Inspiration for the infants

We had a super night out in London last week, to hear the mighty Anna McNuff speak at Dave Cornthwaite's 'YesStories' event. Taking the little two into town on the train is a #Microadventure in its own right!

Ruth and Rhoda are by far the youngest ever attendees to this event - and it's always something of a lottery when you take children to something they might not necessarily be expected at! Luckily, they received a wonderful welcome and acquitted themselves pretty well, despite an inopportune event with the reappearance of a half-chewed dried apricot during the main event. We really enjoyed Anna's new talk, 'Let me tell you about a time when...', and she coped wonderfully with both the live regurgitation and periodic heckling from her young fans. We are very grateful to her for her kindness and interest, and for blazing a trail for little girls like ours to follow.

In Mr Cornthwaite's 'Just say yes' spirit, and with the car's bike carrier finally fixed, I didn't have much choice, then, but to take the girls for a bike ride (Thomas Ivor is away this week) the following day, so we went to finish off the Brampton Valley Way, which I will write a separate review about shortly. We've been gradually crossing off different parts of it for a little while now.

Over two days, Ruth has done 20 miles on the trailerbike, Rhoda a lap of a car park, and the 'Bike+Trailerbike+Trailer' combination has been well and truly tested pending Katie's annual leave. By taking the double Croozer we can use it as a 'broom van' to sweep Ruth up if her little legs decide enough is enough; we can't speak highly enough of the Islabikes trailerbike (very sadly no longer made and still commanding decent money second hand). It confers a significant weight saving over the Trek Mountain Train we used in the Hebrides in 2014 and much improved stability thanks to the rack mount system, and whilst a little on the long side (a couple of feet longer overall than the double WeeHoo, we reckon) it is a remarkably nimble and manoeuvrable outfit.

As ever, assuming we get that far this summer, we're developing another touring setup, with Thomas Ivor on his Islabikes Luath 24, now morphing into a 'bikepacking' setup thanks to our friends at Alpkit, who have made him a beautiful bespoke frame bag. Our replacement bikes seem to be doing the business, although I am reserving judgement on the strength of the wheels.

All things being equal, Ruth is off to cycling club tonight for a first ride in her own right, so for now, here's a video of our outing in the Brampton Valley, which we will talk about a little more, soon...

Plotting and Planning - The Extra-Curricular Curriculum

Thomas Ivor had a surprise in the post this morning:

We had given up on being able to take him, but being around on a weekday at the moment means I was able to book for him to see his hero and inspiration Mark Beaumont next month. We're very excited!

One of the pieces of advice Mark gave to Thomas Ivor was to spend his winter planning his next adventure. Over the past week or so Thomas Ivor has been finding opportunities to prepare his planning skills, too. We have been out on map-reading exercises, learned about ratio in relation to map scales, built a contour map of an island we sailed past on our 2014 trip to the Outer Hebrides, and as his test piece I have left him to use all the resources on my bookshelves to plan hypothetical adventures in this country and abroad, from route choice to finding accommodation.

This work has culminated in us starting to look at how to 'carve up the Elephant' for Thomas Ivor's 2016 challenge. Taking inspiration from Mark Beaumont's trip from Alaska to Argentina, when he also climbed Denali and Aconcagua, Thomas Ivor has challenged himself to climb the 'Three Peaks' - Snowdon, Scafell Pike and Ben Nevis, and to cycle between them.

Constraints of budget, time, childcare and our inability to cross the Lakeland fells with the trailer on the back (I think we'll save the Fred Whitton for when the children have grown up!) mean that he can't do it all in one go - indeed, it will be a significant challenge to get it all done this year. We reckon we're looking at 15 days of riding, plus the three climbs, which we will need to do during the better weather.

I often find this part of the process a very therapeutic one, but looking at it from the perspective of a home educator it's amazing just how much you can teach a child through the process - not just humanities subjects, either, but maths, physics and languages, too...

Road-rash rescue

We had a good night's sleep on the edge of Dartmoor, but woke to find the weather had deteriorated, as per the forecast. There was no point hitting the road early, only to end up with many hours to kill, in dodgy weather, at Plymouth ferry terminal.

Fortunately, things were expected to pick up, and in any event, Toby and Nicky had very kindly offered to show us their amazing collection of vehicles.

The one thing we don't have at home, that I wish we did, is a garage, to store bikes and allow me to tinker with temperamental little Peugeots under cover. We have a lovely big basement, slowly drying out after years of mistreatment by a former occupier, but you struggle to get bikes down there without scratching them, never mind park a car in it! Aside from Toby's simply stunning wood workshop, we were shown bikes for every conceivable situation, before being led into a garage with the matchless aroma of petrol and oil. Little did I realise, as Thomas Ivor posed for pictures round Toby's lovely early 50s Land Rover, that he would wind up riding in it before the day was out.

