Rain On My Parade? How Very Dare You?!

Slight sense of déjà vu struck me as we got underway this morning. As I recall, last year when we walked the Camino we'd been blessed with dry weather every day ... until the last, when we got drenched. With the final 55km ahead of us this morning the forecast was looking decidedly gloomy with rain expected from 11.00am. Well it was wrong! - it started spitting at 10.00am and got progressively worse as the day went on. 

(No beer en route today. "Zwei heisse Schokolade, bitte". Brrrrrr)

The other unfortunate consequence of the dismal weather was the lack of view across the lake, not that we were particularly inclined to stop, choosing instead to power on through in case it got even worse. After a brief pause in Arbon for a hot drink it was back on board without a break until, with 48km already under our belts we finally hauled our tired, damp and grubby selves into an end-of-season seafront restaurant in Kreutzlingen for lunch - and to dry off a bit. To be honest, even if the weather had been better I'm afraid the final stretch was a tad disappointing. Most of the time we were tracking a railway and much of the southern Swiss side of the lake is given over to industry. Sadly therefore no photos, until we arrived triumphant back in Konstanz at around 3.30pm.

(Intrepid or mad?)

And this was a welcome sight, I can tell you ....

 

286.1km, six days, three bikes (another story), multiple borders, 2 currencies and 4 hotels later, this is The End! 

Bordering on Ridiculous

Guten Abend aus Osterreich! Frankly, it's been a funny old day. For example, did you know that Austrians don't speak Austrian? Turns out they never did. That was my misunderstanding. The only slight distinction from pure German is the predominance of a Bavarian dialect in a significant majority of the country but otherwise it's basically the same. No wonder there is no fanfare, no signpost, no stern-looking official or indeed ANY visible signs of border control here when you slip noiselessly, save for the odd gear change, over the boundary somewhere around 10.30am on a Thursday morning. Back home I swear we make more fuss leaving Warwickshire and entering The Cotswolds! We reckon we have crossed seven borders to date (including leaving England) and that by the time we are home the total will be 11 in a week. And guess where will be the only times we've been asked to produce a passport or identification of any sort? Yup! And you think WE have an immigration problem! I can't imagine how they control the flow of the oppressed or the opportunist once they arrive in central mainland Europe. In fact we've been chatting on and off all week about borders. For the sake of posterity I'm just slipping in here a reference to the imminent Scottish referendum. If ever I re-read this drivel in years to come I wanted to be reminded that in one week's time our neighbours north of the border will be deciding to go it alone or remain part of the UK. It could turn out to be significant. My thoughts on the subject will remain just that. Moving on ...

(Could this be our future?)

So, yes, a funny old day .. there we are, waving goodbye to the Dorfkrug Landgasthof, with me thinking how funny it was to be considering the 35k ahead a bit of a doddle when a week ago I would have been aghast at the very idea. What's more according to the map the route broke down very nicely into three 12k sections and we reached the first destination in less than an hour. 

(HRH was asked very politely to take a few more pics today, just to prove I am actually here. He kindly obliged, then lumped them altogether. Most relate to what follows). 

Lindau's old town centre is located on an island, at it's most prominent point dominated by a lighthouse and a huge statue of a lion. Said lion, is described in the guide book only as 'the Bavarian lion' but if this day were not already feeling slightly weird HRH started going on about lion, a boy called Albert and a walking stick with a horse's head handle! I kid you not, I thought he had lost it. "No, seriously", he insisted, "ask your Mum. I bet she'd know". 

("Ooooh, what WAS that poem?")

So I Googled it and have included it here for my beloved, just to prove he's not crazy.

Stanley Holloway - "The Lion And Albert"

http://m.youtube.com/watch?v=aKovQRzIQwI

Two other distinguishing features of 

Lindau - the Mangturm tower, former lighthouse and evidently where Rapunzel now lives (see pics) and the puppet ballet 

which sounds delightful but the promo 

puppet outside has hooves for feet and wings for hands! (This day is getting 

weirder and weirder).

(That's a plaited rope of 'hair')

(Time to leave ....)

Next stop, over said non-existant border, into Austria, was Bregenz. Billed in the 

tour notes as a highlight we were looking forward to this pause. Sadly the day was somewhat overcast so the intended 

cable-car ride up to the top of Pfaender mountain 'for a fine view across the Alps' was not to be, but the cathedral church 

of Herz-Jesu was a pleasant if slightly 

incomparable substitute. All in all Bregenz left us rather wondering what all the fuss was about being as it was less charming than many places we have passed 

through and more like a busy city on a 

weekday.

