living like kings

I'm sitting in the office of  what is, very possibly, the most beautiful home I have ever been allowed to set foot in. The fact that the owners, the most generous Mark and Gill Davies, were not here to at my arrival to judge whether or not to grant me access probably upped my chances somewhat. But none the less, here I am enjoying my well deserved rest day in what used to be a vicarage. How jammy is that, As I type, the sun is setting behind, what I think are the Shap Felles along the westerly edge of the Lake District. Yes you read that correctly. I'm on a rest day, meaning that yesterday Chris and I reached the Lakes an awful lot has happened in those long long miles from Bristol, all along the Welsh border and up to Carlisle.
So after Bristol it did flatten out as promised and we managed to cover a lot of miles very quickly by intermittently swapping the lead, taking it in turns to plough through the head winds (of which we were told there wouldn't be any as in summer the prevailing winds come from the south, meaning we should almost always have the tail winds) while the other rested in the slip stream. OH YEAH I'M TALKING LIKE A PRO. Get over it!

 Anyway before we knew it we were in Glouscester for lunch then we got back on the bikes and rode into the night up to a little village called Suckley near Worcester. We stopped in Suckley to meet up with my friend Barry and his truly  astounding family. I don't think I've mentioned Barry yet. He's a paraplegic who was paralysed from the chest down 28 years ago (I think thats right). Barry and his entourage are doing the LEJOG concurrently with us. The big difference to us though is that Barry is using his arms to propel his three wheel cycle up and down the many hills and valleys of Great Britain. We were invited to meet up and stay the night at the wonderful Tudor mansion Crewes Court, Home of a most welcoming, kind and generous couple, Anne and Richard Lewis. Not only did they feed us with top notch grub and let us use their amenities, Richard fixed Chris' buckled wheel. It was hard to leave that place. Not just because of the want to remain in such comfortable surroundings, (this want was strong) We did not relish the thought of riding out into the blustering wet morning, but more because our bellys had been filled with lots of lovely eggs, bacon, sausages and all the trimmings. It was physically hard to leave. Hard to stretch the lycra over our swollen tummys, hard to bend down to secure our cycling shoes, hard to swing our legs up and over the saddles and hard to carry the added weight up the tormentingly steep road that the entrance to the place went onto.

 After an hour or so we had managed to pick the momentum up. Helped, in no small part I'm sure, by the numerous toilet stops. But we did have the momentum up and we peddled. My word how we peddled and we didn't stop peddling until we reached Newcastle under Lyme where, I had previously been informed that I had an auntie, uncle and cousins that I didn't know I had. That's a lie, I'd just forgotten. But basically they were great and they put us up and fed us lots of cheese on toast and cups of tea. We had our clothes washed and we watched TV all night. It was brilliant because my cousin and I, who are the same age, had so much in common and I really didn't want to leave. HI UNCLE NIGEL, AUNTIE PENNY AND VICTORIA, thanks again for everything.

So as if we hadn't been lucky enough, what with being put up in a mansion and learning that I had family I could stay with en-route. We lucked out again. This time it was Chris' turn to pull one out of the bag. Out of the bag came Mike. Mike is a university friend of Chris' and an absolute legend. He works in a hotel slap bang in the middle of Manchester. So it was decided that we would go there0 via Old Trafford. Bit of a ramshamckle dive when you actually get up close. Not impressed at all. what I was impressed with was the free room and breakfast that Mike had wangled us. Chris even got to go and have a swim in the morning in the pool. Quick note about Manc drivers: They love to clip cyclists ears with their wing mirrors and throw half eaten apples at them. Got to be honest, apart from Mike I didn't care for the place.

Since then I've actually stopped writing my diary, not intentionally, it's just that we had a couple of wet days and it's the last thing on your mind when you've had to put a tent up while it's chucking it down and all your stuff is getting soaked but I shall recap soon. Till then, I bid you farewell. I'm off to watch country file in front of an open fire. Night Night.