22nd June: Wight Around

And so began the great expedition… This weekend saw the jaunt around the Isle of Wight by Rob, Stu, Dean and myself - all meticulously organised by Dean. We had ferry crossings booked and a place for the night awaiting us, plus a route with all the pubs we would pass marked on it... For refreshment purposes of course should dehydration require warding off. All that was needed now was to turn up in Portsmouth at the right time to make it on to the island, and to get half way round before nightfall where our beds were waiting!

A circuit of the island is only in the region of 70 miles, so to cycle 35 in a day seemed easily within all our grasps, and as a consequence Rob and I had decided to add an extra bit of spice by cycling from our respective houses to the ferry at Portsmouth… We knew the time we needed to get there, so in effect we were giving ourselves a time-trial on the MTB’s over the 40 odd miles of road to the ferry.

Once on the island, the clockwise route from Ryde was planned to be as off-road as possible, with the rest of it on back-roads. We would be using the round the island path where we could, however certain stretches are pedestrian only so we had to find alternative routes, which Dean had already plotted. The nature of the terrain of the island meant that the first day would see the bulk of the off-roading as once the needles have been reached at the most westerly tip, then the terrain is pretty flat to the north and urbanised - as much as the Isle of Wight can be - from Cowes onwards to Ryde.

A few weeks previous I had ordered a new front mech for my MTB as the current one had completely seized and was useless; the chain as a consequence being stuck permanently on the largest of the rings. With work pressures I had not found the time to change it yet, so on the Friday night I went to finally do so only to discover that I had inadvertently ordered a bottom pull mech rather than a top pull - doesn’t sound like much to a non bike-tech savvy reader, but the reality is if you put the wrong one on then it won’t work… So I had to undo everything and put the old one back on, knowing that I would be facing the off-road sections with only 7 gears, and none of them particularly useful for going uphill!

Up at stupid o’clock on the Saturday morning, I got on the bike and started n a southerly direction for Portsmouth. I knew the average speed I needed to notionally be hitting in order to make it, so I was aware at all times of the effort required. Fortunately I had cycled the route previously so at least the route held no surprises.

To be honest it felt weird riding a long distance at a high tempo on an MTB after so long riding on a road bike with its geometry, and the feeling of less power and response to every pedal push was marked. Fortunately my calculations for time and speeds needed took in to account the slower speed of cycling on the MTB.

Approaching Waterlooville and the drop down the hill in to Cosham and Pompey itself, I heard something behind me and looking round, Rob appeared at my shoulder!.. It turns out that whilst we had gone through Odiham at the same time, we had cycled slightly different routes before converging on this point, Rob choosing a longer route by mileage but with easier terrain to my shorter more hilly route - which both spat us out on the same point at the same time!.. We cycled onto the flat through Cosham into Pompey itself, both of us wanting to take it easy having come this far at tempo, but realising that we were really up against the clock with around 10 minutes to get the last three miles covered, so we absolutely hammered it to get to the ferry terminus, arriving at the train station with minutes to go, only for us not to be able to find where to board the ferry. After a frantic few minutes of cycling round the block and asking a taxi driver, we found that to get to the ferry you had to go into the station itself to get there. Finally at the terminus, we rendezvoused with Dean & Stu who had enjoyed pleasant train rides down and were relieved we had made it, even if it was tight for the deadline, which Dean then revealed he had deliberately told us was 15 minutes earlier than we needed to be there to allow for us both being tardy.
 
Aboard the ferry we sat on the deck bathed in the morning sun for the half hour crossing. The breeze over the sea was a good coolant from the heat generated by the ride and I sat and ate my final Cliff bar to top myself up with some fuel for the ride ahead, with no further sustenance on hand for me until we stop somewhere.

We disembarked on to the long wooden pier, applied sunscreen and readied ourselves for the beginning of the ride proper…

Getting creamed before getting cream-crackered.

...And of course stopping to take the obligitory ‘before’ group photo and getting underway with the ride down the pier and in to Ryde.

As we left the pier behind and turned left on to the road, I could not help but notice every now and again we would see some runners along the roadside. Not joggers, runners. They were all wearing hydration packs or belts and all had numbers pinned to their clothes, and looking at the state of them they had been on the go for a while already... I made a mental note to research what the race was when I returned home after the expedition.

From the promenade in Ryde we had the first hill of the day; a sharp incline that led us out of the town centre and half way up it with a crunch my chain jumped-off the rear cassette and wedged itself in between there and the frame… Lovely! Stopping I had to wrestle it out of its wedged state as the others made-off in front. At least time was not an issue now so it could have been worse if it had happened on the time-trial to Portsmouth.

Having survived this first taster of climbing for the day, the route took us through a park and followed a path along the railway line.

