Uphill All The Way – Listening to The Archers (Newark to Lincoln)

Published on: 2 Jun, 2014
Updated on: 2 Jun, 2014

This is the eighth report on the author’s progress in his bid to cycle from Guildford to Edinburgh. The reports follow: Uphill All The Way – The Idea and Uphill All The Way – The Plan (Part One) and Uphill All The Way – The Plan (Part Two)

All Uphill All The Way articles can be found under the Leisure section heading on the front page, in their own sub-section called Uphill All The Way.

By Martin Giles

I woke up knowing it was going to be a good day. The sun was shining, the sky was blue and I had only a gentle 20 miles to cycle to Lincoln, a city it was an ambition of mine to visit.

First, my hosts at the extremely comfortable Compton House served me a magnificent breakfast (two sausages and two eggs – this was no way to lose weight!). I found I was sharing a table with a couple who had come to Newark to help with the by-election campaign. They knew the town and agreed with me, that the potentially magnificent market square was completely under exploited. It is a real shame mainly, of course, for the people of Newark.

I had already decided that I wanted to see the square again before I left so, having packed up, I headed back into the town centre. Newark is ideal for cyclists and there were quite a few about on the quiet narrow roads or ‘gates’ heading in and out, going about their business, perhaps for a Sunday church service, or for a couple of items of shopping or to meet a friend. It reminded me of Holland. The sun was an added bonus which, as usual, brought an extra degree of cheeriness.

Just before the square I found the Ukip campaign centre. There was a bustle about the place. I recognised one of the people that I had overheard at the restaurant, the previous evening and realised that the canvassing team had been gathered from across the country. One was sporting a hi-vis jacket with ‘Ukip Scotland’ on it.

The Ukip campaign centre in Newark was bustling.

I asked another of their team if I should immediately put some money on them taking the seat. “No,” he said quickly, perhaps concerned for my financial well being, “Nigel has said the Tories are still several thousand votes ahead.”

It might have been an honest comment from Mr Farrage or perhaps a comment aimed at making the voters and his team think that an unlikely victory was within their grasp with just a bit more support and effort. Perhaps it would encourage complacency in the Tory camp.

Newark’s Market Square empty, despite the sunshine.

I had a cup of coffee on the square which looked even better in the sunshine. Starbucks is here with some tables and chairs but they are not the whole answer.

I was sharing a table with an old gent who, judging by the obvious agricultural patina on his flat cap, had worked in farming. We got talking. He confirmed my suspicion of his occupation.

The next 20 minutes were some of the most informative of the whole ride to date. He was a real local man who, I felt, had a slighly sad, resigned view of the state of his part of England. Newark is in Nottinghamshire but his accent appeared to me to be more Lincolnshire (but I am no expert). Whatever it was, it had far more attraction than the almost ubiquitous estuary English that seemed to be influencing youngsters even this far north.

“You are cycling to Edinburgh,” he repeated with the unsaid comment, “Why on earth would you want to do that?” I think Newark was the centre of his universe and he might have rarely travelled far. Not that there is anything wrong with that.

However, he clearly knew his local area well. “Oh yes it’s hilly south of Melton,” he chuckled looking at my bike, and, “Yes the view from Pasture Lane is truly beautiful,” he agreed. We were pleased to find a shared appreciation of the world.

He told me, with some obvious affection for his part of the country, how my route had, although I had not known it, taken me in and out of Leicestershire, Nottinghamshire and Lincolnshire.

He was a retired cowman who had dealt with beef herds. In answer to my questions he informed me that the prevalent breed of cattle in the area is now Limousin but he had not a clue why they had largely replaced Lincoln Reds and other traditional British breeds.

I asked him if he had ever been injured in his working life, every year cows kill and injure workers and members of the public in the UK. He seemed to appreciate the question and admitted that cows could become a bit aggressive and intimidating especially when they had calves.

“Of course, I was kicked,” he said, “but it was just part of the job.”

“Hmm… a pretty painful part nonetheless,” I thought.

“What about this by-election?” I asked, “Will you be voting?”

“No – fed up with the lot of ’em.” He said conclusively. I did not push it but I felt sorry that a man of his experience, who had worked hard all his life in the important business of food production, who really knew about his area and still had some local pride, at least if the gleam in his eye when I mentioned the view over Belvoir Vale was anything to go by, had become so completely disillusioned. Is this the real price of so many broken promises?

My sadness did not last. It had now gone 11am and although my ride today was shorter I should get going.

On my way out of Newark I saw that there was a large industrial sector of the town I had not seen and I wondered what the town’s current economy relied on. As usual my short visit had raised more questions than it answered but I was really pleased that I had stopped in Newark. I had hardly heard of the place before and it had only been on my itinerary because it was roughly half way between Melton and Lincoln.

The brown line shows my route from Newark on Trent to Lincoln.

The first part of my route to Lincoln was not promising, it was a long uphill climb on a main road but fresh legs and a low gear made short work of it. A couple of miles further on and I escaped the A road and noticed several other recreational cyclists.

It is not surprising that this is a popular route with them; it was a quiet road and I was once again in the country. Soon I got to the edge of a forest. The road was attractively bordered by rhododendron, that Chinese plant that can be an invasive nuisance in some areas.

The quiet road through Stapleford forest.

A mile or so on and I emerged once again into open farmland. With the birds singing, a summer sky it was altogether a beautiful prospect. “I must hang on to this moment,” I thought, “when the rains inevitably return.”

Birds singing, open farmland, a summer sky and a quiet road – what more can a cyclist want?

The next few miles were probably the best of the tour so far. The towers and spires of village churches appeared in succession giving a new point of interest or objective. Often where there is a church there is a pub and as it was approaching lunch-time, and I had developed a thirst, I decided to investigate the next one on my route.

The approach to Norton Disney. Where there is a church there is often a pub.

It happened to be at a place called Norton Disney. I wondered if I would be served by Mickey Mouse. As it turned the Green Man was another gastro pub. Outside a remarkably clean tractor was parked and several ponies were tied up. It seemed a real part of the rural scene. Inside the pub had been gutted and given clean lines everywhere. It is not my preference but if it keeps the pub in business then so be it. Anyway the weather was fine and I could I eat outside.

As I arrived I was greeted by a family who owned the tractor. Its restoration had been a hobby project. Later they were talking about checking the pigs, moving the bowser, how well the potatoes were doing this year and the predicted prices of various grains (being a farmer, it seems, is a bit like being a futures investor). It was a bit like listening to The Archers I told them as we exchanged a cheery farewell.

The ponies leave the Green Man past the restored 1970s tractor.

I continued towards Lincoln along Clay Lane and then numerous other quiet roads until with a jolt I reached the southern edge of Lincoln’s suburbs, a new development on what was obviously a green field site, part of a pattern I have been noticing all the way up from Guildford. The design of these was not so bad, I suppose, but when will we ever have enough?

This development on the southern edge of the Lincoln suburbs was built on a green field site as have many others seen on the route from Guildford.

The next few miles was along a suburban road that could be anywhere in the southern half of the country. At least it was mercifully flat and soon there was a cycle path that led to the city centre and a mile short of that Creston Villa, my five-star accommodation for the next two nights. (I will report more later.)

The old city of Lincoln makes the climb up Steep Hill worthwhile.

Having filed yesterday’s belated report by around 8pm I walked the mile into the city past innumerable fast food shops, and ascended Steep Hill. The old city on the hill top was worth the climb. After a brief walk around to admire the frontages of the cathedral and castle, I had some delicious tapas with a mellow glass of Spanish red and descended to return to Creston Villa and look forward to further exploration on my first rest day.