The Green Saddle: From Warwick to Warwick: Crashing George's Party

Day: 9 (Gloucester to Warwick)

Average Speed: 10.5 mph

Distance Today: 53.7 miles

Distance Cycled Total: 454.4 miles

Feet climbed: 1234.4 today, 24,387.4 total

Difficulty level: Easy with sometimes stress-inducing traffic

A near carbon copy of the sign welcoming visitors to Warwick, NY

George meet Jim. Jim meet George. Now party.

The 21st birthday is a big thing in England. Although there are no new rites of passage that come with it (the drinking age is 18 here), it’s not dissimilar from the way Americans celebrate.

And luckily, I made it to Warwick, England just in time for George’s 21st birthday party.

I don’t know George, and George doesn’t know me. But here I was. Not-so-freshly changed out of my cycle clothes and into my fancy outfit: the lightweight grease-stained pants that I had worn all day yesterday in the torrential rains (still wet), and my blue button down shirt, which had been rolled into a ball and stuffed at the bottom of my laundry bag. I did, however, find a fresh pair of underwear… so there’s that.

St. Mary's Cathedral in Warwick

Anyone who was anyone in the prosperous town of Warwick (pronounced “War-ick”- the second w is for show), was at George’s party, and so was I.

“We like to keep it casual,” Christine- one of my hosts- said in consolation when I pointed out how intensely wrinkled my shirt was. I looked around. Everyone looked pretty damn sharp.

Less than a week ago, I received a message from a friend of mine back home: “If you’re going through Warwick, I know some people there who would like to host you!” Being that I’m essentially from Warwick, New York (where the second w is not just for show), and the town was only fifty flat miles in the same general direction I was heading, it was a no-brainer. Also, it would mean passing through Stratford-upon-Avon, the birthplace of a somewhat famous playwright.

Beautiful Warwick, England.
Warwick, New York doesn't have a castle... other than
the one where you can ride Go-Karts and play Mini Golf.

So off I went- my guidebook no longer guiding me, and my navigational system with the pre-loaded courses no longer an effective tool.

Google Maps all the way, baby.

Although there is indeed a cycle option in Google Maps, it’s not alway effective. Sometimes, it will direct you through people’s back yards, where a footpath may have existed at one point. Other times it will take you miles out of your way, assuming perhaps that you want a scenic route. However, the worst thing it does is that it often directs you to roads where it’s technically legal to ride a bicycle, but highly illogical.

That was the first twenty-five miles of today’s ride.

“Stay off the ‘A’ roads,” my friend Jamie had advised me as I set off from Penzance.

“Avoid the ‘A’ roads,” Mark Cole had said a few days ago.

“You want to keep away from the ‘A’ roads at all costs,” members of the Tewkesbury Hillbillies cycle teams said to me at the very beginning of today’s ride.

But Google Maps said to take an ‘A’ road. And Google knows everything.

Thankful to be off of the 'A' road-
Cycle path leading to Stratfod-upon-Avon.

Thus far, I have been pampered with wooded cycle paths and nearly traffic-free country roads the entire way. Not today. While not nearly as harrowing as the Croatian roads I had cycled on during my last European tour, I wasn’t mentally prepared for the traffic on A46 today. I’m sure these are the same drivers who patiently meander through the one-lane roads I’ve been on- the same people who wave and give a pleasant thumbs-up after figuring out how to navigate around one another- but their animal instincts take over on the ‘A’ roads. This is vehicle territory. Take your bike and shove it. On the rare occasion that a sidewalk or a shoulder appeared, I jumped over to them as quickly as possible, thankful for the momentary refuge.

The Bard

I decided enough was enough after a while, and sought a backroad route instead. Perhaps a mile or two longer, but far more pleasant.

Sometimes it’s hard to remember that Google isn’t a local cyclist who knows the roads well.

A gently worn cycle path eventually brought me into the heart of Stratford, which I pretty much expected would be smeared with Shakespearean tourist traps. Pleasantly enough, that’s not quite the case. Though touristed, it’s a beautiful town that keeps its Shakespeare kitsch to one small street, where the Bard was allegedly born. No theme parks with roller coasters called “Taming the Shrew.” No haunted houses with the three weird sisters guarding the entrance. Just a relatively modest street.

Shakespeare's birthplace. Allegedly.

I would’ve loved to explore the Shakespeare Centre, or to have taken a tour of Anne Hathaway’s cottage, but alas, when you’re cycle touring, one hour off bike is ten miles you didn’t travel. Instead, I had a brie and bacon baguette at the aptly named Food of Love Cafe, snapped a photo or two, and headed out, just as Stephen- my other host- was calling to ask how far away I was, offering directions for more direct route. I interpreted this as “Get pedaling!” and indeed I did.

Me and my hosts- Christine and Stephen Cross

He found me instantly as I entered the city centre (I guess I stick out a bit), and introduced me to nearly every person we passed on the way to George’s party. Both he and his wife Christine have been past mayors of Warwick, and they were happy to take me under their wing to ensure I had a pleasant experience in their hometown.

A sign after my heart.

Because there were so many introductions to be made, it was somewhat difficult to duck out momentarily in order to check out the annual beer festival that was calling my name- but I managed.