The railway on the Isle of Wight is served by some truly vintage machines: former London Underground ‘tube’ trains built in 1938! and a couple of them rumbled past us as we ran alongside and over the line at various points in the day.

Posing for the first group shot of the day.

A mix of country roads and farm tracks took us close to Bembridge, where we made the conscious choice to take the path of least resistance down a long hill to the beach, where we stopped for the first time for an ice-cream overlooking the sea… 6 miles down and 29 left to go.

The beach at Bembridge guarded by its sea-fort.

Parking-up for ice cream.

Relaxed and refreshed we toured around Bembridge harbour, crossing the causeway before heading in land towards the ascent of the suicide hot-spot of Culver Down with its monument and summit pub.

The harbour at Bembridge... Think the tide might be out!

Sailing on a tussock.

After the long slow climb up we pulled-in to the pub and settled down for a bacon butty and liquid refreshment, sitting with countless day-trippers on the cliff-top downland, all gathering to watch the ‘Round the Island Race’

Dean with the route plugged-in to his Garmin led the way back down the hill and onwards - he had plotted a downhill section following one of the numerous bridleways, so we left the roads and made the climb up to the top of one of the nearest high-points and prepared for a good blast down the other side… We were prepared, but with so many bridleways on the map of the island it seems that not all of them are well used, and this one seemed to be one of them. Every time we built-up a head of speed we had to stop to dodge inch-thick brambles that were crossing the path at body or head height, our legs and arms being continually whipped by stinging nettles as we struggled to remain upright on the path that was invisible at times through the overgrowth of grass as nature was reclaiming the path for itself.

At the bottom we were all quite down-hearted about the state of the path and how it prevented us enjoying a good downhill run, so much so that when we had the choice of following a bridleway again shortly thereafter, we all opted for the road instead!

An unexpected surprise.

Proof there's more culture on the island than a carton of yoghurt.

Our next rest came shortly after 4 when the Argentina game kicked-off. We pulled in to a pub for some chips and something to drink as we watched the first half of the game… As we sat there it seemed the sight of Stu in his lycra was too much for one old dear who shuffled through like one of Harry Enfield’s ‘Lovely Wobbly Randy Old Ladies’ pointing at Dean saying, ‘Not sure about you’, to Rob ‘Hmmm’ and to Stu: ‘I like the look of you, the sight of you in that is making an old lady very happy’. I pointed out to her there were plenty more men in lycra in the beer garden and she replied ‘I’ve already had a good look at them, and he’s the best’ before shuffling off on her merry way.

Amused by this we left the pub for the next stage and it seemed to have an almost immediate evil climb. Dean had determined he would not put a foot down on any climb all trip, so he pedalled as best as he could up the sharp gradient with Rob in pursuit, Stu and me bringing up the rear. My bike really was not up to climbing any gradient of consequence through its mechanical state, so I was reduced to pushing pretty much the whole way to the summit where we caught our breath before moving on again.

The shadows were now beginning to lengthen as the sun was falling whilst we traversed the country lanes. It was here I completely bonked. I had completely underestimated the number of times we were going to stop for food and I had not taken any extra food to consume beyond the ride in to Portsmouth. Now as a result I was running on empty having only eaten a couple of Cliff bars an ice-cream, a bacon sarnie and a portion of chips since leaving in the morning. As we stopped for a drink, I kindly accepted the offer of fig-rolls and smarties from Rob & Dean to act as a pick-me-up. My sole focus now was just getting to the camp-site as soon as I could so as to get some food inside me.

Shadows begin to lengthen as the day wanes.

Lowering sun over the downs.

Stu was suffering as well, the final climb of the day being another steep one as we ascended through Shorwell onto the Worsley Trail that traverses a ridgeway that overlooks the south of the island to the English Channel. Before long we could see the sight of the holiday camp on the other side of Brighstone below us a distance away, and then the fun started… Unlike our bridleway downhill earlier, this had a decent clear track between the hedgerows that bordered it as we blasted down to the trail’s end, emerging onto the streets in the village of Brighstone.

What's that coming over the hill, is it a Bunyan?

Conscious of the time, as we entered the village we passed the village pub, and deliberately took the time to stop and enquire as to when the kitchen would be open until, as the only alternative would be trying to find a takeaway or organise taxis in to a larger village. Fortunately the answer was a time that was doable to get to the holiday camp and back… so off we went on the final leg of the day; the last mile and a half to the Brighstone Holiday Centre.

When we arrived it was to a general state of pandemonium, the owners could not be found, or anyone who seemed to know where hey were to check us in, as there was an ultra marathon finishing in the grounds!.. It transpired the runners we had seen during the day were to be staying the night here as part of a 2 day double ultra!

Chatting with one of the runners who had already finished and was enjoying a well-earned bottle of beer. He informed me that they were racing a complete circumference around the island over the 2 days. They started today in Cowes and ran the first 35 or so miles around to the campsite here, where they were all hunkering down for the night after a good dinner, before setting off tomorrow after breakfast and the remaining 35 miles back to the start.

