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Newsletter 1992: Europe, Tunisia and across the USA PDF Printable Version

ANNUAL NEWSLETTER 1992

CYCLING IN SPAIN, TUNISIA, SCOTLAND, HOLLAND AND ACROSS THE USA

Barry and Margaret Williamson

The annual newsletter for 1992 describes cycle rides in Spain, Tunisia, Scotland and Holland. In the summer, we cycled across the northern part of the USA. We started in Vancouver and finished in Toronto, cycling in the USA just below the Canadian border. We covered 3,160 miles in 47 days – an average of 70 miles a day. In 2001 we were to return to cycle the most southerly route across the USA – from Los Angeles to Miami and on down to Key West.

CHRISTMAS IN THE SOUTH OF SPAIN:

Leaving behind the usual bleak wetness of Manchester Airport, we flew a charter to Alicante on Spain's Costa Blanca. We rode south and west along the rocky and hilly coast, through La Mancha, Don Quixote's windmill-land, wearing shorts and T-shirts in temperatures over 60 degrees F.

On Xmas Day, we turned inland into the snow-capped Alpujarras, the precursor of the much more serious Sierra Nevada, and climbed up to Ugijar. On Boxing Day, after a 20 mile climb which took until 4 pm, we reached the pass called Puerto de la Ragua (the Pass of the Ragged Cyclists) at 6,500 ft (2,000 metres) - a personal record for height achieved by bicycle that was to remain unbeaten until we got to the Rockies. A freezing freewheel took us down to Lacalahorra at 4,000 ft. its comfort as cold as the deserted hilltop fortress we visited at dusk. Over and above our outdoor clothes, we put on 2 extra layers of clothing at bedtime.

Drawing the obvious conclusion that the mountains and high plateaus of inland Spain were far too cold, we turned south to revisit Granada (the old town and the Alhambra reward every revisit) and then, turning east, crossed the Puerto del Suspiro del Moro (the Pass of the Sigh of the Moor) for a freewheel back to the (thankfully well named) Costa del Sol. Four more days on the road returned us to Alicante (learning, en route, that Gorbachev had resigned on Christmas day; 2 years earlier, on the road in India, we had missed the news of the demise of the Ceausescus). We just had time to visit the colony of gentle feral cats in Alicante's Castle Santa Barbara overlooking the bay, before flying back into an unchanged Manchester Airport. 715 miles in 12 days

EASTER IN TUNISIA: From a slightly brighter Manchester, we flew to Monastir in eastern Tunisia. We were relieved and fascinated to find that many Tunisians spoke French and that the food showed a French influence. Familiar breakfasts of milky coffee, croissants and jam prepared us for hot dusty days on the road, initially heading south towards the edge of the Sahara. At the end of the day, dinner always started with a Salade Tunisienne - an excellent dish of tomatoes, onions, peppers, cucumber, carrot, egg slices and tuna. Our carbohydrate came from frites as good as chips, often supplementing snacks of brik a l'oeufan - egg deep-fried in batter. Only slowly did we lose the discomfort caused by the admittedly convenient siting of cafés next to the sheep butchers, at work behind their shops and advertising their wares with a fresh sheepskin hanging at the door.

We fell in love with Sfax, a 2-day ride south of Monastir. We explored its 1,000 year old Medina (a walled bazaar) and welcomed the shade of its 8 million olive trees, many first planted by the Romans, linked to 400 olive oil mills. Staying an extra day, we took the ferry to the offshore Kerkenna Island, named after Circe, who imprisoned Odysseus there: a day of sea, sand, sun, fishing nets, octopus pots, fig trees and date palms.

Tunisia offers the constant surprise of history - from deserted Roman baths with mosaic floors and walls preserved under the sand, to the war graves from the Allied advance along the North African coast in the spring of 1943.

Keeping south from Sfax, we cycled down the coast to Gabes, and then to Matmata with its lunar landscape and pit-dwellings, for a night in a twin-bedded cave at the Hotel les Berbères. The pit houses were a collection of cave-cells round a central sunken courtyard (cool in summer and warm in winter?) reached through a tunnel. This was also our first major encounter with tourists, in their air-conditioned Volvo coaches and on their fearless safaris in Japanese jeeps (we came to call them the intrepids). Souvenirs, ethnic meals and camel rides were all laid on for them; foreign cyclists living in caves were an optional extra.

