Dad On A Bike

We were meant to be in France. About a year ago I had booked off a week in June so that a small group of friends and I could ride the Euro Velo route along some of the Atlantic coast and I was really looking forward to seeing St Michel’s Mount. However, the pressures of work and the reality of the logistics (especially so soon after another trip) meant we opted at the last minute for a spontaneous route around Dorset. I’m so glad we did.

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We set off Saturday morning and parked in a small town at the edge of the New Forest. It meant within 20 minutes we were enveloped in its calm and seemingly alone in a place built mainly for bicycles and donkeys. We weaved our way around the smoothest of tarmac roads and took comfort from the shade of the tall forest trees that came to us in batches. One such road brought us two giant redwoods which were the tallest in the New Forest reaching to just over 50m in height.

Eventually, we found ourselves at the coast at Muddeford and this meant a short ferry ride across the water to the beach huts which are the nearest this coast gets to The Hamptons with waiting lists and resale prices at crazy levels for a hut you can’t even reside in.

From there we took a really slow meander along the coast taking in both the best and worst of the beach front activities which included spliff smoking teenagers on scooters, a number of volleyball games and hundreds of people who had covered their oversized bodies in tattoos to draw attention to their excess. It was brilliant.

Our camp site was located north of Poole and remained a mystery to all of us as to what we could expect. We weren’t disappointed. As camping sites go, the South Lychett Manor Camping & Touring Park was magnificent and that included the reception we received from all the staff. With shop, high quality showers and toilet facilities we had everything we needed; including access to two pubs just two miles down the road.

Our evening finished sat in the pub garden enjoying a well earned meal with the now cool wind soothing us slowly towards rest and preparation for our next day.

Day 2

We woke to a gigantic breakfast where each meal was sufficient to feed the whole group. My goodness we really did go to town. Sausages, bacon, mushrooms, tomatoes and fried eggs – all wrapped in a huge sourdough baguette that on its own would have fed an army. Needless to say, we were pretty late leaving the site and rolled out slowly after another coffee at the site shop & cafe. Even the warm rain wasn’t going to shake us from our food coma so we persevered.

Our Garmins were now pretty confused by our decision the day before to make our own route so we headed off in the general direction of Wareham Forest. The good news was that, by not knowing the roads ahead, we discovered new villages and all that classic country ones brings such as quaint cottages, churches and colourful flowers aplenty.

As I rode around those wet country roads I was thinking to myself how not one single photograph could ever make this look appealing to anyone else, and yet there I was wet, cutting through the wind and smiling to myself at how lovely the moment was. It was why I was here.

We broke through a gap in the trees into the forest and were treated to a herd of deer racing across one field to jump the path we were on to continue their charge into the next. It was quite a sight.

The gravel trails that occasionally sucked our wheels went on for miles and miles and I don’t believe we saw any more than around 4 other people the whole time we rode. It was quiet, calm, peaceful and rewarding and it was never more than two or three minutes before another left or right presented itself to open up a new path.

The forest then took us to Studland which offered the perfect moment to rest up at the beach side cafe for tourist sandwiches and coffees. It was a lovely place to stop with great facilities and by passing all the traffic and car parks and riding straight onto the sand was another reminder of why travelling by bike was so rewarding. From Studland we took the Coastal Path via Harry’s Rock and this was one heck of a climb along rough and bouncy grass covered trails that eventually took us to stunning views of Swanage bay.

As we pushed uphill we passed ultra runner after ultra runner as they completed their 45th kilometre of a 50km ‘run’ that would take them to the finish line at Studland. I thought about them a lot and what was going through their mind as they almost zombie like jogged their way down a difficult descent which really must have tested their shattered legs further. I wondered what my own capabilities would be, whether I would ever be that person that crossed the finish line of a full marathon and even started thinking about what level of training would be required to do so. It certainly left a question outstanding in my head, along with the realisation that I am leaving it very late to answer.

Swanage was an impromptu chip shop visit and a loading up of carbs which in hindsight proved to be essential. Our unknown camp site had yet to phone us back and we were getting a little bit concerned that it was both quite far from where we are and second, not actually even available to us. We decided we would get to the top of the hill out of Swanage and visit The Square & Compass public house and discuss it over a beer which was now high on the agenda. As we reached the top of the hill we saw a classically British sounding road sign which advised us that we were passing Tom’s Field Lane. So Famous Five!

With a picture of a tent just above it, we decided to take a look and to our pleasant surprise we found a great site. So good in fact that we ended up in a small hedge enclosed area that with privacy and its own running water was to make our perfect location for the evening. Dinner would be whatever the Square & Compass had to offer and traditionally that was known to be not a lot. As it turns out, not a lot was perfect as the salad boxes, pasties and quite a few ciders for the others seemed to almost every box. I say almost, it didn’t quite provide enough alcohol so Graham took him a further 4 litres of cider on his bike rack to finish up at the tent with Martin & Julie!

Day 3

The ancient village of Corf was our breakfast destination and we needed to get there quickly as even by 9.00am we were all hungry and extremely hot. The temperature had seemingly jumped up 10 degrees on the previous day and we were all immediately aware this was going to be a scorcher of a ride and a tough day too.

