(Our guest Blogger John's account of that day)
The Out take Perspective …… Me, Chris and Moe play out on Bikes
Come on down to Cardiff they said, its a fast flat stage no hills. Being more a time trailer build than a grimpier this held some appeal. So I took a circuitous train journey to Cardiff with my bike.
I arrived at the hotel and met Mo, Penny Chris and Rob for dinner at a very nice Italian. We had a pasta feast; carb loading for the next days challenge – all very continental. I learned of the Blog which sounds as much work as the ride. Early lights out for a 7-30 start in the morning. Blimey these guys are keen I thought. I pondered my situation alone in my hotel room with my racing bike – so this was what the Tour felt like off camera.
The dawn broke over a cloudy but warm Cardiff and we met for breakfast- continental style. Mo lead us under the M4 in lightish traffic and out on the A48 setting a brisk pace. We skirted Newport docks to the strains of Otis Readings Dock of the Bay – we were kidding ourselves this landscape could never inspire such a soul classic. However we were soon out in open country and as we settled in to a steady pace our first photo opportunity arrived. Sir Fynwy – the county sign loomed out of the hedgerow. Why do all Welsh counties sound like bit part characters in Henry V? There is a collection of these for the event it turns out so every time we get a good pace going there is a slamming on of brakes and general alarm as the standard pose is adopted for the photo shoot. I think they are just working me over so I cant get in to a steady pace.
We were making good time arriving in Chepstow even before the cafes opened. For an inland town Chepstow has a beautiful river frontage that reminds me of a Cornish fishing village. Here we sit with our coffees and muffins and ruminate on the journey so far. At this pace we will be in Bromsgrove by 3-00……… “ Welcome to Bristols new shock jock “Dickie Bad Boy Bransford” wants to come in your ears about Fostering”. Not since the fame of Eddie Shoestring has Bristol radio had such listening numbers. The phone lines ran hot as Richard said the money is pretty good and absolutely anyone can Foster. Val who knew a bit about Fostering first hand added that there are CRB checks and there was an almost audible click as Bristols ne’redowells rang off.
We finished our cognac and Gitanes and saddled up. Next step England, literally to the other side of the bridge; and another photo opportunity. “Croeso I LOEGR” Roughly translated means “You’re welcome to Wales – this is England” Almost instantly the party adopt deep Gloucester accents and bang on cue a Tractor appears to carve us up. Chris and Mo try to sell Fostering to an elderly lady who seems keen until the CRB checks are mentioned. This section of Gloucestershire is hilly, and as we crest a sharp incline out of Lydney we hear “that was a cheeky little hill” and not for the last time I fear.
Rob in the support car is hanging around a car park in the woods. Again he seems busy so we carry on pretending not to notice him. I think hes filling up the water bottles or something.
Car drivers never seem to give cyclists much room on the roads and this was no exception I saw a Toyota miss me by inches several times – I know it was the same one because the back window kept asking me if I want to Foster. May be if I say yes he will leave me alone.
We arrive at Maisemore to bunting and Jacobs crackers and cake, just the thing after 60 odd miles on a warm day. A welcome orange juice helps the cakes down and Maisemore give us some wine gums for the onward leg. These become a life saver later on thanks Maisemore! More photos are taken. I think its going to Mo and Chris’s heads. Chris is a reluctant superstar who seems to like his privacy and stay “normal” he seems more the McCartney to Goodings Lennon who is more the wise cracking front man of the duo. Or may be the sun is getting to me.
We move on though spectacular scenery up to Upton on Severn where relying on my “local knowledge” we take a wrong turning. Luckily Rob shepherds us back on track and I say that really I’m more of your Warwickshire type of Midlander than Worcestershire. On balance we may still be closer to Bristol than Coventry at this point.
We have our last rest stop together at Powick just south of Worcester and consult the map. An enthusiastic local asks us about the Giro; we just point blankly at the Post Office and say we think its half day closing on Thursday. He doesn’t think we are real cyclists. I could carry on to Bromsgrove (honest) but as that means a bit of a detour for me I opt to head straight for Coventry via Stratford. Im sorry to part company with the lads as riding in a group is much easier than a solo break. A solo break with a hefty rucksack and 25 degree heat isn’t often seen on the Giro or Tour so I’m in to unknown territory.
With some sadness our paths split and I watch them speed off in to Worcester happy to have dropped the lame duck they’ve carried from Cardiff. I nose out in to some heavy traffic and disappointingly only have three real opportunities for a punch up with motorists before I’m back on course and in to Warwickshire.
I'd hoped to send a county sign for the collection but the recent influx of Pykies to the county means lots of precious metals have been liberated for other uses. Manhole covers are notably rare these days. No “Bear and Ragged Staff” then – at least not a picture fit for publication. I press on weighed down by my rucksack to Alcester and find a place to get some more water and bananas. The last push up to Coventry and Im on home ground. In the village before mine I feel distinctly uneasy and swallow all of the remaining wine gums for a sugar hit. After 125 miles I reach home and unpack the bag. Thanks for the 2 x 4 ltr water bottles Rob if only I’d known they were there!
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