Having driven at relaxed pace from Eastbourne up to the Forest of Dean, my arrival at the woodlands was somewhat late afternoon, well at least in comparison to the time I'd hoped for. I contemplated just heading off to the campsite for an afternoon nap but no. I have dragged the bike all this way with me, I'm damn well going to Man Up and use it. So, after some deliberation, and consideration of the only advertised bike trail through the forest (advertised as a "family" trail and therefore not sounding massively exciting) I decided on a start point for my journey through the woodlands.
Speech House road and a handy and also free arboretum car park grabbed my attention, and into the car park I trundled. Nice wooded car park, lots of nooks and crannies. Which was just as well as having driven there in civvies the plan was indeed to change knickers into cycling shorts. Public nudity and changing hold very few fears for me any more; it's all the sea kayak activity which has led me down this route. I change without incident, grab the water bottle, the bike, the map and compass and I'm off out onto the road, and what's more, I have a plan. A flawed plan as it turns out.
My first move is to get to the start point of the off road section of the ride, and it is with some consternation I find the first stretch involves a road descent at 17%. Which although lovely to zoom down holds some concern as I immediately start contemplating just how horrible it's going to be at the end of a ride when tired, hot and dusty I realise I'm going to have to climb to get back to the safety of the car.
It turns out my map in good old Alison tradition is fairly old, and the trails are in no way reflected on the 1:50000 map I have dragged out of the house. So, inevitably after bimbling around bits of the forest trails for some time I am lost. At this point I simply keep going, safe in the belief I'll hit a road at any time. As indeed I eventually do, and by great chance the opening is opposite a petrol station with the name of the area handily forming part of the petrol station name. So, Brierley it is then. I check the map and head into the woods with a plan. Keep going left and occasionally right. That's the plan, and to an extent it works.
Eventually after going past the same small fishing pond twice I realise I need a little more detail in my plans. Map out, scratch head. Turn map up another way. Scratch head. Bother. Compass. Putting the map away I pop the compass in the trouser leg pocket and at every subsequent junction take whichever turn comes somewhere between South and East, and eventually life becomes a lot simpler. Then just the simple matter of working out a) which arboretum I parked at (who would have thought there'd be two) and b) which entrance to the damned arboretum I'd used (who'd have thought entrances existed on two separate roads).
From there, the sense of satisfaction really set in. I have done it. I have made a plan, I have taken my bike on my solo holiday and I have started out as I meant to go on, by truly using it, by daring to go out into the woods alone, and I have done what I set out to do. I am happy and confident, and head off to my overnight campsite for an evening of sitting in front of the tent overlooking the Severn, sipping red wine and watching the sunset, car and bike behind me, wetsuit and buoyancy aid drying out over the handlebars of the bike.
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