For this trip we headed out towards Clevedon, turning left just after Clevedon Court and heading south. We cycled a couple of miles on the Sustrans route; the Strawberry Line, so called as it is on the line of the railway which used to bring strawberries up from Cheddar until it suffered the axe of Richard Beeching's Programme, finally closing in 1965. Then on to Weston-Super-Mare. We had a minor disagreement as we came into Weston, which we subsequently referred to as the Toilet Row. Mick wanted to go into the shopping centre, I wanted to head straight for the front. I lost him briefly as he cycled off in a huff, and I was forced to text him to tell him that I had found a lovely toilet, which had won several awards. In fact, I told him smugly, it was probably the best toilet I have ever had the pleasure of using.
The toilet issue resolved, we stopped for a cuppa and bowl of chips before cycling along the sea front road.
It was a shame to see Weston's 100 year old Grand Pier, decimated as it was by fire last year. The owners, having spent a million pounds trying to make the venture a success, were said to be "devastated". They had owned the pier for less than six months when a blaze broke out during one night last July, completely destroying the historic buildings at the end of the Pier.
Apparently no sprinklers were fitted and a fire alert contract with a private security firm had been cancelled a month before the blaze. No offical cause has been found for the fire and plans have now been submitted for a £10m rebuild. One can only speculate as to the true cause of the fire...Wheeling along the winding roads to Brean felt deliciously remote. Along the beach road at Brean were rows of caravan parks, waiting to greet the many visitors that come here from the MIdlands. In 1861 the Brean Down Harbour Company planned to establish a trans-Atlantic port here to rival Liverpool. An agreement was reached with the Bristol-Exeter Railway and in 1864 the foundation stone was laid amidst great celebration. Unfortunately storms destroyed much of the early construction and disagreements broke out amongst the backers of the project. Eventually the scheme was abandoned. As we cycled along the quiet road, I mused about how different this place would have been if the port had been a success.
We cycled on through Berrow and on to Burnham-On-Sea.
At the hardware shop I bought some lights, having foolishly left mine at home, Apparently there used to be two cycle shops in Burnham but now there are none. At the end of the town we headed onto the Brue cycle path. A local man told us how this area has changed over the years. Once a busy port, bringing in all sorts of goods from South Wales coal to Scandanavian timber, it is quiet now. Whilst the estuary is a haven for wildlife, the wharf itself is now a modern housing estate. We were making good progress as we finally turned east at Hunstpill, crossing the busy A38 and even busier M5 as we went. At Gold Corner we stopped for another break. Here a pumping station is built on the River Hunstpill, which is not a river at all, but a surprisingly wide canal.
It forms part of the drainage system for the Somerset Levels, and is an engineering project which had been envisaged since 1853. However it was only implemented during World War Two, apparently as a reliable water supply was vital for the munitions factory near Bridgwater. Mick says that it was built by Italian prisoners of war. I cannot find any evidence to support this but it seems plausible as Italian pows were undoubtedly set to work in the area, some willingly, some not.Cycling this area is wonderfully easy as it is so completely flat. The lanes or droves follow straight lines, following the route of ancient walkways across the marshes and the corners are all at right angles. Luckly the traffic is practically non-existent. Too soon however the Polden Hills appeared in front of us and the last few miles were hilly. We rolled into Street hot and rather thirsty, having cycled 53 miles, and felt we had certainly earned a pint or two of Ruddles before tacking the final hill up to the youth hostel.
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