Angel Islington to Saxmundham - 102mi.
escorted the Babe to work yesterday morning, and hung around chatting to the chaps in the edit suite and the IT bod, which she enjoys. Drank very strong coffee....
and so, when I left her office at 8.19 I turned left. Had I turned right I might have gone to Northampton, but, turning left offered Essex, and that appealed. I'd had a decent Oatibix and banana breakfast, which, combined with the coffee, would see me through to a second breakfast at Maningtree Station.
Down to Aldgate, pootling behind an exquisite touring bike with an even more exquisite young woman doing all kinds of sketchy manoeuvres through traffic, and then left on the Mile End Road, past all those years spend drawing buildings in Tower Hamlets, over the Bow flyover and into Stratford, where, for reasons that escape me, I elected to take the Wanstead route rather than the Romford route.
So, after Gants Hill, it was miles and miles of dual carriageway with traffic lights. I got used to chasing the same truck away from each and every red light, but you wouldn't describe it as fun. Temporary, though, because from the M25 on the ride to Colchester becomes a succession of characterful small towns on the 'old' A12.
This, if you haven't tried it (Mouseketeers please note) is a very pleasant ride. The roads are two lane, unhurried, and flanked by the well looked after suburban front gardens - I don't think you can cycle a mile without passing a copper beech tree. Brentwood is sweet (although dug up in the centre) and Ingatestone and Witham sweeter still. The road takes you in to the centre of Chelmsford, which involved a bit of faffing around as I'd no map with me, but I did at least check out the new bus station, and very nice it is too, with all the passengers over the age of 105, before doing the obvious thing and following the railway line along Victoria Road, and catching a sign for Boreham.
I had to endure a bit of the new A12 after Hatfield Peverel, but took to the cycle path beside the road, which was considerably slower, but vastly safer. There was some unseemly wriggling across grass verges to catch the old Roman road to Copford and Stanway, and then in to Colchester and on to the dreadful inner ring road.
Two passers by told me to turn right at the Albert, and, recalling my last attempt to get to Manningtree ended in Ipswich, I was relieved to see a sign for the A137. This is a pretty road, well surfaced, and, again, lightly travelled, although a bus had blown up outside of Ardliegh, which took some time to get round. Maningtree at half past ten, and, to celebrate I pootled up to Mistley and back, just to take in the High Street and the view across the Stour estuary before returning to the station....
Disaster. No breakfast. A lightning strike had put out the electricity supply. So I contented myself with a warm apple juice and a warmer Pepsi Max, and, at ten before 12, pedalled in to God's gift to cyclists, Suffolk.
I managed to do the clever thing in Ipswich and pick the Rushmere road, which took me in to Woodbridge the quiet way, before heading north for Ufford and Wickham Market, intending to have breakfast (now lunch) at the tea shop on the green. But...when I got to Wickham the tea shop looked tired, and, with almost an hour and a half before the next London train, it seemed like a good idea to press on to Saxmundham. There's a bike shop of some vintage in Wickham, and I picked up a lock, thinking that the Babe and I could eat out that evening (food was now looming large in my mind).
The A12 north of Wickham is do-able if you don't mind making way occasionally to let the queue of traffic pass you by. I'd collected about fifty or sixty cars and vans by Stratford St. Andrew, and a few more again before the Saxmundham turn, which, again, is the quiet 'old' A12.
Saxmundham really is God's waiting room. You can half close your eyes and see the tumbleweed rolling down the High Street. I blew in at five past three, and pottered about in search of a sandwich, finding only a bread roll in the bakers. But...there was a train, and, changing at Ipswich, I was back in the Great Wen just before six, and at the Babe's office just after for the return commute. She was a little put out that I'd been to Suffolk on my own, but there's a twist she doesn't know about yet - I got a 'phone call as I went in to Woodbridge, and this morning I'm seeing a chap about some work. These gloriously free days might be coming to an end...