The (Loose) Thames Valley Cycle Route - Oxford to Richmond, 76 Miles.

On 19th July 2003, Matt, Gary and myself undertook to cyclefrom Oxford to London, essentially following National Cycle Network's route number 4/5 (available from Sustrans) down the ThamesValley. However, at first (not to mention second and third) glance the route appeared almost uneccessarily fiddly, and this, combined with our experienceof the offroad sections of the C2C and Lon Las Cymru, meant we settled on a loose version primarily sticking to A and B roads, with a leisurely finish along the Thames once we approached London. In addition, whereas the official route begins/finishes at Putney Bridge, we opted instead to finish at Richmond, largely because we knew we could get a train from there back to Oxford with minmum fuss, and also because Gary knew a pleasant pub on the riverside. By and large at the outset the distance didn't worry us too much, since Gary and I had cycled just as far on the first day of the Lon Las Cymru which involved crossing the Brecon Beacons, and Matt routinely punished us on our cycling jaunts around Oxford. However, this wasn't to prevent one of us having what has since become known as a 'Reading moment', defined as 'an irrational fear of ones inability to complete the task at hand'.
Matt and I arrived at Nelmes Towers in good time for the 9.30am start only to find Gary faffing and farting around (his dislike of early starts is well documented). Consequently we didn't start until gone 10.00am, although the extra tea and biscuits more than made up for the delay. Soon our peleton was speeding through Oxford city centre past the early morning shoppers and out toward Abingdon. Coincidentally the road to Abingdon is one Gary and myself routinely use so we were able to cycle the first 8 or 9 miles with minimal reference to the map. The official route heads through Abingdon centre and on past Didcot cloud factory (the power station) by a rather convoluted means, so we bypassed both and headed straight for Wallingford by the most direct A road we could find. Passed Wallingford we stopped for a banana and for Matt to ease his aching back (I doubt whether he will bring his Camelbak on such a trip again), which was accompanied by much gurning. After that came the only real hill of the day, a fairly monotonous slog for a few miles towards Reading, which was probably preferable to the official route which appears to involve a hefty number of 1 in 7s, most of them in the wrong direction. At about this point Matt had the aforementioned 'Reading moment', but it soon passed, and in twenty minutes he was fine and in his usual place 200 yards out in front. A quick skim through the outskirts of Reading, some swearing at a car driving idiot, and we were out again, looking for somewhere to lunch. After a moments contemplation Gary remembered The Bull in Sonning, only a few more miles down the road and a frequent watering hole for the Three Men in a Boat. We eventually found it and settled down for jacket potatoes washed down with bitter shandy (not my idea - I'm a CAMRA member after all). I eventually found my jacket potato under what appeared to be the European chilli mountain, but had no hope of finishing it off. By comparison, Gary's infamous prediliction for steamed puddings reared it's ugly head once more, and despite the heat of the day, not to mention his own cheese-smothered potato, he rapidly polished one off with extra lashings of custard. Matt contented himself with a coffee, and so carbo-loaded and caffeine-fueled we headed off once more.
From Sonning we quickly passed through Twyford and then along a very quiet B road, fortunately bypassing the pleasures of Maidenhead, before arriving sedately in Windsor. Without an invitation for tea from the Queen we decided not to stop but continued on passed Magna Carta island, through Egham, had a bit of pant wetting excitement at a very large roundabout near the M25, before shooting through Staines (best thing for it) and arriving for tiffin at Chertsey. Much caffeine and sugar intake ensued and at this point we decided it would be far better to follow the official route, which essentially follows the Thames into central London, since the main roads were becoming decidedly busier. We found the river easily, and, despite loosing Matt for a few moments as he shot off into the distance while we actually wanted to turn right, the surface of the towpath wasn't to bad. Soon after Chertsey we almost ran into a regatta, and after a bit of cyclocross we managed to tear ourselves away from the girls in lycra with big shoulders and made our way down to Hampton Court. Since it was such a pleasant day, and so many people were out enjoying it, the last few miles involved much child- and whinging parent-dodging, and although our speed dropped considerably the sight of the river in the sun made up for it. At Teddington lock we left the river to continue into Richmond, and via an unwanted detour into Richmond Park, soon we had rejoined the Thames again and had firmly entrenched ourselves outside The Star with plenty of Youngs bitter to hand.
Strangely the journey back to Oxford by train seemed to take longer than the cycle had. Admittedly my sense of time had been slightly distorted by the Youngs (damn the sweet, nourishing stuff), but we arrived at The Star about 5.00pm, must have stayed for about 2 hours, but still didn't get back to Oxford until gone 11.00pm. As far as I remember the journey involved us paying an unreasonable amount of money at Richmond station, where Matt's bountiful, curly hair was soundly mocked by (ironically) a large black man, followed by a change of train at Reading (time to get a quick sandwich), and then an hours wait on the train within shouting distance of Oxford for no easily discernable reason. Whereas I thought the cycle to Richmond was likely to have been the most painful exercise in the whole day, in fact it turned out to be having to listen to the inane banter of a bunch of yoofs during this hour without succombing to poking my eyes out with a bidon. However, eventually we made it into the station, and amid much hilarity among onlookers (I suppose they had a point, eye-wateringly lurid lycra isn't exactly the done thing at 11.00pm on a Saturday at Oxford station), we manoeuvered the bikes onto the street and pedalled off into what should have been the sunset.
David Cope 14th August 2003.