Today has been the worst day of the trip so far. How to convey exactly what plagued us will be a challenge, not to simply list the events but to convey the rising stress.
The day began easily enough, with only a few protests about waking up from me. Tessa, Megan and Thomas stopped by to help us with the cleanup. Actually I think they were expecting us to have left already but it was nice to see them one last time before going. Then, with much ado, we loaded up our bikes and left.
The first half of the day was beautifully simple, our fears about losing our biking edge seeming to be groundless. At one point I wobbled on my bicycle and looked up to the sound of a car frantically sounding its horn. I was a little confused, thinking indignantly “I didn’t wobble that much” only to see Kerry and Simon’s little white car barreling towards us with all aboard waving frantically, so we got to see them before leaving too.
It was once we got to Southampton that things began to go astray, though so slightly that at first we scarcely noticed. I bought the Michelin guide for France, delighted that I had finally found a map with the campgrounds marked. Only after I had spent an enormous amount on the map that I realized you needed another expensive guide to go with it. Also, because I needed a new journal I bought this one, so expensive that you would think the gold trim on the edges was actually gold. These two things alone blew our budget for the day, making me less than excited about going on. But as they were necessary for the trip I was willing to put up with the cost.
We left Southampton gaily until the road I had chosen to follow out of the city was closed due to construction, forcing a long and uphill detour. Still we had faced worse obstacles and even when Heather’s leg began to cramp so much we were forced to stop our spirits did not flag too much. The first time morale began to seriously flag was atop the next hill from where we had stopped. Suddenly, and without warning, Heather’s rear tire went flat. We pulled over and flipped Heather’s bike to remove the tire when Heather noticed her recently fixed pannier rack was broken. I hastily fixed it using duct tape and we patched the inner tube of her tire, never having done it before.
The day began easily enough, with only a few protests about waking up from me. Tessa, Megan and Thomas stopped by to help us with the cleanup. Actually I think they were expecting us to have left already but it was nice to see them one last time before going. Then, with much ado, we loaded up our bikes and left.
The first half of the day was beautifully simple, our fears about losing our biking edge seeming to be groundless. At one point I wobbled on my bicycle and looked up to the sound of a car frantically sounding its horn. I was a little confused, thinking indignantly “I didn’t wobble that much” only to see Kerry and Simon’s little white car barreling towards us with all aboard waving frantically, so we got to see them before leaving too.
It was once we got to Southampton that things began to go astray, though so slightly that at first we scarcely noticed. I bought the Michelin guide for France, delighted that I had finally found a map with the campgrounds marked. Only after I had spent an enormous amount on the map that I realized you needed another expensive guide to go with it. Also, because I needed a new journal I bought this one, so expensive that you would think the gold trim on the edges was actually gold. These two things alone blew our budget for the day, making me less than excited about going on. But as they were necessary for the trip I was willing to put up with the cost.
We left Southampton gaily until the road I had chosen to follow out of the city was closed due to construction, forcing a long and uphill detour. Still we had faced worse obstacles and even when Heather’s leg began to cramp so much we were forced to stop our spirits did not flag too much. The first time morale began to seriously flag was atop the next hill from where we had stopped. Suddenly, and without warning, Heather’s rear tire went flat. We pulled over and flipped Heather’s bike to remove the tire when Heather noticed her recently fixed pannier rack was broken. I hastily fixed it using duct tape and we patched the inner tube of her tire, never having done it before.
By the time we had finished the sun was getting dangerously close to the horizon and we were still miles from our campsite. We pushed off feeling the strain of biking and getting very eager to settle into a campsite. Heather’s strength began to fail her and she kept on only with the constant refrain that the campsite was just a few miles away. We passed the city of Fareham excitedly because, according to our map, the campsite was between Fareham and Portchester. We picked up speed, sure in the knowledge that we were near to the nights stop. Then suddenly a sigh loomed up before us “PORTCHESTER”! We had missed the campground.
With a sigh and groan we turned around and pedaled back only to reach the boundaries of Fareham with no sigh of the campground. We stopped at an inn to ask directions. The innkeeper was very confused because he knew of no campground nearby but after Heather asked several people we were able to get directions to an enormous golf club nearby that had a campground behind it. Or so we were told.
After another twenty minutes on the golf grounds we found no site but got directions to a park behind a crematorium, a bit morbid I know but we were getting pretty desperate. Heather was tired and cramped and I was getting very worried about a place to stay. Heather’s rear brake had seized up and we were forced to disconnect it, making it hard to bike even in the daylight and there was precious little daylight left. We had not eaten since the stop just outside Southampton and were feeling ravenous, with the headaches and grumpiness that comes from too little food. By the time we arrived at the “park” it was dark and it turned out to be a mobile home park, no place for campers.
We turned back angrily and stopped at a gas station that doubled as a supermarket. Heather got groceries and directions while I checked the map. The nearest campground was on the other side of Portsmouth and the only person willing to give us directions was incomprehensible. Reluctantly, after eating very greasy chicken to tide us over, we set out for Portsmouth.
Barely had we gone a mile when a hard bump blew Heather’s rear tire out once more. That was it, the final straw. We agreed that, although we had already gone over budget for the day, we would spend the night in a hotel. We walked the two lonely and dark miles along Portsmouth Harbour to the nearest hotel complex. Heather walked in to book rooms, anger and depression giving way to nice thoughts of hot showers and comfy beds. Five minutes later she was back, in a worse state than before. All the hotels in Portsmouth were completely full! A boat show had filled Portsmouth to capacity.
We had been turned away from the inn and the only refuge was an isolated campground on the other side of the city. We flipped Heathers bike upside down to fix her flat only to discover the other pannier rack was broken as well. We set out with heavy hearts. The night was beginning to feel chill and our muscles were cramping. It is almost impossible to describe the next few hours. Endless streets, close packed with buildings and wan yellow lights shinning down. A cold breeze seeping its way through the weave of our clothes as we become more and more tangled in a labyrinth of streets. No signs for camping, no signs for inns, no streets that matched our map. Until, suddenly, with gut wrenching horror, we found ourselves right back where we had started with no idea how to get to our goal. We were frozen, anguished; angry and so stressed our stomachs heaved every time we thought of what could happed if we found no site. Hesitantly I brought up the idea that had been preying on me since we began in Portsmouth we would have to sleep outdoors. Heather was adamantly against it. She stopped at a McDonalds and asked directions to the campground. They had never heard of a campground in Portsmouth. She asked directions to a hotel that might have vacancies. The nearest away was miles away in Bedhampton. They gave us directions and we set off, confident that we would find it.
Heather pushed on like a woman driven; we pedaled what seemed an eternity. After an hour I suggested that we stop and settle in behind bushes. Heather pretended not even to hear. The suggestion was unthinkable for her. Finally we reached Bedhampton only to find a roundabout that gave no sign of the direction we needed to take. Heather, who only moments before had been so excited to see bright lights shinning, was devastated. We were both on the verge of exhaustion, too cold to feel the ache in our muscles. We had been biking for over 12 hours our first day back on bikes. The only option left was to find a secluded spot and pitch our tent. We found a place between the road and some apartments, sheltered by trees.
It is hard to convey what sleeping outside a campground was like for us. I had been so confident in my ability to find a site and now that was shattered. We both felt insecure and unprotected with every noise a potential threat. We were so tired our minds were blurry but could not sleep; afraid every person was the police, or hoodlums from the local bar being let out. It was like sleeping naked in a roomful of enemies and hoping they couldn’t see you. Never before had we felt so vulnerable.
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