Cheshire Tiles

Tuesday 27^th October 2026

I booked this short trip expecting this season’s first named storms, Austen and Boelo, to have blown themselves out by the time I set off, but the forecast for today was still distinctly iffy. However, the accommodation was booked, so I set off expecting to be blown around a bit and get thoroughly wet. But don’t you just love it when the forecasters get it wrong in your favour? That was certainly the case today. Blue skies for most of the time, a bit breezy but nothing serious (15–20 mph from the south-west), and I didn’t need my waterproofs at all. A rare occasion when the weather gods decided to play nicely.

I’m staying at my favourite youth hostel, Trafford Hall near Chester. I’ll have to abandon it before long, as I’ve now ‘explored’ all the Veloviewer tiles in the immediate area. If I just wanted to cycle along familiar roads, I wouldn’t need to leave home. There are still plenty of new tiles in the region, but I need to drive a few miles from the hostel to reach them. Today, I drove to Tarporley to start my ride, which headed south into the wind. The route was very wiggly, although it generally made progress in the direction of Whitchurch. There were two reasons for this:

• To collect new tiles broadly in the direction I wanted to travel;
• To cover a reasonable daily mileage without venturing too far from the car, just in case the rain arrived after all. Even at my furthest point, I was never too far from the dubious sanctuary of my car.

As it turned out, all that zig-zagging allowed me to collect 37 brand-new tiles, adding 40 to my cluster and pushing it more comprehensively into Shropshire. A satisfactory morning’s work, if you measure productivity in collecting contiguous squares on a map.

There were a few interesting sights along the way, including one traffic sign advising that the police would enforce aircraft traffic. I was unsure whether any passing EasyJet pilots could have seen the sign, but it appeared to be a warning aimed specifically at them.  A beautiful, red-bricked building in Whitchurch boasted that it housed a turret clock manufacturer. I was impressed until I discovered that the company has been closed for 14 years. The building was very impressive though and the clock showed the correct time.

In Whitchurch town centre, I found what I thought would be a suitable café for a brew and a snack. Suitable it was, although decidedly odd. From the front, it looked quite upmarket, but I approached from the side and, from that angle, it looked closed. All the blinds were drawn and not a light was visible. As I approached, however, the door opened and two mums with prams emerged, so it was definitely open. Or at least, it had been.

I ventured inside to find just two tables occupied. I placed my order and settled down to eavesdrop on the conversations, as one does when the entertainment budget is rather restricted. One couple were discussing their medical problems, loudly complaining that their GP hadn’t responded appropriately to their various ailments. The other couple appeared to be a daughter and her dad, chatting to the waitress, who was very polite and nicely spoken. The daughter, in contrast, liberally sprinkled her conversation with the f-word. Her dad rarely spoke, except when managing to anger his daughter with his use of decidedly non-PC language.

Amongst other things, the daughter was discussing having her hair done and paying £140 for a cut and tint. That seemed a lot to pay in Whitchurch, but what really struck me was how little return on investment she appeared to have received. Perhaps the hairdresser had surreptitiously charged extra for the swearing.

Another couple came in and asked for crêpes.

“I’m sorry, we’ve sold out,” came the reply.

“Oh, the crêpes were the only reason we came in!”

What? A café in Whitchurch specialising in crêpes? Had I inadvertently stumbled into a secret outpost of French cuisine, or were the town’s culinary capabilities much higher than I’d realised?

Still, as they say, all human life is here. I just hadn’t expected to find quite so much of it concentrated in a sleepy market-town café in Shropshire.

The ride back north was lovely, with a tailwind and most of the climbing behind me. I passed one lady mowing the verge with a small mower, but no houses were evident nearby. The next house I saw was over 200 yards away, so she had either got carried away or was practising for a job on the council.

The light was beautiful as I approached the end of the ride, but I was glad that the low sun was behind me and not dazzling in my face.

I was just contemplating invoking my ’60-mile rule’ – whereby, once I’ve ridden 60 miles in a day, I have to ride a couple more so that my metric total exceeds 100 km – when I came across a closed road at 56 miles. Naturally, I used this as an excuse to find a diversion that would take me over the threshold. It’s amazing how quickly a road closure can change from an inconvenience into a welcome opportunity when it suits your mileage targets.

