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Woke up early to the greyest rainiest foggiest day yet. Started packing up in the wet, and got absolutely soaked. We cycled soggily down the hill into Weymouth and found our way to the train station. Luckily the train was sitting on the platform, and once I’d paid some extortionate amount of money we slopped our way onto the carriage and stood there dripping. The trains down there in the West have much better provision for cycles than South Eastern. We have to push wheelchair users out of the way to get one bike strapped to the side, but these purpose built bays would fit three bicycles tidily. Good work South West trains! We managed to change into some drier clothes in the loo and sat down for the journey home. One change at waterloo, and then a last few miles riding home from Minster station marked the end of our journey.

I think we did quite well really

When we woke it was still really windy, and annoyingly it was raining too. We didn’t have far to go to Weymouth so we decided just to wait it out with a leisurely bacon sandwich and some coffee. In fact the rain stopped quite soon after breakfast so we hurriedly packed up, waved goodbye to my Westcountry cycle touring buddy and got back on the road.
In the end we had a lovely ride into Weymouth. The sun came out, the sky turned blue, we enjoyed a coffee in a seafront café and a cheeky beer on the beach. The campsite we were headed for was actually the other side of Weymouth, in Wyke, overlooking Chesil beach and Portland Bill. We pitched our tent for the last time on this trip and rode back down into Weymouth for an afternoon of celebratory pub crawling and a nice meal. The sun was still shining on us as we explored the streets and pubs, strolled along the harbour and slurped some pretty decent Badger brewery ales. As the evening drew in we decided on a restaurant called ‘The Baroque Bistro’ which served us a cracking meal. Kez started with scallops and bacon then a fillet of beef in Roquefort sauce, while I had chilli king prawns followed by sea bass with scallops, finished off with some very nice cheese and biscuits. It was a lovely end to our adventure. At least until being a bit drunk I managed to fall off my bike while trying to show off to Kez. We’d walked back up the hill to the camp site because Kez didn’t fancy riding, quite sensible really, however in the camp site on a really steep hill I jumped on the bike, clipped in, then realised I was in a really high gear, and toppled over like an idiot. Serves me right eh?

We had planned on cycling on to Weymouth today, but Kez was still feeling really rough first thing, so I booked another night and let her sleep. She slept like a log until midday while I twiddled my thumbs, drank coffee and read a crap magazine from the shop. Eventually she woke feeling a little better and we decided to take a walk down to Lulworth Cove itself. The sun was out again and we sat in a beer garden with an ale (Kez just had a lemonade) and took it easy. We watched all sorts of people going past. Geology students learning about the amazing formations in the cliffs, old folk on day trips getting their sun hats blown off and weatherbeaten fishermen casting disapproving eyes over it all. Eventually Kez decided she could manage something to eat and had a fresh crab sandwich, while I enjoyed a wonderful crab hot pot. We sat in the pub watching people buy ice creams from the shop opposite, and mused about the fact that they all looked hugely dissatisfied when they came out clutching their cornet. Perhaps they were very expensive? Looked quite nice to me, but we didn’t try one.
We saw a sign in the cove advertising a ferry to Weymouth the next morning and we quite liked the idea of another ferry ride, so once we had climbed the huge hill back upto our camp site we gave the captain a ring. He was happy to take bikes, but due to the weather the ferry wasn’t running, shame.
We spent the evening in the ‘Man o’War’, Kez was feeling much better and had got quite hungry so we ordered scampi and chips for her and a mixed grill for me, then thought maybe we needed a side order of onion rings too. When the meals came they were absolutely immense, the ’side’ order of onions rings would’ve fed us both on its own, unusually for us, we didn’t quite finish our food.
In the wash rooms I met a mad Westcountry yokel type cycle tourer, who’d cycled from Exeter or somewhere on a knackered mountain bike with a tiny tent and a huge towel, and was upset that he’d forgotten to bring a fork. I think he said he’d broken a crank, and had to walk fifteen miles to find a bike shop to fix it, but I couldn’t really understand him. He seemed like a happy chap though, I suppose cycling does that to you.
The wind was really getting up and as we crawled into bed the trees were roaring above us and the tent was doing its own jittery little dance, but it was quite nice to be so snug and yet so close to the raging might of the weather. I’m getting used to sleeping in a tent I think.