And so the end of today's itinerary. 

Strange enough that we should arrive at our hotel as early as 3.30pm but even 

more unexpected from a superficially 

unexciting place to stay, the almost 

unprounceable Hochst, was the 

restaurant recommended by the 

receptionist just down the road. Fantastic food, terrific wine, generous G&T and 

service from a delightful chap straight out of Chip's Charm School. Funny old day.

Might not be laughing tomorrow though -55k and the forecast is for rain! Wish us 

luck. 

Getting Schlossed

'Twas a big day today.  Not only were we now over half way through the tour but the route from Uberlingen to Kressbronn was to be our longest single day to date. With 50/55 Km ahead of us we scooped up the now dried laundry, filled up with a good breakfast and hit the road by 9.15am. 

The cycle path on this stage has been excellent pretty much all day and something hit me as we settled into a steady rhythm (not literally, don't panic Mum). For the first time I felt like a proper cyclist! The bike is no longer an encumbrance but now feels comfortable and familiar, my legs are getting stronger and confidence is growing - my trusty steed and I were flying along in 7th gear at a steady 18-20km per hour and for perhaps the first time I was able to really take in the scenery. Despite the heavy mist over the water the countryside is a real picture with much of the northern shoreline given over to vineyards. What's more, the nature of the landscape, rising steeply from the waters edge, means that many of the towns and villages we passed through had, in medieval times, made the most of any vantage points and plonked not only a schloss up above their township to defend against incoming attack but often a fortified church or monastery to boot. 

(Birnau Abbey above the vineyards just outside Uberlingen).

A brief pause in Unteruhldingen later we happened upon a tiny church which at first sight appeared to be open only for us to find the front door indeed unlocked but the inner grill firmly bolted.

(Unteruhldingen church, mostly inaccessible. Interior shots taken through a security grill. Sad.)

And so to Meersburg - Time to get properly schlossed. Bikes parked, tickets purchased and an enjoyable hour was spent exploring the well preserved and extremely well staged medieval castle where HRH declared himself a very happy bunny (in fact what he said was "I like a good castle" - the 'happy bunny' bit was my interpretation of the enthusiastic noises he was making as we followed the very helpful mini English guide from room to room - a leaflet, not a small person - and the fact that he got his own camera out for a change). 

(Photo montage courtesy of HRH himself).

(And some of mine)

From Meersburg it was all aboard again aiming for Friedrichschafen in time for lunch. Apart from having a very pretty harbour where we stopped to eat, Friedrichschafen boasts another major distinction. It was, and indeed since the mid 1990s is again, the home of the zeppelin. The man who invented this, the most well-known form of the airship, was born close to Friedrichshafen and the fated Hindenburg, amongst many others, was manufactured here. The museum in which we passed an interesting half hour includes a replica of the 'luxury' interior as it would have looked in 1937 before bursting into flames and hitting the ground in 32 seconds flat!

(Luxurious? By the standards of the day this was the height of posh being modernistic, simple, and importantly lightweight).

The last stage of the day, bringing us now to Kressbronn, took the total tally to 183km to date. If I survive the night (the mossies are rife here) I'm looking forward to crossing another border tomorrow - into Austria!

(Sampling the local Zeppelin Ale. Had to be done on the 'getting schlossed' day).

A Great Body

Before you disconnect in haste let me just assure you it is not my intention in this post to laud or even describe HRH's fine physique, fond of it as I am. No, that's not the body I was intending to celebrate. Neither was it my own* although it never ceases to amaze me how I can wake up feeling like I've been sat on by an elephant (the previous day's exersions), all aches and pains, and yet once I get moving, have a hot shower and a good breakfast I find they have all receded and that I'm (surprisingly) fit for another day in the saddle. It's a wonderful thing, the human body. 