A ride south from Matmata took us to Tamezret, through an amazing landscape of rock and sand in which any bible epic could be set. Old women wrapped in head shawls by the village well, with geometric facial tattoos; lean old men in their brown camel-hair cloaks; flocks of sheep and goats; sweet mint tea with whole almonds floating on top. To the south, the endless sea of Saharan sand lapped at the base of the mountains in which we rode.

Returning to Gabes, we travelled west to Kebili and rode out to Douz on the brink of the Sahara, home of the Bedouin. From Kebili we set off early to cross one of our major test pieces - the Chott El Jerid. This is a 40-mile wide salt lake, miraculously crossed by a straight, narrow, bumpy road on a raised causeway. It became very hot and we were pleased to find that the souvenir stall/cafe we encountered halfway across was not the mirage it first appeared. The 2 owners (who also lived in the hut-on-stilts) entertained us, playing the pipes and smoking their hookah, and gave us presents of sand roses when Margaret bought an outrageously priced Bedouin doll.

Turning north and east, we spent a night in the phosphate-mining town of Metlaoui and rode out in the evening light to see the magnificent Seldja Gorge - for the final approach we had to follow a railway track through 2 tunnels, hoping that trains had stopped for the day.

In Gafsa, Roman baths fed by a warm spring were still in use for swimming. Running short of time, we took a Louage to Sidi Bou Zid, catching a second, even more ancient machine for the next leg to Sfax. This turned out to be one of the most exciting parts of the journey; only after we had settled into the ancient Peugeot taxi (bicycles tied on the roof), did we discover (a) it was not licensed to do the run to Sfax and (b) the driver spoke only fluent Arabic (at least, it seemed fluent to us). Turned back by a police roadblock, and with non-verbals that needed no translation, the driver literally took to the fields and the back roads to bypass the dreaded Gendarmes. We met many nice peasants working in the fields, going home, having their tea and turning in for the night, as we went from one set of confident but contradictory directions to the next. Arriving in Sfax after dark, we were glad to leave our indomitable driver to find his own way back; we headed through the Medina to our favourite Hotel Alexander.

Safely back on our bicycles, we continued north to El Jem, which has the world's sixth largest Roman Amphitheatre: the best preserved Roman remains in Africa. What must have been a large Roman town was still lying under the nearby fields awaiting excavation. Cycling back to Mahdia on the coast, we passed through wheat fields, olive groves and fruit orchards - a fertile contrast to the desert of the south.

Barry celebrated our arrival in Kairouan (Islam's fourth most Holy City) by managing to have diarrhoea and vomiting at the same time (Margaret had got this out of her system much earlier - at the end of the day on the Chott). However, he was well enough the following morning to visit the Souk, Medina and Grand Mosque before riding 50 miles to the high-rise concrete tourist complex of Sousse, and home to England with the compulsory toy camel from the airport at Monastir.

We plan to return to Tunisia to explore the north and the west. The 8 stonings, countless attempts to push Margaret off her bicycle, 1 mild knife threat, 1 hit with a strap, dusty unmade roads, 2 bouts of sickness, the oppression of women and the almost complete alienation of air-conditioned western tourists from mainstream life are more than counterbalanced by the fascination of the people and the land; the mix of races and religions and the open book of history, waiting to be explored.

709 miles in 14 days

SPRING BANK IN THE SCOTTISH HIGHLANDS: Leaving the car at a friendly B&B in Inverness, on the first day we cycled from the North Sea to the Atlantic at Ullapool and on to camp at Ardmair. From there we rode north up the west coast to Durness, past the ferry across the Kyle of Durness which gives access to Cape Wrath, Britain's most north-westerly point. The ferry (10 minutes in a rowing boat!) was not running because it was too stormy. Instead, on the beach near Durness, we saw the amazing Smoo Cave, the UK's largest limestone cavern. Riding east along the northern edge of Britain, we enjoyed the absolutely magnificent, deserted coastline, pushing into a relentless east wind all the way. Through Bettyhill and on to Dounreay Atomic Energy Station, standing gaunt in its splendid setting, and offering guided tours of the Fast Reactor and a picnic site!

