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England and Wales’ 146,000km rights of way network, cyclists (and equestrians) only have access to one fifth of the network. Despite the small access, what is available makes trekking across the country by bike so simple. Over here in America, we barely have any right of ways barring the BLM and State/National Parks land despite our massive amount of land (The UK is about 57% the size of California). It was an eye-opening experience riding up a person's driveway, wandering up right next to their house searching for a gate to match up with the useless purple line on my Garmin 510 assisting our map-based navigation of waymarked paths and having the lady of the house come out and not inquire as to what we were doing on their land, but happily engage us on our tour and the direction we need to be heading before merrily heading on her way to town. Leaving us with a "just be sure to close the gates. Cheers!" As if she'd been expecting us for tea. We'd likely been shot or arrested here in the states. Maybe even both.
I guess the difference is here we focus on the rights of the individual and not the rights of the people as a whole. Either that or we're just inbred to be paranoid about people coming and taking our land away from us (irony). Or perhaps more simply, we don't share very well.
The other crazy difference to wrap my head around was the ease of transportation. Metro trains, trains, ferries, and a vast cycle path network (with paved and un-paved options) were all employed on our Northumberland tour. Pretty much unload the bikes from the airport, walk to the metro, ride the metro, arrive at hotel, build bikes and roll across the country. Pack up, ride train back to airport, fly home. Easy peasy.
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| "Some of us, I think, are just built to be nomads" - Mike Carter |
I am sure cyclists still have their struggles for access and rights and may even look longingly at the U.S.'s open lands and parks. The grass always being greener as they say. But I'll hold onto my experience with the rose colored romanticism such an adventure deserves to be remembered.
There is something really life-balancing about riding to a small hamlet or village, staying in the only room for rent - a room above the pub which serves as a b&b, having a pint and cleaning up while waiting for the dinner service to start - which is also performed by the town pub (side note - odds are it will be called the Blue Bell or the Black Bull in nearly every instance), heading to bed, waking up to an amazing breakfast, packing up and riding off to the next hamlet/village. Ride, pint, rinse, eat, sleep, eat, repeat. Meditative.
I think the fact that everything was a new experience added to the mythic state of wonder. Roads and footpaths thousands of years old vs the mere hundreds of years in the States. The dialect and habits of the different hamlets too. Everything from what they ate, to how they ate, what they drank, how they spoke, how they lived, and how they interacted. All of it new to me and, albeit rather ridiculous and cliche sounding, life-changing. This trip has definitely re-defined my concept of living life. Changed age-old attitudes I'd clung to or been raised into. Shuffled the deck of cards that is my life for certain.
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| One of the many "Black Bulls". |
It has also re-shaped my riding and adventure. It's not all about miles or destination. More breathing space in the plans. More mini-adventures of mini-adventures rolled into the whole enchilada, with the bike being the vessel and not the main focus. A kind of re-centering of sorts.
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| Right of way networks abound. |
Which has given way to many adventures since returning stateside as well as many queued up each month. Having weekends again and a clear vacation policy from years of retail Saturdays and unknown time-off availability has really been good for the soul.
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| So many sheep. |
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| Market stop for "lunch" items. |
As a good friend has said, as well as from the pages of "
One Man and His Bike" (which partially inspired the trip) - and I'm paraphrasing here - "Life is so much simpler with one pair of pants".
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| Each town has their own beer. Look for the free houses. |
So much truth and philosophy in that line. It echoes now through my daily approach to life. Of course, it just can't be any old pair of pants. There are a lot of parameters the pants must fall within to be a useful, purpose-for-having single pair of pants. So simple isn't necessarily easy.
It's not necessarily about doing without, although there is a bit of that in the mix. It's about doing more with less. A lot more. And I am learning to navigate the paradigm shift of how much less is directly proportional to how much more is vastly available.
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| Despite being one of the coldest regions of England, Northumbrians love their ice cream. |
Assuming, of course, you've got the right components making up the less to improve upon the more. More or less.
But the quest for simpler doesn't necessitate the finding of happiness. It's just one of the paths available and currently the most fun filled one for me. So, lessons learned from one of the least populous areas of England have trickled into my daily consciousness. Living simply. Living more fully. Living. Growing. Finding time and taking that time.
Unplugging. Sharing in a much less hectic, minute by minute, chatter-based, keep up with keeping up, constantly updating and yet still falling behind, ooh new filters and emojis, stories, and snaps, sad, sad addictive social media. Missing the now. Missing the being. Missing the point.
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| Keith and Pete relive their youth at our Wooler b&b. (They were in a band together as kids) |
Why aye man, lessons were definitely learned. I became a student of the open schedule. Planned un-planning. Nothing other than needing to be at a certain village sometime before the pub closed so as not to lose the room. Ample opportunity for sojourns into towns along the way. If we found a gravel or bridlepath that looked interesting, we took it. If the roads looked inviting, we opted to adventure off route. Even several rest stops soaking in the sun on what should have been a cold and pissing with rain North Sea beach, but what turned out to be sunny, warm, sandy beaches along crystal clear blue waters. Trips to tea shops along the way and Roman forts, castles, boat tours, bakeries, and toy stores. Even a few bike shops thrown in for good measure.
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| Typical lunch fare. Baguette, brie, and prosciutto with strawberries. Usually eaten in a poo filled field along the route. |
I can't wait to get back. I have routes that are mostly off-road and reach further into the scenic unknown. Stretching from Sheffield to Newcastle to Kielder to Edinburgh and all the way to Cape Wrath. Loose plans to meet up with several locals along the way to get a taste of their adventure routes, favorite trails, and local pubs.
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| “Melancholy,” wrote James E Starrs, “is incompatible with riding a bicycle.” |
As for adventures here in the states, there are many planned. Taking the syllabus from the England semester and applying it to myriad states here will be a full course load this spring and summer. Definitely designed to push me outside my comfort zone and push the boundaries of perception of what is capable to pull off with less. Less tire, less brakes, less planning, less stuff. More living. More breathing. More funning. See you out on the trail, hopefully.
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| The other "Black Bull". |