No, the "great body" it was my intention to write about is the lake itself. Konstanz, the town after which it is named, sits at a point on the Rhine (the Seerhein) where only a bridge separates Germany (north) from Switzerland (south). Either side of that narrow stretch of the river can be found the Untersee (West) and the Obersee (East and South) of which the latter is by far the largest. Until now we have been exploring only the Untersee but today we took on The Lake proper! As a whole, Lake Constance is 39miles long and, at its furthest points, nearly 8.7 miles wide. It stands 395m above sea level and provides drinking water for a significant part of southwestern Germany! From a layman travellers point of view (rather than that of Wikipedia) it is clean and clear, is home to a great many fish and is surrounded by delightful small towns and fishing villages. We stopped at one such place this morning for coffee. It was unremarkable in many ways but charming and unspoiled in so many others.

(Steckbron)

Having left Stein am Rhine early this morning we were back in Konstanz by lunchtime but agreed to press on through the town in favour of stopping later to explore the Insel Mainau. This small peninsular houses the equivalent of Cornwall's Eden Project, a horticultural and tropical thing of beauty. The afternoon coffee and cake were pretty good too!

The vast amount of water in the lake was somewhat added to this afternoon when the heavens opened for a brief but undeniable downpour. This meant that we were a little soggy as we boarded our final ferry crossing at Wallhausen shortly after 5.00pm, destination Uberlingen. 

(Our bikes wearing their rain hats whilst we await the ferry under cover. "Beer?", "Oh go on then. Silly not to").

And here we are, at the Rotes Haus, a fully functioning adequately equipped hotel with satisfactory levels of comfort (and a drying room!) but with the unfortunate distinction of looking from the outside like a big, red prison http://www.hotel-rotes-haus.de/en/ It does however have great wifi, albeit only in the lobby so as I'm there and HRH is not, I'm heading off for bed. 

Oh, but before I forget, there was another occasion recently when I was thinking about bodies. Those who choose to cycle round the Bodensee really do come in all shapes and sizes and this was beautifully illustrated when the hotel breakfast room was overtaken by a group all wearing matching pink t-shirts. Now I can reassure you that this was no hen or stag do, not when the average age was probably 65 and the attire that accompanied said t-shirts was most definitely of the cycling variety. It soon became apparent that each had on their backs a list of previous cycling tours this group had done. We were suitably impressed, and by one lady in particular. I would have put her at somewhere around 75 and despite not having the figure of a nymph was clearly still fighting fit and loving life. 

*not that it's a competition or anything but evidently my body is more attractive than that of HRH, if only to the Mosquitos  and to misplaced pedals. His tally of bites is 2 and bruises 0: mine is 20 and 12!

Finding a Balance

When you think about it, cycling per se is all about balance. Being, as is so often the case, behind HRH today, during a particularly peaceful stretch of the cycle path that required little or no concentration, I observed just how ridiculous the very concept of riding a bicycle is! I mean, seriously, how did someone conceive of the idea? To seat a person above wheels no wider than an inch and placed one behind the other, then to require said person to propel themselves along all the while maintaining their balance is weird enough, but for the idea to have caught on so comprehensively is nothing short of incredible. Needless to say, my balance is not as good as some. For example, I struggle to stand on one leg (yes, ok, I know this is not a prerequisite for being a wife, mum and office worker but I'm just illustrating a point).  A physio once told me that I needed to improve my core stability. Would that have helped with riding a bike or was that just for one-leg-standing activities? Anyway, where was I? Oh yes, I have a tendency to wobble a bit, especially on unstable underfoot terrain. When I'm hiking I have overcome this by availing myself of a walking pole, particularly useful in lumpy fields and going up or down where the surface is stony. Unfortunately a pole is not practical on a bike and unless someone has invented another nifty aide but hasn't shared their genius with the world, it's down to the rider simply to balance on those silly narrow tyres even when the surface is decidedly unstable. Fortunately a great deal of the path is beautiful, solid, smooth Tarmac. Sadly quite a few sections today were of the more dust-and-gravel nature. I have to confess to needing to navigate these at a crawl, fearful of skidding and finding myself under the bike rather than on it or worse the wrong side of the handlebars, and as a consequence this evening I'm nursing a knotted neck and sore shoulders from clinging on for grim death. But it's not all bad ... 

Before we set off from Blighty I was adamant that as well as being an adventure and a challenge I really wanted this to be a holiday. I know a big part of the week is about the scenery, the fresh air and discovering a part of Europe we don't know together, but it was really important to me that we strike a balance between the physical exertion and a fair smattering of sightseeing and relaxation. Today was a triumph in that respect. The route we undertook was not strictly part of the 'round Lake Constance' itinerary. We left Stein am Rhine heading west following the river as it travels on its way to the North Sea. 

