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The Long Wrong Way Round - Laura and Bob Pickett's first tour doesn't work out quite as planned

Put two bikers together and there is a good chance that at some stage they are going to go touring. My wife Laura and myself are no exception. We’re used to riding together, but aside from one long trip from London to Gloucester when she passed her test, we hadn’t tried a tour. We both had a week’s holiday to use up, so it was time to get on the road and do the whole “Two Lane Blacktop” thing.

The Plan

We wanted a base of operations from where we could set out each day, not too far away from home, just in case of problems, but far enough that we’d be out exploring new places, getting some communal miles under our belts and easing into the whole “tour” scene, just in case Laura didn’t like it. And with her still on board the 250cc Virago during her 33bhp restriction purgatory, more than minimal motorway riding wasn’t an option.

The solution? We’re based in east London, so how about Kent? Close enough for the ride there not to be a chore, accessible by the Woolwich Ferry and then a mix of A and B roads, with plenty of interesting places to visit. We had a plan. A trawl around the cottage hire companies sourced a lovely little cottage in a tiny village just south of Canterbury – a perfect base for touring the county. So we had a plan – and a damned good plan at that. What could go wrong? Try three foot of snow.

The day before we were due to set off, the hire company called. Apparently, the owner had rung to say the local roads were impassable, they had needed an industrial digger to clear their own driveway and the conditions were being reported as the worse in Kent for over a decade! Time to change plans.

The Other Plan

It wasn’t a school holiday, so the world should be our lobster. Oh yeah? We tried hotels, cottages and guesthouses, but time and again we got the “No room at the Inn” response.

We spent what seemed like the whole of the weekend ringing round to no avail. At least when it happened to Mary and Joseph there was a good reason…

The Other, Other plan

Laura had a brainwave. How about Buckinghamshire? Central, not too far from London with lots of ‘A’ roads to ride. Google found us the Grove House B&B in Longwick, south of Aylesbury. Yes, they could put us up for four days from the Tuesday – and could stretch to a fifth day if we wanted it. Breakfast sorted, but what were we going to do for food in the evening? “Oh, we always send our guests down to the Red Lion pub 100 yards away, does excellent food and has three or four Real Ales on tap”… sold!

OK, so we’d lost touring time. Shame, but it can’t be helped. At least we can turn it into a five-day break if we want. Boosted by this thought, we packed bags, sorted out detailed maps to allow for exploring the backroads and packed an essential item - the AA pub guide. Well if you are out and about, you need to know where to stop for a bite to eat and the AA guides are normally spot on for this sort of thing.

On the Road

Finally we were on the road, three days late.

It was cold and gloomy but we weren’t bothered, we were off on our first tour. After the hassles of the previous three days, surely nothing could go wrong now. That optimism was to come back and bite us, but for the time being, we were happy little tourers.

And to begin with, everything went swimmingly. Until we got to Aylesbury. All out of town traffic gets sent down the same convoluted route, out to the north. We knew we needed to go south, so we followed signs into the town centre with to look for an alternative way out… but there didn’t seem to be any signs.

We pulled over, parked the bikes and consulted maps, hoping for a clue. For a moment, I started to wonder if Aylesbury had turned into a real-life Royston Vasey – you can enter, but never leave… when I spotted something above our heads. Something large, square and grey. “I wonder what is on the other side?” I thought, took a few steps… and found THE sign showing us how to (a) get out and (b) where we had to go next! D’Oh!

Feeling suitably foolish, we headed on. The next few miles were on nice little rural (to my townie’s eyes) roads, finally leading to Longwick and our base of operations for the next four to five days. Check in, chat to our very friendly hosts and off to the local pub, the Red Lion. Drinks in hand, Lamb Shanks and the like on plates in front of us, two happy but slightly weary travellers (well a lot of the early trip was in heavy traffic) settled in for the evening. It seemed like things were looking up.

To Oxford… and straight back out again

Fed, watered and rested, the next day it was time to really get the show on the road and go a-visiting. Where better to start than Oxford? The gleaming spires, the pillars of learning, the Bridge of Sighs, the large shopping centre…

Oxford also has an excellent “Park and Ride” scheme. And boy do they like to advertise it. “Park!” “Ride!” “Support your community, leave the car at home!” it screams from every poster. And Oxford is well known for students cycling about the place, so they must be keen on motorbikes, what with their being clean, green and so on? So we decided to embrace the “Park and Ride” concept, but with a twist – instead of “Park and Ride”, we would “Ride and Park”, finding a bike park and spend the rest of the day exploring the best that the city had to offer. Or so we thought.

Oxford really isn’t keen on the idea of anything other than buses or pushbikes entering the centre. So we head in, follow the “This way to the town centre” signs… and follow and follow and follow and follow… Bike park? Nope. Anywhere at all to stop? Nope. Round and round we go, like some strange urban merry-go-round, never finding a place to pull over. Except the traffic lights, when we learn something else about Oxford… the buses don’t like the cyclists either.

