clairedavieswriter

This morning’s coffee came with a side order of mechanical failure, which looked set to derail my plans, were it not for the intervention of a perfect stranger – in the purest sense of the phrase.

The day started innocently enough, with a chilly ride through a shady avenue of broad leaf trees. For the first time, the morning air felt cold on the knees, despite the early sun.

I did two circuits of Market Drayton, due to a disagreement with the blessed Garmin, which thereafter refused to speak to me: he can be very moody. But it had the last laugh when I chose to deviate from the route in search of that coffee.

Market Drayton was still waking up..

Cycling north with the warm sun on my back, everywhere I looked were scenes from an English pastoral.

Within the hour I’d clocked up another county. Why have I not spent more time in Shropshire and Cheshire? They’re so beautiful.

So back to that coffee…

The blessed Garmin was planning to bypass Nantwich, but as I was making good time I thought I’d pop into town to have a look and get a coffee. Changing gear as I crossed a small park, I felt something give – and then there was no more gear-changing. The cable was loose and the right hand levers useless.

I knew straight away that fixing it was beyond my limited capability. Plus, the bike was stuck in the lowest gear, which is fine if you’re in a velodrome with thighs like an olympian. Despite all the miles I’ve put in, mine aren’t quite up to those standards (I’m relieved to say), so the bike was essentially unrideable.

This being Sunday, no bike shops were open. The assistance provided by my insurance company (I’ll give them a chance to explain themselves in office hours before I name and shame) – which supposedly offered roadside rescue for exactly this kind of eventuality, turned out to be of the chocolate teapot variety, involving circular voicemail hell.

Finally, I managed to contact a bike shop near Glazebrook – my planned stop for tonight – made an appointment for tomorrow morning, and more or less resigned myself to ditching today’s stage. But not quite….

A few years back, in a talk at the FCO’s Diplomatic Academy, the then US Ambassador to London, Matthew Barzun, was asked which three words he would use to advise others in their careers (and lives). His answer: Ask For Help. Today I followed that advice and found it invaluable.

As two cyclists pedalled towards me, I simply asked the first if he was local and knew of anywhere that could fix my bike. To cut a long story short, he realised immediately that my priority was to get the bike rideable so I could complete today’s stage, and avoid a gap in my Lejog journey. He whipped out his toolkit and within minutes had snipped off the loose cable…

Then, with the help of another kind passerby, he jiggled my gears into a rideable position.

The good news was this meant I could continue my journey. The bad news was that I’d have to do it on a two-gear bike. But as luck would have it, today was one of the least hilly of the trip, I wasn’t carrying my panniers (Jon had taken them for a day trip in the car), and I only had 50k left to do.

Before he headed off, my rescuer asked if I was doing the ride for charity, and gave me the £5 he carried for emergencies as a donation. I really should have been paying him – not the other way round. Take a bow Gareth Roberts – today’s Perfect Stranger.

I sailed out of Nantwich two hours after I’d arrived, my faith in human kindness re-confirmed.

Over the next 30 miles I passed yet more locks…

….and cycled a peaceful and mostly smooth path alongside the Weaver River. No? Me neither, but apparently it was a vital artery for the movement of white salt and rock salt up to the late 19th century, when the railways took up the trade.

Winsford, which I cycled past on the trail, was the epicentre of the salt trade and to this day its Rock Salt mine produces the majority of de-icing salt for British roads – around a million tons a year.

In its heyday it had three railway stations, and plenty of railway architecture remains.

Along with other evidence of the area’s heritage

But these days the Weaver is a tranquil backwater, good for leisurely walks, narrowboat holidays, and quiet reflection.

As always, there were sights along the way that piqued the curiosity…

But it was especially exciting to get my first glimpse of Manchester from the Warburton Bridge (12p toll for cars, bikes cross for free).

I pedalled into Glazebrook, where my welcome committee was waiting, around 8 hours after I started.

Tonight my bike is tucked up safe in the hotel lobby. Fingers crossed that it can be easily fixed tomorrow.