I could just glimpse the Mere through the trees on my left as I made my way towards Kington on Thames. The shared path which took me past Putney Vale Cemetery to Kingston Vale, where a strangely convoluted series of toucan crossings put me on to the A308 and the C30 cycle route - a pretty good segregated cycleway alongside the main road. It's along this stretch of road that Hoopdriver gets the hang of riding his bike in a straight line, and gets really into the mood for the holiday. He fancied himself a 'Dook', and began to enjoy himself immensely, exclaiming 'Whoop for Freedom and Adventure!' A great sentiment indeed.
Very soon I met the Thames itself, and stopped for coffee and a tasty panini at the Ginger Bees Cafe where I watched for a while the goings on up and down the river.
Off once more along the Portsmouth Road, and I was on the look-out for a Young Lady in Grey, who might appear at any moment from a side road from Surbiton. This happens to Hoopdriver in WoC, and it precipitates a series of adventures for Hoopdriver, culminating at the Rufus Stone in the New Forest several days later. It also sets up HG Wells to give a social commentary on the place of cycling in the society of the late 1800's and introduce a character in the form of Jennie, the 18 year old Young Lady in Grey in question, who is escaping the social expectations and limitations of her stepmother, and also the unwanted attentions of a man who we will meet a little later. No Lady in Grey appeared for me, but I did have to avoid a Lady in a Grey Honda, who pulled out of a side road a little too close for comfort.
Hoopdriver, looking for a place to eat, stops at a pub called the Marquis of Granby. There he eats 'burton and cheese, which is burton in its proper company', and meets another cyclist who is hot and cross with himself for being too furious a rider, missing the nature and botany for which he came out due an excessive zeal in riding his machine. It's a good bet that this is HG Wells writing himself into the story.
Pleasingly, as I reached Esher, I found the Marquis of Granby is still there, now sitting adjacent to the busy A307, Portsmouth Road.
I didn't go in - pubs are not really my thing, especially in the early afternoon, and to be frank, this one didn't inspire me. It looks more of a stopping point for commuters and attracting people passing in cars. It also faces a roundabout which gives it an air of a functional place with no character, certainly from outside. It had even been painted grey. Perhaps that is just my impression and I do it a disservice. Also, I couldn't see anywhere to safely leave my bicycle, so I left the Marquis of Granby and joined the A307 once more, where I discovered the half-hearted cycle lane (painted lines) had given up entirely.
An increasingly sketchy road that after I'd passed through Esher became a 50mph one, which saw me take to the pavement. Not a shared path, but a narrow, somewhat overgrown pavement that didn't seem overly used by anyone other than squirrels and foxes. This road would take me past Claremont Landscape Gardens and, somewhere a mile or so along the road, a place that in WoC Wells described as such: "It was at a charming little place between Esher and Cobham, where a bridge crosses a stream, that Mr Hoopdriver met the other cyclist in brown." The picture of the bridge in the illustrated copy of WoC looked very distinctive, and I kept a look out for it.
However, I couldn't find it. Nothing I passed before Cobham looked similar, and no stream could I see. I assumed therefore it was just a figment of Mr Wells' imagination, brought into life by J Ayton Symington, the 1913 edition's illustrator.
So, on I went, through a rather forgettable Cobham after where, with some apprehension, I was going to join the A3, which apparently had a segregated cycle lane running alongside it. There is no way I'd choose to go this way if I wasn't following Hoopdriver on his adventure, and I was worried I would find my way blocked and I would have to retrace my route to an alternative, more cycle-friendly way towards Ripley. I certainly didn't want to end up on the A3, so was on the pavement once more looking for the supposed cycle path, when I crossed a sizeable bridge which had a lovely clear river running beneath. "That's nice!" I thought, and stopped to admire the view. It was only then I noticed that the bridge upon which I had stopped was somewhat familiar...
Here it was! And I'd stopped at the exact same spot! Even the house in the background was the same, though the bridge seemed a lot wider (I'm certain it has indeed been widened to add another lane), and a roundabout added. HG Wells had moved the bridge in his story a few miles to the north east, but exist it did. I spent a few moments geeking out at the discovery, then set off again.
