Our route through the West Midlands avoids all the big urban sprawl, although we do come uncomfortably close to Nuneaton. The lanes are busy with cyclists, mostly in groups on a Sunday spin. We are sticking to country lanes and aiming for Warwick where we stop for lunch in the park. Nearby is a village where Gayle's mum and dad lived after they married. We go and seek out their old house - but it's not there. Isabell had described how the river Avon just flowed by at the end of the garden and sure enough here is the street and there is the Avon, but strangely no number 10. The street numbering is all higgledy-piggledy so we go back and forth for a bit to make sure we've not missed it. Nope. Nothing. Zilch. Later that evening Gayle texts her mum to tell her the story. She texts back "Maybe it was number 9".
When we reach Stratford-upon-Avon the Bard is not foremost in our minds. We're slightly shocked to find the town heaving at the end of the day with local and foreign tourists, and we can only summon the energy to fill up our water supplies before clearing off. After an April shower and a few devious twists and turns we find a bike path along an old rail line. Regrettably there are a few too many dogwalkers for it to make a good stop for the night, but then we find a park area backing onto a campsite. There's a path through woods and some more open land where the grass has just been conveniently cut. It's a perfect place to stop for the night. We get back into the old routine of brewing up, cooking the dinner and then snuggling down for a read/music whilst scoffing some chocolate. Creatures of habit.
Our next day leads us into more honeypots - pretty little Cotswold villages that attract tourists like flies. The roads are up and down and we're glad of breathers to just have a quick look around - oh and use the facilities of course! A toilet in a carpark is worth two in the bush, as we like to say. No Lidl or Aldi in this neck of the woods - our supermarket shopping is sparse when we see the price of things. We climb more steep hills and find a road following along a long ridge which offers some nice views for very little effort. And then down and up and down. On one long low climb into a village I slowly approach a man walking along in the same direction. I huff and puff past him until he calls out 'is it steel?' I stop immediately, glad of the excuse. He's pointing to the bike. 'I use to tour around Scotland' he explains 'I'm thinking of getting a new bike.' He's looking in vain for the make and model but I've removed them from both bikes. We chat a little more before he heads off to the church for 'a little organ practice' - hopefully not a euphemism.
We're pretty shattered at the end of the afternoon and look for an early camp in woods beyond a field of rape. It's a lovely spot and we're well away from the road, although behind the woods we can hear traffic from an A road. So far we've avoided A and B roads and happily followed the 'white roads' on our road map. The climbs might be steeper but at least no cars are flying past us at speed either. I fall asleep almost immediately after getting into my sleeping bag. Gayle is engrossed in Sudoku....
When we reach Stratford-upon-Avon the Bard is not foremost in our minds. We're slightly shocked to find the town heaving at the end of the day with local and foreign tourists, and we can only summon the energy to fill up our water supplies before clearing off. After an April shower and a few devious twists and turns we find a bike path along an old rail line. Regrettably there are a few too many dogwalkers for it to make a good stop for the night, but then we find a park area backing onto a campsite. There's a path through woods and some more open land where the grass has just been conveniently cut. It's a perfect place to stop for the night. We get back into the old routine of brewing up, cooking the dinner and then snuggling down for a read/music whilst scoffing some chocolate. Creatures of habit.
Our next day leads us into more honeypots - pretty little Cotswold villages that attract tourists like flies. The roads are up and down and we're glad of breathers to just have a quick look around - oh and use the facilities of course! A toilet in a carpark is worth two in the bush, as we like to say. No Lidl or Aldi in this neck of the woods - our supermarket shopping is sparse when we see the price of things. We climb more steep hills and find a road following along a long ridge which offers some nice views for very little effort. And then down and up and down. On one long low climb into a village I slowly approach a man walking along in the same direction. I huff and puff past him until he calls out 'is it steel?' I stop immediately, glad of the excuse. He's pointing to the bike. 'I use to tour around Scotland' he explains 'I'm thinking of getting a new bike.' He's looking in vain for the make and model but I've removed them from both bikes. We chat a little more before he heads off to the church for 'a little organ practice' - hopefully not a euphemism.
We're pretty shattered at the end of the afternoon and look for an early camp in woods beyond a field of rape. It's a lovely spot and we're well away from the road, although behind the woods we can hear traffic from an A road. So far we've avoided A and B roads and happily followed the 'white roads' on our road map. The climbs might be steeper but at least no cars are flying past us at speed either. I fall asleep almost immediately after getting into my sleeping bag. Gayle is engrossed in Sudoku....
