Surly They Won't Make It

15/10/24

We planned to depart at 8am. A nice early start for what was to be around 60 miles from Cheveley to Harwich. A much too big day as the first to be honest but on account of the good weather expected in the Netherlands we had booked the ferry for Tuesday night. Jonathan definitely told Frankie it was a lot!

The green surly had lost a kryptonite lock as a way to save weight and the just as wobbly but less wobbly feeling bikes set off at closer to 9am. Familiar roads gave way to those less and less so as we headed south east into the wind. 

There were three major climbs and around 500m of elevation to cover in total according to the, soon to be distrusted, Garmin Edge Explore 2 that we had picked up from Facebook.

The first major climb was also the first major hike a bike of the trip. It was almost 10% in places for sure, despite the Garmin suggesting otherwise. Frankie found this to be quite demoralising once more. A blissful cycle ride it was not to be! 

A reassured Frankie pushed on despite the debilitating onset of her once a month(ish) blood ritual. Her whole body was feeling weak and wiped out by around 20 miles in. 

Fortunately the irritating initial cable stretch had been resolved the previous evening on the green but the black was now suffering the same fate. This made hills very irritating as the chain would slip under tension. Not wishing to delay our journey we pushed on. It soon became clear, after stopping in a cute bus shelter (but now library) for a quick snack that we would cut our journey short at Manningtree and take the train. The final miles not being worth the drain to our moral. It brought renewed energy and after walking Jupes hill, which was a ridonkulously steep rat run, riding down the A137 – the only road to the station – we made it just in time for the 4pm train. 

Arriving at Harwich international was a stately affair. You proceed up the lift and across the walkway to enter the departures concourse. Which of course as a cyclist you can’t use! It’s for foot passengers only. The woman dully informed us that we would have to leave the port and reenter with the motorists. Still, it was a semi comfortable, but definitely a polished turd, type of place. Trees placed at intervals around the crappy airport chairs to spruce the place up. Pun always intended. 

Jonathan ran off to get a vegan domino’s pizza, Greggs vegan sausage rolls, tofu and some salady bits with the pounds we would no longer need. It was a mile or so each way through the delightful town of Parkeston. He felt safely blended with domino’s in hand.

Slowly time ticked away until it was about 8pm when we had to join the queues of cars to enter the terminal in the dark. It was a miserable affair and it felt a bit silly that we had to act like motorists but the bikes go in the bays of the ships so there you have it. We were duly checked by security who were vaguely interested in the journey and stopped at water filter and click stand when “searching” our bags.

Despite suggesting on their website that we could board at 8:30pm, Stena let us on after 9pm, after a nice wait in the cold. At least we basically had a lane to ourselves. 

The ferry was nice, and despite being the cheapest room it had a shower and a tv airing no less than Titanic on Film4. Just what we needed in this coffin box. After exploring the upper deck which had windows and a sun lounge we stumbled across a polish passport and dog health papers just lying on the floor and almost entered an action thriller. The concierge we handed them to really had no idea what to do!

Though we tried to wait till the boat moved to sleep it turned out to be a long time watching a screen of the front camera and nothing happening. Frankie felt the boat start moving and awoke briefly but it was a rather undramatic, though novel, journey really.