The Midlands

I pass a quiet day of rest with dancing friends Annabel and Nigel. It is over 20 years since I last visited and a shockingly long time since I last saw them. Aside from the family that has arrived and grown up, not so much has changed. I am lent a pair of dancing shoes and spend a happy evening out Scottish dancing.

There is a chunk of the UK to be crossed which is relatively built up and (ex)industrial between Birmingham, Coventry and Derby. There are many large conurbations to avoid and big A roads and motorways to cross. I manage to find relatively small roads to wend my way through. There are old colliery villages and quarries and chimneys. Many of them now greenified.

Its not the most exciting territory and its grey and drizzly and not exciting. I camp as I can’t find anywhere else to stay. The kind and chatty campsite lady labels me as “A crazy mad cyclist”, I think she is probably right. Its suddenly surprisingly warm!

Day 2 of the midlands is drizzly fog. The car headlights emerge from the grey. I find a noisy bus shelter for lunch and say hi in sympathy to the equally bedraggled sheep - those that are close enough for me to see them.

Enough is enough, I head for the next campsite. Its next to the Pub. “I’d like to camp.” I say. “Really?” comes the surprised reply. “Well I assume all your rooms are full?” I say. “Yes” he says. “Well then…” and out I go to pitch in the sogg. The good bit is that there is a warm dry place to spend the evening. And I manage to sit at the same table as another solo traveler. So I get a little pleasant company too.Læs mere