London and East Anglia

Sunday 26^th April 2026

I’m very much a planner.  And I feel lucky to be made that way since I derive almost as much as enjoyment from the planning process as in the activity itself.  But I’m also a worrier, which I think is complemented by planning – one mitigates the other.  

When I conceived this trip in the dark days of winter, I gave little thought to the actual start date.  I simply chose a week when the weather was likely to be fine and it didn’t clash with anything else in the diary.  I didn’t check the date of the London Marathon, for instance, so as I turned on the TV this morning and saw images of thousands of people running along the very route I will take tomorrow, I gave an involuntary shudder: I could just as easily have decided to start my trip on Sunday rather than Monday leading to what would have been a disastrous start.  Thankfully, the frequent Sunday engineering work on the railways put me off, and so I opted for a Monday morning departure.  Phew!

Today, then, I’ve been packing my bags, checking the bike (again!) and reading how to get it on the train. The last time I took a bike on a train, I just loaded it on and thought nothing about it.  Now I have to check in 15 minutes before to ‘collect my bike space coupon and store my bike’.  I haven’t yet worked out how I can load my bike at Preston 15 minutes before the train arrives – it won’t even have reached Lancaster by then. But I’ll follow the rules and turn up when requested.

Monday 27th April

As anyone will tell you, worrying doesn’t do any good—but it does encourage people like me to think about what might go wrong and prepare a contingency plan or two. Today’s main concern was loading the bike onto the train, since the rules appeared to be manifold and possibly contradictory. I stood alone at the end of Platform Four, precisely where the sign indicated bikes should be loaded.

Unfortunately, the train turned out to be only nine carriages long rather than eleven, so when the last carriage whizzed past me, I had to set off in pursuit along the platform.  When I positioned myself by the appropriate door I then realised that there was no one there to open it.  Panic! Leaving the bike, I trotted along the platform in my clippety cycling shoes until I finally located a uniformed chap with a key.  He kindly opened the door, clearly amused by my panicked expression.  Once aboard, things didn’t improve much: the space for four bikes was already occupied by four huge MTBs, so my modest steed had to be wedged into the tiniest of gaps.  Still, my bike and I were now both on board, and I was soon settled into my reserved seat, wondering what I’d forgotten to worry about.

Arriving in London, I had anticipated crowds and traffic but in reality, I had underestimated both. It was absolutely chaotic. I walked some distance before finding a road that (a) I was allowed to cycle on and (b) was relatively quiet.  Once I joined Cycle Route C27, I felt rather more at ease.

The direct route from Euston to Westminster wasn’t appealing, so I first headed west towards Marble Arch before turning south through Hyde Park. The crowds around Buckingham Palace were like nothing I’ve ever seen, and The Mall was closed for reasons unknown, requiring a diversion before I could reach Westminster Bridge and pick up CS3 – grandly titled Cycle Superhighway 3.  In fairness, it is rather good.  I remember it being constructed around 2015–16, so it was satisfying to finally make use of it.

The CS3 route is completely segregated from traffic, and I followed it for about a dozen miles all the way to Barking.  I did take a slight detour to see the Millennium Dome.  It has taken me 26 years to set eyes on it, but I’m afraid it looked a little tired; the once-pristine white roof now a rather weary shade of grey.

After leaving the City, much of the route ran alongside the six-lane A13 road which was not pleasant.  Yes, it was segregated, yes it was painted a pretty blue colour, but the noise was awful.  And I was cycling into a headwind.  Grim.

A restorative stop for coffee and cake in Romford improved matters considerably. From there, the transformation was remarkable: quiet country lanes, barely any traffic, and I even heard my first cuckoo of the year. By the time I reached my digs in Chelmsford, I felt I’d successfully shaken off the London grime.

The accommodation is perfectly adequate – small, but with everything I need. After a meal at a local pub, I was more than ready for a quiet evening with a book.

Tomorrow I head northeast, which unfortunately means riding straight into an 18-mph wind once again. At least the overnight rain should have cleared by the time I set off. And, looking on the bright side, the wind direction is set to hold all week, so with any luck, Thursday onwards might finally feel like a reward rather than a test of character.

Tuesday 28th April

I awoke twice in the night. The first time was around midnight when I heard an almighty clatter. No other sound followed, but when I investigated, it seemed that a rack attached to the shower screen by suction cups had decided to stop sucking and had deposited both itself and its contents into the shower tray. I didn’t attempt to fix it – it was already on the floor, so couldn’t fall any further.

My second awakening came around 4am when I heard a dog barking very loudly. I suspected that it was just outside my window, but given the volume, I wasn’t entirely convinced it wasn’t actually in bed with me. So although I’d gone to bed early, I didn’t feel especially rested by morning. The forecast rain hadn’t yet arrived, but it was very breezy, and I was facing 72 miles of headwind.  An early start seemed the least bad option.