Toby and Nicky have not only been very kind in extending an offer to accommodate us, strangers known only as fellow cyclists with children, but have really inspired us with their use of their bikes for every day utility, not just a holiday conveyance. John, their son, took a keen interest in our trailer, and Thomas Ivor's Islabike, whilst we saw tandems, tourers, racers, an antique trike and even a cargo bike. Everything is substance over style, and their kit clearly 'just works'. Smart as our matching Trek frames and Ortliebs may look, we are already having a long, hard think about some of the clever and evidently hard-working cycling solutions we've seen.

The highlight for Thomas Ivor was his first ride on a Tandem - Toby and Nicky have a Thorn 'Child Back' which they use to take John to school. A pair of these in three or four years' time might be just the ticket for us with the girls! John's stoker seat also featured cleverly shortened cranks, tapped out to allow the pedals to be moved later on. In return for letting Thomas Ivor try his seat, John was treated to a trip in the Croozer, which went down equally well!

Turning to our bikes, Thomas Ivor pointed out that I had a flat rear tyre - and depressingly, he was right. First one the bike has had! It transpired that something had apparently got inside it when the spoke was changed afterwards, as the shard of metal had not pierced the tyre. After the events of yesterday afternoon, Toby very kindly also put my wheel in his alignment jig and got it straight and tensioned for me, whilst we repaired the tube. We couldn't have been in better hands and we were so grateful to be setting out for Plymouth with the best possible prospects.

The time came to set off, all too soon, and we bade farewell to Toby, Nicky and a rather put out John, who wanted to come with us! The damp conditions made for a tricky descent down the narrow, hedge-lined 'Devon lane' to the main road, but by the time we reached the old road to Buckfastleigh, the surface was drying in the breeze. 

Taking my first stint with the trailer, I pushed on into a dip, trying to gain enough momentum to 'slingshot' us over the top of the next crest. Katie dropped onto Thomas Ivor's wheel to coach him at a more sedate pace.

Just before I reached the top, I heard a loud, pained cry.

I toiled feverishly up the last few yards of the climb and pulled off the road. Turning round, there was Thomas Ivor, being picked up off the road, with a car very close to where he'd landed. I turned the trailer and sped back down the hill as fast as the load would let me.

Despite appearances, I quickly discovered that the motorist had simply arrived at the scene after the accident happened, and was rendering assistance. He'd not been hit. Phew. Fortunately, not only did Thomas Ivor have a perfectly lucid recollection of what had happened, but Katie had of course seen it unfold right in front of her. He'd caught a seam in the surface where the road had been repaired, and at about 15mph it had pitched him off. Not really the lad's fault, but no consolation for him. He'd bitten his lip in three places as he'd landed, and whilst his helmet had done nothing for him (not a mark on it apart from a minuscule scuff on the plastic visor) he had a bump on the forehead and some other knocks and grazes. He had a wobbly tooth, but after some debate it was concluded that this was a milk tooth which was probably due to come out as it was!

Thomas Ivor hadn't had a proper fall from his bike before, and temporarily forgot that wailing and gnashing of teeth wouldn't soothe his wounds, which made things a little more testing. We needed to be certain he was ok - not only because we were about to leave the country and do some serious miles, but because when you are a separated parent, an accident or serious illness in your care is one of the worst occurrences possible.

We felt awful doing it after all the kindness and time they had given so far, but it seemed most prudent to give Toby and Nicky a shout for some help. Before we knew it, Thomas Ivor was back at their house and I was cleaning him up whilst Katie and the girls were brought back with the trailer in the trailer, as per yesterday. In the aftermath of the accident, Ruth had sat in a bus shelter, very concerned for her brother but most of all for his bike, and 'Beinn' was suitably 'mended' by the laying on of little hands.

Newton Abbot minor injuries unit was not somewhere I'd planned to visit on our trip, and I probably wouldn't have done so were it not for the specific circumstances, but with time now ticking to departure time at Plymouth, we had to be absolutely sure and cover our backs to regain some confidence. Praise God for the lovely nurse, a fellow cyclist, who triaged the little chap and prescribed getting back on the bike - which was far more helpful than the dramatic 'Oh my GOD!' he had from someone else who should have known better. We left the hospital having been seen promptly and efficiently, with an impartial opinion that we should carry on with our adventure - and Thomas Ivor with a 'trauma teddy' (knitted by the WRVS I think!) - they chose him one specially with a yellow jersey - who has joined our team and been nicknamed 'Froomey', in honour of today's winner on the Champs-Élysées.

A ride in the Land Rover later, we were all back together again at Toby and Nicky's house, and wound up arriving at Plymouth just as we had left Teignmouth yesterday. We cannot thank the guys enough for giving up much of their weekend and deploying their resources to save our trip. If we'd missed this ferry, we'd have had our work cut out making any of it work. We look forward to seeing them again to say 'thank you' once more when we get home.