There is, in fact, a segregated lane adjacent to the A3. However, at its best, it looked like this:
But for much of the way alongside the A3 to the road to Ripley, it was less enjoyable.
Leg-scratching, nettles, unmaintained, strewn with glass and many other items of an indecipherable nature (and at one point, a huge pile of cotton buds - weird), this was not so much fun as barely functional. At one point you have to cross the M25 via a series of pedestrian crossings that take you into the middle of a motorway junction roundabout. It all felt quite alien, and nothing like the lane that Hoopdriver followed in his time.
Plus ca change.
Soon though I managed to escape this awfulness to quieter roads into Ripley, where I looked for the place where Hoopdriver, people watching from an inn that perhaps never existed except in Wells' imagination, saw Jennie, now in company with the cyclist he met on the bridge at another inn on the other side of the road.
It took me a moment to find, as the buildings have changed somewhat, but I'm pretty sure the bowling green entrance now forms part of the Talbot Inn.
And so, on to Guildford. Roads were getting quieter now, and my route joined NCN223 through the Riverside Nature Reserve and Stoke Park, both pleasingly traffic free and quiet. Guildford has a very pretty town centre, mainly car-free thankfully, with impressive buildings and lots of cafes and interesting side streets. I spent half an hour wandering around the high street, then had coffee and flapjack at the Ceylon House of Coffee, which had somewhere secure to leave the bicycle outside and which serves an excellent coffee.
My search for camping spots near Guildford didn't throw up much of any use (a nearby council site charged £30 minimum per night!), but a request through the Cycle Touring Festival facebook page had suggested the Puttenham Barn Bunkhouse as an option (advanced booking essential), so it was there that I headed. The Bunkhouse is a few miles west of Guildford, on NCN22 which I took out of town, straight up The Mound onto the North Downs Way - quite the climb at the end of the day! More narrow, overgrown paths to navigate, but the bunkhouse proved to be excellent and - a boon in the increasingly hot weather - cool. I was the only guest, and the warden, Ben, was a superb host with whom I chatted for a while about cycle touring.
After a tasty meal of fish and chips and the most calorific pudding I could find at the nearby pub (The Good Intent), I headed back to the bunkhouse for a much needed rest.
End of Day 1 stats:
Distance covered: 34 miles / 55km
Total elevation: 1509ft / 460m
NCNs and cycleways used: C30, C28, NCN223, NCN22
Day 2:
I set off early next morning to make a start on what I knew was going to be a tough day. Some 60-ish miles of cycling lay ahead to get me to Bognor Regis, and then to a campsite near Chichester. Between me lay several hills and the South Downs. First though, a descent from the North Downs which gave me some lovely early morning views.
First stop was back in Guildford to pick up the route once more and to make a call at Guildford Castle, which is where in WoC, Hoopdriver ascends to the top to take in the views (twopence). No such luck for me, as the castle is now closed to the public, but the grounds are still well kept and a pleasure to walk around in early morning sunlight.
It was too early for breakfast though, so rather than hang around for half an hour for the cafes to open, I set off for Godalming. A fairly forgettable ride punctuated by a wait at a level crossing that seemed to take an absolute age got me to Godalming, of which Wells in WoC wrote,"He entered Godalming on his feet, as the road through that delightful town is beyond dispute the vilest in the world, a mere tumult of road metal, a way of peaks and precipices..."
I'm glad to say that the road is much improved now, and Godalming does have a certain charm to it. That may of course be down to the fact that I managed to get some breakfast at last, which does rather set one up after an early start. While I was there I had a quick look for the Woolpack pub that Hoopdriver has "a successful experiment with cider" in. The Woolpack was a real place, but closed in 2004. It's now a pizza restaurant, but the building remains.
