Oil paint on timber board 45.7 x 62cm.

I have cycled for 6 days to meet up with Yasmin in Berwick for a couple of rest days before continuing north to Stornoway.

The weather has been both wet and windy and only recently a little more settled. It is expected to change again as I ride on getting both colder and wetter. The landscape of the south has slipped away from spring bulbs and tree blossoms to winter with bare trees and grey woodlands. The flatlands and waterways of the Fens have shifted from the straight and horizontal to the more steeply rolling hills and curves of moorland and fell. Dairy cows are replaced with beef heifers. Sheep fill fields.

Berwick is a dramatic place to arrive with its bridges over the Tweed, the Elizabethan fortifications, steep narrow streets and views to the North Sea and Lindisfarne. To rest awhile, eat and drink and catch-up with Yasmin is wonderful. The solitary riding lets my mind drift to other self supporting journeys which are good now to share with her. I ask:

“Do you remember the Jedburgh couple and their weird B&B we stayed in on the way to Edinburgh? I kept seeing sign posts for it chasing me as I ride along!”

And:

“Do you remember the lady we rescued from her car in the dyke in the Fens? I’m sure I rode part of that road north of Boston”

Looking ahead I will retrace other paths and places we have stayed, in particular circling north around the Cairngorms towards Inverness. Pitlochry, Blair Athol and Aviemore. It will be very different with the cargo bike riding parallel to the A9 for as much as possible.

I feel very lucky still to be able to do this – ride a bike steadily for a day – and to enjoy the diversity of accent and culture that still is Britain. 

Getting ready.

Preparations are underway for next week’s departure northward on the cargo bike to Stornoway via Berwick-on-Tweed and Inverness. Slow peddling with a mix of campsites and pub hotels as I hope the spring weather in the UK holds.

The ride up to Hull from Peasenhall was good. The cargo bike worked well to carry my painting and camping gear and to get around Hull on the couple of days I was there.

The campsites were invariably occupied by big cars, caravans, camper homes and lean-to walk in tents. There were no other cyclists or walkers travelling light. Often I was given unasked for advice about my route or the state of the traffic but always from the perspective of a driver. I began to feel a certain dislocation as I realised these other campers knew nothing of the way I was travelling. I would watch many of them sitting inside their camper van boxes with the glow of a television on, wondering why they might want to do this, shutting themselves off from the sky and land around them?

The above vehicle combination was driven and occupied by a single man. He sat inside the small caravan all evening. The windows had curtains, just like any suburban home, which he proceeded to close when he put on the lights, shutting out the coming evening stars and fresh air.

On the road.