And so a sore but sleeping Thomas Ivor, having ridden into the ferry terminal and shared his 'war story' with fellow cyclists in the queue, is in the berth beneath me on board Brittany Ferries' 'Armorique' as I write; fast asleep, hopefully dreaming of France. I've had a quick visit to the restaurant for some French cuisine to keep me going, and am probably going to have nightmares about spokes...

Broken down and befriended

The 'Grand Départ'

Knock on delays from our journey down the M5 on Friday saw to it that it was rather later than we'd have liked when we finally bid farewell to our friend Ruth and set out by bike from her warehouse on an industrial estate in Exeter, bound for France.

We were soon onto the recently improved path from Exeter to Starcross. Unfortunately the view from the new path is very much restricted, being, as it is, well below the level of the wall along the estuary - which, to be fair, is now better placed to serve the walkers it is only really suitable for. Nevertheless, the first ten miles passed pleasantly, the sun was shining, the wind at our backs...

Cockwood Harbour

'BOINK!' 

I'd diagnosed the broken spoke before I'd had chance to pull up, and call to Thomas Ivor to wait. It had failed some way out from the hub - apparently a tensile failure rather than work hardening of the bend at the end.

I started to walk into Dawlish Warren, texting Ruth, whilst Katie stopped to call the bike shop in Dawlish. We were glad Thomas Ivor had taken the time to sit with Ruth and mark up the map with bike shops whilst we'd been loading panniers in the morning.

The 'walk of shame' through the Warren, as I cursed my having said only yesterday that we were 'due a mechanical', reminded me just why we do what we do on holiday. People with few clothes and many tattoos, poorly behaved dogs and children, carrying cheap-jack inflatables and the spoils from the arcades. I reckon I would sooner visit hell itself than spend a week in a static caravan in Dawlish Warren. What they would make of our kind of holiday, one can of course only conjecture at!

Approaching Dawlish, Katie passed me and said that the bike shop hoped to be able to sort us out. She pressed on; having identical wheels to me, she would be able to give them a head start on what spec spoke we needed. No sooner had this information been imparted than a text message from Ruth came in, to say that she, too, had spoken to 'Bob' and we were in good hands. It was so encouraging to know we had someone to introduce us in that moment. Saturday afternoon isn't the best time to break down, even without a boat to catch.

It was frustrating to walk into Dawlish, but I wasn't taking any chances with the wheel when I was so close. We could well do without further failures, and in any event I was now worrying about the wheels generally. Once one spoke has gone, who knows what the others are like! Nevertheless, spirits lifted as I arrived at the shop, 'Braking Wind Cycles' - something of an understatement if you were to describe my inward disposition! Thomas Ivor was glad to stop walking.

Bob won't mind me describing him as a small chap, I feel sure, since it was he who pointed it out! What he lacked in height he made up for in enthusiasm, tempered with natural concern about the weight on our bikes and the failure we'd suffered. He told us to take a rest, to wander into town and get something to eat and drink, let the girls out, and if he needed us, he'd come and find us. I left my bike and my panniers, and we did as we were bidden. Sat amongst those for whom Dawlish was their holiday destination, not an unwelcome and premature stop en route, we got the girls, and the ball, out. It seemed wrong. I am no wheel builder, but despite being pretty much useless I felt awful not being with my wheel whilst it was on the operating table. We have a lot of miles to cover together, yet, and although this is the first such failure in hundreds of miles since we bought the bikes, which we were assured by the Trek dealer would cope with the load, I will carry this worry for the rest of the trip unless a new wheel presents itself.

It was time to call our hosts for the evening. No way were we going to make it to Ashburton for our planned arrival time now.

Toby, it turned out, is a man of many bikes and almost as many trailers. I figured that by the time he had got rolling towards us, as he kindly offered, we could make it to the quay car park at Teignmouth, and put some modest distance on the repaired rim to see if it settled, so that's what we did. Bob swapped out the failed spoke, I had a quick run round the block to check all was well and we got rolling once more. 

The main road out of Dawlish begins with an evil hill, on a busy and narrow stretch, and I must confess I had forgotten just how many times the road went down and up again between the two towns. It's no wonder Brunel put his railway where he did! 

I do hope Toby hadn't been waiting long as we rolled into the appointed car park to find a 4x4 and a trailer big enough to take our entire outfit, with a friendly fellow cyclist at the wheel of the ensemble. A long evening's ride and a big hill had been averted thanks to the kindness of strangers. Toby, Nicky and their little boy John are another cycling family, with a wealth of experience on two wheels, and it's been affirming to meet likeminded people so early in our trip.