Breakfast was included at this ‘no-contact’ B&B, and the dining room was filled with all manner of goodies, so I ate as much as I reasonably could before setting off at about 8:20.

By then, a light rain had begun to fall and, combined with the wind and school traffic around Chelmsford, it made for an unpleasant start to the ride.

The rain – such as it was (they don’t do rain in Essex like they do in Lancashire) – had cleared by 10am, and soon after that the sun came out and things improved immeasurably. I had a marvellous lunch at Café Hygge in Long Melford and spent nearly an hour there simply watching the world go by.

I didn’t take many photos at either the start or the end of the day. It rained for the first two hours, and during the last two I was so fed up with the constant 20-mph headwind that I stopped noticing anything other than the Garmin telling me how much further I had to ride.  Consequently, the few photos I did take were mainly of old churches and pretty villages.  The final part of the journey, through North Suffolk, was predominantly rolling arable farmland, so not terribly interesting. I had previously assumed the land around here was flat, but it wasn’t; it certainly had a bit of attitude about it.

I completed the ride by just passing into Norfolk, thereby finishing my quest to ride in all 48 ceremonial counties of England.  So tonight I’m celebrating.  I’ve chosen the venue for my party – the White Hart at Roydon.  It comes with a sparkling reputation (for food rather than parties, admittedly, but who’s checking?), and its popularity suggested booking ahead.

The delicious spicy carrot soup with granary bread, followed by steak and mushroom pie, went down very well. I even managed to snag another Veloviewer tile by walking a couple of hundred yards beyond the pub, rounding off a very successful day. I just hope no falling racks or barky dogs disturb me tonight.

Wednesday 29th April – 07:30

Having now completed the main purpose of the trip, I suppose there’s nothing more to do than head home and plan another scheme. However, I have a rail ticket from Coventry which is valid only on Saturday, so there’s no rush.  I might as well enjoy the sights while I’m here.

First stop today is breakfast. I have three main choices within two miles. The “best” café (on price and rating) doesn’t open until 9am, and since I was ready at 7:30, that was a non-starter. The second and third options drew level: both open at 8am, at distances of one and two miles respectively. The further one offers a Turkish breakfast, so I’m opting for that. If it doesn’t look promising (it is on a garage forecourt…), I may retrace my steps.

About 70 miles today – mainly flat, but with a 20-mph headwind for the first 35 miles, so I’m not expecting much fun. I’ve opted for sun cream rather than waterproofs, which feels like a small moral victory.

Wish me luck.

Wednesday 29th April – 09:20

Well, that didn’t quite go to plan. I knew the Turkish café was next to a car wash, but it turns out there are two car washes within a quarter of a mile. The first had no café, just a mini-mart that looked like it might once have had culinary ambitions.  Disappointed but hungry, I nipped in and bought some mediocre sandwiches from the Turkish-looking proprietor.

On my way to find a quiet place to eat them, I passed the second car wash – the one with the café. It was open, welcoming, and, crucially, serving a delicious Turkish breakfast. Moments like this make me wish I were staying longer, just so I could return. Sadly, at 250 miles and 4½ hours away, a casual revisit seems unlikely.

Wednesday 29th April – 21:00

After leaving the café, filled with Turkish delights, I headed into the wind and ground away all morning, mostly using the bike’s granny ring. It was dispiriting: all that effort just to reach double figures and all the while, the birdsong was drowned out by the relentless 20-mph wind.

The countryside here is big and open with barely any trees, but unlike the fens, it isn’t completely flat. I was constantly either slightly climbing or gently descending, though it made not a ha’porth of difference to my speed. Even around the Broads, the land varied between 5 and 35 metres in height. My fastest speed of the day came descending a respectable hill approaching Brundall.

I found Southwold disappointing. It holds certain memories for me, particularly the pastel beach huts and the lighthouse in the town centre. I saw the lighthouse in passing, but the pier which was another supposed highlight, left me unimpressed. I didn’t even make it onto the beach to see the huts, so apart from eating my sandwiches for lunch (or perhaps it should be classified as a second breakfast?) by the Sailors’ Reading Room, I didn’t linger.

Although I’d expected a helpful tailwind to Brundall, the wind had shifted slightly to the northeast, leaving me with a crosswind instead. Disappointing, to say the least.

I did enjoy revisiting Beccles after a 34-year gap. Last time I was here, I took afternoon tea in the King’s Head. I briefly considered a return visit, but discovering it’s now a Wetherspoons put me off, so I opted for an independent café instead.

My route today involved a ferry.  When I boarded, I casually asked the operator what time he finished. “Six,” he said. I must have looked alarmed, because I mentioned that without the ferry I’d face a 15-mile detour. “Oh no,” he added, “the ferry runs until ten; I just finish at six.” I was left wondering whether he thought I was chatting him up?

