(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.