With the cliffs of John o'Groats in the background, and the outline of the Orkneys beyond, we arrived in Thurso and gave up in the face of the unrelenting wind, unable to resist the silent temptation of the Inverness train waiting for us in the station. We drove from Inverness to Applecross and camped for 2 nights on the beautiful campsite set in woods overlooking Applecross Bay, with deer grazing round the tents. On a splendid, bright, windy day, we completed a classic 50-mile circular ride from the campsite, starting with the Bealach Na Ba (Pass of the Cattle). At over 2,000 ft, this is the highest road in Britain - it climbs from sea level up 4 miles of hairpins, culminating in a summit section of 1:4 (training for the Rockies to come?) A welcome village pub in Shieldaig led us back round the coast to Applecross, with lovely views across the sound to Skye and Raasay.

Even the drive home was memorable in this wonderful part of the British Isles: Eilean Donan Castle, Glen Shiel, Glencoe, Rannoch Moor, Crianlarich, Ben Lomond and down Loch Lomond to Glasgow and the Borders.

265 miles in 5 days

SUMMER AND A SPONSORED TRANS-AMERICAN CYCLE RIDE

Our main ride of the year was across America, the journey we had originally planned for the summer of '91. We sought sponsorship for the ride and over 200 people helped us to raise about £600 for relief work in Romania. Thank you, if you helped.

We left Gatwick on Saturday, 18 July, at 7pm, arriving in Vancouver at 9pm (after a 10-hour flight); returning to the UK on Saturday, 5 September, from Toronto. Of the intervening 47 days, we spent 45 of them on the road, crossing 4 time zones and 9 states, averaging 70 miles a day and covering a total of 3,160 miles. Each wheel turned 2,300,000 times; the pedals (and our legs) turned about 1,100,000 times.

The journey fell naturally into three parts - 1,000 miles of mountains (the Cascades of British Columbia and Washington; the Rockies of Idaho and Montana), 1,000 miles of high plains and prairies (through Montana, North Dakota and Minnesota) and 1,000 miles of lakes and forests (Wisconsin, Michigan and Ontario). We pedalled, as the American anthem says, from the Mountains to the Prairie, from the Forests to the Sea. For the most part we rode along US Highway 2 - the Hi Line - a quiet single carriageway which takes 1,000 miles to fall from 4,500 ft in Western Montana to 1,500 ft on the shores of Lake Superior. It's also 'high' in that it's the most northerly trans-US road running only 50 miles south of the Canadian border.

We had little time to pre-plan the journey; we bought our maps as we went along and had no idea, until we did, that we were going to make it. Like the sunflower, we took our direction from the morning sun,

Here are some snapshots of the journey:

** Flying over Greenland in the eerie half-light of the Arctic night; blurring the boundaries of dream and reality.

** Leaving the West Glacier Motel before dawn to cross the Continental Divide, knowing that bears feed early.

** The telephone directory in Malta: Bear Medicine, Long Knife, Wooden Legs, Thunder Voice, Running Rabbit.

** The wildlife - raccoons, chipmunks, deer, moose keeping cool in a mountain pool, eagles, osprey, humming birds, snakes, a plague of locusts in the corn belt, giant butterflies and constant rumours of bears.

** Montana High Plains drifting, kept company by the tracks and sounds of the Burlington Railroad, from the Museum of the Plains Indian in Browning (Blackfeet Territory) to Chester's Liberty County Museum, through Inverness, Kremlin, Leeds, Harlem, York, Zurich and Glasgow, each a tiny 'city' with a grain silo cathedral.

** Following the Milk River to the Missouri; then the Mississippi rising among Minnesota's 10,000 lakes.

** Hiawatha's Forest 'by the shore of Gitche Gumee' (a 6-day ride the length of England-sized Lake Superior).

** Plastic-macs on the Maid of the Mist, astonishingly pushing its nose into the curtain wall of Niagaran water.

** The daily miracle of American food and service in the wilderness; refuelling at the 6,000 calorie service stations - muffins, tacos, cookies, fries, candy, eggs easy over, hash browns. Have a Nice Day. You Bet!

It was also a ride for personal bests (following the American custom, we invent our own superlatives):

The Highest - 6,664 ft on the Logan Pass (crossing the Continental Divide in the Rockies on the Going to the Sun Highway) in Glacier National Park. We also crossed the Cascades' highest pass at 5,575 ft.

The Longest - 101 miles in one day from Bagley to Grand Rapids in Minnesota.

