Day 3

I'm not sure when anyone will get to read this blog because we are now in a part of Wales where the internet is still to be discovered and mobile phone signals toy with you - ooh there's a little half a bar for you, oh no it's not its a 'no service' and you may as well add 'at all' while you're about it.
Looking at my pink porcelained en-suite room there are a few other things that have not yet seen the light of day in this particular area, like television, a smidgin of taste and individually packaged biscuits without which no drinks tray is complete.
Less moaning Buffoon and on with the journey.
The splendor of The Magdalene was quickly forgotten as the day's events began to unfold. I had barely had time to wipe the surplus Golden Shread from around my mouth when those hills spotted me and began to pump themselves up. The climb out of Wells went on for three miles, or in other terms, one and a half near-miss coronaries. I was blowing so hard at one point a cyclist traveling in the opposite direction shouted across and asked if the wind had changed direction - bloody cheek.
My dad has a word for hills like that, he would definitely describe it as a 'snorker'.
It wasn't the only snorker in a grueling morning, but there was at least a little flat relief through the beautiful city of Bath.
My route today was a last-minute change of plan and so rather than my sat nav telling me where to go I had a crumpled up piece of paper in my back pocket with shorthand directions and a bit of the caramel part from a Mars Bar smeared down one side...I've absolutely no idea!
The new route had been devised to avoid Bristol and that it did rather well - by taking a wide arc to the east and dropping back down to join the bike lane across the Severn Bridge, which I didn't know even existed until last night.
Nev wrenched his bike from the back of the car and road with me across the bridge, in what can only be described as 'testing conditions.
The wind was blasting up the Bristol Channel and trying to maintain a straight line was impossible. But we got over and as Nev returned to the car I nipped through border control unnoticed and into Wales.
The final leg of the day, and believe me, I was definitely on my last legs, was a superb run from Chepstow to Monmouth alongside the Wye - stunning scenery and a relatively flat surface.
Cycled 83 miles today but tomorrow looks like it should be much easier.
If you want me I'll the bar -throom, soaking my aching legs. Oh, that's right there's no bath.


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Location:Monmouth, Monmouthshire