After the ferry, just nine miles remained, and, wonderfully, I finally had a tailwind.

For tea, I walked past an Indian restaurant to visit a recommended pub, only to find one of their specials was chicken Madras which I ordered. I could have saved myself a half mile walk…

Breakfast was offered at my accommodation tomorrow, which I gladly accepted.

Thursday 30th April 08:00

I had initially planned a short ride today, passing through Norwich to see the sights before continuing on to Swaffham, but last night I decided I might like to revisit Wroxham. It was only a few miles to the north, so I duly redesigned the route.

Wroxham hasn’t changed. It remains a very busy village dominated by Roy’s outlets. It’s claimed that Roy’s of Wroxham is the world’s largest village store, which is probably true. The village itself seems almost entirely built around the name, and beyond that, it didn’t have much to offer me so I moved on.

I noticed a large military aircraft (an Airbus A400M) flying low overhead, followed by two American air-refuelling tankers circling over East Anglia and the North Sea. Given recent talk of airlines rationing fuel, it did seem slightly ironic that these two were happily burning it while apparently refuelling nothing.  Sorry, political interlude over.

The route into Norwich was lovely, making use of purpose-built cycle paths, often through woodland. I had a coffee in the cathedral grounds and sat in awe of the 315-foot spire. It’s some 89 feet shorter than Salisbury, but still impressively lofty.

From there, the route out to the northwest was less scenic but easy enough to follow. I roughly tracked the River Wensum as far as Elsing before heading towards Dereham, where navigation became less straightforward. The town is rather fond of one-way streets, and at one point my route suggested exiting a car park onto a road that was, in practice, unreachable without negotiating a very narrow alley. Had I met anyone coming the other way, I suspect my panniers would have required planning permission to pass. Aside from a church and a closed windmill, Dereham offered little to tempt me, so I abandoned my planned coffee stop and pressed on.

My digs tonight are excellent – a newly converted garage beside a modern semi in Swaffham. The self-contained annex has everything I needed: kettle, microwave, fridge, breakfast provisions, and a pristine, never-before-used shower room. I say that with confidence because when I tried to use the rather fancy shower gel dispenser (mounted in a rack), the whole contraption came crashing down, and two full ceramic dispensers narrowly missed my toes. The rack was held up by suction pads – exactly the same type that failed earlier in the week. I’m rapidly reassessing my opinions on suction-pad technology.

Finding somewhere for tea tonight proved more challenging. Two promising restaurants were full, and I didn’t fancy Chinese, Indian, or a takeaway (particularly as two of the three fish ‘n’ chip shops both claimed to be the very best – one of ’em must be wrong).  So I ended up at a Russian restaurant. I decided to set aside any geopolitical misgivings and assume the owner was as weary of world events as anyone else and made a booking.

It was… interesting.  The décor was entirely free of the usual corporate makeover – no designer furniture or carefully curated “rustic chic” here. Instead, it felt authentically hand-done, possibly sometime in the 1970s. That said, the food was excellent.  I tried borscht for the first time – different from what I’d imagined, but no doubt authentic – and followed it with a delicious Eastern European-style pork dish. Russian music played throughout; to my ears, it all sounded very Eurovision, which only added to the atmosphere.  At the end, I was asked, “Is everything OK to you?” [sic], to which I replied, “Definitely.”

When I was given the bill, it was like returning to the last century. I received a hand-written receipt, but with the concession of a card reader to take payment. Sadly the card reader didn’t work, and I had to resort to paying cash.

Tomorrow promises another easy day with a tailwind. I’m heading via Downham Market and March to Peterborough for my first visit where I’ll stay in the western suburbs.

Friday 1st May 2026

Breakfast was provided at my excellent Airbnb – simple, but sufficient to get me on the road by 8:15. There was no real need to leave so early, but it was a beautiful morning and I was keen to make the most of it.

The roads here are impressively flat, and initially in good condition. However, once I ventured into the fens beyond Downham Market, the road surfaces deteriorated noticeably, while the landscape became even flatter. For miles, my altimeter declared that I was between plus one and minus one metres above sea level.

I stopped for a second breakfast in Downham Market (the first had been modest, although I hardly needed an excuse) at a very busy café called The Pantry. There were tables outside for perhaps 25 people, all occupied, which spoke volumes.  It wasn’t cheap, but the almond croissant was enormous and excellent. While several friends were cycling in Mallorca this week, at that moment, with the warm weather, gentle tailwind, and that huge croissant, I felt no envy whatsoever.