(Leaving Stein am Rhine)

24 km later and we arrived at Neuhausen and the largest waterfall in Europe, Der Rheinfalls, made famous by a certain Moriarty, Sherlock Holmes' nemesis, throwing himself off the top into the waves below. We settled for a boat trip into the heart of the falls and the chance to climb to the top of a narrow rock that juts up right in the middle of the pounding waves. 

(On the boat in the middle of the falls basin. This selfie was meant to have the waterfall in the background but the swell had other ideas).

We also struck a good balance between rest, rebellion and the requirements of the schedule today. To begin with we didn't even get going until 11.30am, ate an overpriced but tasty lunch overlooking the falls but not till 4.00pm and decided we (I) was too tired to go out again after arriving back at our hotel at 7.00pm so picnicked in our room instead - shocking, eh? But despite being tiring it has been a great day. Hot and sunny, scenic and satisfyingly strenuous but most of all it felt like being on holiday. 

(Not a bad view to look at over lunch).

I must confess I nearly didn't write this blog. The wifi is sporadic in our hotel and feeble even when existent, and the beer and chocolate that were the picnic pudding/reward for completing our 48km nearly sent me into soporific slumber before I could get going but, on balance, I'm pleased I did. A day to remember :-)

Where On Earth ...?

This phrase could apply to quite a few subjects and situations we found ourselves in today. For example ...

(Come on in ....)

Where on earth ... could you turn up at an enormous garage to find hundreds of bikes either being stored, awaiting servicing or ready to be collected, and still to have the young attendant find those allocated to you in seconds? 

The bikes are everything I could have dreamed of and more - the perfect size (figured out in advance from our pre-notified height), like new, with incredibly comfortable saddles, uber simple, effective gears and brakes, fitted with a mileometer, cushioned handlebars, a thing in which to tuck your map, and panniers contains a personalised first aid kit, wet weather rain cover for your saddle, digital locks and a full tool kit! This thing is better equipped than my car!

Where on earth ... could you follow the cycle path through a nature reserve onto the Reichenau peninsular only to find yourself in what can only be described as a giant allotment? HRH was in heaven. This place was a feast for all the senses. We've decided we shall add celeriac and fennel to the kitchen garden for next year, if only for the aroma. We passed greenhouses the size of small villages, a vast abundance of heavily laden fruit trees and vines, and field upon varied field of salad and vegetables. One website I landed on a few weeks ago described cycling this stage in September "like riding into a harvest festival". It wasn't wrong. We couldn't help but be thankful we were here and now, and that we hadn't visited in the spring, when the earth would have been been busy nurturing it's seeds but with them all tucked up beneath a blanket of brown! 

From Reichenau we caught our pre-booked crossing (eventually! "Where on earth is that schiffhausen?" - we almost missed the ferry, ooops) and hopped across the water to the northern shores of the lake heading west, hugging the lakeside.

(Here you can see Konstanz on the far right, the Reichenau peninsular top centre and our evening destination far left) 

(And here, HRH's contribution to the photographs, taken on board. Silly, but funny none the less).

Today was a relatively short introductory day during which we covered 31Km, stopping for a late lunch in Wangen and arriving in Stein am Rhine shortly before 4pm. We had cause to pop into a shop on arrival but in the end decided on returning in the morning. "Not in Switzerland. I'm afraid the shops close on a Monday," we were helpfully advised by the assistant. "In Switzerland?", says I, thinking where on earth ...? "Aren't we in Germany?" Nope! No one told us we'd crossed a border, requested passports, or made a fuss. Only the currency is different, and the flags. 

Stein am Rhine is utterly charming. As HRH put it, it's like walking through a Disney set. I shall leave the photographs to tell the tale. 

We dined in the town square. I got my first taste of spetzle and HRH pronounced the local rotwein more than adequate, after which we ended the evening chatting over liqueurs with another English-speaking couple from, where on earth? Australia! 

Oom pa pa ...

