The Chalk & Channel Way

All hail Thule roof/bike rack systems! So impressed am I with mine that I felt it required a decent test. Looking for a gap in the weather, yesterday appeared on the radar to be our window of opportunity. An immediate coastal ride beckoned, and the chance to put our digital cameras to the test. We planned to follow National Cycle Network Route #2 on the South coast of Kent between Folkestone and Dover. An undulating, eight-mile trip following the white cliff-tops over the Seven Sisters, commonly known as the Chalk and Channel Way. A fitting location for Remembrance Sunday, but no bluebirds in sight.

From the car park to the top of the cliffs should have been a steady climb making use of the local one-way traffic system. Though halfway to the top of the Warren, Tay spied (past her enormous pink beanie) a dubious shortcut leading us up the remainder of the hill almost in a straight line. Scrambling up and slipping down the grass bank with our bikes was a great warm-up for the thighs. I'm sure the longer, road-based route is just as challenging given it's extra mile in length but short of time we got ourselves up on top with haste, making the most of the day.

Once aloft, it was all stunning scenery to the right, expensive property with oversized windows to the left, and - according to signs dotted around the memorials - adders beneath! Rolling towards Lydden Spout a rainbow unmasked itself perfectly in front of us. Had we cameras with wide enough lenses, powerful enough zooms or rich enough colour depth then perhaps our attempts at recording it would have been less frustrating. Still, a full bow of colour is not to be sniffed at, even in the chill of November.


Route #2 takes a turn for the town once Dover begins to loom around the last bend. It was perhaps a little naughty but the walkers' path along the edge of Shakespeare's Cliff seemed so much more inviting, despite two fences standing in the way. Not a soul but us were on that cliff during Sunday's sunset. The last of the slippery climbs took us to the highest we'd been all day, and made great use of the waning light. Descending the dark side of the hill we met Shetland ponies and a slightly worse-for-wear hitch hiker, desparate for someone to give him a lift, or a light for the roll-up attached to his lower lip. My thoughts, however, were back in Evans cycle shop where a salesman had sold me an expensive new tyre under the premise that it's knobbly grip formation held self-cleaning properties. . .


It was a one-way ride for us in the end. Lack of handlebar-mounted LEDs and fairly crispy ears meant that for us this short November day ended with a train journey back to the car. Possibly a slight cop-out but at least a 15-minute chance to immediately recount the views of the day. By this point the temperature had severely dropped. Rolling down the hill to Folkestone harbour we passed the first car park that we'd tried to enter earlier in the day, and remembered the height restriction bar above the entrance that I spotted with a full six-inches to spare. That's the only fault I can attach to the Thule system, it's so good you forget you're hauling two bikes about, even on top of a meagre VW Polo. With chapped lips, streaming eyes & petrified bones in our hands there was no greater pleasure than throwing our steeds up on the roof and locking them down within one minute, roll on the next ride I say.