short stretch of cycle track paralleling the main A17 road as far as Sutton Bridge. Here we crossed the River Nene, pronounced, depending where you live, Nenn {Northampton] or Neen [Peterborough]. The Nene is the secondary main drainage channel of the Fens, the longer Great Ouse being the primary.
It was now time to think of finding a bed for the night. This part of England is hardly overrun with tourists, so accommodation is sparse. We had now turned north towards Long Sutton, with an eye out for B&B signs. We enquired at a Travelodge on the A17 outside of Long Sutton. There was one room free, the one kitted out for disabled occupation. Bizarrely, although I was there in person, plastic card at the ready and the receptionist was also there in the flesh behind her desk and knew there was a vacant room, she asked me to call the central bookings number to check the availability of the room which we both already knew was empty. After all this bewildering palaver, we moved our stuff [including bikes] into the now officially vacant room. It was bleak. Barbara was a long way from whistling a happy tune.
The nearest restaurant was in a pub, a mile walk away. Barbara didn't want to know. I went out on an even longer walk and brought some food and drink back from a convenience store, then watched England lose 1-2 to Germany at the new Wembley Stadium on TV. Things weren't getting any better. The weather forecast for the next day indicated drier conditions, but still with the strong northerly. I knew I couldn't persuade Barbara to grind away into that, so I suggested that if the wind hadn't dropped by the morning we would turn back south to Ely and have a look at the cathedral. Ely Cathedral is one of Barbara's favourite buildings, so she cheered up a little. I, on the other hand, slept with my fingers crossed for a meteorological miracle.
A word about our location: we're in Lincolnshire. The historical county of Lincolnshire [pre 1964], was the second largest county in England and like Yorkshire, [the largest] was divided into three administrative counties, Lindsey, Kesteven and Holland. We're in Holland. You might be able to work out, why it was so called..
Today's ride: 75 km (47 miles)
Total: 386 km (240 miles)
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