We had considered staying at South Lytchett for another night, mainly because of the fantastic shower block, but there wasn’t really much to do nearby, and we didn’t fancy going back into Poole, so we decided take the shortish ride to Lulworth. I’d been there years ago, and remembered the impressive coastline and cliff walks around Lulworth Cove and Durdle Door. So after a breakfast of danish pastries and yoghurt, we had another wonderful shower and set off South West again. The trouble with touring West along the South Coast is that you’re likely to be riding into the wind more often than not. It had certainly been the case for us, and today was probably the best example.
We stopped at a ‘Welcome to Wareham’ sign for a photo and an old fellow walked up pushing his mountain bike and asked if we could pump his tyre up. Unfortunately I didn’t have a nozzle for his Schrader valve so we got him to take a picture of us by the sign instead. On through various pretty little hamlets and warning signs declaring the possibility of ’sudden gunfire’ and ‘tanks crossing’. Then down into East Lulworth. Had a quick look at the castle (pretty) before finding our way into the ‘Weld Arms’ for a very tasty ploughmans. Certainly it seems to us, the farther west we go, the better the ploughmans lunches become.
Before long we found ourselves in West Lulworth, near the cove, but our campsite was apparently right at the top of a tough looking hill in front of us. We considered the possibility that there may not be a shop on the site so grabbed a load of provisions from a village shop at the junction. An enormous loaf of bread, some tinned tomatoes, soup, onions and a big black pudding to make a nice hotpot. Eggs and bacon for breakfast and of course some beers. Two large blue plastic bags swung dangerously from my handlebars as I determinedly span up the hill in my lowest granny gear. Kez sensibly pushed her bike up, and met me at the top barely a minute after I’d got there.
As it turned out, ‘Durdle Door Caravan Park’ was a huge place, with a large restaraunt/bar and with the biggest site shop we’d seen yet, I could’ve saved myself the effort of lugging grocery bags up the hill and had more choice, but hey ho.
We got the tent set up and went for a walk on the cliffs over Durdle Door. Absolutely amazing views, made even more dramatic by the strong wind that was whipping all sorts of weather across us. One minute bright and sunny, but then you could see dark black banks of cloud coming in from the sea, and before you knew it you were being stung by vicious showers. It was warm enough though, and we had a great time leaning precariously over the long drops and spotting rainbows over the sun dappled hills behind.
The weather finally got a bit too much and we holed up in the ‘Man o’war’ bar for a while, until it cleared up again, allowing us to settle by the tent and get the hotpot going. Kez managed to spill a whole glass of red wine all over my sleeping mat in the tent, but it wiped off leaving no stain at all somehow. It was a good day, but Kez was still feeling a bit run down and tonight we would find out why.
Kez was really quite ill during the night. Off to the toilet every five minutes, didn’t get much sleep and at one point realised that her sleeping bag was going to have to go in the bin! It was actually a relief for her to realise she had caught some kind of bug, which was clearly the reason she’d been so weak the last couple of days, and not just general unfitness.
A good day, but the night was another matter.

We woke to a glorious silence, no pitter pattering on the tent, in fact there was real yellow sun shining down on the steaming meadows. We had a quick breakfast of coffee and KitKats we’d bought from the bar and packed up to leave. Today was looking good, we cycled to Lyndhurst and had a sort of conintental breakfast in the ‘Café Parisien’ which was being run by a woman from Ramsgate, very near where we come from. She asked how we were finding the bikes, assuming that we’d hired them for the day so when I said we were finding them fine, they’d got us here from Margate she was absolutely and unnecessarily astonished. She really couldn’t believe it, and after she’d finally managed to get her head round the fact that bicycles can actually go places, she looked pityingly at Kez and exclaimed ‘oh you poor thing’. This needled me a bit and I was sure Kez would inform her that she was having the best holiday of her life thankyouverymuch but she just smiled grimly and nodded. hmm.
Kez was struggling from the off today. We cycled out of Lyndhurst and headed South West to Burley. It was lovely passing the ponies and new foals grazing beside the roads, the sun shone through the trees, the roads were smooth and quiet, and the hills were gentle, but Kez seemed really weak. I checked her wheels were running free, no brakes rubbing or anything, but even the slightest hill really took the wind out of her. I got her to drink extra water and we carried on down into Christchurch. Once at the seafront the going was very easy, the weather was looking a bit grey again, so the promenades and cycle paths were deserted. We cruised past the piers, miles of easy flat riding right the way around Poole Bay.
Poole was much more stressful than I expected. We got confused in the town and found ourselves trying to negotiate fast roads and roundabouts, cycled through some sort of Hell’s Angels bike meeting and eventually after some swearing and bad directions we managed to get over to Hamworthy. The day was becoming a tough one, the time was getting on, Kez was flagging and we had expected to be at the camp site by now. It’s just up here, I kept saying, but it seemed to take ages.
Eventually we got to ‘South Lytchett Manor’, the sun came out, the shop was great, and the shower block was something else. I’ve never been in a hotel with better kept bathrooms than these, let alone a camp site. All beautifully clean, shiny gold taps, folded hand towels, spotless mirrors, etc etc. We bought a few beers and some wine to go with produce we’d picked up earlier, Kez made a delicious hearty vegetable stew under the warm rays of the early evening sun, and we relaxed happily.