Adventure is open to interpretation, you just have to find your definition
My phone started ringing, it was the call that I had been waiting for all day. What I was told wasn't what I wanted to hear. After the call I sat at my desk with my head in my hands fighting back tears of frustration and disappointment. I felt annoyed, pretty rubbish to say the least.
I clicked on the Cycling UK website, more specifically a blog that I had set as a bookmark on my browser to read at a later date, finding a way out of the slump I had landed in, wanting to escape. I didn't read it properly, just scrolling through it, but three main words sprung out at me, autumn, nocturnal and backpacking. And that was it, my plan to resolve my temporary period of annoyance was made. I was going on a night time ride that night. Down to Aldeburgh, a kip on the beach and head back.
My wife was out with a friend that evening so I was at home with my step-son. She wouldn't be back until late, therefore my departure would be late, but I didn't care. I told my wife my news and my plan for the night. "I just need to do something stupid" I said as I tried to explain the reasons for my randomness. I had to turn my negative feelings to positive ones, already I felt a huge sense of excitement at what the night was going to have in-store for me.
I jumped on my 1969 Raleigh and headed for Asda, pizza and pasta was the obvious tea for a whole load of carbs. Some Soreen, chocolate, bread rolls, Red Bull and biscuits and an iced coffee also fell into my basket, all fuel for the engine on its night shift. I also looked for Dave Grohl's book, Storyteller, but it was sold out.
As there would be absolutely no where open for supplies en route, I had to pack all the food that I needed. Once again, as I have mentioned in my other blogs, this may not be outer Mongolia, but ending up in the middle of nowhere with no food or water in the middle of the night and hitting the wall, craving foot and drink would be pretty rubbish.
I got home and started sorting the GT, the go to bike for such a trip, the panniers went on and I changed some light brackets about. The lights, phone and battery pack were on charge. I decided to take a sleeping bag, just incase I fancied a snooze. The bike was packed during the evening, just a few bits on the kitchen worktop to put in the panniers when I leave.
My wife got home at 10:30pm, I asked her to keep her phone on, just incase."You don't normally ask me to do that, why do you ask now?" She asked. "Well, I guess it's not very often I go out at night on my own in the middle of nowhere?!".
20 minutes later I was rolling off the drive with a touch of the Garmin and the familiar beep, a sense of excitement of the unknown filled me, as well as a bit of fear as the bike was pretty heavy (the next day I weighed it, all in at 22kg, basically, a lot, twice the weight of my 'heavy' winter road bike).
I passed my local pub, well, I say local pub, it would be if I went in there. But I’m not a hypocrite, I hardly go in a pub at all. The only time I had been in my 'local' was a year ago when my car blew up outside the pub in a cloud of smoke and I left it in their car park, I thought it was only polite to tell them what it was doing there.
Anyways, a bloke wearing a Stetson hat and a chequered shirt was doing his best Woody from Toy Story impression as I passed. I peddled towards Carlton Colville, people leaving pubs to go home and there's me just leaving to go out. Not their kind of out, but my kind of out out.
I wiggled my way along the country lanes singing songs to myself by a band called Delays. I fell in love with Delays’ debut album, Faded Seaside Glamour, back in 2004 and have enjoyed their music ever since, buying their albums and going to their gigs. The lead singer, Greg Gilbert, was diagnosed with bowel cancer in 2016, he received treatment but the cancer became terminal this year and Greg recently passed away at the age of 44. I was shocked and saddened by this, a weird kind of grief. Weird as I didn’t personally know him, but I felt a sense of loss. Since his passing I had been listening to loads of their music, his falsetto voice seeming ever more so angelic than it did before. Here is one of the last songs that Greg sang on………
About 12 miles into the ride I peddled into Southwold. All the streetlights were off, there was no one here, wonderful! I headed towards the river Blyth and stopped on the river bank. There was complete silence, apart from tiny waves rippling against the hulls of the yachts moored to the pontoons. The sky was clear, amazingly clear. You don't realise how much light pollution there is from towns until you're really in the middle of nowhere. I headed for the recently re-opened Bailey Bridge. Crossing the bridge I then headed into Walberswick, the mind started to play tricks about the potential of me epically falling off, injured, impaled on a fencepost with no one knowing where I am, apart from my dad who I share my location with on Goggle. I passed Walberswick Church and it’s graveyard, thoughts of creepy, ghostly happenings entered my head. I started thinking of a time that me and my wife stayed at an old forge 7 years ago. Many strange, scary things happened in that place, something/someone didn’t want us there and made it abundantly clear. It won, we left in the middle of the night and headed home. I had never been so scared in my life, the relief that I felt when my wife said about leaving and going home was incredible.
