The rest of merry old England: The world had been on my doorstep

August 6, 2016

I found it interesting to return home. To view the place where I had grown up and lived most of my life from the perspective of a traveller almost. I could see and understand its place in the world now somehow. And as I had promised my mum, I would be back again before too long. But first I had to go and meet someone else special. Someone I would be bringing back with me.

Leaving my parent's village I cycled on a road to Bedford that I used to ride when I was a teenager. It was a narrow, busy, entirely unpleasant road, and it surprised me that I'd ever cycled it so carefree. It brought me to Bedford, a town where I passed mosques and a magnificent Sikh temple that made me wonder why I'd bothered cycling around the world, when the world had been on my doorstep all along.

Not a snap from a land far away, but fifteen kilometres from where I grew up

I was quite surprised by the nice bicycle paths that continued through Bedford and led me on to quiet country lanes. The sun was shining and I was enjoying riding in England now. After a few hours I came across a number of cars parked at the roadside and saw a crowd of people looking and walking across a field. As I rounded a corner I saw why. A really giant airship was sitting there in a field and in typical British fashion everyone was stopping to have a look. I did the same. I stood and watched for a while as the massive airship threatened to take off, but nothing happened and before long I got bored waiting and cycled off. I would later discover that what I had seen was the world's largest aircraft, being developed at Cardington airfield in Bedfordshire. I discovered that when I read a news article saying that it had crash landed on its second test flight, so maybe it was a good thing I didn't hang around.

Oh, us British, we are so eccentric aren't we? I mean, what is this even for?!

My ride east towards Harwich was mostly very pleasant, thanks to the better weather, good cycle routes, and the fact that I was now in a much flatter part of the country. One slight issue was that my bike was in a very sorry state. My gears were skipping terribly. My drivetrain components were on their last legs and I should have ordered new parts and replaced it all at my parent's house. It was a mistake I paid for every time my chain slipped and clanked. I also should have got new tyres. There was a gash in my front one that caused me punctures. I also had a wobbly front wheel. In Harlow I had to buy cone spanners and tighten it up. I was limping along, as if my bike, having made it around the world, thought it was going to get a rest. "Sorry, old buddy, just a few more tens of thousand kilometres to go. Hold it together now."

I was nearing the end of my time in Britain and I had not yet got my country sign photo in. I had expected, post-Brexit, to find Union Jack flags waving everywhere, but it was not until I was in deepest darkest Essex that I found some. In a country village I came across one that was flapping in the wind just right. This was country number 50 and I noticed a speed limit sign just ahead that I hoped might provide me with a good prop for the photo, but alas when I got around to the other side of it I found it was a national speed limit sign and not at all useful. I propped my camera up and instead of using the sign, fell back on the old faithful of making a 50 out of duct tape. It felt good to be in England now. I'd had such a good time seeing my family again - Dea's eye problems which had forced me to come back had ultimately had the unexpected beneficial consequences of spending time with my family. And, in contrast to how I'd felt when I'd first stepped off the Queen Mary II in Southampton I now felt like I once again knew and liked this country. So I hoped my country photo would reflect the joy I felt at returning to my homeland after making it around the world:

I think I did a good job, but I kind of had to explain myself when another cyclist came along the road. He was a young bearded man named Ben who was on a Surly bike with fat tyres. He lived in the next village and we rode there together. Ben asked me what I was up to, where I was touring. He was a nice guy, and had previously ridden the entire Mediterranean coast, 7,000 miles from Gibraltar to Istanbul, so he knew his stuff.

Britain was, at least for now, drawing to a close as I grinded my protesting bicycle forwards to Harwich and yet another ferry. I'd come to quite enjoy cycling in England. The Sustrans bicycle routes were great, the countryside and landscape so varied that it never got boring. This had, of course, only been a brief visit. I would be back again, no doubt. But for now I had mainland Europe on my mind. Because the reason for my long ride across Canada, the sail across the Atlantic, and the quick dash through England was waiting for me there, and I couldn't wait...

06/08/16 - 72km

07/08/16 - 95km

08/08/16 - 105km

09/08/16 - 35km (2km in UK)

Today's ride: 274 km (170 miles)
Total: 56,257 km (34,936 miles)

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