At Godalming I joined the Surrey Cycleway which I would follow, more or less, as far as Haselmere. Thankfully now predominately country lanes, it was a pleasure to trundle along in the warm sun away from the traffic of the day before. Leafy lanes and rolling hills, not very large or challenging soon had me to Haselmere, which I didn't stop at as I wanted to have time in Midhurst to look around later in the day.
The Surrey Cycleway ends at Haselmere and between there and Chichester, there is a strange void of cycling routes - no NCN, no county cycleways, unless one includes the South Downs Way (but that's for masochists, as I would later find out). I'm not sure why that is, but an hour or two later I was becoming more convinced that it was due to the very steep and protracted hills that peppered the place. I seemed to spend a lot of the time between Haselmere and Midhurst in bottom gear, grinding my way up 15-20% hills and getting cramp in my hands on the descents from braking continuously. Why did I choose to go this way? Well, it was the way Wells describes Hoopdriver taking, intending to head to Petworth, but getting turned around somewhere. I found it strange, given that he writes of Hoopdriver pushing up hills at the start of his journey that I found easily rideable, that no mention was made of the gradients awaiting me on this part of the route. I mean, I'd looked at the profile, but only really taken notice of the South Downs. That was a mistake.
However, it was undeniably pretty, and it did afford me a slightly surreal experience after spying a sign for a village shop just off my route. I was hot, and thought a banana and some cold beverage would go down well, so I diverted to the village of Lurgashall. Odd name, and I wondered what it might be like. A place out of time, as it turns out. It's one of those villages that looks like it was made for a film some time in the 50's, and left to itself afterwards, with no nods to modernisation or progress. Very pretty, extraordinarily neat and very, very tidy, which was probably explained by the fact that the village was built entirely around the sizeable cricket pitch at its centre.
It was very quiet. Nothing moved and no-one was about. I was met by a very old, shaggy dog outside the village shop who looked at me expectantly. I wasn't sure what it was he expected of me, but it probably involved sausages. Inside the shop I told the shopkeeper that I thought the village was very pretty.
"S'right."
"...Okay. That your dog outside? It seems to want something."
"Nah."
"...Okay. Well, bye then."
Outside I peeled my banana and perused the village once more. A pair of horse riders clip-clopped along the road on the far side of the pitch. A bored teenage girl who'd been reading a book boringly under a tree got up and walked with a slow, bored manner to a house nearby, completely ignoring me. Nothing else stirred. I wondered what my children would make of this place, which while undeniably pretty, felt incredibly remote and isolated.
A cold, damp sensation on my leg made me start, and I found the old dog standing next to me, looking up intently into my eyes. Up close, it looked like someone had dipped it into a vat of purple and brown dye, then left it to drip-dry in a muddy puddle. "Good God," I said, and the dog looked away, performed a kind of canine shrug, and walked slowly off to the shade where it slumped down in the most convincing display of doggy boredom I've ever seen.
"This is a sign," I thought, and got back on the bike and away from the village that time forgot.
My aim now was to find the place where Hoopdriver goes for a paddle in a stream. That sounded like a good idea, and I reckoned that Lickfold was the most likely place.
However, when I got to Lickfold it was clear that Wells was either thinking of someplace else, or had, more likely, just made it up...
Yeah, there was no way I was going to paddle in that.
Shortly after I began the climb up Bexley Hill. By now my legs were, I admit, starting to feel the undeniable signs of fatigue. It was getting very hot, and I was getting hungry. I began to wish I'd bought more food with me. The hill was so steep it defeated my attempts to cycle up it, despite my 26/34 gearing and 26" wheels. The picture doesn't do the steepness of the slope credit, but at least it was a pleasantly shady. Some swearing was involved.
What goes up must come down though, and it was a quick descent into Midhurst, where suddenly everyone with an SUV, tractor and caravan had decided to visit. It felt a little like Bedlam after the stillness of Lurgashall.
Midhurst is a place I knew absolutely nothing of before reading WoC, and only after found out that HG Wells had lived and worked there for a time. First stop was to find the spot in the illustration for Midhurst in WoC.
The bridge has a walkway added to it now, and the house is hiding behind a tree, but, there it was! I even managed to snap a picture without a caravan getting in the way.
