May 11, 2022
Wells-next-the-Sea to Dereham
south via Fakenham in the rain
There's an awkward silence in the dining room, with just myself and another guest having breakfast. The only sound is that of knives and forks against our plates. I wish there was a radio on.
Outside it's clearly drizzling. So much for this week's forecast of sunny weather. Once I've got my bike out of the shed, I don an oilskin raincape that I won on eBay a couple of years ago that has got to be 50 years old. Unfortunately it turns out to be a boy's size and barely covers my hands.
My route soon takes me up a rough track going in the general direction of a village called Wighton. There's only me on it and on both sides are high hedges, with grass growing down the middle of the stony surface.
The only living being I see in Wighton is a worker mowing the grass outside the church. I ask him about the scarecrow festival I heard about and he tells me it's all done with now and that the scarecrows have likely been dumped, but I go in search anyway and soon find them - looking a bit worse for wear - placed by the side of the road, propped up in doorways and arranged in a row in a small parking area.
The poor light isn't conducive to photography, but I take a few snaps before resuming to pedal away in the drizzle, which doesn't look like it's going to stop any time soon. When I reach a ford near a village called Great Walsingham, I opt to ride over a pedestrian bridge. The last thing I want to do is get even wetter.
A lane taking me south of Great Walsingham has a sign saying the narrow route is unsuitable for heavy goods vehicles and it's not long before it delivers me to Little Walsingham, which is actually much bigger. I pause in the village when I spot a Victorian postbox mounted into a wall and then see a sign saying there's a cafe adjacent and having a cup of coffee seems like a good idea, so I park the bike under a bit of shelter, take off my cape and step inside the modern hall.
It transpires that nearby is a shrine and the place soon fills up with visitors, all a similar age to me.
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Little Walsingham is a place I didn't research, so it all comes as a bit of shock to find that it's a popular pilgrimage site and it's awash with old timber-framed buildings. There's a place in the centre called The Shrine Shop and I stop and take a snap of a small structure that I mistake as a lock-up, but which turns out house what was a water pump.
I stop again in the arched entrance to a substantial stone building and as I'm getting my tripod set up to take a self-timed shot in its shelter, the large door gets unlocked and a lady greets me. She asks if I want to visit the abbey, which is inside, but walking around in the rain doesn't appeal and after taking a shot, I set off.
Taking shots in the rain seems like too much trouble for very little result and I keep riding and only pause once or twice on my way to Fakenham.
South of a village called Barsham I turn off the small back lane I'm on and take a rough track - on the OS map it's designated a cycle route. It doesn't last long and the blue bike path signs later guide me into Fakenham and it's lunch time when I get to the centre. I pop in a charity shop and buy Debbie a chef's apron that gets stuffed into a pannier then go in search of a place to eat and decide to have some soup in a cafe called Flour & Bean that looks out onto the Market Place. I don't take any photos in the town.
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I ride south out of Fakenham and before turning left onto a small road, the rain starts comings down proper, persuading me to shelter in the covered entrance of Ward's Hardware store. I stand there for about 10 minutes thinking this is is not what I envisaged.
The first place I ride through is the delightfully named Pudding Norton, which isn't much to write home about, then Colkirk and the ride simply becomes one of just getting to Dereham.
The drizzle eases off at about 2:30 and once in Dereham, I call in at The Romany Rye Hotel and ask about a room and get told by the staff to check availability online. It seems odd that they can't just let know right now while I'm standing here at the bar, so I give up and once outside ask a taxi driver about options and he points me in the direction of The Kings Head. I get the impression it's not very salubrious.
The woman behind the bar says a double room with breakfast is £75:00, so I explain that as there's only one breakfast (mine) it should be a bit cheaper. This logic is beyond her comprehension and we have a back and forth until I finally give up and hand over my Visa card.
Later there's football on the TV in the bar (Man City v Wolves) and I watch that with a pint until the half-time whistle blows, then go up to my room and climb into bed. It's only at 10 o'clock, but I've had enough.
Today's ride: 40 km (25 miles)
Total: 380 km (236 miles)
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1 year ago