Wednesday Afternoon, Not There Yet...

Sometimes, with the benefit of 20:20 hindsight it's obvious where the seeds of your own downfall were planted. Whilst some of the problems that I experienced wouldn't exactly be considered a downfall per se, they certainly stopped me from getting into bed an hour or two earlier, and at four in the morning that certainly feels like a rapid descent from height...

Leaving the Prees Heath services I know the next leg is going to be short in distance but also the most awkward one in terms of navigation. Getting to Liverpool I assumed would be easy enough, getting out the other side shouldn't be too difficult, no? If I have any problems I'll just follow the ample road signs. Hopefully...

A few weeks before we set off JM had published the final route instructions. One of the other riders very kindly took all of the instructions, plotted them into a navigation system and made six route files which I and many others then downloaded. My little Beeline nav device gives you an arrow to follow and a basic distance to the next turn, but it seems* to get very upset if you deviate from the set route and just tell you to turn around until you manage to navigate back onto the correct road anywhere further up the route. After my experience back in Somerset I wasn't all that confident in it's abilities and decided that I'd not follow it blindly.

My local contact and excellent flapjack pusher at pit stop number two had told me getting to Chester was simple and once there just follow signs for the Queensway Tunnel. The route writer had intended us to go through the South (Queensway) tunnel under the river Mersey then follow the coast up to Preston. When my nav system got near to the outskirts of Chester it started having some really random ideas of which way to go and I took an executive decision to ignore it and carry on up the road the way the road-signs were telling me. Ten minutes later I stop, partly because I need a wee in a convenient park and ride turn-off but mostly because that icicle cold finger of doubt had been tickling me between the shoulder blades. For good reason, the Beeline had been telling me to go around the ring road, like Stevie Wonders dog I'd been about to head straight into the centre of Chester. Until I picked up the correct road the nav was no help, but it wasn't long until I was seeing signs for the tunnels.

I've been to Liverpool once after a week on the Isle Of Man for the TT. I like the city for two somewhat contrasting reasons. My mum when she first came to this country did much of her nursing training in and around the city and has always spoken warmly of the place. My friend who lives in the city took me out one evening where we had some good food, a fair few drinks in a number of bars and then he showed me a statue of Queen Victoria where if you look at it from the right angle, it very much looks like she's got a penis. It's brilliant. Their road signage isn't however.

I dived into the entrance to the Queensway tunnel where a very nice man directed me to the slip road for motorcycles where there was no toll charge and I merrily hummed along to Gerry and the Pacemakers whilst the GPZ noisily brapped along underneath me. Out the other side and I'm looking for a right hand turn to get me onto the A road heading north to Preston. Can't find it though? There's a tiny road on the right, across three lanes of rapidly accelerating traffic, but every sign is pointing ahead. The beeline is of no use as it thinks I ought to be taking the north tunnel so I keep going forwards, which turns out to be a mistake.

Ten minutes later at the first place I can I have a look at the map and see where it's gone wrong, I ought to have taken that tiny road and I'd have been merrily on my way. Instead I'm fighting start stop traffic, seeing signs for Ormskirk where my mum helped nurse Bill Shankly after a stroke. I don't want to go to Ormskirk though, I need the A565 and it's playing hard to get. More and more traffic lights and finally I'm on the coast road. God knows how much time this has cost me, half an hour, maybe more? Probably.

Once I'm on my way, it's mainly urban/suburban/urban and all you can do is keep going, eyes out for speed cameras, for drivers busily texting or browsing the internet, for potholes and trying to nip through gaps that you're just anticipating at roundabouts or junction. After one of the hardest hundred miles I've ever tried to ride I manage to make it to the beautiful place that is Guys Thatched Hamlet not too far from Preston. Nestled alongside the Lancaster Canal is a very warm welcome at Pitstop 3, all paid for by the amazing people at www.rockform.co.uk. For much of the way up it's been very good homemade cakes, flapjacks and bananas. But at pitstop 3 someone has decided we need the proper kind of food like chicken wraps and pasta that will keep you going for ages and ages. I'm so very grateful for the spread Rockform put on, thank you. I really needed those wraps and pasta salad.

I'd briefly met a few other LDU'ers on the way up at the pitstops, not long enough to have a good conversation with but enough for a smile and a few words of encouragement. I remember a black Daytona, the Pan European, a Fazer and so on. It felt a little disconnected at the time, us all rushing on with out stopping to ride together. Maybe it was just me and my need to keep heading north. 

Either way, everyone I spoke to seemed happy and my spirits were buoyant knowing I was in the groove and still had a heathy bike under me...

*now if I'd read the instructions on the nav I'd have known that the nav unit couldn't compensate and redirect from pre-loaded routes. That's very much my own fault. Isn't hindsight a wonderful thing...