Into Midhurst, and first stop was the visitor centre. Partly this was to ask about the South Downs Way (more on that later) but also to see what they could tell me about HG Wells. A pamphlet was thrust into my hands. "Oh, he's quite famous here." Great!
Next door to the visitor centre, the old Grammar School where HG Wells was a pupil and later teacher, had the obligatory blue plaque.
Further down the street I stopped opposite the Angel Inn, called the Angel Hotel in WoC, and next door to the the Inn was a little sweet shop. Wells writes the Hoopdriver stays in this shop which is also a guesthouse. I was pleased to find the shop is still a sweet shop, though the proprietor didn't know about it being written in a book by HG Wells. Odd I though, surely the pamphlet will tell me about it?
It was lunch time, so I sought out a quiet place away from the high street, and boy, I'm glad I did. If you ever visit Midhurst, get off North Street and make your way to Church Hill. It was a quiet back-water to the car-clogged main road through Midhurst and there is a very pleasant tea shop in the place of Garton's Coffee House.
I spent a pleasant three quarters of an hour or so here at a table under the shade of a tree. It felt almost like I was in a French town, the way the church and other quaint buildings surrounded me. Then the church erupted into life, bells pealing, and a wedding party came out, confetti on the happy couple, smiles all round, then gone again. Lovely.
While sat under the tree by the church, I read through the pamphlet on HG Wells that the visitor centre had given me. There was no mention of Wheels of Chance. Other books of his are referenced, but the one that sets Midhurst fair and square in its story? Nothing.
I left Midhurst by the A286 - not a recommended route south from here I would say - but it meant I could swing by the Cobden Monument, which is mentioned in WoC. Info on Richard Cobden can be found here. The monument itself is hidden away behind a bush, almost impossible to see from the road.
That landmark complete, I headed south towards Cocking, and a growing apprehension as to how the traverse of the South Downs would go, since I'd already bagged over 2000ft of climbs and I had another 1000ft or so to go. My legs were complaining and I'd already had a bout of cramp, so I took it easy for a few miles. I had a choice - continue over the South Downs on the A286 (less climbing, fast traffic), or take a right at Cocking and head along the South Downs Way for a mile and a half, before striking south (steep, questionable bridleways).
At Cocking I tried to find the History Column, an artwork commemorating Cocking's history by a local artist for the millennium. Search as I might I couldn't find out how to get to it - no signs pointed the way and I couldn't work out where it was. Not wanting to spend an age in the increasing heat searching fruitlessly, I decided to carry on having made my decision to take the South Downs Way rather than the busy A286. this entailed an 'interesting' climb up an overgrown bridleway. More scratched legs and nettle stings, but at least it got me to the South Downs Way in a traffic-free manner.
By now, temperature was 27 Celcius and the heat was starting to have its effect on my ability to pedal a loaded touring bike up a steep, rocky incline. Hike-a-bike it was, not least because the path was not ideal for narrow marathon plus tyres, and there were plenty of loose, sharp-edged flint rocks. For the next hour it was a case of push the bike to the next tree shadow, pause and let my heart rate subside, drink, repeat. I began to think the A road might have been a better choice, but at least the views were reward for the effort.
Eventually though, the climb was done, and I found the bridleway that would take me south.
Yep, the A286 seemed more appealing than ever! In the event, the nettles and thorns only lasted a hundred meters or so, and from then on it was a good track all the way, although once more my hands were cramping from the constant braking required.
Eventually I found my way to the Centurion Way, an ex-railway path that took me into Chichester. The Centurion Way was blissfully smooth and level, and had interesting and clever artwork along the way.
Into Chichester then, and by now it was 5pm. I made a bad decision here, as the campsite I was booked into was just a mile or so away, but I intended on reaching Bognor Regis first as that is where Hoopdriver went to in WoC. I should have found somewhere for dinner and given Bognor a miss, but no - I was mission focused and not listening to my body. So, a quick snack with the intent on getting dinner on route to the campsite, after a photo op in Chichester. Hoopdriver is looking for wheel tracks, by the way.
