Apart from 1 or 2 rain showers in the evening, just before we reach our destination, we've had brilliant weather so far. We know that will change at some point, and today is cloudier than usual. I decide not to smother my face, neck and arms with sun cream as I have been doing. We pack up, organising our clothes into labelled plastic bags (in our case, pedal bin liners labelled with permanent marker pen), ie " cycling leggings", "cycling hoodie", "socks" etc. This is a tip learned from my days as a youth worker when you had to find stuff in a huge rucksack. It really helps when searching for clothes in a pannier bag, but most important of all, if the rain should get inside the panniers, your clothes remain dry.
We're off again, this time to Stoke. The plan is to travel some of the way by canal path, but we're going to inspect the path when we get to it, and make an executive decision as to whether to go on it.
There's no shop on route near to where we're staying. We know there's one in Coven, which is on our way, and we buy sandwiches for later. We really need a night in, and Reg wants to watch England play in the Euros, so we'll look out for fish and chips at lunchtime, and save the sandwiches for tonight if we can.
In the morning, as usual, we make good progress, We like to ride 10 miles before we have a coffee stop, and we've soon reached that. We pass through Acton Trussell, which is taking part in the best-kept village gardens competition. From the posters, it appears to have won the competition in the past.
"That must be quite a pressure on everyone to keep their gardens nice," I say to Reg.
Not far outside the village is the Acton Trussell Moat House Hotel. It's in a beautiful setting, with outside tables overlooking a small lake, with water lilies on it. Reg goes off to investigate whether tea and coffee are available - yes, they are! I enjoy a really good cappuccino.
An elderly man speaks to us as we're getting our bikes ready to go.
"I couldn't do what you're doing. I'm too old."
"Why, how old are you then?" asks Reg.
"I'm 62."
The man is surprised to find that at 65 and 64, we're older than him.
"Well, I couldn't do it anyway," the man muses, good-naturedly. "I suffer from arthritis and gout. You go ahead and enjoy yourselves." He holds up the glass in his hand. "I've got my beer."
We go to inspect the canal path at Acton Trussell, but find it muddy and overgrown. We decide to head for Stafford, mainly on a "B" road, but we will have to rejoin the "A" road at some point.
Stafford is a busy market town, bustling with shoppers, especially as this is a Saturday. I would have liked to have a good look around, but there isn't time; sadly this trip is all about the journey, and getting there.
We notice a young lad of about 14 singing and playing the guitar. There's lots of money in his guitar case. A placard next to the boy reads,
"Busking! More fun than a paper round. All proceeds go towards buying my music stuff. Thank you!"
And on another placard:
"A big thank you from me to you, I have now been able to buy my very own fender guitar, thanks to your generosity."
He'll go far, that one - and it does take some guts and stamina to stand on a street all day playing the guitar. We put a coin in his guitar case.
As we leave Stafford, I see 2 prison officers with their heavy belt chains and keys, and the high wall of the prison on our right. I notice that the road is called Gaol Road!
A little further up, amongst red brick terraced houses with front doors opening straight onto the street, we notice a fish and chip shop, next to a pub. The lady who serves us with our haddock and chips say it will be fine to eat them at one of the outside tables next to the pub - so we do.
We cycle on a "B" road for a while, then eventually join the main "A" road for Stoke. Once again we inspect the canal path, but though it's reasonable, it would be a bumpy ride. We decide to keep to the main road. We don't know if the canal path will be good all the way - and we want to arrive in Stoke by early evening.
Our journey to Stoke goes well until we are nearly there, and we hit a motorway-type dual carriage way that looks a bit dangerous for bikes. We are debating what to do when a bus stops and the driver opens the doors.
"You can't go on that road," he says. "Bikes aren't allowed."
I'm not sure he's right, actually, as bikes are allowed on dual carriageways, and there are no signs to say otherwise. However, it doesn't look safe for bikes. We notice the entrance to a cycle track which appears to be going in the direction of Stoke centre. It's a good track and lovely to ride on, and appears to be taking us in the right direction, We are some way along it when it starts to rain heavily.
As we reach Stoke, Reg is using his electronic maps to find the hotel. It takes us a weary half an hour in persistent rain to get there.
We're invited to put our bikes into the wedding reception room. This involves wheeling our wet bikes over an entrance way carpet, where a woman is carefully washing down paintwork. She doesn't look too impressed, since Reg and I are also dripping wet.