The event was organised by Extreme Energy, and called ‘Round the Island’
and from seeing what the terrain involves and the organisation of it (it also carries 2 points for UTMB qualification), then this could well appear on my ‘to run’ list for 2015 :) and certainly explained my sighting of runners at the start of the ride in Ryde.

After managing to secure the keys to the rooms, we showered and changed in a hurry, before jumping back on the bikes and returning to the Brighstone pub.

The hostelry in question was the Three Bishops where we tucked-in to a hearty dinner, where I made sure I ate my fill to replace the calories I’d burned and we enjoyed a couple of celebratory pints about making it this far as we watched Germany take on Ghana. We were all feeling a tad cream-crackered by this point and Stu was wilting more than the rest of us, so headed back by himself as Rob, Stu and myself watched the remainder of the game before following in Stu’s footsteps and the good night’s sleep of the knackered!

Despite the many and varied bouts of physical stupidity I have undertaken in my life, this is the first time I have ever done something over a second day!.. So waking up and knowing there was more of the same to come was a new novel feeling, one I was looking forward to, but first things first and the matter of a good big brekkie, a full English with plenty of toast to ensure I had plenty of fuel for the first part of the day.

We all sat in the dining hut for brekkie with the stragglers of the ultra marathon finishing off theirs before disappearing off for part 2 of their jaunt around the island.

Fired up and ready to go.

As breakfast digested Rob and I wandered around the campsite. It seems the whole location is prone to erosion. They are sited on top of a sandstone cliff that is falling in to the sea. There are the remnants of a toilet block’s poured concrete floor that is now half in the sea and half still on the cliff top, and a whole line of huts have been abandoned to the whims of nature… Its only a matter of time before more is lost, in particular their indoor swimming-pool complex which is now around 10 metres in from the cliff edge. The whole site looks like it was built shortly after the second world war and has a nostalgic charm about it; all the huts are wooden, the facilities are basic, and with nature claiming the plot of land I doubt there will be much money spent on any modernisation there, just concentrating on maintaining what remains. That said the whole place was perfect for what we were using it for, and the breakfast was full in its Englishness, tasty and hearty in size.

Saddling up we headed-off in a westerly direction towards our first target of the day: The Needles.

Looking for a needle on the horizon.

After about a mile on the road - with Rob finding almost immediately that he had lost most of the air in his rear tyre overnight, we turned-off on to a farm track where he was able to stop to squeeze some air back in, and fortunately there it remained rather than escaping via a puncture.

The farm track led us inland to country lanes, passing a very picturesque little church and up an ever increasing gradient as we turned left and right to find our way back on to the ridge we had descended yesterday evening. My climbing ability on the bike was worse than useless so with leaden legs still to warm-up I found myself pushing the bike for fair chunks, with the only good news being that I was not holding-up our progress as a group, for the hills were that steep that even whilst he was riding them I was keeping pace with Stu, so I did not feel guilty about doing this.

The picturesque church.

The weather this morning looked a good prospect to be more of the same from the previous day, but with one change - the air was still, and with no breeze to cool the land the humidity was soaring and we were all sweating like Michael Jackson on Sesame Street without having to do much.

Hitting the top of the ridge was a relief as there was a gentle breeze up on here. Once the gradient had levelled we were able to make good progress along the grassy chalk, taking the undulations in our stride, and hitting a good couple of downhill sections… It was great to be able to let-go and just concentrate on remaining upright as you bounced around over the trail. This time there were no walls of stinging nettles and brambles to hem us in so we could enjoy keeping one eye on the scenery as we hurtled along.

Looking back at a recently hurtled-down hill.

As we approached the town of Freshwater the trail took us through a golf-course. The trail is part of the round the island footpath, so we were not trespassing in any way, and there were plenty of users of the path in the other direction, but the filthy looks and muttered abuse we had from the majority of those middle-aged men out hitting a small ball with sticks made me realise exactly why it is that I don’t play golf!

Getting closer to the needles.

We passed through Freshwater from South East to South West and climbed the long slow climb towards The Needles. Topping-out we were rewarded with a mile or so of downhill to the car park over fresh smooth tarmac.

Whilst we stopped for drinks and photos, we noticed a Sunseeker pleasure cruiser heading round The Needles and past us, bouncing over what few waves there were on a pretty becalmed day.

The Needles.

Retracing our steps, my legs now warmed-up and with plenty of life in them we meandered back to the north side of Freshwater, seeing the Tennyson Memorial high on a hill as we skirted around its base.

Before heading out of Freshwater we passed a Co-op that was open for business, so we decided to have a pit-stop with the rising temperature and apply some sun cream as well as stock-up on provisions for there would be no real chance to stop now until lunch be it in Cowes, Fishbourne or Ryde.