As we pull up at a red light, we see a cyclist hit the floor. Despite her aiming for the cycle lane next to the bus lane, Mr Bus decides to carry on regardless and a panicky swerve sees her hit the floor. Gladly, she isn’t hurt, just shaken up. So we take care of her until the police arrive to look after her and get back to following the signs towards the town centre… until we get to somewhere that looks very familiar. We’ve gone round in a circle and been spat out where we started! If Aylesbury was impersonating Royston Vasey then Oxford was the Anti-Vasey, doing everything it can to stop you staying!

Thame – I wanna live (there) forever/Sausage Heaven

We find a pub far enough from the centre that we’re allowed to stop at without some form of punishment and consider our options. With all the riding round in circles, it is already mid-afternoon, so we can’t go too far. Time to research the AA pub guide – maybe we’ll find somewhere nearby to stop for a spot of late lunch? And the AA comes up with Thame.

We’d missed Thame on the way into Oxford, as we followed the bypass road. Thame looks small on the map, so we’re not sure there will be a huge amount to take up our time. We couldn’t have been more wrong. It turns out to be a charming town, with a range of interesting shops, pretty streets and purpose built parking for bikes. This is much, much more like it.

The Royston Vasey factor kicks in again… as we walk down one of the charming cobbled streets, we spot a “Local Shop, Selling Local Produce for Local People”. They look bemused at the sniggering biker standing outside… and even more bemused when I whip out the camera and take a photo!

Then we turn the corner and make a Very Important Discovery…

… As we all know, God made the world in six days and on the seventh he rested. Then on the eighth, he got up ready to get back to work, fancied a hearty breakfast and created the sausage. Four point six billion years later, the sausage has it’s own temple. There it stands, the Birdcage pub – a 700 year old inn offering 50 varieties of sausage.

I love sausages. I have a tolerant wife. Fighting to stop myself from drooling, we venture inside. And enter sausage nirvana.

We dine – and dine well. I have Buffalo and Springbok, served on a bed of Bubble and Squeak mash. Laura has Chicken, orange and walnut along with Pacific Pork (pork with garlic, coriander and ginger) on a bed of Wholegrain mustard mash. It might sound odd, but the standard of food is superb. Go to Thame, eat at the Birdcage – you will not be disappointed.

After a bad start, we come up with another successful end to the day.

Dibley… and disaster

After the previous day, we decide that smaller towns and villages will be far more interesting. We will still need to eat. So out with the AA pub guide once again, where we make a discovery. The village of Turville has been used to film a wide range of shows and films… including The Vicar of Dibley. We’d wondered where the series was filmed, so the combination of being able to visit the village where it happened along with a recommended pub means we have a plan.

From Longwick, it seems simple. Head along the old A and B roads to the A40, ride along there for a few miles through a couple of lovely, picture postcard villages, then through Ibstone and down into Turville where we will do the tourist thing, stop for lunch and plan our next move.

At least that is how it starts off. The run down to the A40 and to Ibstone is great fun. Then life gets difficult. Imagine our horror when we find we are heading down a 1:10 single lane slope, with trees either side, happily shedding leaves and various tree-related ordure. First gear only, constantly covering the brakes, the next few miles are a journey made with breaths held and nerves straining. It comes as a real relief when we reach the bottom, come out onto the flat, turn the corner and enter… Dibley.

Just past the pub, there is the church that featured so heavily in the series. And Turville is simply beautiful. If you think of an olde-worlde English village, you’ll find you are thinking of Turville. Utterly lovely, but plans to stay here for lunch are abandoned. That scary little lane on the way down has spooked the pair of us, so time to get out the map and find another way out.

Fortunately, if we head through the next little village there is the B482 – a “proper” road. This will lead us back up to the town of Stokenchurch from where we can get back onto the A40, ride back to Longwick and past to visit Princes Risborough, the closest ‘biggish’ town to our touring base. But it is not to be. As we approach Grove House, Laura signals to turn into their carpark. Her speedo has broken – and we’ve seen a few random police checkpoints in the area. The last thing we need is for her to get pulled for speeding, what with the “points count double” rule on a restricted licence.

I leap on the Virago (no real hardship) and whizz back round to Hughenden M40 – a large dealership we spotted on the A40. They confirm it is a snapped cable. But they don’t have one in stock and it will take at least two days to order one. So time to talk to the RAC… and enter into a truly bewildering conversation.

First off, they suggest “just taking it easy and riding home.” We’re talking 80-odd miles, we live in GATSO central – and it is illegal. Which I tell call centre woman. Who now suggests “Call Yamaha and seeing if they will pay for a tow home”. For a nine year old bike? I burst out laughing! Finally, I’m told I have to call Yamaha UK and see if they can provide a replacement cable. They can, but it will have to come from Holland in the next shipment… which really isn’t going to arrive in time for us to need to go home. Finally , a line manager at the RAC accepts they have to tow the Virago home.

So our seven day cottage holiday turned into a two day hit and miss affair, with a giant mobile bill to come, not to mention replacing the speedo cable. So has this put us off touring? Oddly no. The good bits were really good and we found our riding styles compliment each other nicely on this kind of holiday.

But next time, if it starts going belly up from the word go, I think we’re going to accept it isn’t meant to happen…

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