I was sceptical of all things ghostly before this incident. If that scary experience proved anything, it was the resilience of the mind when confronted with fear.
Back to Walberswick, and these were all stupid, silly things that a tired mind starts to make up. Blanking them out, rationalising the situation and dealing with the reality is a skill when the mind plays tricks, or once again, the chimp playing tricks.
I had planned to leave a dry bag with some food and another bottle in Walberswick, so I could pick it up a few hours later on the way back. I decided against this though as it would govern my return route when there were possible alternatives.
Heading out of Walberswick the common theme of night time riding started. Bursts of cold air, walloping you in the face, like opening a door to a huge freezer and all of a sudden the door shuts and it's warm again. When this happens it's a pain to know what to wear, hot, cold, hot cold (repeat). I stopped and put my down jacket on, I was glad I had packed this as it had started to get really cold when the freezer door opened. Mist started to settle in the lower parts of the undulating land. Riding through one cloud of mist I said out loud in a northern accent, "Tonight Matthew, I'm going to be…… Damon Albarn from Blur!", all of a sudden it was 1995 and I was on Stars in Their Eyes and Matthew Kelly was there, well in my mind anyways! I was quite happy entertaining myself in the desolation of the night.
I rolled down a hill into Westleton and saw the lights from The Westleton Crown pub, I reacted like a moth to a light, but no pub for me this evening/night. I stopped outside, next to a brick bus shelter. I propped the bike up against the bench inside it and sat down, nibbling on a huge grab bag of caramel filled chocolate buttons. These would end up being the only things I would eat throughout the ride.
Westleton is a sleepy village in the middle of the day, at 12:15am it was definitely asleep. Well, it was until I heard some voices. I all of a sudden felt as though I was doing something wrong. Two men appeared, chatting away as the left the nearby pub, a torch each to light their way back home. They walked passed me as I sat in shadow of the shelter, no more than 6 feet away. If they saw me then I'm sure they would jump or possibly shout, I kept quiet as they carried on passed me. A bizarre moment of feeling invisible in the presence of people so close by, they passed me without even knowing I was there, I was the ghost.
I stood up and looked up into the sky, just looking at the stars. I could see something moving near me in the light from the pub sign. I then figured out that I was steaming, my sweat evaporating in the cool air, adding to the Stars in their Eyes mobile studio.
Thoughts crossed my mind about how much further I could go. Should I turn back? "I don't really need to go to Aldeburgh!" I said to myself. But that's the easy way out.
I jumped on the bike and carried on, Aldeburgh bound. I only had my light on the minimal setting to conserve its charge, plenty enough light to see where I was going but enough to distinguish all shapes and hazards, or so I thought.
I turned a corner and was met by something standing in the middle of the road. I couldn't see what it was, just a dark shape. As I got closer, it turned and looked at me, we were just as frightened as each other. It jumped, flapped its wings and headed in the same direction as me, flying just to my right for a few seconds, it was a Tawny Owl. A beautiful encounter that sent a shiver down my spine, "that's why I do this stuff" I said as I peddled along, absorbing the excitement that the night was providing.
After a left turn on the Yoxford to Leiston road, I knew that the road kicked up a bit. The legs were starting to feel every incline, protesting at the energy needed to move this big lump of a bike. When your bike weighs this much, Suffolk can feel like it has mountains. A few cars passed me, I started making things up in my head about what they thought of a bloke on a bike at this hour of the morning.
Past Theberton and onto Leiston, the lights from Sizewell Power Station lit the sky up, an unwelcome presence in a blackened sky. Riding through Leiston, it was about 12:45am. There were a few people about , looking at me a bit confused from the pavement as I stopped at a crossing. "Goodnight girls!!" a lady called to her friends. "Goodnight!" I called as I pulled away from some traffic lights, sniggering to myself, well I thought it was funny!
Off towards Aldringham, I started to question what I was doing, my enthusiasm and energy was lacking. I knew that I would be stopping in a few miles in Aldeburgh, a much needed break to rest my mind and body before turning back home. I passed through Thorepness, the only light anywhere was on my handlebars. Due south towards Aldeburgh, I could hear loads of crickets on the roadside, a unison of high pitched squeals. With so little sound, it's surprising the different things that you do hear. A few campervans were parked up along the coast road, condensation lining the inside of their windows, thoughts of a Titanic re-enactment possibly taking place inside.