A ride along the segregated cycleway beside the A259 (safe, uninspiring) and my route took me into Bognor via the Greencourt Drive Cycleway. This was, also, uninspiring. My reward was making it to the promenade and the expanse of the English Channel, and another chance to take a photo similar to the WoC illustration.
Hoopdriver gets a better bicycle in Bognor (actually, he steals a better bicycle, but he steals it from a cad who is bothering Jennie, leaving him his clunker in return, so that's okay I suppose?) and they head off into the night. I had thought of getting dinner here, but the only pub close by was a Wetherspoons that was heaving, literally, with loud, topless young men downing pints (a peculiarly British seaside tradition), and I did not fancy that. At all.
Frankly, the bits of Bognor that I had seen were, ...um, uninspiring. So I left, looking for somewhere to eat and feeling a bit weird. I took the South Coast Cycle Route which joined the B2166 and to be frank, I cannot recommend this route. The road was fast, busy, and full of young men for whom puberty had yet to reach their brains, driving idiotic cars, idiotically. I was shouted at for doing absolutely nothing wrong and felt quite threatened at one point. Not fun. First pub I came to had nowhere to secure a bicycle - why is this so hard? - so I carried on. However, nothing did I find before reaching the campsite in Donnington.
By now it was 7pm and I felt awful. It was hot still, and I had no idea what I was going to do about food - except that I knew I had to access my 'emergency' stash - tortillas and nutella. For some reason I thought it was important to put the tent up first but half way though my eyesight went all jagged lines as I experienced the start of a migraine. Pause tent, eat sugary food. Glug water. Feel better. Right - need to sort something proper to eat. I threw everything into the tent and pedalled off towards Chichester to find a suitable eatery. Less than half a mile and I found a Co-op, so a quick run around for pasta, chocolate and other supplies and I was back at the tent within half an hour refilling my calorie depleted body.
End of Day 2 stats:
Distance covered: 60 miles / 97km
Total elevation: 3412ft / 1040m
NCNs and cycleways used: NCN22 (North Downs Way), Surrey Cycleway, South Downs Way, Centurian Way, Chichester to Bognor Regis Cycleway, South Coast Cycle Route, NCN2
Day 3
After a poor night's sleep, but feeling better than the night before, I was up, packed and ready to go by 0730. It was cool and fresh but forecast hot again, but at least the first half of today's cycling would be flat and relatively traffic free along NCN2. The best description I can give for the stretch of NCN2 between Chichester and Fareham is 'functional'. There are some good segregated cycleways alongside the A27, with views of the sea etc., and for a while I dropped onto NCN236 to get away from the road noise.
Along the way, I decided that British cuisine for touring cyclists in southern England is poor. Perhaps I wasn't able to find the right places at the right time, but so far this trip I was struggling to find anything to eat that wasn't bread based, with some sort of meat (ham, bacon) and cheese in the middle, or a variation of. Seriously, how hard is it to buy a meal that has some veg with it? Maybe even some salad? Menu's were all bland copies of each other, a kind of uniform cut and paste of ideas and options. I was beginning to crave carrots and broccoli.
In WoC, Hoopdriver, now accompanied by Jennie (or perhaps accompanying her, hard to tell) are making their way west and decide, on the spur of the moment, to climb Portsdown Hill for the view. There was No Way I was going to do that, not least because to get there puts you on some roads I'd rather not cycle on, but also because it is a Hill. So, instead I settled for a photo of my bike next to the sea.
Hoopdriver there is making up some gumpf about him being a colonial, with a tiger farm in Africa or something, to make him seem like he belongs in the same social circle (class) as Jennie. You can probably surmise that this is a bad idea.
I passed through Fareham and headed inland, towards Winchester on NCN224. Shout out to whoever managed the road between Funtley and Wickham, as much of it is a 20mph speed limit and has speed bumps every so often, so as a cycle route it is quiet with the few cars using the road going slowly. I expect at one time it must have been a rat-run, but sensibly sorted by the use of simple restrictions on motor car use. It was a pleasure to cycle on.
