Thirteen: Norfolk and Sufolk: Norwich to Snape.

June 21, 2013

The rain was light. It was worse looking out the window at the wet grey street first thing this morning, but once out, my main concern was, having to ride while looking over the top of my rain-beaded-glasses. I had one thing to do before leaving Norwich, ride to the big curved roof and glass Forum building beside the city hall, therein was a library where I would've my passport photocopied and a copy faxed home; easy and the copy looked better than the original. Then Is ready for the road.

View from Guest house window on morning I check-out.

I followed the signs for Ipswich, and it was a commute alongside a constant flow of passing cars and commercial vehicles on a busy A road. By now the rain was easing off and the sky to lighten, nevertheless I kept my yellow rain-jacket on even though Is sweating underneath, because it made me more visible; the thermal jersey underneath being much the colour of the road, petrol I think it's called.

At a place called Tasbury well beyond the urban-ring was the first chance to turn off, down a country by road, still poodles from the morning of rain. It was barely a vehicle wide and there could've all most have been grass growing in the middle, as I met or was passed by no one.

I commuted out off the city on the busy A140 towards Ipswich, then turned off along this country-lane.

Eventually I came to a cross with a B road. While looking at the map to find the places on the sign, I made eye-contact with a passing local cyclist who then swung round on his maroon touring bike with an old Carridice saddle bag and pulled in alongside. He shared his local knowledge of the area. He was off work today and was on a day's jaunt down to the town of Diss, which he told me wasn't worth a detour when I asked. He also told me of the river which is the county boundary between Norfolk and Suffolk, where the bridge is, something I thought nothing more about at the time, until two o'clock when I'd gotten that far. I had gone to the town without the bridge. It then meant a detour sideways to the town with the bridge, but no matter, with the late start, I wasn't going to make it all the way to Harwich that day in time for the sailing for Denmark. I decided it was going to be a day and a half's ride, so I headed toward the Suffolk coast where on the map I saw a road with a green outline and thought an area with lots of free camping possibilities.

I think these are called Corn Poppies. The first time I ever saw them was on my very first cycle-tour in Northern France-Departments Pay de Calais, Picardy and Somme.

Churchyard Gate: this is where I stopped at three.

I reached a place wonderfully called Saxmundham; thence it was a small road onwards to where I wanted to end up. An awful row of huge pylons and power-lines marred the countryside to the side, then on cresting a small hill I saw the reason why, the huge white dome of the Sizewell B nuclear reactor peeking above the trees ahead. My road veered south and away from Sizewell, a road with magnificent sharp bends and as I'd a tailwind now, it was exhilarating curving through these bends at speed. I was however almost in the hedge coming round and out of one at the bottom of a dip. Now I know what motor bikers mean when they say "keep the bike between the hedges". Keep on the road.

I passed through a little place called Snape, a place were they malted, barley I suppose. Then I saw the sign for a picnic area, so that's where I made for. So I ended the day cooking the pasta while dog-walkers passed, most bid me a good evening. I put the tent up at dusk.