Pause..

My mother ended up in the ICU with severe pneumonia so I'm back in Newfoundland for a while. Her good friends have been taking care of things until I could get here and I'm very, very thankful for all they've done. Mom's prognosis appears good at the moment and I should know more soon.
The journey will hopefully continue at a later date.

And They're Off!

I hit the end of the south coast of Britain at Land's End this past week and have begun heading north. Riding from Land's End to John O' Groats at the northern tip of Scotland is a popular bicycle touring route here, so there were a number of other cyclists there when I arrived. Everybody gets a quick photo taken before heading off to nearby campgrounds -- or into Penzance for the night -- and then resuming their journey northward the next day. It's a little like the start of the Dakar rally.

I don't see the other riders much on the road, however. Unlike the U.S. Pacific Coast trail where all cyclists took Highway 101 and we'd spot each other every day, there's so many different route choices here. I myself have chosen to wander inland to Bath to visit a friend from university and see Stonehenge, but other riders have their own agendas.

The guys in the picture were credit-card cyclists, which is the term for riders who stay in hotels rather than camp. They left before me, but I ended up passing two of them on the road 10 minutes later when they stopped to look for the third guy. He'd fallen behind and taken a different road, and they had to find him because he was the only one who knew where their hotel reservation was!

For the Swimmers..

You can't ride all the time. Sometimes even cycling is too fast and I don't get to fully enjoy the towns I pass through. Rest days get taken up with shopping, laundry and Internet, so every now and then I check into a hostel and chill for a few nights.

Since I like to swim, I hung out on a recent stop in Plymouth at the Tinside Lido. The lido is a giant circular pool that was built on the seafront in the 1930s and is fed with seawater. A maze of steps lead down the cliff to the pool as well as to other little tide-fed pools, sunbathing decks, diving boards, and rocky beaches.

The whole place was refurbished in 2001 but still has a delightfully run-down quality about it. The concrete steps are worn from wave damage and the way its built makes it so you can't quite see where each set of steps lead. I went down the stairs thinking I was the only one there, but found people reading books or even enjoying a coffee at cafes tucked in behind the rocks.

Plymouth suffered heavy bombing during the Second World War, and a plaque says that on one evening 3,000 people bought tickets to swim in the lido pool after hot day of cleaning up rubble.

Signs..

This is the second-funniest sign I've seen in Britain so far. The MOST hilarious sign was in London but I couldn't snap a picture of it because I was in the middle of traffic. It was outside the entrance of a cricket stadium and read, "No alcohol or musical instruments permitted."

There are plenty of regular signs in Britain and most of them begin with the word "Private." They say "Private Road," "Private Driveway" or "Private Lake." Luckily there are also lots of other signs pointing the direction for the National Cycle Network which I've been following all along the south coast of Britain. The little blue signs point the way for a course that takes me off heavily-used motorways and onto country lanes, peaceful dirt tracks, or beach promanades. The signs are small and sometimes difficult to spot, but they're there and it's an effort I commend.

There aren't many street signs in Britain, however. I have to guess my way through most urban intersections. It's like the British fear a future invasion and don't want to help the enemy find his way around!

I'm still heading west along the south coast of Britain -- at this point I'm in Devon.

Not a Postman!

This is a picture of a postman standing between my bike, on the left, and his official Royal Mail bicycle on the right. Children over here often confuse me with a postman and you can sort of see why.
It's been a hard week, but then the first few days of a big trip usually are for me. Many of you have heard the story of my trip from Calgary to Los Angeles where I lost my wallet and contracted an inconvenient intestinal problem in the first three days. Eventually it comes together, and I just know I have to tough it out.
Within 24 hours of leaving London on Sunday I suffered three flats, and realized that the old tires I was using were TOO old for the task. I stopped to buy new ones in a community called Whitstable and ended up camping on the beach overnight.
There was a thunderstorm just as I finished cooking my dinner and I took shelter under an awning with a man who told me that during the coronation in 1953, there were huge bonfires all the way up the beach. There was also a flood when the sea wall was breached in 1951. The man told me a beach cabin from the town was found as far away as Holland. (I may have actually gotten the stories confused here -- the cabin may be connected with the coronation celebrations.)
Anyway, I've passed through Dover and Hastings and am continuing my way for a while along the south coast. The cycle routes often run on top of the sea walls so it's very pleasant!

Rob Reveals All!

This may have made your local newscast...

More than a thousand cyclists took part in the 2009 World Naked Bicycle Ride though London to protest global oil dependency, and I was one of them. I just couldn't resist the opportunity to ride naked though Picadilly Circus while throngs of tourists snapped my picture. I'm betting there were more photos taken of naked cyclists in London on Saturday than of Big Ben, Buckingham Palace and Trafalgar Square combined. So if you want to see a more revealing picture of me, I'm sure someone has posted them on the Internet somewhere.


I'm leaving London on Sunday after spending almost two weeks here. I've been doing a lot of cycling, and while it was thrilling at first to weave in between double-decker buses and taxis like all the other bicycle commuters here do, it's beginning to wear me down and I'm yearning to get out of city.

Maybe I'll head for Dover, or maybe for Cornwall. I haven't made up my mind yet.

London

The week began with sadness from Newfoundland. Longtime friend Brianna McCarthy suffered a sudden stroke and died. She'd celebrated her 34th birthday only a few days before, and stopped by my house to share some ice-cream cake with my mother and me. The fact she's gone seems hard to believe when I'm so far away.

I've spent a number of days in London applying for visas needed for the Middle Eastern portion of my trip, but I've used the time in between to visit museums, take tours and see other sights. Since I'm cheap, I usually pick attractions that cost the least. This means I've ruled out seeing a stage production of Oliver! starring Rowan Atkinson. (Not kidding -- it really exists. Look it up if you doubt me.)

Maybe you can identify the piece of sinister machinery I'm posed with in the picture. If you can, you may have guessed that I took a studio tour of BBC Television. I saw where Doctor Who, Blackadder, The Two Ronnies and Fawlty Towers were all filmed. The studios are filled with sets for new, as-yet-unknown shows, but it was a thrill all the same.

One final note -- on Carnaby Street, there's a Wrangler jeans outlet. Hear that, Medicine Hat? You're high fashion!