August 2, 1962
Ilam Hall - Ludlow
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Today’s terrain was more forgiving than the previous two days, not flat, but free of the long Pennine ups and downs. Nevertheless this was to be our longest day, long enough to make us late for dinner. [served at 7-30pm as I remember].
After Ashbourne we passed through Uttoxeter, home of the JCB digging machine, Stafford, Newport, Shropshire and some fairly humdrum landscape.
In that sense, things became more interesting after we traversed the Ironbridge gorge. Ironbridge, named for the world’s first such structure, and the neighbouring few miles of steep-sided Severn valley is the so-called Cradle of the Industrial Revolution. Today, this area offers the visitor, the “heritage” experience of the Coalbrookdale Industrial Museum. Back then no-one knew of Industrial Heritage, some of us were still living it. The nearby Black-country overspill town of Telford was yet to be built. Dennis and I crossed the Severn by means of the eponymous 18th century bridge, which at that time was still open for light road traffic. By means of back roads, we arrived at the notable village of Much Wenlock, it lays claim to the first modern Olympics. If Ironbridge was the bustling heart of late 18th century mercantilism, then Much Wenlock appeared to pre-date it by about 400 years. Half- timbered buildings abounded the main street, their cantilevered upper floors tottering over the tarmac. It was getting late and still, between us and our dinner and dormitory bunk-beds was Wenlock Edge.
Shropshire remains one of my favourite English counties. The South-western part appears to belong in Wales. The Mercian ruler Offa built his defensive dyke to that effect. In addition there are, what seem to me, incongruous, hilly outcrops, in an otherwise verdant backdrop:, The Wrekin, The Long Mynd, Wenlock Edge and [in bad weather] the scary Clee Hill. Welsh king Caradoc [Caractacus] thumbed his nose at the might of Rome on Caer Caradoc. {The Hill of Caractacus]
This incomplete consideration of the history of the Welsh Marches does little to help Dennis and me up and over Wenlock Edge. I have no recollection of the climb, but there is a trill of exhilaration left in the memory of the descent. Nevertheless, we missed dinner. By the river in Ludlow, a German hitch-hiker directed us to the Youth Hostel, where they, begrudgingly, served us cold mashed potatoes and Spam. These days the town of Ludlow, still quaintly half-timbered, is a shrine to Spam-free Modern British cuisine.
Today's ride: 140 km (87 miles)
Total: 377 km (234 miles)
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