At Wickham, I detoured to visit the Chesapeak Mill. I'd wanted to visit for some time, as it has not only a historical interest, but also another literary link. The Mill (now an antiques shop) is so called because it was built using timber from the USS Chesapeake after that vessel was defeated in one-on-one battle with HMS Shannon off Boston, Massachusetts, in the year 1813. The battle itself was written into the book 'The Fortune of War', book 6 in the Aubrey-Maturin series of Napoleonic era adventures by Patrick O'Brian, and a favourite series of mine, and I took the opportunity to see the Chesapeake's timbers up close.
The afternoon would see more climbing, this time over a series of rolling hills through some increasingly picturesque landscapes. While the lanes I was following suffered from that oft-encountered factor of lanes everywhere in the UK; that of high bushes each side of the road which blocks the view, there were occasional gates and breaks in the hedge that afforded a vista that deserved a pause for consideration.
One bum note in the ride to Winchester was in the form of the Morestead Road, which on the map looked like a country lane, but in reality is a 60mph wide, straight road that attracts a lot of fast traffic. I didn't enjoy using it, but the alternatives would have been quite a detour. The road brought me to the east of Saint Catherine's Hill in Winchester, via a gated bridge over the M3 and a bridleway (overgrown, naturally).
In moments though, I'd joined NCN23 at the Handlebar Cafe, where of course I stopped for coffee and flapjack. From there it was a short ride into Winchester via the quaint riverside path, a real highlight and one that makes me smile every time I pass this way. An obligatory picture of the bike by the statue of King Alfred and I headed off to my final destination of the day.
Stockbridge was my overnight stop, which is the place, best I can tell, that Wells set in WoC as the fictional Wallenstock. Between Winchester and Stockbridge are some of the best lanes in Hampshire, especially at this time of year. Sarum Road, which leads to Kings Sombourne is a gem of a route, made all the more special in early July when the wheat fields are a golden contrast against the deep green of tree-topped hills and blue skies.
For some bizarre reason I neglected to get a picture, although I suspect a picture just wouldn't do justice to the beauty of the place. Kings Sombourne itself is a picturesque place to come down from the vale into, and from there it's a short hop to Stockbridge and food. Lots of food.
After a huge meal at the White Hart Inn (my body was beginning to wake up to the need for much greater calorie consumption at last), I headed off for my campsite a mile or two north of Stockbridge, at Rowbury Farm Camping. I bagged a spot near the entrance and got in a much needed shower, admired the views and watched for a while a distant hot air balloon, almost lost in the mist a few miles to the east, while the sun set into a golden horizon.
End of Day 3 stats:
Distance covered: 62 miles / 100km
Total elevation: 780m / 2559ft
NCNs and cycleways used: NCN2, NCN236, NCN224, National Byway between Winchester and Stockbridge
Day 4
Up with the sun (ish), which was doing a good job of drying the clothes I'd washed the previous evening, including my gloves and helmet which had been in danger of being declared hazardous substances had I left them another 24 hours. Stretch, pack, apply factor 50 sunscreen. Head off for breakfast.
I returned to Stockbridge, but this time via the NCN246 which drops onto an ex-railway path parallel to the river Test. This has the advantage of being flat and traffic free, but the disadvantage of suffering the frustrating character of many ex-railway paths of placing you in a tunnel of trees that block any view of the country around you. This greenway is particularly afflicted, with the path very hemmed in on both sides. Monotony is broken every so often by bits of old infrastructure; bridge spans, strange, hard to fathom bits of kit rusting in the undergrowth. If you come this way, I recommend that if heading south of Stockbridge, you stay to the west of the river Test which provides quiet lanes and great views.
Nothing was opening until 9am, so I sat on a bench to watch the early Sunday morning roadies come through. Is it me, or are high-end groupsets defined by the number of decibels the free-wheels make these days? I consumed an Eccles cake I'd purchased in Wickham the day before and pondered why Stockbridge council thought the bench I was sat on needed a bin situated hard up against one end of it, when there was another bin directly behind, one square, one round. Strange logic (and bad for my OCD).
