My grand tour of England, at 16

At the age of 16, when nothing seemed an impossible target, five lads decided to cycle around England. One called Malcolm had experience of youth hostels and said he would plan a route with accommodation.

As we were from different areas (I lived at Glaisdale in the North York Moors) we agreed to meet at Stokesley one Sunday to start our trip. It would take seven days, returning the following Saturday to allow us to recover for work.

From Stokesley, we would head south-west with our first overnight stop near Chester, heading next day to Gloucester, then Bournemouth, following the south coast to Brighton.

From Brighton we would head north to Luton through the middle of London then aim for Lincoln as our final stage. Each stage would be in the region of a hundred miles, some rather more, making a total of about 750 miles. There were no motorways and no Humber Bridge, roads tending to wind through town and country.

Despite our youth, we were accomplished long-distance cyclists whose idea of an outing was a 100 miles in seven hours on a Sunday, after cycling to the start, or alternatively riding in a 100-mile massed-start race for juniors such as The Tour of the Durham Hills.

Planning for the trip meant I had to adapt my Frejus racing bike as a long distance tourer because it had to carry my toiletries, change of clothing, spare tyre and tube, tools, drinks and food such as pies, and anything else I might need. I bought a set of panniers to fit over the rear wheel as I had no intention of carrying loads on my back – that would be asking for trouble. The bike should carry the load. I also took a set of stamped postcards to send home daily to my parents to announce my progress. We had no telephone at home and, of course, there were no mobile phones.

Our route was through countryside that none had previously visited and so the entire trip was a new experience. To be honest, after such a long gap since that outing, it is difficult to recall much detail although some destinations and sights linger in my memory. The first day’s ride through Yorkshire with the Dales to the west and the Moors and Wolds to the east seemed deserted compared with the heavily populated industrial areas of West Yorkshire and Lancashire.

Entering Chester was rather like travelling overseas – it was so different from our native part of England. The half-timbered buildings in black and white Tudor style were stunning and the galleried streets, known as The Rows with their overhanging medieval upper storeys, were rich with interesting shops.

There is a great deal of Roman history in Chester, much of which can be seen, but the cathedral is built of rich red sandstone. It dates from the 14th century as part of a Benedictine abbey until its dissolution in 1540.

Although industrial sites are not far away, the countryside around Chester is impressive with the River Dee running through farmland and woods to the Irish Sea.

Our stage from Chester to Gloucester revealed more delightful halftimbered houses in quiet villages and towns. We were determined to visit Stratford-on-Avon even if it meant a considerable diversion but it was worth the trip if only to see William Shakespeare’s birthplace – his works had given some of us headaches in our English exams but after seeing the town with its impressive riverside theatre, all was forgiven.

Next stop was Tewkesbury, a most impressive town with its ruined abbey supporting a huge Norman tower; the abbey was destroyed at the Reformation and a local hotel contains a priests’ hiding place, a reminder of those turbulent times.

Tewkesbury also features in the history of the Wars of the Roses. It was here that the Yorkists scored a victory in 1471.

When we left Gloucester I asked my colleagues if we could take a small diversion via Painswick because the churchyard contains a very historic collection of yew trees. This is an old town with a history of the woollen industry but in the churchyards there are said to be 100 ancient yew trees whose presence is recorded in 1714.

However, if you try to count them you might find there are only 99. It was said that when a hundredth yew was planted, the Devil removed it. The churchyard also contains ancient stocks that look like giant spectacles and the 15th century church is said to have one of the finest peals of bells in the West Country.

Gloucester was busy when we arrived, but we only wanted food and rest.

Not far from Painswick is the small town of Stroud and for some reason, I associate it with the manufacture of pianos. I have not found any recent reference to that industry because the town is more associated with wool, cloth and dyeing.

From there we headed for Bournemouth, taking the route via Bath and I recall riding along a high road which offered wonderful views of Bath and its splendid buildings. The Roman baths, from which the town gets its name, are astonishingly well preserved and a bridge across the River Avon boasts a street of shops upon it – it is called Pulteney Bridge.

We could have spent hours in Bath but had to reach Bournemouth before nightfall but had time to look at the impressive Poole Harbour and its yachts. From there we took the coast road to Brighton via Portsmouth where traffic was congested due to a royal visit – Princess Margaret I believe. I found the English Channel quite intriguing because its waves were so small and the beaches covered with pebbles.

After a night in Brighton, a grubby place I felt, we rode north right through the centre of London to see the sights, halted overnight near Luton and then headed for Lincoln.

The countryside was unbelievably flat and featureless but Lincoln is memorable with its cathedral and Roman history.

Next morning we set out for Yorkshire via the Humber ferry but as I was negotiating a narrow lane, my front wheel skidded on gravel and I collided with a wall. I was uninjured but my handlebars had broken into two separate pieces. There was no way I could ride it home.

However, improvisation is useful and so I cut a piece of wood from a hedge, stuck it in each end of the broken bars until they rejoined, and then locked the joint with grip of the steering column.

And it got me home despite the handlebars being rather off centre – but I desperately needed a bath.

However, I had been rewarded by seeing more of England than expected.