Often the first day of a holiday is a bit of a chore - last minute rushing around turning plugs off, locking windows, checking you've switched the gas off (which is a sign of serious anxiety if, like us, you don't have gas) then hoping to goodness you don't get held up en route to the airport or worse still that the flight is delayed.  Well not today :-) Departure time was a civilised 9.00am, the predicted roadworks were delay-free and our flight left and arrived as scheduled. Then the exciting bit began. Time to tackle the Swiss rail network. Not unexpectedly the rolling stock (that reference was for you, Julie) was clean and comfortable, the station well signposted and efficiently run and the departure, like the clocks on which the Swiss reputation has been built, bang on time! Oh joy. 

(Even the coffee was delivered by a charming, efficient 'waiter')

A short hour later we were pulling into Konstanz, somewhere along the way having crossed the border into Germany. Ya, wir Sind in Deutchland! My German, being of the CSE variety (remember those? The lesser qualification that accompanied 'O' levels?) and dating from 1979, is feeble. When you are accustomed to being even reasonably proficient in one foreign language it takes you somewhat by surprise to find yourself unable to understand even simple notices in another. I do try but am rapidly rumbled when after only a mumbled 'Guten abend' the reply comes back, with bells on, in beautiful crisp English! Ah well ...

Our hotel receptionist (each one now compared to our own home-grown shining example) was kind enough to suggest a short walk down to the harbouside for dinner, to catch the last of the evening sunshine and the better choice of eatery. As we're still on foot until we collect our bikes first thing tomorrow this gave us a good opportunity to sus out the cycle paths and signage, and to take in our first glimpses of the Rhine which opens out in both directions into the magnificence of Lake Bodensee yet is narrow enough here in the centre of the town to be crossed by footbridge. 

And so to dinner. If I said we ate pizza and drank beer you might think it a little ordinary, yet nothing could be further from the reality. We DID in fact eat pizza and yes a stein or two were raised but that wasn't what made the evening special. This was ....

(I tried to insert a video here but either Blogger doesn't like it or I'm not doing something right so you'll have to use your imagination)

The genuine article, lederhosen, plaits and all, beneath the balcony where we sat overlooking the water! I could not have been happier. Until, that is, a very special tune struck up. It's only six words repeated twice forming a short song but the instant recognition from my uni days, from a bar in Reims where the three participating nations jostled for drunken supremacy, and where the Brits' "Oggy Oggy Oggy" had met its match by this tune, was so powerful that I felt like standing up and joining in at the top of my voice: Ein prosit, Ein prosit, der gemütlichkeit! The precise German came out of my mouth untamed, a long forgotten but seriously embedded memory, triggered by the musical strain and bringing instant recognition and recall! I was stunned, especially as I didn't even know what the words meant, just that it was reminiscent of my youth, of fun and frivolity. So I've just looked up the translation: it means "Happy Days"!  How perfect.

Night Night.

Spinning

Type 'spinning' into Google and you get all sorts of responses coming back at you.

I suppose some of you might be wondering why I was Googling spinning in the first place. Was I researching a new toy for our granddaughter? Interested in unusual cultural practices? Or thinking of taking up circus skills?

Actually, none of the above is true although if I'm honest as I started searching I was thinking how representative several of those images are of the chaos that has been the inside of my head the past few days. It's always the same for around a week before I go away on holiday. And there's a reason for that. I blame my Mum (it's allowed, that's what mums are for!)  If only she had never mentioned those proverbial clean knickers ("in case you get run over") maybe, just maybe, I'd be able to pack for a holiday without needing to defrost the freezer, sweep the garage and reorganise the airing cupboard! Arrgh! 

Of course the compulsion to force-fit whatever other theoretically unnecessary tasks into an already over stretched schedule is my weird way of avoiding dwelling on reality. The fact is I'm not prepared, and everso slightly panicking!

The reality was brought home a few days ago when our friends David and Amanda came to stay. 

Most of those who are reading this are well aware that we're about to head off round Lake Constance and you may remember that in my last blog the training process was about to begin. It wasn't long after D&A arrived on Friday evening than said training schedule came up in conversation. The LOOK on Amanda's face when we admitted that the programme had all but stalled pretty much before it had got going, that the most we had managed in the saddle is 15 miles and that having rather blown the timetable had resigned ourselves that we're just going to have to wing it, was a picture! Our apparent reputation for diligent planning, thorough preparation and a measured approach seems to have gone by the by where this cycling adventure is concerned. Most out of character.