A stonking good full English breakfast at Woodfire Pizza (now there's a Pizza restaurant that knows its cyclist clientele) and I was ready for the day. If you're wondering why a Pizza Restaurant would open at 9am on a Sunday, it's because Stockbridge is something of a destination for anyone coming out from Southampton and Andover for a ride. There are several cafes in the main street, all normally full of cyclists. The King Alfred Way passes close by too. It has quite the cycling vibe.
I suspect Wells either hadn't cycled the next part himself, or just wanted to move the story on, as the narrative of WoC jumps to Blandford Forum at this point, merely mentioning that Hoopdriver and Jennie made their way there over a number of days. I, however, had a deadline, and needed to be in Blandford by the evening. That meant my next destination was Salisbury, then crossing the Cranborne Chase AONB. I meandered south and west, joining NCN24 at West Dean and followed that to Salisbury. This took me along lanes that could be described as bucolic, and which became more bucolic as I got closer to Salisbury.
Once I'd negotiated the route into Salisbury I did a quick circuit round the cathedral and town centre (coffee and cake, of course), then headed off, conscious I still had a long way to go. I'd been to Salisbury before so didn't feel the need to linger and besides the place was packed with Sunday market visitors which made negotiating the town centre with my loaded bike quite challenging. Salisbury seemed to be suffering from that increasingly modern malady of appointing an entertainer / singer, equipped with amplifiers that ensured everyone was going to hear them wherever they went, to entertain the crowds. Quite why this is felt to be necessary in a historic town centre is baffling, especially when the playlist that the errant entertainer is pulling from includes the most depressing dystopian works from Radiohead, Morrisey and the like, all sung in a way that gave the impression their heart had just been broken by the love of their life on the same day their cat had died.
So, onward, and after purchasing supplies, I joined the Wiltshire Cycleway that would take me across Cranborne Chase and a good way towards Blandford Forum. More bucolic landscapes, thatched cottages and neat churches marked the route, although the driving along the stretch between Coombe Bishop and Bishopstone left a lot to be desired. After Bishopstone the road got a lot quieter, and for most part I was cycling though a landscape in which I was the only thing that moved. Not much seemed to be happening in Cranborne Chase AONB, but that was good.
Eventually though, signs of life returned, in the form of a yellow Tiger Moth flying low overhead. That meant Compton Abbas airfield lay a short distance ahead, yet also, some hundred meters or more up. A stiff climb on the hottest day of the year so far rewarded me with great views and ice cream at the airfield cafe just 5 minutes before it closed. For that, I was truly grateful.
From Compton Abbas it was downhill all the way to Blandford. Easy going, or so I thought. My plan was to follow a quiet lane that ran parallel to the A350, which would be carrying all the traffic, of course. Hmm. Sometimes you just know when you get there that things are not going to plan. The road was newly surfaced - good. Wide... much wider than a country lane. It had a dividing line and everything. And a 60 mph limit, with plenty of cars proving the fact. There was nothing for it, I wanted to get to the campsite and set up before seeking dinner, and the campsite was 6 miles down the 'lane'. A fast descent then, but not one you could call fun. Indeed I was concentrating so much I missed the turning for the campsite and only realised when I reached the outskirts of Blandford!
A change of plan then, and after a dinner at the Crown Hotel , I headed back to my final overnight stop. Rather than take the awful road out of Blandford I took the North Dorset Trailway (NCN25) out of town and then struck off on what was marked on google maps as a cycle path joining the trailway with the lane to the campsite, but which in reality was a path across fallow ground maybe two inches wide which had, for some unfathomable reason, two gates in it that were somewhat challenging to negotiate. The campsite at Bushes Farm Caravan Park proved to be a good find - small and quiet and with good facilities. Hedgehogs snuffled through the undergrowth and around the tent, and I slept the best nights sleep of the tour.
