Seriously Sunny Seven Sisters Hike...

Let's be brutally frank... England isn't exactly renowned for having amazing weather. In fact, it often sucks.  So much so, that one of the most common questions I get from Brits is "why on Earth did you ever leave sunny SF for HERE?"

Fair enough. Actually I love it here for a number of reasons, but I've been forced to get used to greyness and/or rain. However, on the rare days when the planets are in alignment, the skies clear, and the sun warm, England is absolutely amazing... golden sunshine, green hills, and wildflowers galore.

 Sigh.

It's even better when your long-planned hike to the south coast happens to fall on this day.

First the hike... it did involve a fair amount of sacrifice for everyone, as to get on the trail by 9:30ish, we had to catch the 7:20am train. Which, shudder, meant most folks were up by 6.

But, it was worth it... here's the route:


View South Coast Walk in a larger map

The hike was straightforward... just straight up and down over a series of seven white chalk hills called "the Seven Sisters". 8 miles or so, and a fair bit of work, but it was hands down the best hike I've seen in the UK yet. Period.

Throw in a great 17th century pub with a sunny warm beer garden...



... plus the bonus that our merry band of walkers included friends of friends of friends, with 13 hikers all told from 8 different countries.

Fantastic.

The icing on the cake?  Fun with a frisbee... at least, until SOMEONE (cough, cough... Graeme!) threw it over the cliff ;) **

Here are some pics - with the views so stunning, it's much easier to let them do the talking.

** Um, to be fair, Graeme did dive to prevent a rolling errant disc going over the side, thrown by, well, um, me.  So he was more than entitled.

(Near) Cycling Capitulation in the Cotswolds (Part 2)

(Near) Cycling Capitulation in the Cotswolds (Part 2)

Okay, so day 1 wasn't too bad... some nice sight-seeing, mostly flat terrain, and a fortuitously-located pub lunch to dodge a rain shower.

Day 2 was very, very different.  I went to bed with a vague sense of unease when I read that the day's ride was going to start with 8 miles of straight, steady incline.  Lovely.  Now, to the Lance Armstrongs of the world, or even your average hipster cyclist accustomed to the hills of SF, this would be no problem.

But for me?  After 3 years of London, where my daily commute might include the odd speed bump in otherwise flat-as-a-pancake London?

It promised to be grim.

But, stiff upper lip and all that, I headed off bright and early at 7:30am on Easter Sunday.  Too early for the hotel's breakfast, i figured I'd catch something on the road at any one of the charming villages en route.

Mistake #1.

Mistake #2?  I didn't refill my water bottle from its halfway level, thinking "oh, how bad it can it be?"

Now, on the plus side, the ride was glorious, with sunny skies and gorgeous rural vistas in every direction.  The problem was that these vistas would pass far, far too slowly given my somewhat lethargic pace.

Nevertheless, I perservered, arriving in the first village after a seriously exciting half mile 10% downward slope, just in time to watch the local villagers head to Easter Mass.  Charming, and all was well in the world...

...until I tried to find a store, a cafe... in fact, a business of ANY kind.

No dice.  These villages are great at providing charming homes away from it all, but decidely lack any sort of local business infrastructure.

But, I kept going, hitting up a km straight climb and then on through two more villages.  Nothing.

Finally, out of water, I somewhat sheepishly asked a local fixing up his house if I could use his hose... nice break and a nice chat about the States vs. Canada (he preferred Canada), and then it was back on the bike.

This time fortune smiled on me, as I found a gastropub alongside the very busy A-road I was on.  That prompted an immediate and tremendously satisfying full English breakfast, plus a pot of tea, in front of a roaring fire with a friendly cat.  Perfect.

The rest of the day was more of the same, where I quickly learned that the Brits weren't kidding when calling the Cotswolds hills.  Up, down, up, down, it was definitely a great workout as I stopped first in the seriously creepily named Upper Slaughter and Lower Slaughter for a lunch at a charity cafe...

... then on to Chipping Camden, which is the largest of the towns in the area, and really really pretty to boot.

Unfortunately, I was running seriously behind schedule by this point, and with only 2 hours to get to Stratford, and only 2/3rds of the way there, I had to hoof it.  Um, or pedal it, as the case may be...

... where finally, fortunately, the terrain smiled on me, and turned flat.  That, coupled with a smoothly tarmacked B-road on the way to Stratford-upon-Avon, and I was able to make great time.

I rolled across the ancient 13th century bridge in time to find my B&B, and after a critically needed shower, headed off for an equally necessary beer at an old, old pub.  A walk 'round town, then it was time for vegging out in bed to the tele.  Perfect.

The next day was supposed to be a bicycle ride back to Oxford, completing the circuit, but I completely sissied-out.  My legs let me know in no uncertain terms that they would probably going on strike, so I decided to take in a stroll to Shakespeare's grave... ...

...then a walking tour of the town, that turned out to be a great idea.  Stratford was full of cool stories and tidbits, such as the fact that the local 15th century school still educates the local boys, just as it did for Shakespeare.  My lunch stop pub, the Garrick Inn, functioned about the same as it did back in the day, where the town's first plague victim was recorded as having collapsed and was thrown in the street.  Charming healthcare approach.

