After a peaceful, but slow cycle along some pleasant B roads shared by other MAMMILS (middle aged men in lyra - c. 2011 Martin Wadhwani), I reached Shrewsbury for some lunch in a park next to the river. Suprisingly, this is a nice town, with some interesting architecture, definitely worth a re-visit, perhaps in the summer.
After another fruitless visit to a cycle shop in the hunt for red October, or rather a suitable chain ring, I realised that there was still much cycling to be done.
Spurred on by the promise of reaching the borders of Cheshire, the county of my upbringing, I pushed on through some undulating countryside until a chain break brought me to a temporary halt. The German in me at this point came to the fore and outcame the complete tool kit with chain tool. Having removed the offending link and re-connecting with Klaus von Mackie's assistance, I found that the tighter chain actually seem to remove the early slippage issues. Meaning addage time once again - moral for the day: every cloud has a silver lining.
Of course after the silver lining, there must come another cloud.
Having cruised past some interesting Shropshire tudor heritage and the imagined sighting of a round head or two, I reached the non-descript town of Whitchurch (sorry Whitchurch!). And of course, being the end of the day, it was time again for hassle.
Cycling beyond the road closure signs on the A49 north of the town, I looked out for the promised cycle diversion sign. Which of course, never materialised. Reaching the final blockage, I was advised by the ominous looking security gentleman guarding the offending bridge with a very convincing Gandalf v Balrog impression, that I needed to go back and turn left. This I did, only I did not find such a turn off. Seeking an alternative route and espying a canal, I had no choice but to follow a very bumpy tow path and after an hours delay, I finally succeeded to getting back onto the A49 and pushed on towards my night's goal - Tarporley.
After a brief stop at the Wild boar hotel, Beeston and a chat with some interested wedding guests about my trip, I pushed on for the camp site and the obligatory steep hill ahead. After another close encounter with a local resident, I found the camp site, only to find...it was closed.
Luckliy, I had arranged to meet up with a friend from church living in Tarporley and after an embarrasing explanation, he very kindly offered a night in his lounge, which I naturally gladly accepted. A great roast and beer followed at the Rising sun, a well known pub and eatery in the village.
After another fruitless visit to a cycle shop in the hunt for red October, or rather a suitable chain ring, I realised that there was still much cycling to be done.
Spurred on by the promise of reaching the borders of Cheshire, the county of my upbringing, I pushed on through some undulating countryside until a chain break brought me to a temporary halt. The German in me at this point came to the fore and outcame the complete tool kit with chain tool. Having removed the offending link and re-connecting with Klaus von Mackie's assistance, I found that the tighter chain actually seem to remove the early slippage issues. Meaning addage time once again - moral for the day: every cloud has a silver lining.
Of course after the silver lining, there must come another cloud.
Having cruised past some interesting Shropshire tudor heritage and the imagined sighting of a round head or two, I reached the non-descript town of Whitchurch (sorry Whitchurch!). And of course, being the end of the day, it was time again for hassle.
Cycling beyond the road closure signs on the A49 north of the town, I looked out for the promised cycle diversion sign. Which of course, never materialised. Reaching the final blockage, I was advised by the ominous looking security gentleman guarding the offending bridge with a very convincing Gandalf v Balrog impression, that I needed to go back and turn left. This I did, only I did not find such a turn off. Seeking an alternative route and espying a canal, I had no choice but to follow a very bumpy tow path and after an hours delay, I finally succeeded to getting back onto the A49 and pushed on towards my night's goal - Tarporley.
After a brief stop at the Wild boar hotel, Beeston and a chat with some interested wedding guests about my trip, I pushed on for the camp site and the obligatory steep hill ahead. After another close encounter with a local resident, I found the camp site, only to find...it was closed.
Luckliy, I had arranged to meet up with a friend from church living in Tarporley and after an embarrasing explanation, he very kindly offered a night in his lounge, which I naturally gladly accepted. A great roast and beer followed at the Rising sun, a well known pub and eatery in the village.
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