Vaucluse Dreamer

As I start typing this we are on the ferry, starting to head out of Portsmouth, on our way to Saint Malo. But if we’re honest, there were times today, when we thought this trip would be over before we really turned a pedal.

We’ve planned this for months now, and one of the most complicated factors was getting us, with our bikes, to Portsmouth by train. We (well Andy) spent hours looking at all the options. Which routes allowed bikes, which ones didn’t and after considering them all, we decided to take the bikes on the South Western train from Exeter to Salisbury and then catch a connection to Southampton, where we would start the bike ride, around to Portsmouth.

We even chatted to the guard on the train (when travelling to Gatwick) who suggested we travel directly from Exeter, rather than our first idea of Whimple, as we would get on the train from the start and would have easier access to the available bike spaces.

So, as we pottered out of the village at the start of the day, we were looking forward to a quiet few hours of relaxing on the train, whilst it wingled through the pretty southwest, simply watching the view and looking forward to the ride ahead

To start the day, we headed up over Woodbury Common, which gave me a good idea of how the fully laden bike felt, going uphill. The answer (happily) was not as bad as I had feared, and my legs kept turning as we pottered up the steep hill, towards Exeter.

We left the main road behind, pottering through the deep, Devon lanes with the tall hedge-banks dotted with autumn berries, the hips and haws bright red against the leaves. The only concern we had was the colour of the sky, which was growing ever-darker, threatening to give us a good soaking.

But somehow, the rain held off and we arrived in Exeter Quay, stopping for coffee at The Boatyard Bakery and grabbing some pastries for the train journey ahead.

We had so much time that we didn’t need to worry. Our bike spaces were booked on the train and we could just relax, which couldn’t have been much further from the truth.

We arrived at Exeter St David’s and downloaded the tickets for us and the bikes, passing through the barrier, only then to look quizzically at the departures board, when we couldn’t see the platform for our train listed.

There must be a glitch, we thought, so we tried the App, which also didn’t seem to have our train, so we went to speak to a human. They would know.

Sadly they did, and told us that the train we had booked had been cancelled and the route was running only every 2 hours, rather than every hour, which meant we had an hour and a half wait, before we could take a train to get to where we needed to be.

Normally, this wouldn’t be a problem (OK, it probably would), but that delay would mean that we would arrive in Southampton too late to guarantee us being able to catch the little ferry across the river at Hamble, meaning we would have to take a much more complicated and longer route to Portsmouth, putting us under pressure to catch the ferry we had booked, to get to Saint Malo.

We are generally calm, but this turned our day on its head, in fact not just the day, but possibly the entire trip. Could we risk taking the later train and crossing every finger and toe we have that it would be OK.

Of course we couldn’t!

We found a member of staff and tried as well as we could to explain our problem, and although my stress made the words come out in a chaotic clump, she understood, and within minutes had given us 3 options, which would get us to Southampton with enough time to get to Portsmouth.

After a quick look at them all, and asking her to check that we could take the bikes on each train, we plumped for a route that involved 2 changes with tight connection times, but which would get us into Southampton just slightly later than the time we had originally planned.

By the time we had made the decision, we had 3 minutes to lug our heavy bikes up the stairs and across to the platform, arriving just as the train pulled into the station.

The trip didn’t get any better, as the train was packed due to another cancelled service, but we managed to lift our bikes into the tight bike paces and stood next to them, surrounded by other passengers, as we took the first leg of the trip to Bristol.

After standing for nearly an hour, we managed to take the bikes off at the station and catch the next train, which arrived shortly after, for the next leg of our trip.

This train was quiet, but the bike parking was so tiny that we couldn’t even fit them into the space provided, so again we spent the trip from Bristol to Reading, standing next to the bikes and holding them.in place to stop them falling over.

So much for our plans of sitting and watching the countryside roll past.

We pulled into Reading late, and had a frantic dash across the station, having to take our bikes up the escalator (yes we know that is a silly idea, and we were shouted at by the train manager), but there was a queue at the lift and we could see the train that we needed to catch just arriving, a few platforms away

We carried the bikes down the stairs to the platform and ran to the door being indicated by the guard, where we managed to stow our bikes, just as the doors were about to close.

We were frazzled, stressed and exhausted, but we had made the connections, the bikes were on the final train and we could finally relax in the.knowldge that we would arrive at Southampton, with plenty of time to take the route we had planned to Portsmouth. We even managed to eat the pastries we had bought at the Boatyard Bakery, although we were so hungry that we inhaled them, rather than savoured them.

Finally off the train, we felt our stress starting to ebb away, and as we hopped on the bikes and started to ride through the city, every turn of the pedal eased our frayed nerves.

I was so pleased that I had planned the route on Komoot, relishing the simplicity of the navigation, as we made our way through the mid-afternoon traffic and out of the city.

It proved to be a nice route, following the coast on a safe cycle path, that took us along the edge (where Andy thought he may have been taken as a child, to watch the QE2 leave the port)

Then through a park, before we continued on through built up areas, as we made our way through to Hamble. It’s a pretty little village and we bounced over the cobbled street, on our way to catch the “pink ferry’ that would take us across the river, on our way to Portsmouth.

It was there waiting, so we pushed our bikes along the quay and down the pontoon, loading them onto place and paid the £6 fee to get us and the bikes across to the other side.

Finally, I could smile. The relief at having made the crossing, before the last boat at 1550 was so great, that I almost felt tearful. The day had been on such a knife-edge until this point.

From here, I could just relax, confident that we would be in plenty of time to catch our ferry to France.

We continued from here, through to Gosport, taking a wonderful part bus, part cycle route that follows a direct line from Brockhurst, almost to Gosport. A haven of peace after cycling through housing estates and along busy roads.

But after a while, we arrived in Gosport and caught the ferry across to Portsmouth…

Where we sat in the quay, almost in a state of shock over how the day had gone. Of course, we were delighted that we had made it in time, but we like to be early for everything, we like to have a plan and follow it and our idea of hell is having to run for trains, or stress about being late for anything

In the end, we arrived at the Ferry Terminal with a good hour to spare, before we boarded, happy that we had made the right decision to take the chaotic run of connecting train routes, but equally exhausted by the stress.

We’re on the ferry now and have had a lovely supper (much needed after just a pain au Chocolat during the day.) and of course, a glass of something to settle the jangled nerves

The crossing is set to be smooth, which is more than can be said for today. Let”s hope tomorrow, which simply involves riding our bikes, will be easier.

À demain.