I was attending a conference in Bristol so decided to do some cycling whilst down there. I was in training for our upcoming Pyrenees trip where we plan to cycle from sea-to-sea, taking in all of the major climbs (and descents!). Looking at the map, there were plenty of place names I’d heard of but had never visited. I did some research online to find a route and, where possible, stick to the National Cycle Network (http://www.sustrans.org.uk/ncn/map/information/national-cycle-network). Upon deciding my route, I loaded up the bike with unnecessary gear (training was never meant to be easy) and set off.
I began in Keynsham, a small town on the outskirts of Bristol. My route took me south along beautiful country lanes past Chew Valley lake. Some of the place names were nothing short of bizarre – Chew Magna, Chew Stoke, Wookey. It looked like I was cycling through a Lord of the Rings sequence, not through Bath & Somerset.
I turned off a main road and began to descend steeply. I was close to Cheddar Gorge, a sweeping limestone gash which attracts over 500,000 visitors a year. It is apparently the second greatest natural feature in Britain and is home to Britain’s oldest complete skeleton, The Cheddar Man. I did wonder whether they could have given him a better name – Cheddar George would be at the top of my list.
As I whizzed down I caught a glimpse of some of the caves and the climbers tackling the steep limestone walls. A car flashed its lights at me, I thought it was just road rage – “Bloody cyclists hogging the road!” – I have been shouted at before so I’m afraid the cynic in me takes over. The driver was however warning me of some goats on the road, which I presume wouldn’t have lived much longer given the amount of boy racers using the gorge as a playground.
I stopped for a cup of soup next to the waterfall in Cheddar. It really was a honeypot – cafes selling overpriced sandwiches, signs saying “NO PARKING” on every roadside and shops selling the latest tack to unsuspecting tourists. It was also very cold, the consequence I suppose of the high sided valley walls. The geography teacher in me pondered at how flood-prone the town would be. It was time to move on.
I cycled next to Wells, the smallest city in England. The centre is beautiful with cobbled stoned streets, pretty cafes and the sound of music from buskers and the music college alike. The cathedral is an imposing building with fabulous carvings adorning all sides. I sat for a while watching people stroll by, stealing a snippet of a rare cello performance as someone practiced their recital in a nearby building. “This is what cycle touring is about”, I thought – visiting amazing places, having the freedom to stop awhile in a place you like and to have multi-sensory experiences with people and animals you’ve never met. And the best part of course, keep very fit in doing so.
I cycled from Wells to Bath passing through numerous towns which used to be dominated by coal mining. Many of these mines have now been closed but there are still tell-tale signs of the now redundant industry left behind.
I was told in my hostel that I hadn’t needed to cycle over that last hill at all as there is one mile a tunnel that runs straight through the hill. The Two Tunnels (http://www.twotunnels.org.uk/) is a tremendous feat of engineering and vision, allowing people to walk, cycle or wheelchair along a disused railway tunnel through the hills to the south of Bath. I will have to return one day.
The charm of Bath is relentless. Although many of the traditional buildings now house high street stores, the city centre is truly beautiful and has been tastefully designed. The sounds of buskers emanate from every street corner, from Celine Dion to Chopin and Dave Brubeck to Bach, you’re never very far from the talent of Bath.
I stayed at St. Christopher’s Inn, a hostel in the city centre. Upon arriving, I was greeted by the hostel manager. A cycle tourer himself, he was quick to get my bike secured downstairs and we shared a few tales of our journeys.
The following day I cycle back to Keynsham and, as with all of my tours, I was reluctant to finish. I had achieved what I set out to do though, my legs felt strong and I’d visited some wonderful places. As Arnie once said, “I’ll be back”.
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