Wednesday 01 July 2009 - Derby to Craven Arms

Derby - Uttoxeter - Stafford - Newport - Telford - Much Wenlock - Craven Arms

Skipping breakfast, I left my house at 7am and was at Paul’s before 7.30. Before we hit the road, we had a quick coffee and John gave me his plastic bottle of energy drink powder, which did what the label said and had often revived our flagging energy during the first half of the trip. For some reason we never used it once during the second half, and it remained strapped to my bike.
We were away by 8am, leaving via Stenson and Frizams Lane to reach the A5132 through Willington to Hilton. From there we followed the old Derby road, which becomes the A511 at Hatton, until we were forced on to the A50 at Foston after which we endured eight miles of sheer hell before turning off to Uttoxeter with immense relief. Bypassing the town centre via Old Knotty Way, we left Uttoxeter by the A518 Stafford Road and stopped at a lay-by.
There were several large vehicles parked in the lay-by, as there always are during the morning. We had come to dine at Sylroy, the finest greasy spoon I know and the reason I hadn’t bothered with breakfast. This idiosyncratic green-painted wooden structure on a wide grass verge has remained unchanged for decades and always delivers a splendid breakfast and a warm welcome.
With our hunger assuaged, we continued along the A518, the first hilly road since North Derbyshire, stopping along the way to take photographs of the ruined Chartley Castle. This was the last one of her places of imprisonment from which Mary Queen of Scots departed in one piece, as her next stop was Fotheringhay Castle where she parted company with her head.
We set off from the castle, Paul disappeared into the distance and before long I reached the A51 junction. I have known since the age of about eight that the A518 now continues ahead to Stafford by means of a staggered junction, turning left then right at traffic lights. Instead I made my most ridiculous mistake of the whole trip, turning left but then continuing straight ahead.
I must have gone at least two miles towards Lichfield before realising my error when I passed a road sign which didn’t mention Stafford. I turned around and headed back to the junction. I thought Paul would probably be waiting for me in Stafford by now, so I set off along the A518, pushing my bike up part of the steep Weston Bank in the now sweltering heat. When I reached Stafford, I couldn’t see Paul anywhere and realised that we must have missed each other somehow. When we made contact by phone, it transpired that he had gone back to look for me, and had been quite worried because he’d seen a couple of ambulances with lights flashing and sirens blaring. By the time he caught up with me, the whole escapade had cost us at least an hour.
Stafford proved easy to negotiate, as we were following the A518 all the way through. We were already running out of water, so we’d agreed to stop at the first suitable pub after the town. This turned out to be the Bell at Haughton, where we had a pint of cold orange squash and the barman replenished our water bottles, including generous quantities of ice which sadly melted instantly in the early afternoon sun.
Back on the road, we passed through Gnosall before reaching Newport where we took the A41 south for a while before turning right on to the B4379 which we followed to Shifnal. From here we reached Telford via the A464 and negotiated the ring road, most of which seemed to be uphill, eventually emerging from the town on the A4169.
We were now on the edge of the Shropshire Hills district, and the delightful scenery compensated for the tiring gradients. Rural England is of course noted for its funny village names, and we stopped to photograph a signpost to Homer and Wigwig. Simpsons imagery flooded my mind as I thought of Homer and his two bewigged, chainsmoking sisters-in-law.
We stopped at a pub in Much Wenlock, but no food was available during the afternoon so we made do with crisps and salted nuts, which exacerbated our thirst in the raging heat. Leaving the village by the B4371, we climbed up on to Wenlock Edge, enjoying miles of fine views before crossing over to the B4378 via a minor road to Brockton. This soon merged with the B4368 which passed through Hungerford, Diddlebury and Pedlars Rest before eventually dropping down to Craven Arms at the junction with the A49.
We were staying at Castle Farm in Cheney Longville, reached by a rough road turning left off the A49 a few hundred metres north of the town. The farm is steeped in history, having at one time been Cheney Longville Castle, a fortified 14th century manor house which was badly cannoned during the Civil War and has been much repaired and restored at various times since. It is a fascinating building with many original features, several of which were in our room. When I went outside to use my phone, which was necessary due to the extremely thick walls, I noticed the clearly visible remains of parts of the moat.
This working farm is the type of old fashioned B&B where you share the house with the family. There are no keys and you don’t have your personal bathroom. Sam, a friendly old Westie, came and lay down in our room as we unpacked. He lived in perfect harmony with the house cat, but chased the farm cat away if he ventured too near to the house.
By now we were ravenous and Sally, our hostess, cooked us an excellent evening meal of bangers and mash made with long rustic home made sausages. We were joined by a pair of fellow guests, a father and son from Tain, who had arrived shortly after us and who were cycling from Land’s End to John O’Groats.
The farm’s situation in the Shropshire hills made me realise that I’d never really appreciated the beauty of this part of the country, despite having driven through it many times. The only drawback to Castle Farm was that there was no pub within short walking distance. I’d had a long hard ride on a long hot day, and would have despatched a few pints with alacrity.