Rural Riding
As I plodded along the A444 on my overburdened little bike I soon began to regret taking this particular course. I could have followed country lanes a short way to the West. The main road was slightly closer to my straight guiding line, and ran through pleasant undulating countryside, but my enjoyment was interrupted all too often by a miniature tornado as another great juggernaut passed me with inches to spare. Coupled with these frequent interruptions was the awareness that a lapse of concentration by the driver of just one of these tarmac hungry leviathans could permanently terminate my journey.
The road seemed endless, though the map shows me that it was only a few miles. Eventually I reached the roundabout junction with the M42. I was pleased at this, as I knew that I was now near to my turn off, back on to the little roads. I stopped on the grass verge opposite a service station for a drink of water. I thought I'd better record my strange velocipede for posterity, so here's a picture of it http://www.care2.com/c2c/photos/view/186/483743566/My_cycling_holiday_July_2010/Bikeride%20laden%20bike%207%2010.jpg.html
I left the mad main road at the delightfully named Appleby Parva and followed a little lane uphill towards a prominent radio mast. Over the summit, I coasted downhill into the village of Austrey. From here, strictly speaking, I should have headed for Orton on the Hill, but the on the hill bit didn't appeal to me, so I veered westwards a little along Warton Lane. This was arable country, with dry dusty fields of wheat and barley on each side of me,basking in the afternoon sun.
I stopped in the middle of nowhere and dug out my food bag. I climbed over a gate and struggled through the parched weeds of the headlands to reach a willow beside a dried out pond. Perching myself in the arms of this friendly tree, I hungrily demolished the remains of my loaf, whilst reflecting on what a comfortable campsite the dry pond looked, as long as it didn't rain.
It would have been pleasant to stay there all afternoon, such a comfortable spot I had found,but, with my belly filled, I remounted my cycle and carried on towards the brick houses of Warton village. From here my route took me back, South Easterly, towards my straight line. The road fell steadily into the Anker Valley and the harvesting activity seemed to grow more intense with huge shiny tractors rushing about http://www.care2.com/c2c/photos/view/186/483743566/My_cycling_holiday_July_2010/Bikeride%20tractor%20grain%20harvest%207%2010.jpg.html and the moaning hum of combine harvesters trailing dust behind the hedgerows.
Not far away was the large mining village of Polesworth. Our boat "Forget me Not" was built here in 1927, but, sadly, nothing remains of Lees & Atkins boatyard. My route would take me through the nearby town of Atherstone instead.
I've often passed through Atherstone. Mostly along the dual carriageway bypass which is part of the A5. At other times I have flashed through in a speeding train on the Trent Valley main line. A few times I have travelled through by boat on the Coventry Canal, the main focus being the flight of 12 locks. On my first holiday on my first boat I stayed the night on the margins of the town, camping by the towpath as at that time my boat had no cabin. Despite all these fleeting encounters with the place I still knew little of it and was pleasantly surprised by what I found.
I had in mind the need for provisions, ready for my evening meal. My route into the town, along Sheepy Road, brought me straight to an old fashioned open market, lively with stalls and shoppers. I stopped to buy vegetables, then remounted and carried on under an archway that led into North St. I found Long St, the route of the pre-bypass A5, busy with shops and shoppers, unlike so many old high streets that have succumbed to the out of town superstores. Here I bought more food then, with my bags bulging, peddalled uphill to the top lock.
I had purchased some cake on Long St and intended to sit by the top lock to eat it. I was disapointed to see that Rothen's coal wharf was now empty and up for grabs. The business has relocated elsewhere but is no longer shifting coal by boat. It is little places like this that make our canals interesting. I expect it will be replaced by yet more upmarket housing. Nevertheless, it is a pleasant urban spot and I enjoyed watching a long steel boat work up the lock and set out towards Coventry.
Coleshill Road is a long slow drag out of town. This country has been quarried and mined extensively in the past, but now, with the extractive industries gone, it is interestingly hilly and wooded. I turned left and rode along a little lane with the huge Monks Park Wood to my right. I came to the village of Ridge Lane and turned left, until soon I came upon the embankment of a disused railway. Checking my old O.S. map I realised that this was the old Stockingford goods branch. The part that I had come across was actually a headshunt at it's terminus, the Ansley Hall Colliery being accessed by a trailing connection. I though about following the route to find a place to stay for the night, but it was still a bit early and I had an idea about staying beside an active railway.
Riding on I passed the site of the old pit, now an industrial estate. A right turn on to the B4114 brought me past Ansley Hall and onwards through green and pleasant land to Church End. Here I turned left at the beginning of the village towards Ansley. This turned out to be a rather unremarkable brick village, made up largely of 1930s semis. I passed a pub with jolly looking people standing outside smoking.
At the far end of the village is a roundabout. Here I turned left and cycled along looking for the start of a footpath. I found a stile and lifted the bike over, then set off, pushing my bike across a grassy field. As I breasted the brow of a low hill I looked across the panorama and registered a brief disapointment. I had my eye on some woodland shown on the map surrounding the Easterly portal of Stockingford Tunnel on the railway from Nuneaton to Birmingham. My disappointment was in seeing that this wonderful wood seemed to be completely surrounded by the kind of security fence that Network rail now use to protect the railway from mischievous children, and vice versa.
I carried on down the hill and was delighted to find that the Northern edge of the woodland, with a public footpath bordering it, was only protected by the olders style fence of concrete posts and steel wires. This made the expense of the newer, inpenetrable, border rather pointless, as one can just walk round and enter here.
I locked my bike to the security fence and unloaded it, climbed a
stile and pushed my bags between the wires into the woodland. I
climbed over to follow them and began to construct my shelter.
With
the shelter constructed I turned my attention to cooking my tea.
There was a hollow in the ground in the corner of the wood. I used
some bricks that were lying around to build a fireplace into the bank
of this hollow. I collected dead and dry wood and, using a few scraps
of paper that I had saved, lit a fire.
http://www.care2.com/c2c/photos/view/186/483743566/My_cycling_holiday_July_2010/Bikeride%20camp%20Arley%207%2010.jpg.html
Soon my pan was bubbling nicely on the heat. I sat and looked down
into the cutting and watched trains passing. The smoke from my fire
began to drift into the cutting and hang there in a blue grey haze,
resolutely refusing to disperse. I began to worry that a train driver
could bring the authorities down on me by reporting that the woods
were on fire.
Soon my meal was ready and I found a comfortable perch, high over the tunnel mouth, where I sat and ate while watching trains. I was pleasantly surprised by the amount of freight traffic, mostly container trains headed by Canadian built class 66 locomotives. http://class66.railfan.nl/ The passenger trains were all diesel multiple units, travelling between Birmingham and East Anglia.
Nicely full, I was feeling tired after all my travelling. I had an idea that I might be able to go for a latihan http://www.subud.org.uk/latihan-inner-awakening.html in Birmingham. However, the idea of traipsing into Nuneaton to get a train, then finding my way from New St Station to wherever the Subud house was, then finding my way back late at night, was becoming rapidly less appealing. I decided to lie down for a bit in my shelter. The footpath, which was next to my shelter, was unpleasantly busy with dogwakers. I decided to ignore them, and they mostly studiously ignored me, walking past quickly with eyes averted. A black and white cat slinked up the footpath and, seeing me, crouched down in fear before darting back whence it came. I wondered where it had come from as the map showed no houses nearby.I lay enjoying the birdsong and the sound of passing trains. Gradually I drifted off to sleep.