Fortunately, Corf has one of those traditional bakeries where the copious cakes sit alongside pasties, sandwiches, bacon & sausages and you can mix and match as you choose. We sat on the war memorial steps just outside taking in the sunshine, tourists and quite a lot of saturated fat and caffeine. One of those moments that you had to be there to fully appreciate for sure!

Corf led us along an undulating country road that tested our legs and our gear choices and the sound of the chains sliding from one to the other became the soundtrack for the next thirty minutes. That though wasn’t the test as that lay ahead. Heading up towards Lulworth is a big climb that has one of those annoying characteristics of allowing you to see its scale way before you get an opportunity to start. However, once combatted, we would have the opportunity of a long and slow descent to Lulworth Castle and then a roll through to the famous Cove of the same name where we would no doubt enjoy a coffee and cake.

Best laid plans and all that.. The military had decided that this would be the day they would do their live firearms testing and the resulting road closure stopped us literally in our tracks. There was now no alternative other than to take a diversion that took us back down another hill and towards a new area that we knew would take us off track and away from where we needed or wanted to be.

Like all these situations, the unexpected always tends to bring the most positive surprises. The Famous Five route continued and the thatched cottages came thick and fast as the village names became longer despite not adding any vowels. Whilst the roads were smooth and fast, so was our breath as the heat sucked our energy and our diversion encouraged us to make up lost ground. We certainly ended up spending some money at the next village shop which as always in these situations, was quite the oasis we were looking for – just at the right time.

From there we updated the Garmin to change the route settings to all road, which ultimately means, anything it believes the bike can handle. It was both a good and a bad idea all rolled into one. Bad, because the trails took us through slow narrow gravel paths that were more like single tracks at times, but good because the environment they took us through meant more woods, brooks and quiet country lanes and that was why we had hoped for when setting off on this trip.

At one point we were presented with a locked gate that meant we had to rid the bikes of their weight and lift them over it one by one. It did though give us an opportunity to take a moment and take on some water and Army & Navy sweets. Then, with perfect timing, we heard the unmistakable whir of a helicopters blade and within seconds a Navy helicopter was hovering what felt like just 30 metres above our head before it slowly landed in the field just across the road. It was quite an experience!

Our new destination was, as it turned out, The Hardy monument on the summit of Black Down. It was a 22m high tower built to honour the great seaman Thomas Hardy (“of kiss me Hardy”) and built in the shape of a compass, it towered from the highest point on the downs acting as our beacon.

That was a tough two hours I can tell you. The temperatures were hitting 28 degrees, the path was getting slower and the gate count felt like it was hitting 100 with each one costing us several minutes due to fatigue, our wide loads and the typical awkwardness if they opened towards you.

Continue though we did and just when it looked like we had broken the back of it, Graham pulled up with our first (and only) puncture of the trip. It was quite a surprise but it should not have been given the huge amount of flint rock that decorated the trail. After some DIY tyre repairs and a new tube, we managed to get going with a now cautious Graham wanting to get to the end of the stoney path in one piece – regardless of how long it took. Fortunately, our friend tarmac was just 200m away.

After a very steep climb up to the monument we had what was probably one of the best continuous bits of road we had experienced all trip and with barely a junction, it took us with minimal effort the four of five miles that were needed to deliver us to our camp site.

What a setting! Pulling up a beautiful green Dorset countryside field to be greeted with a lake, flat grass and pretty much the option to pitch anywhere we wanted was perfect. A nice shady area under the trees was found and with the grass soft enough to add to our mattress, we shouldn’t have been too unhappy to discover the very basic toilet and shower facilities as, after all, they did work and we left clean and ready for an evening out.

The evening was spent just another 6 miles down the road at West Bay where we had the long awaited Fish & Chips at the coast. It wasn’t the most scenic of locations but I must admit, sat on that picnic table adjacent to the red and white safety barriers, noisy seagulls and tired and neon lined harbour, I was in my element tucking into the battered cod and chips and it was one of those moments where time stood still for a bit.

The return leg to the tent was of course interrupted by a much needed beer stop for the others and that gave Graham and Martin an opportunity to catch up with an old friend that had moved to the area. It meant we had yet another different and fun evening and of course, riding back the much darker lanes with lights flashing was always going to be more fun with alcohol – especially with the the flies, moths and bats doing their best to interrupt your path.

Final Day

The next day on paper was about cycling to the nearest train station in Dorchester and heading back to the car on the train. I hadn’t given this day too much thought and therefore had no expectations, beyond trying to get back at a reasonable hour. It turned out to be a great extension to the ride as we took on 12 miles of wonderful roads getting to Dorchester (broken up only by a quick pit-stop at McDonalds) and after a slow and enjoyable train journey to Brokenhurst, another 12 miles of mainly New Forest tracks and roads.

Final Thoughts

There is something about these type of trips that is really hard to explain to those that have not done it. It’s therefore hard to pin point what it is that makes these events so good. My best effort would be to say that it’s not about the bike, the speed, the numbers or even where you are going to, but about the way you get lost in a thousand moments.

To explore by bike means to feel the wind, the rain, the sun and the earth and to do so at a pace that matches the mind. Camping brings with it all the challenges that luxury has ironed out over many years, but it also acts as the bridge that takes you from one day to the next without feeling like you have dipped your foot back into formality and ridged structure.

Or more simply, riding a bike through beautiful country side with your friends for four days makes you feel free – of everything. We all need a bit of that sometimes don’t we?