Day 1: Thetford Forest

May 30, 2021

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I woke up feeling, it has to be said, pretty damn sick. I'd had only a single drink in the pub the previous night - and unaccustomed as I'd become - I thought it was unlikely to be that. But it was a beautiful day, almost cloudless and very still, and I was determined not to mope around.

I felt a lot better as I finished loading the bike up, forced myself to eat some breakfast and filled up with lots (2.5ltr) of water. It was going to be hot, Norfolk is not known for abundant services, and it was the Sunday before a public holiday, so I couldn't count on there being anywhere open to buy more supplies.

Then I was off! It felt great being out in the clear air.

And to think, I hadn't even slept in those clothes yet...

The first leg would take me on my usual route towards Cambridge.
Over the years I've put together a route that is almost completely off-road through the villages around Hatley Hall, crossing the Roman Road with its fast traffic at Ermine Street, across the fields and over the tail end of the Greensand ridge for views over Cambridge then down through the Eversdens and the H villages (Harlton, Haslingfield, Harston and Hauxton).

In Haslingfield I realised I'd left my painkillers at home. I popped into the shop that still happened to be open and picked up some paracetamol - which I don't usually take, but is recommended for vaccine side-effects - and had a chat with the friendly shop keeper about just that.

The green lanes near Potton had completely dried up in the heat. What a contrast from the last time I was headed to Norfolk, when I was ankle-deep in mud.

The mysterious little path that runs towards the Roman Road. This is so quiet I have previously serruptitiously camped in this little patch of woodland

Coming over the Greensand above Eversden, Cambridge just about visible in the distance

I made good progress, the dirt tracks dry and sandy after all the sunshine. For this time of year it was really hot, 22 degrees or more which I know isn't much by global standards, but after our cloudy chilly spring meant I was layering on the sun-tan lotion.

The next stretch would take me through the developed ribbon south of Cambridge. This follows the Cam (or Granta) and the main road and rail connections leading towards London. While the core of these are ancient little villages, the proximity to Cambridge and the good connections have made these desirable and increasingly densely packed with development and traffic.

While they're nice enough villages, I never particularly look forward to riding through them, and was sort of relieved to leave Cherry Hinton, the last of them behind, and pull up the Gog Magog hills towards Fulbourne.

Three rail lines emerge from south of Cambridge, all of which I had to cross. A lot of Cambridgeshire is so flat the rails have to be crossed at level crossings. It's here that the planned new rail line from the west would also enter the city - the cause of much protest by the residents of the H villages.

Climbing up the low Gog Magog hills to the windmill above Fulbourne

By the time I got to the Wilbrahams I felt I had left the orbit of the city behind again: the slow pace of the villages returns, and random cyclists you meet start returning your waves - roadies riding out from Cambridge are far too serious for that!

I had plenty of water left, but my next stretch would take me off-road and then into a sparsely-populated corner of Suffolk, so I stopped off at St. Nicholas' churchyard to find a tap. I found one quickly, and under the slightly curious gaze of bus passengers quenched my thirst.

Great Wilbraham sits in a corner of Cambridgeshire cut off from Suffolk by the convergence of the highways leading to the east, the A14 and A11. Instead of crossing these by road I'd decided to check out the long off-road byways, part of the ancient Anglo-Saxon Icknield way. These are gorgeous and easily rideable tracks, well away from the road.

St Nicholas' Church, Great Wilbraham. Both a good condition 13-14th century church and a handy place to stop for water.

This wonky photo shows almshouses, originally houses for the poor provided by the church. Now very desirable properties.

Taking the tracks of the Icknield way to cross the highways. The comical name for this place is "Six Mile Bottom".

This is actually the same (Newmarket-bound) railway we crossed earlier, but at a rather more basic crossing. They emphasize closing the gates so much because livestock wandering onto the track is a serious problem. Cross *quickly*!

From there I could pick up tiny roads towards Dullingham, and through the rolling land south of Newmarket. Newmarket is famous for one thing (and one thing only): horse racing - and the countryside around is almost exclusively devoted to giant stables and stud farms, many with imposing high-security that attest to organised racehorse-theft being a problem.

You see flint used as a building material all through this part of Suffolk. Not sure about the eagles, mind.

A very neat (and seemingly very old - check out the round chimney and rough stonework) flint and thatch house, and odd art-deco pillars.

Proper villages were few and far between. I did have some intelligence that a shop might be open in Cheveley, but I couldn't see any evidence of it, and given I still had some way to go I resigned myself to camping without beer. I was very glad I'd topped up my water when I could.

The flint packhorse bridge at Moulton. As English Heritage puts it: "The river has shrunk in size since the bridge was built in the 15th century". You can say that again!

After Cheveley and Moulton, and crossing again the A14, is a long stretch crossing increasingly empty and heath-like land before reaching Lackford. It was extremely quiet on this bank holiday evening, not a car passing me on the road. From the relatively higher ground I could see the extensive forest stretching out beyond, the King's Forest and Thetford Forest extending for about 20 miles to the north.

Such big swathes of woodland are unusual in southern England, where millennia of agriculture, industry and even shipbuilding have removed (almost) every scrap of the original primordial woodland. Nearly everywhere you can see small patches of coppiced woodland - but large stretches are typically plantations managed by the Forestry Commission.

Not that this should give the impression of monotony! Thetford forest, in particular, is as pretty and full of life as you could wish. It also makes a fantastic place to camp, as it's so large and accessible.

The rather sandy tracks leading into King's Forest, with beautiful golden light

For some weird reason the last time I camped in the King's Forest I had a real job finding a secluded spot - I kept stumbling across a path which people were rambling or riding horses down and had to move a couple of times. I don't know how I managed this, since the place is (i) huge (ii) largely deserted and (iii) full of little nooks.

I found one almost immediately, and had a really serene evening watching the sun go down behind the leaves and reading my Knausgaard (which I'm really enjoying but fear may be having a baleful effect on my writing). I ate my pizza, sipped hot chocolate - and then, because it got surprisingly cold surprisingly quickly, got into the tent while it was still light.

This is definitely one of my better camps

Today's ride: 81 km (50 miles)
Total: 81 km (50 miles)

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