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@General_Lucifer
A Road to Spurn...
Hull.
Not name that generally inspires, but I felt pretty giddy on the train as it neared Hull station on Saturday morning.
First you see the Humber River, then the bridge:
The station is pretty interesting too. Philip Larkin would vissit the area regularly, and loved the station. As thanks, they dedicated a great statue:
On the bike, LFGSS hat wedged on sweaty bonce, I churned past the industrial estates and monstrous gas and oil refineries, and soon left civilisation behind. Fast roads, quiet, heading south East to Spurn Point:
A strange finger of shifting land thrusting into the North Sea, 30 miles of hard riding away.
weaving through villages, soft pedalling past vast combine harvesters rumbling from field to field through the lanes, lovely chapels with mysterious ruins:
and odd scraps of ruined agricultural machinery:
The land became stranger, less inhabited, thinner.
Sea became visible to left and to the right:
My goal was the tiny lighthouse to the far right.
The road became clogged with dry drifting sand, twitching the rear wheel mischievously.
I'd found the Road to Spurn.
Then the road itself became concrete blocks that chattered the teeth. After an elbow-wrenching three miles, the lighthouse!
Cake, tea, then back for more boneshaking.
Picking my way through the quiet coastal lanes I passed an ancient moat, followed by a huge cold war underground bunker. Opposite ends of historical military defense!
Withernsea, a scab of seaside town, but with a lighthouse perched way inland amongst the terraced back streets!
I took a snap and pressed on.
Weaving empty roads, golden fields, then a stately home - Burton Constable:
A beautiful pile with a bizarre history - worth looking up!
I decided to look for a place of my own. I settled on this one:
I could probably rent it for the price of a cupboard down London!
Heading up the coast I passed [ame="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/RAF_Lissett"]Lisset Airfield[/ame], home to the WWII 158th heavy bomber squadron. There's a windfarm there now, but also a very nice memorial:
Metal silhouettes on the skyline, each one etched with the many names of the fallen. A peaceful spot.
I pushed on as the day was as tired as my legs. Last stop Bridlington.
Beer, Fish and Chips, a rousing game of Cluedo, bed.
87 miles on fixed gear.
And that was my weekend.