Angleterre - Wiltshire

Thursday 14 July

Rainy morning on Guernsey, the locals did warn me it wasnt always as sunny as I found it the couple of days I spent there, but heading north across the Channel, cleared the rain by the time Portland head and Weymouth hove into view.

Ferrying the bike's a simple process, book on the internet via http://www.directferries.com/ (24 hours ahead), get in the right queue, hand over your booking reference number, ride on when and where directed, the crew strap the bike down, 2 hour crossing, all there is to it.

Wanborough, where I am now, near Swindon, Wiltshire, 200 odd km from the ferry terminal, starting a week's loop back to London to hand the Bandit back.

Very pretty countryside, rolling pastures split by hedges and trees, more livestock than I've seen yet, a nice gentle re-absorb into something familiar as time to go home gets closer. I can smell the pig farms in my helmet riding past, huge pigs when I see them, (England has great bacon), and Wiltshire sheep in the paddocks.

NZ imported quite a few 20-30 years ago, their self-defleecing trait thought one day might be important in hard pressed wool producer times, and the horned version of the breed, having a medullated, or hairy fleece, maybe not so desirable today as hollow fibre dosent absorb dye as well as fish-scaled proper wool does, but adds resilience to a carpet.

Also a heap of mule females, black-faced hill sheep crossed with a meat breed, and mated back to a meat sire like Texel, Hampshire, or Suffolk.

My fabulous hosts here, Tim and Linda, are friends of friend Peter. Within minutes of arriving its a short trip to the village local, or should I say one of the "locals", there are about 6 here. We should be so envious of village life, a short walk to the local, and a social life, a good one too, no roughs in sight, all bon homme. France have it a bit the same, whip down to the local village cafe for lunch, albeit a 2 hour one, or for dinner.

In the morning Linda takes me on a walk around the village, thatched roof cottages, and a very old church, originating from 1090 AD, rebuilt in the 14th century, and unique in that it has both a spire and a tower, added in the 1500's when a suitable bell was bequeathed and they needed a tower for it.

Thought provoking in age, most of this occurring before Maori arrived from Hawaiki. In fact there's a local hill called a castle, but its actually an earthen redoubt dating back to stone age time when the ramparts and pallisading were probably enhanced by wood. It looks familiar.

Following the Neolithic thread, Tim takes me to Avebury in the afternoon, where the stone circles pre-date Stonehenge. I didnt call at Stonehenge despite passing within a stone's throw on the way up here. You cant get within a touch of the stones there, but you can at Avebury, or what's left of them. By some curious delinquent neglect of antiquity, more recent home builders split the menhirs for building material. There's still plenty there to get a sense of how it was, a huge moat-like structure surrounding the two internal stone circles.

Like Stonehenge, there's a 200 stone avenue to nearby Silbury Hill, a supposed burial pyramid, entirely man made.

As with the stone stuff on Guernsey, there was some association with the dead and their relationship with the living, and where they were, or were not, headed thereafter. The museum's worth the couple of quid it cost for a look.
A group of mystic seekers hold their seance-like gathering around one of the bigger stones.

On the way home Tim calls to see a friend who happens to run the private estate Ramsbury Brewery, I'm fortunate in getting a walk through, and despite them being flat out producing to supply local festivals, I'm accorded the pleasure of a taste of the product. Situated in the chalk hills of the Kennet Valley, this 5500 ac farming estate has a particular story to tell, both about the purity of the local water filtering down through the limestone, and the vintage barley growing in it, earning a reputation for being the genesis of a fine brew dating back to the 1790's. They produce no fewer than 10 beers here, and the one I have tastes pretty good.

Sporty family too, are my hosts, daughter Louise is a world ranked wheelchair tennis star, vying for a place in the 2012 Olympic team, a spectacular sport to watch. Tim and Linda are off this evening on what turns into a 15 mile mountain bike ride, they lend me a bike, up and down lanes, round a lake, up and down a farm track behind the "castle", swooping back down to another of the village pubs for a social hour or two with the bike group, where I forget the ignomony of getting off for the odd walk up the steeper bits.

I vow to get into some serious training when I get home.

Next morning its heading to Derbyshire. Linda's given me a stop-off agenda, looks interesting, Stratford on Avon, and Warwick Castle.

Pleasant spot, Stratford Upon Avon, the GPS lands me right outside the door of the Royal Shakespeare Company. Across the road, in a park beside the river where tourist laden punts ply up and down, there's a multi-national promenade going on, and so too, through the streets. Unfortunately I'm a little too early for the theatre in the park.

I follow the signs to William Shakespeare's birth place anyway, and guess from the gathering of shutter clickers I come across, I've found the right house. I've started reading Cornwell's historical novel 'Azincourt", given me by one of my French hosts, a darn good read, but really will have a go at Shakespeare's 'Henry V' when I get home.

Hardly 20 miles along the way, its Warwick Castle, Britain's ultimate castle the brochure says, its origins tracing back to Saxon fortification used by Alfred the Great's daughter in defense aginst the Danes, but the first actual castle was a wooden one built at the command of William the Conqueror in 1068. Its been the home of successive Earls of Warwick since, despite attack and siege in 1264 and 1642 respectively, and damage by fire in 1871. The de Beauchamps were the main family through this time, one of them, Richard, got to burn Joan of Arc in 1431.

You were an old man at 40 in those days, if you got to live long enough, so sayeth the ongoing history of the place. When the de Beauchamp line eventually faded, a Neville took over, a powerful fence-sitter supporting both contenders for the Throne, earning the title of Kingmaker.

You could do a couple of hours here no problem, without taking in the extras, like tournament and archery re-enactments, or tour the dungeons.

I dont stay so long, its 21 quid to get in, a fiver for the guide booklet, another 8 to tour the dungeons, and another fiver to get out of the carpark, NZD 70 if you want to do the full trip.