The Hardest - 80 miles in the Cascades, over Rainy Pass at 4,855' and Washington Pass at 5,477', on the 5th day of the ride (Marblemount to Mazama), in a steady drizzle, in an area rightly called Early Winters.

The Funniest - sign seen on an Indian Reservation in Ontario "Rain Dance Cancelled due to Bad Weather".

The Hottest - Tonasket, in the Sagebrush Desert of Washington State, gripped by a 3-year drought with bush fires threatening; temperatures reaching over 105°F by noon and not falling until after dusk.

The Wettest - the backlash of Hurricane Andrew and Canadian Juggernauts, navigating the TransCanadian Highway from Blind River to Espanola (Ontario); torrential rain, Arctic winds and our only puncture.

The Saddest - the plight of the Native Americans; their resignation on their reservations.

The Loneliest - from New Town to Minot (North Dakota): an empty 80 mile arrow-straight road through rolling prairie without passing a single town, shop, garage, bar or café (although there was a crossroad).

The Frustratingest - banned from the traffic-thronged Queen Elizabeth Way, unmapped wandering on back roads and tracks through the vineyards and soft fruitlands of the Niagara Peninsula, looking for a waterfall.

The Scariest - taking close-up photographs of a dead rattlesnake on the warm morning road - until it moved!

The Interestingest - a mime artist and a dancer cycle-camping coast-to-coast (from Seattle to their home in Maine); their 3-year old son Ev ( = Everard) literally in tow, nonchalantly working his magic gum.

The Unbelievablest - that we actually did it! (3,160 miles in 45 days)

AN AUTUMN BREAK IN HOLLAND: Tearing ourselves reluctantly away from work on Friday, and leaving the car on the dockside, we just managed to catch the 6 pm overnight North Seas Ferry from Hull to Europort Rotterdam. Two enormous buffet meals and a good night's sleep later, we were ready for water, canals, bridges, ferries; water, sea, fens, dikes, water, Dutch bikes, Fietspads (cycle paths), windmills, water birds (grey herons, coots and ducks), rain and more water! And we weren't disappointed.

On the first day we rode north to Amsterdam, via Deift, Den Haag, Leiden and (accidentally) Schiphol Airport, through Holland's main bulb-growing area. Torrential rain kept us in Amsterdam for two nights, forcing a reluctant Barry to spend some more time exploring the old town, Dam Square and the Red Light District.

Rested, we continued north via Hoorn (once a whaling port on the Zuider Zee) to Den Oever and so to our main objective - the Afsluitdijk. This is the 20 mile long dam which has turned the Zuider Zee into the freshwater Lake Ijsselmeer. The dam is also an impressive 4-lane dual carriageway, with a generous Fietspad alongside which we had entirely to ourselves. We continued inland to Leeuwarden (the capital of the eponymous Friesland, with plenty of black and white cows to prove it), and east to Groningen, a modern university town rebuilt after World War 2. Strong winds slowed our journey south to the beautiful town of Utrecht, with its old town centre, the highest cathedral tower in Holland and an early canal (Oude Gracht) with sunken levels and walkways.

Gouda followed, with its huge market square (the biggest in Holland), and its 15th century town hall, symbols of its mediaeval importance in the cheese, pipe and cloth trades. Across the river Lek on yet another ferry, lay Kinderdijk (children's dike), where 18 windmills once drained the polders round Alblasserwaard. All the windmills date from about 1740 and they provide the classic images of Holland, deserted and still on this stormy autumn evening, turning only for tourists on summer Sundays.

Our last resting place was our favourite ancient Dutch city of Dordrecht, at one of the busiest waterway junctions in the world, linked to the Rhine and the Maas. The laden barges passing through are on a route which links Switzerland and much of industrial Germany to the North sea. We had got to know Dordrecht on previous cycle journeys east into Germany, Czechoslovakia and Hungary; we had also used it as a coffee stop on our lorry journeys to Romania. It's a very pleasant town of rivers and canals and harbours, church bells ringing and a busy market. It was fitting to arrive by ferry but the Biesbosch Nature Reserve, a reed-forest southeast of Dordrecht, couldn't be reached as its ferry was out of service for a week.

On the final day's ride back to Europort for the evening ferry, we entered Rotterdam through the Maas tunnel, the police helping with the bicycles down and up the long steep escalators. Cycling along the north bank to Maasluis, we took the little ferry to Rozenburg for the big ferry back to Hull.

385 miles in 7 days