Pedalling into Aldeburgh at 1:10am, a snooze on the beach didn't seem quite as appealing in practice as it did in theory.
I sat on a bench outside the Co-Op in the High Street, unpacked some grub and poured a coffee from my flask, bliss! A couple of people appeared, "Morning!" they said as I replied with the same exclamation of the time of day. And for the next 20 minutes, that was the only movement from anything that I saw.
Sitting there, I squinted, trying to make out the shape of a person on the other side of the road. It ended up being a big painting of a girl on the side of a shop. The tired mind was starting to play tricks. I then started to see things moving, I tried to figure out what it was, it was the glare from the street lamps in the lenses of my clear glasses. The tired mind was starting to see things, It wasn’t rational, some logic was going.
This made me think of one night when I was biking when I was about 18. I was shattered, I looked up to someone standing at the side of the road, holding a drink out for me. Quite literally in the blink of an eye they had disappeared, hallucinating through tiredness.
Back to Aldeburgh, I did think about getting the sleeping bag off the bike and having a doze, but decided against it. I love a siesta, a couple of minutes in the land of nod and I can feel absolutely refreshed. A few minutes asleep at this time of the morning and I'm pretty sure that it wouldn't have the same effect and I would definitely have to put an alarm on my phone.
I started thinking about a couple I had met the day before, both in their 90’s.Life was getting difficult for them, the life they had planned wasn’t going to plan. I talked with them, offering encouragement and alternatives, helping to make life as manageable as possible for them. I thought about when I am that age, when I look back at my life, what will I think? Did I do enough silly stuff? Did I have fun and did I explore? I already know the answer to these questions, my 90 year old will be pleased with my 38 year old self.
When people reel off all these far flung places that they have visited, I always wonder what they did there? Where did they go? What did they experience and learn? Who did they meet? What did they see, hear, touch, smell, or taste. If they sat at the poolside all day, sunbathed and ate in the hotel restaurant at their posh restaurant, then they may as well stayed at their local lido swimming pool and gone to Weatherspoon’s for tea and stayed their too.
Anyways……………..
I started to pack up my bench full of stuff and then headed off at 1:30pm. I planned not to copy my route back, well not all of it anyways. I headed out of Aldeburgh on the undulating Aldringham road, every little rise was starting to hurt the legs even more. When the bike and everything else weighs 20+kg, you don't need a spirit level to know that the road isn’t level. Into Leiston and nothing happened, why would it? Riding into towns you can feel the temperature rise, the heat from buildings working together to close the freezer door. I passed Leiston Abbey and stopped to check if my brakes were rubbing is it seemed such hard work. To my disappointment they weren't, if they were then I could fix it and it would be my reason for it being such hard work. It wasn't the bike that was broken, it was me. Problems with the body and mind are (generally) harder to fix then something mechanical. I started to feel nauseous, the cycle of feeling sick and not being able to eat had started. I thought I had learned this by now, but obviously not. No eating equals no energy, the petrol gauge was low on this two legged engine. This is a viscous cycle (in more ways than one) which experience doesn't always stop, although it should. So far I had only had a load of caramel filled chocolate buttons and although I had a whole feast in my panniers, I just couldn't stomach anything.
Back through Theberton, a car came towards me with its full beam on, I was about to return the favour with one touch of the button on my light and they dipped their lights so I resisted. A good job too, it was the rozzers, the third time I had seen a police car this evening. I was prepared to be stopped, I wouldn’t mind, I wasn’t doing anything wrong so I’d be happy to have a chat and explain my lack of reasons to be out here.
I turned off towards Westleton, I knew heading out of the village the road kicked up. The legs were screaming, my breathing all over the place, I looked down to see that I was doing 7mph, I started to sob out of exhaustion, I say sob, I didn’t have the energy to actually sob, it was more the feelings without the physical action, it’s all a bit odd when that happens, fatigue I guess it could be called too. I got to the top of this tiny little bump which seemed like a mountain at the time and stopped. Looking up towards to the stars, part of me questioning what on earth I was doing but the majority of me loving the stupidity. My current dip in fitness and carrying a bit more weight didn’t help. I can tell when I’m getting a bit chubby, all four cheeks seem to grow.
I was loving the stupidity, the spontaneity of this ride. Pushing myself through tiredness and now exhaustion. Until you stretch it, you don’t know when your elastic band will snap, my band was definitely being stretched.