The other funny bits were more American in nature.  First, I learned that Henry Ford tried to buy the Shakespeare family home to ship back to the States, and came within a whisker of succeeding, when the locals finally got the buildings listed as historically significant.

Second, and as a case of 'it's a small world', I got to chatting with two Americans on the tour.  The natural "where are you from" chitchat turned into... "oh, you're from Santa Rosa/Rohnert Park too?"  And, as a final "whoa!", the guy was the son of my 3rd grade principal, Mr. Ernest, at good ol' Evergreen Elementary.

Stratford was a nice town, but I have to say it... after all I heard about the town, it seemed a bit overrated.

Sure, it's the #1 destination for tourists outside London, but while charming in parts, it just didn't blow me away.  Compared with the grandeur and quirkiness of Oxford, or the Cotswolds' villages that were almost too good to be true, Stratford was.. just... there.  I'll have to echo the Yank travel writer Rick Steves here and tell any of my friends visiting that while it's a great day stop, I'll be sure to suggest a dozen other places to go as a better use of their time in the UK.

Right, minor rant over, I had time to catch a train back to London, and a slow ride back to Fulham.  A whiskey, a bath, and bed followed in very, very quick succession.

(Near) Cycling Capitulation in the Cotswolds (Part 1)

So, after going on three years in London, I've decided that one of the better UK practices ever is the acceptability of the odd pint of ale over lunch. Wonderful.

But only slightly behind that is the extended Easter holiday break... for the religious or the secular, nearly all of England takes the Friday and Monday around Easter Sunday off. Think of it as a Thanksgiving long weekend, but instead of chilly near-winter, in glorious spring weather. Genius.

I took advantage of the break this year to go explore one of the most beautiful parts of the UK, the Cotswolds, which is a region of gorgeous rolling hills and picturesque villages. And, rather than just schlep around with the rest of the tourists, I figured cycling was the best way to get off the beaten path. Even though most of my cycling has been around nearly flat London, I figured "hey, the UK is mostly plains... how bad could it be?"

Ouch.  Learning the truth behind that would prove very painful indeed..


View Cotswolds in a larger map

But first, my trip started with another visit to one of my favorite cities - Oxford.

Think San Francisco and Los Angeles. New York and Boston. Madrid and Barcelona. Classic city rivalries all, but the ancient university rivalry of Cambridge and Oxford puts them all to shame, stretching back to the 12th or 13th century. Crazy.

And, for whatever reason, people tend to each gravitate to one more than the other.

For me, it was no contest. I'm an unabashed Oxford groupie. This would be my third visit and each time it's a chance to see something new. Cambridge has some stunning sights, but Oxford is called the "City of Dreaming Spires", and is a constantly surprising maze of little lanes and hidden courtyards.

With surprisingly good weather, after catching a cheap 5am train, I was able to wander around much of the day.

Sure, Oxford has the famous sights like Magdalen College, but it was the quirkier bits that struck me the most. From the oddly named "Logic Lane" to the odd pub where two of my favorite writers, Tolkien and CS Lewis, would meet over a pint and discuss the Lord of the Rings or the Narnia books.

The nooks and crannies continued to surprise, as down a winding back alley, I had a pint at the Turf Pub, nestled underneath the ancient city wall, before I headed to Evensong at Christchurch. I'm not particularly religious, but hearing the full choir echo off the church walls, as they have for hundreds of years, was pretty special.

The next day was the start of the actual cycling, and I was a little nervous. I wasn't covering massive distances for some people, at between 45-50 miles a day. However, as I generally average at best a whopping 10 miles a day tops, I was thinking that this was a bit of an ambitious goal.

The ride started well. I headed out of Oxford and except for a wrong turn that almost took me a massively busy A-road (US folks - think moderate highway), it went pretty smoothly. I headed through a succession of grassy pastures, and charming villages such as Whitney and a tea stop at Burford.

Refueled, I was getting a bit cocky as I headed into the second half of the ride when I got a bit lost. Surprisingly, the Cotswolds blend together a bit - only occasionally labelled roads that point to ever-more amusingly named villages such as Ready Token and Black Burton. My Lonely Planet cycling guide had meticulous directions but few maps, and once you get lost, it's really confusing.

And then, lo, like a beacon of hope, I came across Eastleach and the horse-friendly Victoria pub.

Now, it could have been the horses, the sunny picnic tables, or my own weak will, but I immediately made the executive decision to stop for lunch and a pint.

Brilliant, especially as it started raining and it was easy to extend this break for another hour.

Afterwards, well-rested, full and slightly aglow from the beer, I was 7 miles from Cirencester, my destination for the night.

The good news is that this last leg of the trip took me on Akeman Street - built on exactly the same route and ground as the Roman road of 2,000 years ago. Amazing to be following in the footsteps of history.

The bad news? It was 7 miles, with some moderate hills.

However, I persevered and reached Cirencester - a fair-sized town on the edge of the Cotswolds. In a case of being a true party animal, my night consisted of a hot bath, and then the Oxford/Cambridge boat race on the telly, followed by a wander 'round town and a takeaway pizza back to the hotel. Yet another sign I'm living the life of a true rock star, I know.