I’d never visited Wisbech, so I made a short detour. It wasn’t worth it. The town does boast a magnificent medieval church (St Peter & St Paul) with a four-aisled nave and a separate bell tower housing ten bells, but beyond that, unless one has a particular fondness for pawn shops, betting shops, and fast-food outlets of the more dubious variety, the centre is best admired briefly… and from a distance.

I continued to March, where my initial impression was similar to Wisbech, though in fairness I’d been routed in past industrial areas and recycling plants. I stumbled upon a small café staffed by an enthusiastic young man, and I thought I’d found a gem. The extensive menu suggested great things, but I played it safe by ordering a cup of tea and a tuna mayo sandwich.

The tea arrived promptly; the sandwich followed soon after and was dreadful. The filling was generous and perfectly acceptable, but it was encased in white bread slathered with a suspiciously yellow spread (definitely not butter), accompanied by what could only loosely be described as a salad: a few shreds of lettuce, some raw onion, and a token slice each of tomato and cucumber, all without dressing. But it filled me up – it contained calories, after all, but then again, so does lard. I later reflected that had I specified granary bread, proper butter, and a dressed salad, I might have fared better, but perhaps that was asking too much.

Peterborough, by contrast, was a pleasant surprise. I was able to approach the city via a lovely riverside cycle path and was soon in the cathedral grounds, admiring the sheer scale of the place. It lacks the towering height of some cathedrals but makes up for it with impressive bulk – long, solid, and undeniably imposing. There appeared to be an event taking place (a graduation, perhaps), so I couldn’t go inside, and its size made photography a challenge.

Heading out to my accommodation in the southwest of the city, I followed an excellent network of quiet cycle paths. Although Peterborough is an ancient city, its designation as a new town in 1967 is evident here, with underpasses and traffic-free routes reminiscent of Milton Keynes.

Saturday 2nd May 2026 – 07:45

I’ve been checking today’s weather forecast with increasing frequency ever since the strong winds earlier in the week. The last thing I wanted was a repeat performance while trying to catch a train. Thankfully, the forecast has remained reassuringly consistent: warm (18°C) with a light westerly breeze (technically a headwind) that I can live with, especially with an early start.

Last night, I enjoyed an excellent fish and chip supper at the nearest pub to my accommodation, The Gordon Arms. Although it’s part of a chain – Greene King – both the service and food were very good. I skipped a starter, knowing that fish and chips can sometimes defeat me but being properly hungry meant I could do it justice and still find room for a very enjoyable apple crumble.

Today’s plan is to take breakfast at a highly rated café nine miles in, lunch around the 40-mile mark, and arrival in Coventry before 4pm, allowing time to sort out the bike reservation. We shall see.

Saturday 2nd May 2026 – 20:00

After a mildly stressful day (largely train-related anxieties), I’m now home and able to relax. As it turned out, none of my concerns materialised: no punctures, no mechanicals, the train wasn’t cancelled, my lack of a bike reservation coupon caused no issues, and there were helpful staff at both Coventry and Preston to assist with loading and unloading the bike. All that worrying was for nothing… again.

The only downside was that, in my haste to reach Coventry, I didn’t fully appreciate the scenery, which had by then transformed into rolling countryside and attractive villages which was a marked improvement on the stark flatness of the fens.

Breakfast was exceptional. Described (somewhat pretentiously) as “loaded sourdough,” it consisted of two slices of toasted bread topped with mushrooms, crushed avocado, feta, a poached egg, red sauce, and half a dozen cherry tomatoes still on the vine and heated.  It was superb.

Passing through Harringworth, I had a strong sense of déjà vu. The distinctive railway viaduct (the longest in the UK) soon confirmed it. I’d been here before, in 2021, though travelling in the opposite direction.

I realised some years ago that at a certain age one becomes invisible to younger people. This theory was reinforced when I stopped at a café and sat beside three cyclists (in their 30s) who pointedly ignored me. They were immaculately dressed in Rapha and Le Col, their bikes pristine carbon machines with top-spec electronic gears. I was clearly beneath their notice. However, just before they left, one discovered a loose cleat, and naturally, none of them had the tools to fix it. I cycled off with both the necessary tool and the knowledge to use it, feeling only slightly guilty. They really should have said hello.

Coventry was busy, but the approach via a segregated cycle path alongside a major road made access straightforward. I briefly considered visiting the cathedral, but the crowds put me off. The station was equally lively, filled with Coventry City supporters and a hen party – an energetic combination I was happy to leave behind. (I have subsequently discovered that the football supporters’ glee was perhaps allowable – their team had just gained promotion to the Premier league that day.)

There were no issues boarding the train (my bike had the compartment to itself), and, with only a slight delay, I arrived at Preston with just a final uphill 30-minute ride home to complete the journey.

Overall, a very successful week: over 500 new Explorer tiles collected and my goal of cycling in every English ceremonial county achieved. In total, around 410 miles cycled and another eleven walked for good measure.