What on earth was I doing in an 18th century
mansion sitting listening to a man jumping around wearing one
of those idiotic Australian hats with corks?
I was on a Bicycle Beano and Rob, our
co-host, had woken up feeling like Rolf Harris. A 'beano' means
a feast or party, so Bicycle Beano could not be more aptly named.
Our disparate group of 26 - about average
for a Beano – was enjoying the delights of deepest Herefordshire,
complete with Malvern Hills. This is why, kitted out with maps,
we were avidly listening to Rob's after-breakfast route briefing
including points of interest such as pubs, tea shops, and churches
– in that order. So, armed with route sheets clothes-pegged
to our bikes, we set off into the morning sun.
Bicycle Beanos are cycling holidays in
every sense of the word but they are meant to be enjoyed not endured.
Everyone cycles at their own pace, chatting, laughing or just
enjoying the sense of peace and closeness with breathtaking beauty
literally within their grasp.
Hop fields and apple orchards slip lazily
by as we wonder at the birdsong and dusty smells of harvest. On
the rural routes carefully chosen by Rob and Jane you are more
likely to contest rights of passage with a combine harvester than
a car.
We are soon refreshed by the famous Malvern
water gushing out of a pipe at the roadside, as pure and as fresh
– and in fact exactly the same as the water that Schweppes
bottles, but in this case free and so plentiful you could almost
bathe in it.
Whizzing downhill – our well-earned
reward – is both exhilarating and energising. Touching 30
mph we fly past cattle resting under huge oaks, lazily flicking
at flies, with roadside hedges reduced to a blur of green.
Most people cycle the main route, about
40 miles a day, but there are extra loops for super-fit keenos
and short cuts for those who want to get in an early round at
the pub. It's well-planned, so that just as you are thinking
about your next meal you glance down and sure enough, glowing
from your map in fluorescent highlighter is the word 'lunch'.
Turning up in dribs and drabs at a cosy
traditional pub we rest our limbs, exchange experiences of the
road and refuel for the route ahead.
The great thing about cycling is that
you can be really nosy without drawing attention to yourself.
Rob regularly recommends 'having a good slatch' –
raising your bum off the saddle and peering over hedges –
coined after Slatch Farm which has an especially interesting garden,
which we all viewed appreciatively.
After a day's cycling we are treated
to a seemingly endless supply of vegetarian food – wholesome
and filling and so delicious that the meat eaters among us don't
feel we're mising a thing. Evenings are spent playing volleyball
or other games, or chatting over a glass of wine and watching
the sun go down.
So why not get on your bike and find
out for yourself?