But I digress ... For those of you who frequent the gym (Hellooooo - Is anybody still reading?) you'll know all about spinning. That's the class where a circle of fitness fanatics pedal like fury to loud music on static bikes while someone shouts instructions. I was Googling to try and see what the appeal was, wondering why anyone would do such a thing? Surely if you're going to have to pedal hard and get all sweaty you at least want a nice view, some fresh air and to be actually going somewhere? Fortunately where we're going there will be an abundance of scenery and by the time we arrive back at the start a week on Saturday we'll not only have covered 280km (give or take) but will also have inhaled loads and loads of luvverly therapeutic oxygen. 

In the mean time I've got another half-day at work, the packing to be done ... and a cat to Hoover!  Must dash. 

A Bit of a Hoo Ha

I was going to start this ramble/preamble to our cycling holiday several days ago and had had it in mind to call it 'B-Day', short for 'Back on my Bike' Day. Unfortunately (or fortunately) events overtook the 1st July scheduled training start date and what's more I re-read the title back to myself! After a snort and a guffaw I realised that both the timetable and the title were simply destined to change. There was no way I was going out cycling in the rain and there would likely be quite enough mention of my posterior in the coming ramblings without further reference to 'tiny toilets'! 

Moving on....

So, back to the planning. Originally I'd set aside July and August to get in shape for the next epic adventure but July arrived damp and miserable (or was that just me?). Anyway, what I had forgotten to take into account was the need to prepare my BIKE, and not just myself! So, having girded my loins for Day 1 about a week ago I asked HRH if he fancied joining me on a gentle tootle. 'Sure', he says, 'I'll pump the tyres up whilst you're at work and we'll go out after lunch'. Strangely, I wasn't in any hurry to get home that day but, having already used up the 'too busy' and the 'poor weather' excuses and, mindful of the fact that I actually DO have to get to the point where I can average 4 hours in the saddle every day for 6 days in just a few weeks' time, I agreed. Imagine my delight therefore when I was told later that, having dusted off the bicycle pump, HRH discovered I had a puncture! Reprieved, I pottered off to Halfords in my nice comfy car to pick up a new inner tube, and successfully delayed the inevitable another day. 

At this stage I'd like to point out that I hadn't been entirely idle. I had re-read the itinerary (50k a day! Day one:slightly hilly! - for some reason these two facts have stuck in the mind), I had watched a bit of the Tour de Yorkshire on the telly and I had been on Google (yes, alright, I know it's a bit rubbish)! Concerned for my various unseasoned body-parts and having been curious as to why Cavendish, Froome and Co dress in such unflattering gear I had been looking up cycling equipment. Actually anyone hacking my search history would find 'How do you stop your bum hurting on a bike?' The answer? Not, as I expected, high tech saddlery or springs but Shorts. Padded shorts to be precise. Unfortunately these things can be pretty pricey and I'm not your average cyclists shape so I was expecting to find it unlikely I'd strike gold - but I was wrong, and before I knew it there was a pair of ladies cycling boxers in my virtual shopping cart and the deed was done. Two days later (still no cycling - the rain was back, the visit to our granddaughter took precedence etc etc) a package arrived, and so did the sun. This was IT. I sneaked upstairs, squiggled into the boxers and hid them under my hiking trousers ready for the off. If I said I now know what it will feel like if I end up incontinent you'll have some idea of what I was wearing. Amazingly HRH was none the wiser and once on your bike no one would know but the sensation was, at first, rather alarming. What's more, the discreetly placed padding in this particular pair is bright pink! If I wore them inside out I'd look like one of those baboons!

My new friends!

Anyway, the caring amongst you will be wondering if they are effective and the answer is yes, thank you. Sadly this was not the end of the learning curve.

By our second outing we were a little more adventurous. The route was an 8 mile country road circuit carefully worked out by His Kindness to be sure there were minimal ups and downs. Good start. Hmmm. By the end I had sunburned shoulders, sore hands and a stiff neck. This is going to be tougher than I realised. I have yet to learn how to get into the saddle by swinging my leg over (apparently basic, essential and far less clumsy than my current mounting style!!), the gears are a bit of a mystery (What do you mean, "It's just like the gears in a car??" He clearly doesn't drive with his engine ears like I do, nor does my car feature levers and twisty knob things!) and I can't quite balance to signal that I'm turning left or right but the worst was when he said he'd better get some oil. I thought I was agreeing with him. "Yes", says I, "my brakes definitely need oiling". Well how was I to know that the one thing you don't oil on a bike is the brakes! He laughed and nearly fell off. I just fell off.