I could hear some deer in the distance, shouting,moaning and groaning in a language that only they can understand. I carried on knowing that the road undulated, funny enough, just as it did on the way out. Every slight incline zapping the legs more than the last but not as much as the next. I didn’t turn off for Walberswick but headed towards Blythburgh, onto the A12 then the Beccles Road.
Turning off the A12 onto the Beccles and Halesworth roads, it kicks up, if you’re local you know what I mean. On a light road bike this is a leg killer, on this heavy old bike, it was bloomin’ awful.
I carried on along the Beccles Road then turned off towards Uggeshall, heading straight towards my favourite bench for a much needed rest. The can of Redbull on my front rack was seeming pretty tempting. I stopped and sat on the bench, I could hear a vehicle in the distance and then it disappeared. Then, there was absolute silence, nothing to hear apart from the magical call from a couple of owls in the distance. The sky was twinkling away, once again I just looked up, doing nothing, absolutely nothing. I heard something move in the nearby oak tree, then something else lower in the tree and then on the ground. It was a leaf falling, with such silence I could hear a cascading leaf falling through the branches of its tree until it rested on the ground, amazing.
I swung my leg over the bike and felt an odd sensation on my left boot, the sole had come away from the boot and was flapping about, “Whatever!” I said as I carried on, I was in no state to worry about that.
I carried on towards Sotterley, riding on one bit of road that I know is flat, it seemed such hard work, everything seemed like a hill. I wiggled my way through the country lanes that I know better than the back of my hand. I reached Henstead Church, I know that its 5 miles to my house from here. That would take the mileage up to 57 miles, there was no way I was rounding it up to 60 miles, I had had enough by this point, I just wanted to be home, curled up in bed, I was shattered.
Writing this a few days later, I can’t even remember anything to document for the rest of the ride until I was near enough home. I saw 4 people near my aforementioned local, by the looks of it they had been clubbing or at a pub or something. They looked at me a bit odd, I couldn’t care. I turned into my road and the huge sense of relief filled me, the feeling that I hadn’t had for quite a while at the end of a ride. A feeling that is exacerbated by exhaustion and a sense of accomplishment at something stupid, fun and spontaneous.
I crept into the house at 3:40am, peeling my smelly, sweat soaked cycling gear off and chucking it out into the garden to hide the stench, I’ll wash it all in a few hours.
Off to bed, 4 hours sleep and I’m up again to do everything I had already planned even if I had 8 hours sleep. Sleep is over rated, spontaneity is under rated. There are 168 hours in a week, what have you done with yours?
Very rarely do I finish a ride and feel worse for it, maybe physically, but not mentally.. Turning my frustration into excitement helped me deal with the situation, my phonecall and the legacy of emotions it left. Wallowing in my self-pity wouldn’t have helped me and those around me, but planning something a bit silly certainly did help.
A few days after this ride, I met Chris, Kate and their dog, Jet. Chris left his home in South Wales in 2017 and has been walking the UK coastline ever since, raising nearly £250,000 so far for the veterans charity, SSAFA. On his journey he has adopted Jet and he also met his now girlfriend, Kate, who also joined him on his journey.
On Wednesday 13th October, I knew they were heading into Lowestoft. I jumped on my bike and found them setting up camp and cooking their tea. I asked if it was okay to go over and chat and they more than welcomed me over and introduced themselves as if I didn’t now. I sat and chatted with them, trying my hardest not to sound like a stalker, just genuinely interested in their journey and their experiences.
I warned them that their camping spot is known for some dodgy night time activities, to which they laughed at. We took photos (one of them at the top of this blog) and I wished them well and let them get on with their tea.
Wherever they go, they are met with such warmth and encouragement and Lowestoft didn’t disappoint. A brilliant sentiment for such an intrepid journey along our beautiful coastline.
Below are the links to their Facebook pages, their Just Giving page as well as a link to a brilliant BBC documentary about the journey;
https://www.facebook.com/chriswalksuk
https://www.facebook.com/Kate-Walks-the-Coast-112247720969013
https://www.bbc.co.uk/iplayer/episode/m000zpy5/our-lives-series-5-the-long-walk-home
My ride to Aldeburgh was an adventure, Chris, Kate and Jet’s walk is an adventure. Poles apart, complete contrasts, many differences, yet many similarities. Adventure is open to interpretation, you just have to find your definition.
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