Day Four

We were already feeling the need for a rest day, which hadn't been planned for and wouldn't be happening. On the plus side, we had dry clothes to put on this morning - at least, until we got outside.

We had another tasty, home cooked breakfast to get the day going. I figured I'd start to get tired of them after two weeks, but so far, so good. We've been sleeping well, but just not enough of it, so the 257 miles we had done so far were taking out of us more than we were putting back in. It's a good thing we like being on bikes so much.

It started raining during breakfast and the large homey kitchen we were sharing with the cat, with our stomachs full, and a little Radio Three quietly playing in the background seemed a touch more welcoming than where we were meant to be. Nevertheless, we eventually got our kit on and stepped outside at our now routine (and late) time of 10am.

Our host had opened the garage door for us and I went out to load up the trailer. The door was the type that swings up rather than rolls up (if that makes any sense to anyone). I had put the packs down at the entrance to the garage and when I turned and straightened myself up, my face lead the way straight into the not totally opened garage door. I reeled back and put pressure on my head instinctively, as you do, and looked around to see Myra and Theresa looking at me with the not altogether unreasonable combination of surprise, concern and stifled laughter. When I checked my hand, again, as you do, I was surprised to see a handful of blood. I had caught the bottom corner of a metal door, and it put a small but genuine hole in my head, just above my hairline. Everything else on me was sore, so it seemed fair that my head got to join in on the fun.

Bandaged up as best as we could manage, we set out into the rain. There isn't much to say about the days ride. It was wet, windy, not terribly warm, and with a good bit of climbing. Myra got properly splashed by a big lorry, but we did spend quite a bit of time on fairly remote roads for the majority of the day, which made for some really nice landscape. On the other hand, as they were back roads, they were of poor quality, so the bikes continued to get a good battering. I have to admit that we did get a few spells of sunshine now and then, and there were some really nice parts of the country, so it wasn't as bad as I'm making it out to be. Below is someone's house. That they live in. Myra actually passed it without noticing, being tucked behind some hedges along some random road.

With maybe 20-25 miles left in the day we were starting to get a little tired, wet, cold, sore, and in a word, cranky. So when, in the middle of nowhere, and getting on in the day, I got another puncture, I didn't deal with it very well. It was at the top of a large hill and Myra had already crested it and descended down the other side, so I was alone in the middle of nowhere, having a bit of a pout.

We struggled to get the last dozen miles or so behind us, but I put the hammer down and we managed a strong finish and finally made it into Shrewsbury at our usual late time, arriving soaked, filthy, a bit sore and looking rather bedraggled. A quick shower in our surprisingly luxurious accommodation left us only enough time to find the only remaining restaurant that was still open, which was, yet again, Indian. Much better this time (really quite good, actually), but still not ideal. And still not at 10pm.

The quality of our room was noteworthy, but I can't tell you how comfortable the bed was. It was a California King, which I've never experienced before, but the mattress and duvet combination brought me to a new understanding of the word comfortable. So much so, that this was perhaps the highlight of my day (not that peddling for 75 miles in the cold rain is terribly hard to compete with). I would go to Shrewsbury just to sleep in that bed again. Unfortunately, morning would be arriving with it's annoyingly consistent punctuality, and we would get to start this all over again.