The first ride in what feels like a month of lifetimes finds me heading west to Ireland, dusting off the trusty GS in order to explore the Wild Atlantic Way. Reason for the trip? Just fancied a ride worth strapping the panniers on for now that the racing’s done, and Dublin’s almost £200 cheaper by boat than Liverpool. Time for something new.
I need a break, and the new bike needs a proper run, so the both of us head across the water for a spot of mindless self-indulgence. Swapping campsites for cheap hotels and minimal luggage I’m going to spend a week going where the wheels take me, recording the usual irreverent observations and mediocre photos here for posterity. This is cruft, mere content, so I’m not going to bother with separate posts. Read at your own peril.
If there’s a better way to spend a Sunday than rodeo-riding a bucking trail bike up wet chalky ruts covered in leaves, I don’t want to know about it. Whether blasting through muddy puddles or trickling along lonely, rocky lanes, multi-coloured trees linking branches over your head and showering you in organic autumn confetti, a trail ride through Surrey’s last few legal lanes is a tonic for the soul and a workout for the body. Let’s get dirty!
It’s been ages since I had a good long ride (actress to bishop) so as the kids head back to school I’m heading south with everything an expedition needs: bike, tent, and a keen novice. That’s right folks, there’s somebody mad enough to come with me on a three week camping trip that optimistically aims to take in France, Switzerland, Italy and Spain before looping back to Blighty for a shower and detox.