A British Summer

Day: 8 (Bristol to Gloucester)

Average Speed: 10 mph

Distance Today: 53.3 miles 

Distance Cycled Total: 400.7 miles 

Feet climbed: 2,322.8 today, 22,153 total

Difficulty level: Easy terrain made obnoxiously difficult by weather and detour

I fell twice today. 

Only once was it from a bicycle. 

Ten miles before reaching my destination of Gloucester, I sought shelter from the driving rain under the awning of a pub, where a local man greeted me with high optimism. 

"Look on the bright side!" he said, "There won't be any obnoxious pedestrians out walking their dogs along the canal trail!"

True.

"And it's completely flat!"

Also true.

"And it's been a solid week of nothing but sun. There's no fun in that!"

Not true. 

But hey, this guy was mostly right. I had already made it over forty miles in the torrential rain. What's ten more? It was this thought I was entertaining when I made the poor decision to switch sides of the rough and rocky path on which I was cycling. 

When you cross a raised surface on a bicycle (say a curb, or a railroad track), it's best if it's approached perpendicularly- head on. Had I noticed the grass median that was separating the sides of the path was raised, I would've just stayed put in my miserable lane. Instead, because I tried to cross it while parallel, I went sailing into the thorny brush, where I lay for a minute or two, unsure of how to get up. Surprisingly, I was unscathed. Only my pride suffered a blow as my This-Is-The-Year-That-You're-Not-Going-To-Fall Goal could no longer be reached. 

Worse things have happened. 

Since I started a week ago, people have commented on how lucky I was to be in England with such lovely weather. 

Today's Elevation Profile.

No one made that comment today. 

I left Bristol at around noon, when the nasty weather of the morning was showing signs of easing. But as soon as I was done with the bulk of the day's climbing, it picked up right where it left off, just as I was approaching a police tape line, preventing anyone from continuing on my route.

Along with cycling negative miles in the wrong direction (like I did two days ago), another thing that a touring cyclist hates is the dreaded Detour (or "Diversion" as it's called here). 

I neared the police car on guard in order to ask for special permissions to continue on- "Sorry," the  officer said, "no one is allowed through." 

Puppy dog eyes lose their power as a male approaches his fortieth year. 

Instead he offered alternative directions:

"If you head down that highway, then make a left at the first roundabout, follow signs to the hospital until you hit a double mini, then go jiggety-puff around the whirley-woo, tippety-tap the buggery-boo, and kerplop the kitchety-koo... and you'll be there." 

That's what it sounded like to me anyway. 

Even the officer laughed. The directions were absurd. 

"How far a diversion is that?"

Another laugh. "Oh, it's quite far. I suggest you start pedaling!" And with that, he rolled up his window. 

Unable to effectively use Google Maps due to the downpour, I was left to rely on my own intuition. Never a good thing. 

A Double Mini

Two miles later, I was staring at a dead end, where a cyclist named Jon happened to be setting out on his own bicycle. No amount of rain seems to deter people from riding bikes in England. 

Through the translucent wall of water that separated us, he shouted directions, only slightly more clearly than the officer. A "double mini" was still involved, which, as it turns out, is a roundabout that looks like a figure eight. And if the line of traffic from each direction is any indication, a "double mini" seems to confuse absolutely everyone. 

"Welcome to a British summer!" Jon shouted jubilantly as we said our goodbyes. 

My bike takes a break from the rain

Hours later, after stopping under nearly every bus shelter I passed and asking directions from every amicable-looking person I saw, I was back on course. 

From there I only took two respites from the rain- one in a quaint bus shelter along a country road, and the other under the pub's awning that I mentioned earlier. 

Once you're soaked to the core, it's much easier just to continue rather than to stop and dry off, only to ride back into it. 

First impression of Gloucester

As I'm now nearing the Midlands and exiting the South West, the route flattens a bit and the scenery becomes more industrial, as reflected in my approach to Gloucester.

Perhaps the rain didn't help much, but Gloucester is a far cry from the quaint cities and endearing towns that I've travelled through thus far. 

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Still, I found a wonderful dinner (food has been fantastic... I don't understand why England has such a poor reputation for its cuisine), and a local beer. 

And- when I approached a couple of young guys to ask where I could find an open grocery store- I found company for the night.

"A grocery store? At this hour?" one said. 

I explained that I needed a bar of soap. I had left mine in the shower stall of the last hostel I'd stayed at. 

"Soap! He needs soap!" the other shouted. "We're not from here, mate. We're from Wales, and we have no clue where we are! And you don't need no soap. What you need is a pint! Follow us, then."

Okay. 

Steve, me, and Rich (left to right)

We exchanged only the briefest introductions before Rich and Steve approached two girls on their way home after a night out. 

Rich greeted them enthusiastically. "Hello! We need soap and a pint. We're not from here, and we need some direction. Come along, then!" And with that, we were a group of five. 

Both girls were named Kate, one of whom had her gums pierced. Rich differentiated them by dubbing one "Gummy Kate" and the other "Normal Kate."

"How do you all know one another," Normal Kate asked. 

"Oh we don't know anything about Jim a'tall!" Steve said, "Other than his name is Jim and he's absolutely filthy!" 

Some can go all night like a lumberjack.
I can last 11 seconds.

Eventually they found out I was from New York and I was on a cycle tour. 

"You cycled all the way here from New York, did you?" Gummy Kate asked. Sometimes people say this in jest. Gummy Kate was serious. As Rich noted later on, "She's a bit thick, that Gummy Kate..."

We found an open corner shop, and when I emerged with soap, all four burst into jubilant applause. 

The Kates pointed us in the direction of what they called "a fun pub" and took their leave. 

Gloucester on a Friday night is empty, and Rich, Steve, and I became the only patrons in an expansive night club where there were three times as many employees working. 

"How does this place stay open?" Rich asked. 

I called it a night after one more pint, but not before taking a ride on the free mechanical bull at the rear of the club. 

Rich stayed on for 38 seconds. 

Steve made it to 24. 

I lasted 11. 

And for the second time that day, I was thrown to the ground. 

P.S.

Does the zebra have a hump? Like a camel?

Or is it being humped as it's crossing the road?