After a refreshing evening at the Three Swans in Hungerford ‘woke up on a good day and the world was wonderful’ (Stranglers/ Midnight Summer Dream). Destination Biscuit town today and the end of my cycle journey where the Canal joins the Thames. Accessing the tow path from Hungerford is a simple matter of turning right under the bridge at the bottom of the high street. There’s no negotiating industrial estates or hawthorn lined litter strewn access paths like at Trowbridge. Landmarks along the way on this stretch are Kintbury, Newbury, and Thatcham before negotiating the lakes at Theale and then heading into Reading itself. Weather is still gloriously warm and will reach a high of 30 degrees today. Aside from the industrial heritage of the Canal itself the civil defence structures from World War Two remain a regular feature at bridges and locks along with the ever present parallel GWR train line.

What never ceases to frustrate me and I guess anyone who chooses to use the Canal towpath as a means of exploration is when the ‘Canals and River Trust’ close a section. I get that important maintenance is required to prevent the canals slipping back to their post war states of dereliction but a little advance warning would be nice for the towpath traveller. There were two closures on this stretch that appeared from nowhere one near Newbury and another in a more remote part further down. The first resulted in me getting lost in an identikit housing estate and me having to surprise a postman on his round like a prisoner on the run to help me rejoin the waterway. The second resulted in me having to force my way through a bramble thicket, lift my bike over two – before and after – styles and then push my bike at speed across a double track of railway just ahead of two trains oncoming from opposite directions as I cleared the second style. Something which certainly focusses the mind. Then I had to make some educated guesses to work out where the tow path closure might re-open.

You know you are approaching Reading as you start to glimpse high rise buildings through the tree canopies. I’ve been to Reading before some years ago to the Reading Festival on a day trip from London primarily to see Jane’s Addiction. Inevitably my memory of that first trip is blurred. First impressions of Reading now; urban, crowded, and multi-cultural. The built up bustling nature of the town is a shock to the system after three days on the Canal. The fact it’s a town and not a city also confuses given it’s sprawling size. Overall it’s another example for me of how English town planners erroneously sold their souls to the motor car and then let developers finish off wrecking what the car didn’t. Where places essentially become glorified roundabouts of homogenised concrete and glass structures.

You are able to follow the Canal through the (to my mind) over developed town centre, past what’s left of the old Huntley & Palmer biscuit factory,  and out to the Thames.

Journey’s end.

The Thames Path into London is an adventure for another time.

On the return train journey north I managed to surf the crest of the wave of train cancellations arising a result of the unseasonably warm weather.

 

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Out from Trowbridge and back onto the towpath. Destination Hungerford skirting past Devizes. For a secular man I do find myself getting more spiritual as I get older. I guess this is somewhat inevitable. I don’t mean the Holy Spirit but pedalling is very good for the soul particularly and when you reach cadence, the route is largely traffic free, and all you have to do is maintain forward momentum to achieve your goal the meditative mindset will find you out. That was certainly true for me throughout Tuesday. As I bumped, weaved, and rutted along the Canal I pondered, reflected, and daydreamed all manner of things. There was even an epiphany to be had. Getting lost in the moment is clearly something not confined to humans as I met a Heron after a bend who was seemingly content but lost in the movement of the waters. At first I thought it was fake as I’d seen a whole host of stuff festooned on the barges I had passed hitherto. But no. It was real and prepared to stand it’s ground with the advent of the inconsequential cyclist. Amazing.  Usually they fly off before you can get near and definitely before you can get your phone out. Wiltshire wildlife – a breed apart.

