To Bury St. Edmunds

August 21, 2024

We make it out by nine thirty, getting an early start on the day because we have a thirtyish mile ride ahead and booked ourselves for lunch at the other end. As we bike past the cathedral on the way out of town I’m amused to see that the statues haven’t budged overnight. I feel some wistfulness when I see that the door to the cathedral is open, a couple standing at it peering inside. I could cash in all of my chips for the day and request that we stop for a quick look ourselves, but decide against it. We’ve only gone three blocks so far and it’s a little early for a break.

We’re reversing our ride from two years ago this morning, when we biked from Bury to Ely. In fact we’re spending the better part of a week reversing that year’s route through here - Ipswich, Bury, Ely - they’re all the obvious stops if we’re traversing through here. I’m surprised by our first miles this morning though, as we ride a narrow ribbon of a path south alongside the River Great Ouse. I’m surprised first off by the fact that in spite of what RideWithGPS claims, it’s not really a paved route; but I’m also surprised that it feels completely unfamiliar even though we biked the other way two years ago.

Leaving Ely, biking south along the Great River Ouse. It’s not my idea of paved, but it’s a definite step up from my three mile ride through the grass along the dike along the Bedford yesterday.

Paved or not, we’re following one of the Caltrans routes - #11 this morning - and it does have the benefit of being quiet and scenic - or as scenic as you can expect to find in the fens. After four miles though we leave #11 and return to the road network, staying on pavement for the rest of the day.

Caltrans #11 isn’t just a place for bikes. We all have to share the trail.

The aging mind is such a strange thing - it feels like I’m remembering an experience from before, but I’m seeing and recalling what I expect to rather than what we’re really experiencing today. As a result, I’m not particularly surprised to when we approach Newmarket, the racehorsing capital of England, and pass by one stud farm after another.

Yes, this does seem familiar I tell myself as we ascend through the center of a huge riding green with thoroughbreds racing up a lane on one side of us and what looks like an organized ride passing us on the other. I’m wrong though. We’ve never been to Newmarket. We took an entirely different route between Bury and Ely last time, following the Lark much of the way. No wonder those first few miles felt unfamiliar.

In Newmarket, the thoroughbred horse racing capitol of England.

By the time we leave Newmarket we’re no longer in the Fens. After a gradual climb we’re up nearly 300 feet above sea level, surrounded by newly harvested wheat fields and rolling terrain that doesn’t feel too dissimilar from the Lincolnshire Wolds. We never gain any more elevation than this today, but we’re climbing up and falling from modest rises the rest of the day.

And it’s not just the terrain. Things really do look different here. Were in a new county, Suffolk, and suddenly we’re seeing flintstone churches with squarish towers that look like they could be fortresses; and the villages we pass through all seem to have a well maintained thatched roof house or two.

We hardly stop at all though, leaving it mostly to the GoPro to document the day. Partly it’s because we are in a rush to make lunch, and partly it’s because it feels familiar since we were just here two year ago, and partly it’s because I plan to head back through some of this country at a slower pace on one of our two layover days; but it’s fair to say too that after over twelve weeks in the UK we’re both getting short timer’s attitudes and thinking ahead to the ferry ride to Holland that’s just four days down the road.

Dropping into Moulton, where we’ll cross the river Kennett before climbing out again. I stoped here to take a shot of the thatched roof houses, but later I saw that I captured an advance look at the bridge too.

The Moulton Packhorse Bridge provided passage across the Kennett on the route from Bury to Cambridge. “The river has shrunk in size since the bridge was built in the 15th century. While a single arch would have been suitable to span a narrow stream, if used over a wider stretch this design would have created an inconveniently steep slope at both sides. At Moulton a series of smaller arches was therefore used to carry the road on a more manageable slope. The bridge is built of flint and stone rubble , with plain parapets, and the edges of the arches are made of brick. Pointed arch shapes like these were constructed using wooden formers to support and shape them, and were not used after the 15th century.”

Looks much like the Lincolnshire Wolds here, to me.

As we approach Bury there’s a mishap and a disappointment. I’m not sure how this happened exactly, but I spilled the bike and landed on my back on the verge. It was at the nadir of a depression and at a bend in the narrow rough-surfaced road, and I think I just got too close to the edge and took the spill rather than trying to correct and scrape myself on the pavement instead.

So that’s the embarrassment, but it was no big deal. I was biking slowly, fell reasonably gracefully onto my back, didn’t take Rachael down with me, didn’t injure the bike, and even though there were a few brambles bout I didn’t land on any rocks hidden in the grass. I didn’t really sustain any damage to myself either other than to my pride. So that’s the embarrassment.

The disappointment came after Rachael saw I was OK, and while I’m lying there I heard three or four commands of “GoPro Take Photo!”, with her taking her chance for a bit of revenge for the times over the years when I’ve taken shots of her crumpled up in the sand on a Spanish Via Verde, or stuck down in a tree well while cross country skiing, or the like.

But unfortunately, all of her photos came out looking like the one below. You’ll have to use your imagination to picture me off the frame to the right, lying on my back and trying to assess how much damage the brambles have done.

Even with that holdup though we arrive at our restaurant almost exactly on time to claim our reservation; and an hour later we’re biking up the alley to Anselm Court, the apartment complex facing the cathedral that we stayed in last time and liked well enough to return. And by chance we’re in the same unit, with the same view. Its OK.

Looks about like it did two years ago. Some things never change.

Video sound track: Come Love Come, by Rhiannon Giddons

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Today's ride: 35 miles (56 km)
Total: 3,421 miles (5,506 km)

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