I stand by the panniers while Reg goes to check in. I hear him ask if the room has a bath - yes, it does!
We take the lift to the 3rd floor - our room is huge and absolutely lovely. Good choice, Reggie, yet again,
We're off again, this time to Stoke. The plan is to travel some of the way by canal path, but we're going to inspect the path when we get to it, and make an executive decision as to whether to go on it.
There's no shop on route near to where we're staying. We know there's one in Coven, which is on our way, and we buy sandwiches for later. We really need a night in, and Reg wants to watch England play in the Euros, so we'll look out for fish and chips at lunchtime, and save the sandwiches for tonight if we can.
In the morning, as usual, we make good progress, We like to ride 10 miles before we have a coffee stop, and we've soon reached that. We pass through Acton Trussell, which is taking part in the best-kept village gardens competition. From the posters, it appears to have won the competition in the past.
"That must be quite a pressure on everyone to keep their gardens nice," I say to Reg.
Not far outside the village is the Acton Trussell Moat House Hotel. It's in a beautiful setting, with outside tables overlooking a small lake, with water lilies on it. Reg goes off to investigate whether tea and coffee are available - yes, they are! I enjoy a really good cappuccino.
An elderly man speaks to us as we're getting our bikes ready to go.
"I couldn't do what you're doing. I'm too old."
"Why, how old are you then?" asks Reg.
"I'm 62."
The man is surprised to find that at 65 and 64, we're older than him.
"Well, I couldn't do it anyway," the man muses, good-naturedly. "I suffer from arthritis and gout. You go ahead and enjoy yourselves." He holds up the glass in his hand. "I've got my beer."
We go to inspect the canal path at Acton Trussell, but find it muddy and overgrown. We decide to head for Stafford, mainly on a "B" road, but we will have to rejoin the "A" road at some point.
Stafford is a busy market town, bustling with shoppers, especially as this is a Saturday. I would have liked to have a good look around, but there isn't time; sadly this trip is all about the journey, and getting there.
We notice a young lad of about 14 singing and playing the guitar. There's lots of money in his guitar case. A placard next to the boy reads,
"Busking! More fun than a paper round. All proceeds go towards buying my music stuff. Thank you!"
And on another placard:
"A big thank you from me to you, I have now been able to buy my very own fender guitar, thanks to your generosity."
He'll go far, that one - and it does take some guts and stamina to stand on a street all day playing the guitar. We put a coin in his guitar case.
As we leave Stafford, I see 2 prison officers with their heavy belt chains and keys, and the high wall of the prison on our right. I notice that the road is called Gaol Road!
A little further up, amongst red brick terraced houses with front doors opening straight onto the street, we notice a fish and chip shop, next to a pub. The lady who serves us with our haddock and chips say it will be fine to eat them at one of the outside tables next to the pub - so we do.
We cycle on a "B" road for a while, then eventually join the main "A" road for Stoke. Once again we inspect the canal path, but though it's reasonable, it would be a bumpy ride. We decide to keep to the main road. We don't know if the canal path will be good all the way - and we want to arrive in Stoke by early evening.
Our journey to Stoke goes well until we are nearly there, and we hit a motorway-type dual carriage way that looks a bit dangerous for bikes. We are debating what to do when a bus stops and the driver opens the doors.
"You can't go on that road," he says. "Bikes aren't allowed."
I'm not sure he's right, actually, as bikes are allowed on dual carriageways, and there are no signs to say otherwise. However, it doesn't look safe for bikes. We notice the entrance to a cycle track which appears to be going in the direction of Stoke centre. It's a good track and lovely to ride on, and appears to be taking us in the right direction, We are some way along it when it starts to rain heavily.
As we reach Stoke, Reg is using his electronic maps to find the hotel. It takes us a weary half an hour in persistent rain to get there.
We're invited to put our bikes into the wedding reception room. This involves wheeling our wet bikes over an entrance way carpet, where a woman is carefully washing down paintwork. She doesn't look too impressed, since Reg and I are also dripping wet.
I stand by the panniers while Reg goes to check in. I hear him ask if the room has a bath - yes, it does!
We take the lift to the 3rd floor - our room is huge and absolutely lovely. Good choice, Reggie, yet again,
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