With the added benefit, unexpectedly, of a night in a proper bed for us, and covered storage for our fleet, we have the slightly confusing luxury of not having an early getaway, since the weather forecast is poor but improving, and we don't get to board the ferry until late at night - Brittany Ferries were unable to promise us anywhere sheltered to wait at the terminal in such a way as to keep our children warm and our bikes safe. That's for tomorrow, anyway...

Getting out of the door

'They' say that getting out of the door and getting on with it is the hardest bit.

'They' are spot on.

With any bike trip, it's not a done deal until you hit the Tarmac, and in our case, departure day never seems to go quite to plan, but just as inevitably, as soon as we've got the bikes rolling, we're fine. Once you know you've got going, carrying everything you meant to bring, with you, that's the hard bit done.

With a growing family (numerically and in stature!) it follows that you are forced repeatedly to break one of the golden rules of bicycle touring - get to know your kit and your capabilities, and once you have a setup that works, stick with it unless there is a compelling reason. It's just not possible to do that long term, when the number, size and capabilities of your 'team' is ever-changing. We are already contemplating kit changes for next year, and the year beyond.

The purpose of this trip, then, building on day rides of increasing length, to make sure, ahead of our trip to France in the summer, that Thomas Ivor, who was on the Mountain Train last year, mostly being towed by me, could hack the daily mileages and pace required to get us around Brittany; a predictably late start gave him an even warmer baptism of fire, because it was only at about 1535 that we wheeled off from Newark-upon-Trent station car park, with a day's worth of riding ahead of us.

Five minutes later, we set off again, after my run back to the car to shut the windows. It was starting to feel like we would never make our booked overnight stop. Leaving the station, with Thomas Ivor still getting settled, we crossed the road on foot and elected to try the cycle path alongside the road. It turned out very quickly to be one of those utterly useless and potentially lethal paths that was put in by a local authority who wanted to tick a box, designed by people who had never ridden a bike. Sure enough, giving way every few yards, kamikaze pedestrians, thick brambles at chest height, stinging nettles and impassable chicanes all saw to it that the first couple of miles out of town were stressful. Interestingly, Thomas Ivor very soon opined that he preferred roads to cycle paths, and we were pleasantly surprised how calm he was, not only in traffic, but on roads he didn't know. I can but speculate that all those miles on the back of the trailer bike, watching us and being used to holding a line amongst other vehicles, have taught him well.

We stopped in the village of Collingham after a run along a curious cycle path which was mainly asphalt but skirted fields and a quarry. Having turned onto it, we were worried we'd committed to a pace-killer, but with nobody else about, we kept going, already conscious of the fine balance between mileage and daylight remaining. As we crossed the road from a disappointingly poorly-stocked shop, a rough-looking dog leapt out of a tradesman's van and scared the wits out of the little guy. Had we not been pushed for time, I might have followed up the insulting laughter of the owner, but we had to get weaving.

For the most part for this trip, we plotted a route using the CTC's journey planner, using the 'balanced route' setting. Just occasionally, it gets over-optimistic, and we were pretty cheesed-off when, soon after Collingham, the route sent us up a sharp rise before telling us to cross a field and immediately lose that height using a rocky bridlepath at the side of a field. Gritting our teeth, we got on with it and crossed the railway line, only to discover that far worse lay in store.

The moment you hang a trailer on the back of a bike, especially a two-wheeler, in fact as soon as you load the bike meaningfully, your ability to cross a field of oilseed rape using only a bumpy, rocky rut diminishes. By the time we'd crossed two of them, we were seriously demoralised, by the time lost and in Katie's case, the bruises she'd picked up from her pedals, as the bouncing trailer caused her bike to keep clattering into her. Finding the road once more, we pushed on.

We kept to quiet roads for the remainder of the day, and the children were treated to a lesson in agriculture, passing cows, pigs, chickens, and fields of various crops. Eventually we found a Co-op from which to pick up some provisions, stopping soon after in a bus shelter to demolish some hastily-assembled sandwiches. Long stretches skirting fields were punctuated with the odd small village, and it would have been nice to have taken it in at a slightly less insistent pace, but the beautiful sunset we were shaping up for was at the same time a threat. We really didn't want to be riding in the dark. Murmurs of fatigue from Thomas Ivor disappeared after he'd eaten, I took over towing the trailer, and the girls settled down inside, to watch the Paddington film on an old iPhone clamped to the rollcage.

As the light began to fade, Thomas Ivor had to celebrate smashing his daily mileage record by keeping rolling and stretching it! We were amazed at how little fuss he'd made, having not ridden at all for a fortnight. At last, we made it to our campsite at Kirton-in-Lindsey for the night. A delighted Thomas Ivor secured a box of fresh eggs for his breakfast and with the site to ourselves, we had the tent up just as night fell.

First question answered - yes, the boy can do a 40 mile day if he has to. He can do 37 miles in six hours, including food and shopping stops! Second question is, will he, or we, pay for, tomorrow?