From here we took the path of the former light railway that once ran between Freshwater and Yarmouth, skirting the east side of the estuary of the river Yar; the way for the most part being under an avenue of trees and their welcome cooling shade, before we hit the tarmac again as we arrived at the edge of the town.

A surprised looking tree.

Skirting the south of Yarmouth we headed inland before turning north. The terrain of the inland route was flat open farmland; the wheat yellowing in the fields as a gentle breeze wafted over them cooling us down as we cycled at a decent average speed. Making the turn for the north we had an extended journey along farm tracks, allowing us to enjoy the last kind of ‘off-roading’ that we would have the opportunity to do today.

Eventually we found our way back onto the roads as we hit the southern edge of the wonderfully named village of ‘Gurnard’, in case you are wondering what the village is named after, or if it is at all familiar, a Gurnard is a type of fish!

Dean gurns-hard.

Entering the village we travelled down on to the coast and joined the esplanade, which was heaving with people out enjoying the beautiful Sunday weather. As we rounded the headland to get in to West Cowes and to the chain ferry, we noticed pootling along out to sea from us on the promenade was the same Sunseeker that we had seen over at the Needles a few hours before… So it goes to show that it was quicker to ride in a not too fast roundabout route from the Needles to Cowes than it was to sail it directly on a power-boat!

Back on to the coast.

As we rolled down the slip-way to the chain ferry, it was just starting to take passengers aboard, so without having to stop we were straight on to the boat and once the ferry had clanked its way over the other side, we were the first off… A fierce debate was raging about what we should do for lunch… Should we stop here in Cowes, or head on to Fishbourne or Ryde and celebrate with a late lunch once it was all finished? It was safe to say that there was no consensus, although we realised from trying to cycle through it how heaving with tourists East Cowes was, especially with it being lunch time, so we decided to push onwards and make as much time as we could, the debate now being whether to stop in Fishbourne or Ryde… Our stomachs got the better of us all, so the former was chosen and we continued.

The ride was now just a case of touring around the roads on the built-up north east of the island, however when we passed through Wootton Bridge and a rather pleasing downhill section over the bridge I had a spot of fun… On the bridge are speed cameras, so all the traffic was slowing to ensure they went through under the limit, so for shits and giggles I deliberately sped-up to above the limit and overtook a car on the outside as it went over the white hatches where the camera was active in the aim of sneakily triggering the camera… Not that the driver would be prosecuted as I would be in the picture as well, so they could argue their way out of a fine by saying ‘wasn’t me, it was the cyclist!'

Shortly after this merry escapade we stopped in Binstead at the top of a hill in to re-group at a spot that just happened to be by a war memorial. As I stood there waiting I scanned the names upon it, and amongst the innumerable sacrifices of the fallen from this village alone was a solitary lady: Mary Gartside Tipping decorated with the Croix de Guerre: a very high honour from the French people. Above her was another Gartside Tipping - this time a Lieutenant Commander of the Royal Navy Reserve. I figured that he must have been her husband or father, so on returning I researched the names and found the former was the case and the following document on the web that tells you more of their tragic tale.

The names on the memorial

We rolled-on in to Fishbourne, following the road until we came to the very imaginatively named pub 'The Fishbourne' for a spot of lunch, and with this being the final pub we would stop in, we all had a celebratory beer to mark the 2 days of hard cycling.

Cooling refreshment.

From the pub it was not too far a ride back to Ryde, where we made it with enough time to the pier to stop for an ice-cream before the ferry trip back to Pompey.

The ride from Ryde to Ryde is ridden.

Back on the mainland, Stu had to dash immediately we disembarked with his train waiting at the platform, whereas Dean, Stu and me cycled round the corner into Gunwharf Quays and one final beer whilst they awaited their train. Soon LSS came to join us and when Dean & Rob departed, the two of us went for tapas as a means of me saying a thank you to LSS for indulging me in my bouts of physical stupidity (and for giving me and the bike a lift back home as I really did not fancy riding another 40 miles!).

Over the 2 days I cycled a total of 110 miles on roads (mostly) and trails (some). I had naively thought that the trip would be easier and not at all taxing just by looking at the number of miles - but off-roading is far harder than the road-riding that I’m used to these days, and to try this route in one day would have been a major challenge - circumnavigating the island’s 70 miles on the road would not be taxing at all, but this was whole different kettle of bananas, especially riding a bike that was crap dealing with any gradient of note! Fair play to my partners in this madness: Dean for organising it all and a big thanks for making this all happen, Stu for pushing himself well out of his comfort zone in riding this and dealing with it all in his stride, and Rob for cycling another 16 miles further than me. We’ve just got to think about what we will do next time... Devon coast to coast? Hadrian’s Wall? The Ridgeway? I’m open to suggestions!