End of Day 4 stats
Distance covered: 56 miles / 90 km
Total elevation: 740m / 2428ft
NCNs and cycleways used: National Byway, NCN24, Wiltshire Cycleway New Forest Link, Wiltshire Cycleway, NCN25
Day 5
The last day of the tour, and also the final part of the Wheels of Chance. Things come to a head for Hoopdriver, being 'found out' in his fantasies of being a colonial land owner, and Jessie's pursuers getting very close. But they don't know that yet. The day for them starts with breakfast, and that seemed a good idea to me.
Back to Blandford via the same tricky path to the trailway, which takes you straight into the centre of the town. As was the case on all previous days, I was too early for breakfast anywhere that sold more than a basic microwaved slice of bacon in a bun, so I had a microwaved slice of bacon in a bun. I'm beginning to think I need to bring my trangia next tour.
Route 25 took me out of Blandford towards Wimborne Minster along a very pleasant route running parallel to the River Stour. I made a small detour at White Mill, where the road to Sturminster Marshall turns off NCN25 to see the bridge.
Wimborne Minster proved to be an extremely pleasant place, well worth a wander around. Coming in from the West was a pleasure, but leaving again on NCN256 was tricky - a one way system that the cycle route seemed to suggest you go the wrong way down - but afterward there was a new segregated system that takes you to the the start of a long, mostly traffic free trail to Ringwood - the Castleman Trailway.
The Castleman Trailway is part forest track, part ex-railway that takes you into Ringwood and is mostly good, although without my GPS I think it highly likely I would have got lost at one of the many unmarked turns on the twisty trail.
Ringwood was the last town on the route before the end of WoC is reached, and in the book, it is here that Hoopdriver and Jessie have lunch in a hotel, 'The Chequered Career', no doubt a pun on Wells' own path to being a writer, but also a great name for a hotel. It's here that Hoopdriver and Jessie met with a clergyman who had arrived on a tricycle. Wells puts the following words into the clergymans mouth, which I wholeheartedly agree with: "I can imagine that, with a properly oiled machine, there can be no easier nor pleasanter way of seeing the country". As Hoopdriver says in reply, "It isn't half a bad way of getting about."
Hoopdriver and Jessie headed off towards Stoney Cross, but unknown to them, their pursuers have almost caught up. I set off from Ringwood on a necessarily different route, as it's likely that Wells set his characters along what is now the A31. However, it's a pleasant route across the New Forest to the north of the A31, with expanses of open heathland. Groups of DofE students dotted the landscape and sat in the shade at the sides of the trails, and tame new forest ponies watched me pass without any particular interest.
Near Stoney Cross, Hoopdriver and Jessie realise they are almost caught. They try to get away, but they are both absolutely spent and, near the Rufus Stone, their pursuers finally catch up. This is done rather comically when the tandem two of their would-be captors are riding comes past at high speed, unable to stop on the steep hill that leads to the Rufus Stone itself.
Here I suppose the adventure ends, as the story takes Hoopdriver no further in any detail. However there was one last challenge. Rather than have an ignominious end at the side of the road, Hoopdriver and Jessie retrace their route to a hotel they had passed earlier, The hotel isn't named, but we can suppose it was the Stoney Cross Hotel, a little way from the Rufus Stone itself, although Wells may have moved it slightly closer for narrative effect. The Stoney Cross Hotel doesn't exist now, at least in its original form. Nor could I get to it, as the site of the hotel is now the west-bound service station on the duel-carriage way A31; not cyclist friendly. However, if you ever do pass that way by car and pull into the Stoney Cross services, the site of the Stoney Cross Hotel where you can find a Little Chef.
So, having followed Hoopdriver on his journey from Putney High Street to the New Forest, and the final chapters of the book Wheel of Chance, titled 'At the Rufus Stone', I set that location as the end of my journey.
So all that was left was to return home - for me only an additional 13 miles as it happened. Hoopdriver had further to go of course, and off he went, on his own and somewhat wiser for the experience.
End of Day 5 stats