The diversion also, serendipitously, took me safely beyond 1,000 metres of climbing, which is quite a lot for this part of the country. My legs may have had a different opinion, but they weren’t consulted.

The weather is supposed to improve tomorrow and Thursday, which would be good if it actually happens. After today’s pleasant surprise, I’m almost tempted to trust the forecasters. Almost.

Wednesday 28th October 2026

Today’s route was even more wiggly than yesterday’s, due in part to a road closure just outside Middlewich. Apparently, it was the construction of the Middlewich Eastern Bypass which barred my way. I’m sure the town will benefit eventually, and cyclists will gain a new cycleway, but in the meantime it caused considerable disruption to my plans. The official diversions took me along busy roads, so I declined their kind invitation to risk life and limb. Instead, I retraced my route for a while before re-joining it a few miles further on. This added a couple of miles to the distance and caused me to miss out on four tiles I’d been targeting. Progress, of sorts, but not quite what I had in mind.

The road closure was particularly annoying because, just before reaching the actual closure, I passed a barrier carrying a sign inviting cyclists to dismount. Then, barely a minute later, the road was genuinely closed, with no chance of sneaking through. So what was the point of the first barrier? Presumably, it was simply there to give cyclists a false sense of optimism.

The weather was good – much better than I’d feared, although not quite as good as yesterday. It tried to drizzle for the first hour, but once again I didn’t need my ‘insurance’ overshoes. I did, however, suffer from a phantom puncture. My back tyre deflated after eight miles, but I couldn’t find any obvious cause. I fitted a new inner tube and carried on without further problems. [I’ve only just remembered that I still need to repair the tube I removed. I suppose there’s always something to look forward to.]

I carried out the work to the accompanying soundtrack of racing cars at an Oulton Park track day. They were about three miles away, but the westerly breeze carried the noise across the countryside. I first heard the engines as I passed Oulton Park entrance, and several miles later I could still hear them. These, apparently, were the cars that had passed the mandatory noise testing. I dread to think what the rejected ones sounded like.

Cafés were in short supply in Crewe and Nantwich, although fish and chip shops were in abundance. With 15 miles still to go, I was becoming a little anxious, having run out of both water and snacks, so I was relieved to finally spot a café on the banks of the Shropshire Union Canal. There were several businesses at the same location, and initially I found myself inside a dog-grooming studio before eventually locating the café. Nobody laughed, so I assume this wasn’t the first time someone had gone looking for a coffee and come out covered in dog hair. Perhaps they need to work on their signage.

When I arrived back at Trafford Hall, I got chatting to the hostel manager, whom I recognised from previous visits. She gave me the sad news that the hostel was closing on Friday. She didn’t know why and was understandably upset, having worked there for at least four years, to my knowledge. It will be a great loss. Each time I’ve visited, the place has been full of school groups as well as people like me. It also seems popular with contractors, some of whom stay for weeks at a time. Clearly, plenty of people find it useful, which makes the decision all the more puzzling.

I subsequently learned that Trafford Hall isn’t actually closing; it’s just that the YHA isn’t renewing its lease on the site. I do think the YHA has lost its way in recent years. It repeatedly closes hostels that subsequently reopen as independent establishments, suggesting that there is still a viable business there after all. Many YHA hostels are now only available if you hire the entire property; the option of booking an individual bed in a dormitory is becoming a rarity. That’s not much use if you’re travelling alone, unless you’ve suddenly acquired a large circle of friends on the journey – or have a particularly generous budget.

I know I’m probably pining for a lost era, but it’s sad that the experience I enjoyed as a boy, touring from one youth hostel to another, is no longer readily available to today’s young people. The whole point was that you could travel independently, meet fellow travellers and explore the country without it costing the earth. At this rate, the traditional youth hostel experience may soon be available only to those organising a school trip or a rather ambitious family reunion. It’s a shame to see something that opened up the countryside to generations of young travellers gradually disappearing.

Right, having now resorted to being a grumpy old man, I’d better sign off. But not before celebrating the fact that today’s ride not only added another 37 brand-new tiles but also took me beyond 20,000 Veloviewer tiles overall. At least some things are still going in the right direction.

