An Early Morning Ride

Sometimes it’s worth setting the alarm for 4am…

There will be other grey, less inviting days, when the sun hides under its cloudy duvet and so can you. But, when it’s bright and full of promise, why not get up with the birds? These are the days that afternoon naps were intended for.

The whole beach to ourselves, quiet air, smooth tarmac, and a thermos of coffee are just a few of my favourite things. I find a bag of oatmeal and raisin cookies also helps ease an early morning start, with the promise of a bacon sandwich on return. When you get up at 4am anything’s allowed.

How to Ride Where You’re Going Without Looking Like You Have

We’ve recently cut down to one car and I’m enjoying the push to travel by bike. It’s a good time of year to ditch a car, when the sun’s shining and the daylight hours are long. You’re unlikely to arrive at your destination soaked by rain, splattered in mud, with frostbitten fingers.

Even in good weather it can be difficult to figure out what to wear, especially if you want to avoid the fully-clad lycra look. If you’re in the saddle all day you definitely want to have padded shorts, but when your bike is just your gas-free way of getting around, it’s nice to dress for your destination and not your ride.

I am by no means an expert in this department. It wasn’t until I looked at this photo that I realised how desperately I need some new cycling shoes (I’m tired of looking like a Smurf.) But, there are a few tips I’ve stumbled upon along the way.

1) Put a lid on it.
Helmets: not for protecting your skull but simply to keep your hair in some semblance of order. We might complain about helmet hair, but mine looks far worse when it’s battled with the wind unhindered. A plait is a good option for long hair, plus emergency bobby pins. (This is mainly for the kickass Mary Poppins vibe gained by having emergency hair slides in one’s bag.) Helmets are also handy off the bike, to carry as a mild excuse for a haphazard appearance.

2) Pedals, meet shoes.
It’s worth having your foot somehow attached to your pedal, be it with SPD shoes (minus the Smurf look) or with good old-fashioned toe clips. It makes stopping and starting at junctions much easier and generally improves your pedal power.

3) Don’t be a snail.
No one wants to arrive at their destination a sweaty mess. Carrying all your gear on your back will pretty much guarantee it. Getting a pannier/ saddlebag/ bar bag makes the ride easier and it won’t crease your shirt.

4) Be a snail.
Go slow, enjoy the breeze, stop for that IG photo, use your lowest gear up the hill.

5) Take your granny’s advice.
Wear a vest, so if you do work up a sweat going up that hill, your shirt is safe.

Discovering Hidden Gems

On an island less than 150 square miles, it’s easy to assume we’ve explored every inch. Yet I’m constantly surprised by new lanes, paths and woodland. We have our favourite haunts, always worthy of a repeat visit, but recently we’ve been seeking out some new corners. There’s no doubt that daily dog walks have added to our explorations. Now we’re always on the hunt for variety, interest and plenty of space to run.

Parkhurst Forest is far more than the typical forestry commission conifers I too often dismiss. Wandering up to the top of the hill we found big beautiful expanses of deciduous trees, views for miles across to the Downs, and plenty of undergrowth to entertain an inquisitive wet nose.

The heartland hills around Gatcombe are a crisscross of quiet paths, with Ransom underfoot and shoulder-height Umbellifers. We climbed a steep path and noticed the air change from heady wild garlic to salty sea breezes. Thanks to the village scarecrow festival we also met Adam & Eve, the Gruffalo, and a rather indomitable nurse on our travels.

Whilst we love the big tourist-worthy hotspots of this island, it’s still lovely to discover some unassuming, untouched corners of rural life just off the beaten track. This gentleman encourages us to plan our everyday routes with that in mind. You never know what delights may await.

Collecting Passport Stamps

I miss the days of cardboard covered passports, pages wrinkled and fattened from being thumbed and stamped by various customs officials. Speedy scanning with microchips just doesn’t have the same romance. On the very rare occasion where I do find my passport being stamped I get a little thrill.

Of course it’s not the stamps, but the places themselves. The memories we collect, shared with others or thumbed through on a grey weekday back home. I swear Tom has polar bear blood in him. He is always suggesting we head North for our adventures: the Faroe Islands, Svalbard or the Norwegian Fjords. The destinations on my adventure list are a little warmer. I’m pretty sure they’d all still stamp my passport…

Cycling to India
Ever since reading Dervla Murphy years ago I’ve imagined stepping out my front door and pedalling until I reached India. I’d make up the route as I went, no time limit, simply seeing where the journey took me. I often mention cycling to India, a throwaway comment in the lull of a conversation, to cancel out the terrible predictability of the work/mortgage/train delay topics that crowd our lives. Its nothing if only mentioned; I really do have to do it. Some day.

Sailing round the Solomon Islands
Another destination inspired by a teenage read, this time from a woman who spent a year on a tropical island. It seemed hard, harrowing, barely survivable. But years later Lucy travelled back to the local community with her children and it sounded wonderful. Free, adventurous and filled with laughter. I’d have an old wooden boat, well-appointed and water-tight, to park my home on a sandy bank, meet the locals and splash through the clear shallow waters.

Hiking through Peru
Few things can compete with the view from the top of a mountain, especially if you’ve earned it through sweat and tears. I’d like to walk through the Cordillera Blanca, snaking between remote passes with map and compass in hand, nothing but me and my boots to thank for reaching the top. It’s perfect simplicity, a reminder of my tiny self and the enormity of this incredible planet we live on.

Pebbles In My Pocket

Seizing the last of the light, we found ourselves at Rocken End, the entire stretch of pebbly beach to ourselves. The beach isn’t far from the road, but it is a twenty minute scramble from the car park through overgrown jungle-like landslip. Of course, the harder a beach is to get to the more magical it is.

With picnic dinner, coffee and a long leash for Rolo, we had the most deliciously chilled time. As we wandered the shoreline, throwing the frisbee and playing around, I collected a couple pebbles for my pocket.

The last time I picked up pebbles was two years ago on a sunrise trip to Culver Cliff. Those stones stayed in my pocket through everything. In the middle of winter, my hands braced against a storm, or reaching for my keys on a grey supermarket run; every time my fingers would brush against that smooth sunny memory. So when the last one finally disappeared a month ago our evening trip to Rocken End seemed a perfect moment to hold on to.

Do you collect flotsam on your travels? Ian McEwan returned some rocks to Chesil Beach after the public outcry over his beach theft. I don’t think a couple pebbles sitting in a pocket will tip the balance too greatly and carrying them with me makes me happy. Surely such simple pleasures are not the worst crime.