Unfamiliar terminology

Final lesson of the week: chamois cream (ah ha! I'm becoming an expert already). I was at a ball last weekend. The fundraising hosts extraordinaire are not only organising hugely successful plush dinner and disco affairs they are also joining a party cycling round Lake Malawi later in the year (see, our attempts are feeble compared to what some people achieve). Anyway, I emailed the hostess after the ball to congratulate her on the night's results and made mention of my steep learning curve. "Chamois cream" came back the advice, along with a dollop of encouragement. So I looked it up. Well ... 

There are creams for your hot spots, those that defy 'nappy rash', stuff for your sit bones, those that protect your rocks, products specially for their nuts, and even, for us girlies, menthol, antibacterial tubes of loveliness called Glide Ride! Can't wait!!! Even funnier, it's made by Hoo Ha (for your hoo ha, get it?) so from now on you'll understand the references and those that didn't drop in for this pre-read will be left wondering. Now, where are the bathroom catalogues ... I might be needing one of those massaging power potties after all. 

Until soon ....

Summing Up: Norfolk in Numbers

8 different beds

7 days' walking

99 miles

18 energy bars 

22 litres of water 

1 red kite

3 hares

8 weasels

1 squashed adder (18 inches long)

3 pairs of boots

3 blisters (all Rachel)

4 windmills

5 ice creams 

36 hiking socks worn

4lbs gained!

Endless mushrooms 

0 arguments :-

One Small Step, One Giant Leap

We left Cley on Friday morning with the sun already burning through the clouds overhead and a spring in our step, despite the guide book warning of a tough slog for the first four miles along the shingle ridge to Weybourne. I suppose one of the reasons was that achieving our goal was a tantalisingly short 13.5 miles away but also, in part, because by stepping out early we thought we could tackle nature head on and foil the rising tide. The plan was only partly successful. Our idea was that the earlier we set off, the more damp (and therefore flat) sand would still be accessible before we would be driven ever higher up onto the shingle ridge. And indeed it worked for perhaps a mile during which the magic of the crashing waves and the rising warmth of the morning drove away any negative thoughts associated with the tough conditions underfoot which we were forced to take on as the tide slowly advanced. Crunching along the ridge was, as it turned out, completely exhilarating, and indeed difficult to put into words. Few people see walking that stretch of the Coast Path as very appealing (for perhaps obvious reasons) so once again we had the world to ourselves. With green fields and the emergence of more rolling countryside to our right, wild, white waves to our left and the biggest blue sky ahead, as far as we were concerned every step was worth the leg work-out! 

Approaching Weybourne Hope and its convenient car park, human activity increased. This, it seemed, was a prime place for sea-anglers, casting from the beach. We stopped to rest for a few minutes to chat to an 'angling widow' who informed us that her husband was hopeful of a small haul of mackerel and, with luck, a sea bass which apparently enjoy the rollers. Life is such an education! 

From Weybourne the shingle gave way to cliffs, including a climb to the highest point on our combined trail at Skelding Hill, overlooking Sheringham. At times the cliff path is so eroded that it was possible to see where following in former footsteps would today lead to disaster!

Photographs looking ahead (that's HRH on the cliff top), back along the eroded pathway, and up to the high point at Skelding Hill.

Green fields, golden sands (at the bottom of those cliffs) and a huge sky,  from the top of Skelding Hill.

Sheringham was the largest town we had encountered on our journey, not that we stayed long. With now fewer than a handful of miles remaining we rested on the esplanade to enjoy a picnic (in my case a fresh local crayfish roll), and for me to kick off my boots. We sat, reflecting on the past week reviewing the highs and lows, the best bits, favoured accommodation and how lucky we had been with the weather, before the final push on to Cromer. The path diverts inland here, unable to track the cliff edge and instead led us through rising woodland, past a former Roman camp and up Long Hill before a first glimpse of Cromer was in sight. Our feeling of joy on a week well spent, a target met and the sense of achievement having walked 99 miles was topped off by being met at the end point by our friends, Ian and Ann. 

Not a great photo but there's Cromer Pier in the background! We took a few more the following morning which we think are better but in which we're looking far too clean and tidy to pretend they were at the end. 

Cromer