Thursday 29th October 2026

I mended the punctured tube before breakfast this morning and found two holes, obviously caused by a thorn that had already made its escape from the tyre since I never saw it yesterday, only felt the damage it inflicted.

I was rather sad as I ate my final breakfast at Trafford Hall. I took time to give a hard stare at the toaster (Paddington would’ve been proud), since we have a history. Last year, a misunderstanding between us resulted in one of us setting off the smoke alarm in the dining room. Thankfully, over the years I’ve grown accustomed to its idiosyncrasies, and we now enjoy a grudging respect for each other.

I’ve just checked, and over the past four years I’ve spent sixteen nights at Trafford Hall. That’s quite a lot of breakfasts to have entrusted to a potentially unreliable appliance.

After checking out, I drove to Nantwich before heading off to explore what was a new area for me. My route took me almost to Market Drayton, linking in with other routes whenever I was close enough. The country lanes had very few cars but plenty of farm machinery and I was grateful that those I encountered were driven respectfully.

Once more, I made several detours before heading back via Crewe to Nantwich. I’d planned the route in anticipation of poor weather, building in a few shorter options in case conditions deteriorated.

The main body of the route was about 45 miles, and when I got back to the car I called in at a mobile catering van for a brew. As I arrived, the lady was having trouble with her coffee machine, which was refusing to froth any milk. I switched my order to tea to help her out, only to discover that the machine couldn’t dispense hot water either. I therefore had to resort to buying a cold drink. Luckily, the Bakewell slice didn’t rely on any form of machinery, so I enjoyed that on a nearby bench. Sometimes the technology-free options are best.

After this brief interlude, I went on another quick trip, covering about a dozen miles and picking up many of the tiles within the loop of the morning’s ride. Very satisfying.

Once again today I saw plenty of Road Closed signs (perhaps six), none of which actually prevented me from passing through. It’s helpful that several of these signs now specify whether the restrictions actually apply to cyclists. Most of the time, the road isn’t closed to pedestrians (and therefore presumably not to cyclists pushing their bikes either), just motor vehicles. It’s very useful when a sign makes clear that the road is closed to cyclists and pedestrians as well. At least it saves me the embarrassment of having to turn round after confidently announcing that I know a way through.

Overall, I rode through 179 new Veloviewer tiles and increased my cluster by 110. I cycled 193 miles but drove 164 miles to and from the various starting points. That’s environmentally sound enough for me. I’m sure Greta Thunberg would understand.

Post script.  I’d heard that AI is now able to write poetry given sufficient prompts and guidance.  And so when I asked Chat GPT to write me a soliloquy on the future of the YHA based on the paragraphs I’d written above, I was amazed with what it produced in a few seconds.

To be, or to adapt – that is the question.

How changed is the world since first our doors unlatched
To welcome weary boots, and dust-stained coats,
And pockets light of coin, but rich in dreams.
The Youth Hostels Association – once a simple vow
To give the wandering soul a modest bed,
A common hearth where strangers turned to friends
Over shared bread and maps of windswept hills.

But time, a relentless trekker, marches on.

The shared dormitory – our sacred, spartan hall –
Now whispers to an empty, anxious air.
A generation seeks the wild, yet craves its peace alone;
They ask for Wi-Fi in the heart of woods,
And private sanctuaries to rest their heads.
The digital nomad, with glowing screen in hand,
Looks not for rows of iron bunks, but space to breathe,
To work, to blend the modern with the old.

And look upon the climate – our grand, green host!
The very trails we guard are shifting now.
We must be stewards not just of the roof,
But of the earth beneath. To lower our footprint,
To harvest the sun, to honour the silent valleys
Lest the beauty we showcase is withered by our stride.

The balance tips upon a narrow ridge:
To keep the old, inclusive heart alive –
Where charity ensures the city child
Can see the starlight crown a mountain peak –
While building structures fit for changing tides.
If we solidify into a relic of the past,
We crumble into memory.
If we surrender wholly to the luxury of the age,
We lose the very soul that made us grand.

No, the future demands a bolder path.
Let the walls be green, let the spaces adapt,
Let the technology connect us to the wild, not tear us away.
The YHA must not merely survive the coming years;
It must redefine what it means to wander, together.