Cycling memories

On crystal clear days in late autumn I recall certain images quite vividly. One that comes to mind now is of cycling past the parkland surrounding a country house, where a boundary wall is visible across a grass verge, behind a random growth of trees and bushes. With the leaves mostly gone from the trees, the wall has come into view, its old stones spotted with lichen and in places ivy-covered. It has an air of mystery, this wall, which, though partly revealed, hides the woody parkland behind it, and the house which stands proudly if secretively in its green surroundings.


This image is a memory of the time I lived in Frome, a small market town south of Bath in England, in the late 70s. I did quite a bit of cycle touring in those days. The ride that I recall fragments of was one I took late in the season, climbing out of the town in a southerly direction. The place I recall above is the edge of the Marston estate where it runs beside the A361 Shepton Mallet road. At the next turning, at the corner of the estate,I left the main road to plunge down a narrow lane which followed the edge of the estate.

My route now took me over an undulating stretch of country criss-crossed with minor roads, towards a wooded hillside. Soon I was climbing, with woods on either side, towards a small hamlet named Gare Hill. The light was dimmer here and there was a damp chill in the air. A sense of gloom began to fill me, as though somewhere here was a place of tragedy or suffering. It reminded me of somewhere else; Wickham Glen, perhaps, near Bristol, also in winter. In a strange way it wasn't an unwelcome feeling, but I wasn't sorry to climb free of the woods, past the village of Kilmington and on towards Stourton.

By now I had left the clay and limestone country of Somerset and was heading into the chalk uplands of Wiltshire, where open spaces had a different kind of brooding stillness. I was close by the Stourhead estate, with its ornamental lake and gardens, but was well out of the tourist season. The village is attractive in its own right. Close by the entrance to the Stourhead grounds and part of the National Trust property there is a small pub which I found most welcome. After a pint or two of Wadworth's 6X I went on my way, joining the Maiden Bradley road for a quick descent into Mere, crossing the main A303 to enter the small town.

One of the main pleasures of cycling for me is the actual process of riding, the physical contact with the road through the frame and wheels of the bike. It's easy to overlook this in describing a ride, and it would become tiresome through repetition, but it is a fundamental aspect. I was always strongly aware of it at certain points, such as after a climb, when you're warmed up, changing up through the gears, and feel you are getting well on the way, the road falling slightly away ahead. The tyres hum, the pedals turn easily, the hubs revolve smoothly about their axles.

I had lunch in Mere in a pub that must have been a main stopping-place for stagecoaches before the motor age, and for cars later, but now quieter since the opening of the bypass. After Mere I swung round to cross the main road again and head up the B3095 toward the Deverills, a group of villages lying along that road. Iwas now on the return leg of this short trip, crossing the open spaces of bare fields which I had glimpsed from the Maiden Bradley road. There was a fairly easy climb up into the chalk downs, then a gentle descent through Kingston and Monkton Deverill in the valley of the river Wylye, which rises in this area. It was necessary to join another main road after this quiet stretch, for a short time. Here there is another tourist attraction at Crockerton, a lake called Shearwater where rhododendrons are spectacular at the right time, also a pub called the Bath Arms, a reminder of the ownership of the large Longleat estate. This estate, belonging to Lord Bath, and Stourhead, cover quite a large area in a wide arc, between Warminster and the A303 west of Mere.

I took another diversion through the woods, then joined the Warminster road for a leisurely pedal back to Frome.

Note: Many pictures available on the Web. Google Frome, or better, try Flickr and search Frome, Stourhead etc.

ps. It took me almost as long to write this as it would have taken to do the ride. No wonder I only post once a month. Note to self - jot down a few more qick notes if you want to record your thoughts.