As the day wore on summer bled into my skin as the sweat and electrolytes poured out. You can’t book the weather but I had definitely struck lucky. No need to pack any waterproofs and the temperature ultimately hit a high point at 33 degrees. It wouldn’t be summer in the country though without horseflies and my legs are testament to how tasty they find me. Plus I always manage to scuff my shins and calves with my pedals so together with patchy sun burn my legs were beginning to look a sorry sight. I’d drawn first blood even before I left the platform at Temple Meads. Onwards past a Wiltshire White Horse carved into the hillside (there are several in the County; they have a thing for them). Peddling along lost in rpm’s and hedgerow birdsong pacing dragon flies in flight the air was abruptly chopped up by an approaching Apache helicopter gunship prowling low left to right across the blue Wiltshire sky. That may be commonplace for local folk but it was a jarring experience for me and in stark contrast to the natural world Canal side. Seeing it though reminded me that it was coronation day for our latest leader. There’s nothing like million pound military hardware to snap you back to reality. They say societies get the governments they deserve.

Following the military theme (there may also be a Brexit metaphor somewhere if you want to dig in) as you pass through Wiltshire you start to see the remnants of the 1940’s ‘blue line’ popping up regularly which was to be the resistance line to invasion from the south in WW11. All the bridges on the Canal would have been blown and the defenders would have bunkered down in the pill boxes on the north bank. Never used fortunately. A lot of the concrete structures have become homes to bats apparently. Broke my first pair of sunglasses for the season. History tells me they won’t be the last.

After a challenging day in the heat arrived in Hungerford tired but happy in my stink. First impressions; high street buoyant and retains it’s antique charm; moneyed. Impressive thunderstorm in the early hours of Wednesday.

 

 

 

Aim was to cycle the Kennet & Avon Canal towpath – 89 miles plus the extra bits either end. Travelled down to Bristol Temple Meads station by train. The usual mix of kind hearted positive spirited travellers on the train, oh and also fine examples of the egotistical traveller of course.

Left Temple Meads and pedalled out from the back of the station heading for the Bristol to Bath cycle path (NCN Route 4). I was surprised to see a number of caravans parked up in side streets in the industrial area near the station. Seemingly part of a community that has sprung up in these austere times.

Bristol truly is a cycling city and the cycling infrastructure is impressive and continues to be so throughout Somerset. Having segregated cycle ways is the future  to getting more people in the saddle as reductions in motorised traffic do not appear to happening any time soon. Bristol & Bath prove this with a much wider variety of people pedalling on their tarmac. I saw more children and women cycling than I have in a long while just going about their usual daily business traffic free. From punks in red sparkling spandex heading down town to mums on route to the school gates (it surprised me that school was not out for summer in the South West yet). I also saw two Police Officers patrolling on bikes, one in Bristol and one in Bath. Both positive sightings in an age where I’ve become used to seeing the Police only behind the windscreens of their patrol cars. The path gently climbs out of Bristol through a leafy cut and includes the Staple Hill Tunnel which was a like a fridge even in a heat wave.

Route 4 runs parallel to the Avon Valley Railway to the River Avon and into Bath.

Once the Canal got underway proper I endeavoured to keep to the towpath and only diverting from the water side when there was no other option.

Canals seek to follow contours where they can and the Kennet & Avon is no different.  Railways are the same. So it’s not surprise that the rails of the Great Western Railway (GWR) are never that far from the Canal for the length of it’s course. Indeed it was the coming of the Railway and the GWR that killed off the profitability of the Canal as an economic industrial going concern as early as 1851.

Bath was Britain’s first tourist resort. An early example of Britain’s service industry – and remains so today.

Bath is where the Kennet & Avon Canal sets off on it’s route eventually to Reading and it’s end where it flows into the River Thames.

Overnight stopover (Monday) was in Trowbridge. First impressions of Trowbridge were faded Georgian grandeur, empty shops, and a variety of odd men wandering the streets who could be overheard engaged in odd conversations. Maybe I arrived at the wrong time in the wrong mindset after the smart Georgian Palladian architecture of Bath but the town looks like it’s been in decline since the disappearance in the 1980’s of the woollen cloth trade where it’s fortunes were originally made. Also if Wetherspoon’s ever read this Trowbridge shattered all you meant to me. Although as Duff McKagan (GNR) might say show a little tenderness as Trowbridge could be a slow burner in terms of it’s renaissance. That’s the town though not the ‘spoons.