It has been coming for a while now. First the purchase of pannier bags, then short cycle- trips half way to St Albans, looks at map-books to plot a route to London without landing on the M25 or the A1.
So....Thursday, this week - started and ended windless and sunny -so right. A casual call to Gordon at work, "I'm thinking of a cycle ride". Any stated aim of cycling off to London would only have left Gordon worried and why should I saddle Hubs with headaches? In any case, I had not the foggiest idea if I would even make it all the way there, so let's avoid the double whammy of Gordon worried plus Gordon suffering worry for nothing.
So, not knowing how the ride would pan out, I packed one pannier bag and the camera in the handlebar bag , set the pedometer, tuck slacks in socks, saddled up and turned down our Daisy Drive towards Hatfield House.
At hand and eye, I had a few scribbled notes: "Hatfield to Welham Green to Potters Bar to Barnet. Stay on A10000, High Road to Woodside Park - stay on the High Road. When A1000 forms fork with A1 - DON'T take the A1 - go to Archway Road - then to Campden Town - look out for A400."
Funny thing, I tried to speak notes/impressions into my ipod, but had no idea that the pin-prick hole next to the video lens is a microphone! I held the thing back to front and only managed to record the zoom of cars - oh well... there are glaring morals of a story in that one!
Thought to self: "first goal is to see if I can just get as far asPotters Bar". I had no idea how many miles Potters Bar is from Hatfield . In comparison with a recent country walk, the road signs and my scribbled directions were ever so easy to follow. I basically had to stick to the A1000 route - part of the main medieval route out of London and the "Great North Road" - even though I was merrily wheeling South.
My first call to Gordon: "Guess where I am!" Gordon, "St Albans?" Me, "Potters Bar" "What are you doing in Potters Bar?" Well.....and out comes the thought of cycling to London - silence on the other side. "Are you safe?" etc. My promise: "I'll phone you from Barnett, don't worry, I'm just fine and wish you were here too!"
Excercise, yes. Fresh air, cough, cough, I think my lungs are rapidly turning black. Would it help if I turn my head towards the forests alongside and gulp down their oxygen?
It was fine to have Potters Bar as the first goal, but, oh man, it did not sound half as exciting as "hey I'm heading for London".
A second call to Gordon from Barnet , he checked out distances on the net and said the most encouraging words: "You can make it to London". Let no-one never ever underestimate the energy and power and motivation of genuine encouragement!. I was now flying down hills , accompanied by ipod-Viennese waltzes, and labouring up hills with joy in my heart and polluted lungs. Then, unexpectedly (for me) - the exciting first vista of the city-scape and a mini-mini Wren's masterpiece, the famous St Paul's dome, in the distance. Spurred on, I pushed on through North Finchley, East Finchley and by-passed Highgate somewhere along the line - excited, but managing not to lose sight of being careful in the relentless London traffic.
I popped in at a cycle shop, but thought a cycling-mask at £23 was way too steep, even though I did not want to think about my polluted lungs.
Another call to Gordon from a quaint bridge overlooking Regents Canal and cutesy narrow-boats. Suddenly road-works and the end of the A1000 left me without direction, but never without somebody to ask the way to Campden Town. Decision time: first to less exciting Kings Cross Station or straight on to Regents Park and Oxford Street? A sober move was called for, because the train-rule for cyclists is: you and your bike may use the transport from stations, not tubes, outside peak times which are 4.30 to 7.00pm.
Constrained by a time constraint, I followed the bus stop and road signs to Kings Cross.
From here onwards the bus stop signs "towards Kings Cross" guided me all the way to the station along n uninteresting and even ugly mile. I pushed my bicycle and weaved through tourists and throngs of workers inside the station, bought a single return ticket to Hatfield and soon I was outside again on what was by now extremely busy London roads.
I felt ok and alert and focused and cycled past the British Library, past the British Museum then followed a sign to West End and Westminster. A a mounted map read "You are in Covent Garden ", Shaftesbury Lane over there and Soho also here. Despite many visits in the past with Gordon and others, these little lanes looked unfamiliar. What a buzz, people lounging at side-walk tables in cobbled lanes, but it was time for me to get a move on, back to Bloomsbury and aim to get back to Kings Cross in time. Two challenges popped up: London's busy one-way streets and late afternoon pushy nose-to-back double red buses and black cabs-with-attitudes. Once again I had to ask directions - it was good that Kings Cross is no obscure , unkown destination - if you play Monopoly, you know Kings Cross is one of the four stations.
With 5 minutes to spare to confirm that the train to Cambridge is the train via Hatfield leaving from Platform 11B. I took a seat in a wheelchair area, keeping a watchful eye in case a wheelchair person needed the space. How interesting that it took me ages longer to get to London than to get back to Hatfield on the fast train to Cambridge! I planned to hold my bike upright and have a little time of prayer on the return journey, but scarcely managed to jot down a few requests.
Simular to the previous time Gordon and I had a bike-outing in London, it was a job and a half getting one pannier bag, one handlebar bag with camera, one bike and myself up those Hatfield train station's bridge steps . Going down on the other side was a doddle and took more concentration than energy.
The pedometer read 20-something miles - I'm thankful, with very good reason for every single safe mile. Also deeply grateful for the tremendous privilege of listening to sermons on-line, on my ipod. Last time Gordon and mentioned to our young Irish pastor Reuben that we were blessed by his sermon while cycling - we got a REPRIMAND - "you will have an accident if you listen to the sermon instead of the traffic!" We can report that it is possible to listen to both - and survive!
I found this map on the internet after the ride - mustard after the meal (and Afrikaans saying)
Thursday's ride is in blue.
This picture is of a country pub ("The duke of York") along the way
- my bottle of water and diet coke sufficed, thank you very much.
I noticed this sign at another eatery: "Pies, Mash and Liquor" - targetting the starving and parched.
The A1000 is also called the Great North Road - except I was cycling South - but no matter - it was clearly and reassuringly the right road.
First sight of the city - in the far distance. As you can see, it doesn't look like much, but can tell you, it was thrilling! See St Paul's over theeeeere on the left.
Also on the left, in red, is the bus lane where buses and cabs and cyclists are allowed - quite a daunting combo. At times I found it safest to cycle on the solid white line on the left - especially in the heart of the city.
By the way, I tied a bright yellow reflective jacket around my middle which flapped away
- making me visible enough to drivers.
Kings Cross train station is right next to the handsome Pancras International Station - I THINK it used to be a hotel...?
I pushed the bicycle along this Kings Cross platform and then turned lef further up, ontoPlatform 11B
Since 2000, two horrific train accidents took place: one at Hatfield and one at Potters Bar: not pretty sights.
Potters Bar
Only slightly sunburned, no stiff muscles and so happy that Gordon shared the trip with me via phone-calls
- he is such a love! We are also thrilled that as Christians we aren't sad and lost solo travellers on our lifes' journeys - but kept and protected by an amazingly Goooood Shepherd, Who is always there, always fair - also in the difficult times.
Our eyes say, “I don’t see God working in (my child).” Our emotions scream, (“I can’t feel God in my loneliness.)” Our minds cry out, “I can’t see how God can be good in (this situation).”
pronounced “toe-E-ray”: the Japanese abbreviation of “toilet” It’s going to have to be either written Japanese phrases or charades! 
