A ride of two cities (almost)

As a cloud of sulphurous, noxious ash and rock hung over the United Kingdom, I took my life in my hands, and my inhaler in my jersey pocket and headed out into what appeared to be the best day of the Spring so far. Light winds, a cool, fresh start, and oodles of sunshine, with a promise of temperatures into the mid-teens by lunchtime.

My car is covered by a layer of brown dust, but that is because it hasn't rained for ages and I haven't washed my car for months. So no sign of the volcanic ejection (careful) and it proved to be a lovely ride in the sun.

I am getting a bit tired of always going to the same places, so decided to head over towards Bath, which is only 25 miles as the crow flies. As the bike pedals, it's a bit longer. There are these inconvenient bodies of water-Chew Valley and Blagdon Lakes- in the way. Although Bath is sort of north-eastish of us, if you go a northerly route there you clip Bristol, too far to the south and it's Mendip riding all the way. So, judging the mood of the times, I plotted a middle course just north of the Chew Valley and south of the metropolis.

I did do some climbing however. Up the hill out of Wrington, and then up the A38 and right into "Row of Ashes" (it's the road name). Way back in the dark ages, when the Anglo Saxons first pitched up on these shores, they apparently asked the indigenous Britons ("king of the who?") the name of the river they were about to cross. Starting the a long tradition of poor communication, the Britons thought they meant, "what is that trench full of water called?". So the Britons gave them the generic name for "river" and the invaders took it as the name of that river. Thus the River Avon, is actually called the River river according to ancient Britons.

They would have thought a lot more about what they were saying if they had known that 1000 years later, some bureaucratic fools would mess up a perfectly good set of counties, and create a monstrosity called "Avon", named after the River river. And even though that county was later abolished, it still lingers, in all sorts of funny ways. Like the Avon cycleway, a ring of sign-posted roads around Bristol which forms a pleasant rural ride.

I joined it at Stanton Drew, and I had found the Somerset version of Paris-Roubaix. Without the crowds. Or Fabian Cancellara. But lots of gravel, potholes, dust and short, steep hills, some reaching 16-17%. eventually it climbed high above the eponymous river and then rapidly descended to Saltford, about 4 miles from Bath. I thought about heading east, but chose west instead, as the cycleway now joined with the Bristol-Bath railway path/cycleway. It was the closest I have come to a motorway for cyclist, well an A road anyway. I read this week that cycling is the third most popular participation sport in the UK, (after football and swimming-although let's face it, a lot of swimming is women chatting in water isn't it!) and I could never figure out where they all are. Well, they are on the Bristol to Bath railway path.

It's great, moderate gradients, straight lines and takes you into the heart of each city. I passed most of the leisure cyclists, and it was just impossible to extend courtesy to all, I'd have never stopped. The surface is also tarmac, so ideal for a bit of steady, head don, go-for-it cycling. the 10 miles into Bristol zipped by, then it was up to Clifton, over the bridge and home the same way as last Sunday, with one exception. There is a new tarmac cycle path leading into Backwell, saving me from a couple of miles of the A370.

One terrific sight today was some men out near Pensford, mending potholes on the back roads. Chapeau to them I say, out in the sunshine, grafting on a Saturday, for a very worthy cause. Let's hope we see more of their ilk in the weeks to come.

http://connect.garmin.com/activity/30297620