I guess I really ought to have reacted when the alarm went off at 7.30. But I didn't, so we slept on till 8.30. What with having breakfast and everything, I didn't hit the road until 11.30. This was not exactly the best way to eat miles and try to make up for lost time. Well, at least Arlette survived the night without being molested again. Sabine took a couple of photos of me on Mercury - my official recumbent photos, as it were. Then our ways parted, as she headed back South, and I went North.

Onwards to Eternal Glory!

Strokes of Genius

The great thing about cycle touring is, you get so much time to ponder, while churning away the miles. It was during the course of the ride that I had my defining thoughts on Push Gastronomy, including the irresistible PG Tips. I had many other flashes of inspiration which I subsequently lost again as I didn't note them down immediately, as well as the numerous thoughts on cycle safety and useless safety schemes which did stick in my mind, largely because when someone tries to kill you, directly or indirectly, you tend to remember.

But one of my ideas struck me over breakfast. I blame staying in hotels 2 nights running. Now, most hotels' breakfast tables include little tubs of Flora margarine. Many continental breakfasts contain the likes of cheese and ham. But the one thing that is missing is paté. In little tubs. I'd suggest launching such a range, and placing the little tubs alongside the Flora. The brand name? Why, Fauna, of course.

I made good time in the first hour, and popped into a garage for refreshment. Oasis Citrus Punch was the best I could do, although I could have done with something with a little more oomph. I had a brief chat with the garage owners before heading off again. Almost immediately I realised I should have taken them up on their offer to use their loo. Oh well, not to worry, it only took me 20 more miles to find a suitable secluded spot!

For the first time on this journey I saw a tremendous number of bikes around as I headed across the Cheshire plain. Then it struck me; it was Sunday, the weather was fine (except the North Westerly wind - no prizes for guessing which way I was heading!), the countryside flat and the region is heavily populated. Naturally there would be more cyclists around.

I crossed the toll bridge over the ship canal (as usual, cycles go free), and had a foraging stop in another garage, then stopped a wee way further up by the entrance to a field for a pee and a lunch stop: a Wispa and a power bar - it just got better and better! Naturally, a farmer came along and of all the gates in the area, he wanted to use the one I had leaned Mercury against. We exchanged a few pleasantries before going about or separate ways. Onward and Upward, Wigan in my sights. As I passed through Wigan I issued my second award of the trip (after Bridgnorth was "Most Pleasant Surprise"): Wigan won the "Grimmest Place I've Been Through prize. Sadly, it only held it for three days before being thoroughly outclassed. But more of that later.

Yet while the town was dreary, the people in this part of the world were the friendliest I had encountered anywhere along the way. From kids shouting "Nice bike!" as I sailed by, and the lad asking me where I had got it (so I stopped and told him all about Mercury and what's so good about 'bents, as well as the price - "I'd never spend that much on a bike!"), and the kids in Wigan cheering me on as I passed by, to the group of men sitting outside a pub near Central Park shouting "Where are you going?" "John O'Groats" "Good Luck!" Well, I think that was what they replied! Granted, not everyone reacted so positively, but I could live with that.

Just outside Wigan, after a long climb, I encountered a couple who were touring in the same direction as myself. We rode together for a while, chatting. They were off to the Great Glen, visiting relatives up there. They had done the End to End in the past. As our routes were vaguely similar along this stretch, I expected I might run into them again sometime.

I decided that time was pressing on, and the campsites beyond Preston were still too far away, so I opted for the Royal Umpire Touring Park in Croston instead, especially as it had started raining once again. I found myself a nice little spot to pitch my tent, with a secure locking point for Mercury nearby. I had to hurry pitching the tent as the rain was increasing steadily. Then I rang Sabine to check she'd got home alright. She was annoyed, as she had managed to delete everything she had done on Friday, meaning she had even more work to do, and she might as well have joined me on Friday afternoon. Taking this chain reaction to its logical conclusion, we'd have got a different parking spot, Arlette would have been fine, and I'd be near Lancaster by now. But let's not dwell on that, shall we?

I had to do some washing, but somehow managed to walk straight past the nearby laundry (which had a spin dryer) and went to the smaller laundry at the far end (which did not have a spin dryer, so I machine washed my clothes instead). This was very time consuming, and not ideal as I was starving by now!

There were two places to eat just outside the campsite. The hotel next door did pizzas, which I didn't really fancy, so I thought I'd check out the place across the road. It proclaimed that it was a "Big Steak Pub", with Happy Eater style playground and a vast car park. So I turned around and went for a pizza. The sign at the entrance claimed they served "Probably the best pizzas in England". This was a lie. After dinner, as the bar in the hotel looked awful, I went down the road about a mile to the pub I had passed shortly before getting to the campsite. It was pleasant enough, though the beer choice was limited to one nondescript bitter. Still, it had to be better than the Big Steak Pub.