Day 7: The OTHER Kind of Bike

Today was an all-around frustrating and difficult day. We got up early, but sat in a Patiserie Valerie (a London-based pastry chain) for breakfast as I typed my two-day post, and left SuA by around 10.

As soon as we got out of the city and onto National Cycle Network 5,  we passed a boxcar, in which there was a little bike shop and cafe. "That's neat," I said, reading the sign that says, "bikes here." No more than two hundred feet later, I noticed that biking and keeping up with Jacob had become quite difficult. In addition, every couple feet, I'd hit a little bump in my back wheel, even when it was smooth. I tried calling out to Jacob, but he was too far away. After another half-mile of weaving in-and-out of people, dogs, and puddles (it was a very popular path, plus it's a holiday), I finally got close enough to Jacob that, when I rang my bell repeatedly, he stopped. "Hey Jacob, I call out as I approach him, "I think something's wrong with my bike." Jacob takes one glance at my back wheel and says, "Oh, you have a flat." "Shit." We put my bike on the ground and take out our bike repair kit that my mom packed, but quickly realized that the first tool we need, a wrench, we don't have. "Why don't we go back to that bike shop," Jacob offers. We agree to do so, and Jacob rides off as I walk my bike, slowly but surely, along the path. When I eventually get there, Jacob and the bike shop owner (sorry, I'm really bad with names, but I forgot yours) were chatting. He fixed the wheel relatively fast, but slowly enough to make sure that we saw exactly what to do. We then talked for a bit about our journey thus far, and while we proclaimed our feat at Kirkstone Pass, he said that he did this other challenge where they bike every pass in the Lake District. "That sounds awful," Jacob says. The guy nodded. "By the time I got to Kirkstone (I went down the part you went up), I couldn't bend my thumbs, so I couldn't use my brakes." He told us a few more of his experiences, and then we were off.

The rest of the day was fairly uneventful; the only very interesting thing was that we passed dozens of bikers on road bikes, who were doing a hundred-mile ride¹ to support the fight against cancer. There were apparently about a thousand people doing it. 

The day was uneventful until we were about twenty miles from Oxford. We checked the map, and it told us to go right onto a small country rode. To the left of the entrance to the road, there was a sign that said something about motorcycles, but I didn't really look at it. Opposite the entrance, there was a gated area, which gate looked quite beautiful. We followed the road until it split off to the right and straight, and checked our map again. Google told us to continue straight, on a muddy, unpaved road. We make our way down that and across a river and then have to walk our bikes up a hill that is too steep and muddy to ride on. We get to the top and start pedalling on a road that looks not unlike the towpath from the day prior, except with two paths instead of one, a grass strip separating them, and no danger of falling into very dirty water. To our right we hear a buzzing noise that sounds like either a crapload of angry bees or a bunch of ATVs. "At least it's not raining," I say. "Shush," Jacob responds, "it's probably going to rain now, just because you said that." 

We keep going, eventually getting onto a cement road that's still grassy and partially flooded, which then leads to a fork. We opt to go left, since the right path looked particularly wet and google didn't seem to be of much help at that time. We followed it for a little bit, and then it started to look less like a path or road and more like the space inbetween the cushions after years of not cleaning it: dirty, unsafe to go into, and overgrown (with plants, not mold). Through most of it, we had to walk our bikes to get ourselves through and to better avoid spikes on the ground. To the left was a fence and behind that, sheep; in all other directions, more brush. 

Eventually we got out of the brush and ended up on a more road-like-road. Except now we were in the middle of nowhere. No matter which direction we looked, we could see no defining features or identifiable landmarks. We were just in the middle of a field. Jacob pulled out his phone to use the gps, but his compass wasn't working. I figured out via the sun and time which way was west. To the west is a small airplane landing strip; to the north is what looks like a low ropes course, complete with a wall; to the east are bunch of parking spots for small planes, a couple warehouses and silos; and to the south is the forest from which we came.  Jacob then said that we need to go east, and I followed him. We follow the path a little bit...and find ourselves back at that fork mentioned earlier. 

Jacob examines his phone's map and finds an alternate route that is a half mile longer than the route google gave us. We bike back on the crappy path, past the sound of the motorcycles, and eventually we see this view of the gate.

Before we take a right onto the road, I look back at the sign to the left of the road from which we just came. It said:

New Motorcross Course!

Bring Your Bike!

Questions? Call 0123456789

We are not responsible for any injuries.

The whole loop took about an hour and a half.

Dammit, Google Maps.

Eventually, somehow, someway, we arrived in Oxford, biked around a bit, saw this,

ate dinner, got to our airbnb host's house, planned out the next day's route, crashed, and showered (not necessarily in that order).






¹ While a hundred miles may seem like a lot, you have to remember a few differences between our journeys: first, they are on roadbikes, we are on hybrids; second, we are each carrying at least thirty pounds on our bikes (i.e. all our stuff) while they just have a bar and some water; third, theirs is a one-day ordeal, whereas ours is a week-long ordeal.<sup>2

2</sup> Yes, this is an excuse.