DAY 7

Shrewsbury to Bristol

Arising fresh faced from the Shrewsbury we were hardly surprised to see that the clouds above us were still overcast. The night before we were speaking with the landlady in the Youth Hostel that we were staying in who remarked about how unlucky we had been with the weather, especially as it had been so nice only a few days previously. We all gritted our teeth and resisted the almost overwhelming urge to stab things.

Now, just to give some background info on the location that we were staying in, the place was a hole. Quite literally a hole. The terrain put us in a location whereby every road out of the place was a very steep incline, and so we opted for the support car to drive us out of the hole and onto the route from the previous day so that we could pick up pretty much where we left off from.

Once again wrestling the bikes onto the rack, clad in full lycra and waterproofs we piled into the Fiat Punto and squeezed ourselves in against the many tins of food that we had taken with us. Tarn programmed the car’s GPS to take us back to route. However, I was looking at my Garmin bike GPS and couldn’t help but notice that there was a conflict in opinion between the two systems, namely that they were taking us to two different locations, which inevitably caused complications when both me and Tom were reading each one of them and instructed Tarn to take the next left (and right) at the same time. After both the GPS systems engaged in a heated argument amongst themselves over what directions Tarn should take, we eventually got back on track (although I’m still pretty sure that my one was right…).

Winding through some small country lanes, we came across a group of sheep in the middle of the road. Robbie sped up and kept quiet behind them, then suddenly shouted “BAAAAAAAAAAAAAA!” at them as he was around 1m away. I have never seen animals so scared in my life. These sheep darted left, right and centre, their hooves skidding all over the wet road. Some nifty bike control was needed to avoid collision with them, me and Tom darted around the road, madly trying to avoid them as Robbie wheeled away laughing at the carnage that he had caused behind him.

Apart from that small hiccup in the morning, the day was relatively without event. We met up with the support car, as usual every 20 miles to stock up on supplies and went on our way again. Rain was mild with passing showers, and bouts of sunshine that made us smile.

At the end of the day we began the descent into Bristol. Having spent most of the journey thus far not seeing any cyclists at all (other than the intelligent ones who had decided to do the cycle the correct way around, without the wind in their faces the whole time), we had a bit of a shock when we came into the city and were swamped by them. Bloody cyclists, taking up the whole road, and being such an inconvenience to motorists, and genuine charity cyclists. One man shot past us on a gleaming Bianchi carbon fibre frame with aero wheels. My desire to chase him down and overtake him again was halted when Tom shouted to me, and like a beaten dog I slipped back into the team TROTT peloton.

When we arrived at the Youth Hostel in Bristol we were greeted by a horrific myriad of puzzles to get into bed. In order to complete our first task, we were greeted by the gatekeeper at reception who bequeathed upon us three magical keys. We went across to the lift, where we used the first of our magical keys in a vain attempt to request the magical metal shaft. Returning to reception, where the gatekeeper requested his magician re-enchant the keys, we returned to the lift, and wrestled the bikes in. Pressing the button, I descended to the dungeons and got the bikes out of the magical chamber and put them in the corridor. I strolled to the bike store where I found that the enchantment on my magical key did not work on the bike store. Further to complicate matters, the enchantment seemed to have worn off completely, and I couldn’t gain access to the lift either. I got out my phone to inform the others of this complication, but there was no signal – was I to be trapped in this desolate dungeon forever!?

Knocking on a door to the games room, I was let in by a puzzled group of German tourists playing pool who wondered why an earth there was a bald, sunglasses wearing, lycra clad, dripping wet, and covered in mud cyclist, knocking on a door that said “Fire Exit – do not open unless in emergency”. There would have been a bloody emergency if they hadn’t let me in.

Returning up the stairs, I found the rest of the team crying huddled in a corner, having been broken to tears by the lift and key system. Someone went to reception for yet another magical key that would unlock the bike shed.

Once the bikes were FINALLY away, we all crammed into the lift and took it to the top floor of the magical tower. We were all very angry and in serious need of food/shower/sleep. Only two floors up and the lift stopped. The doors pinged open to reveal a small child (aged 9) who wanted to get in the lift. Snarling, we informed her that this lift was “UP ONLY” and that she could pretty much wait for the next sodding one.

Crashing into our rooms after making our way through yet more confusing doors (I have no idea how anyone expects to navigate this place when drunk), we grabbed our towels and made our way to the shower, half expecting there to be a magical “hot water key” or “soap dispenser key” for the showers.

Eventually we got to bed after uploading a backlog of blogs that we had written, but as yet had no internet to upload from. That done, I went to sleep within 10 seconds of touching my pillow, but was awakened moments later by Tarn, who seemed to be upset that I had put my used, sweaty cycling shorts in between his pillows as compensation for his driving 40 (instead of 20) miles down the road previously. Now we were even. Night!