Cycling the Isle of Wight - Day 1

Up at 9 and ready to leave by 11, George and I were raring to go. We'd made the sandwiches, the sun was shining and the trip was set to be nothing short of incredible. Just as we picked our bags up to test ride around the block, Luke appeared on his way down the road. Despite his hangover from the Jonathon Creek drinking game, he was ready quickly and we left in about 15 minutes. The cycle ride to the ferry was pretty easy, and we took the first of many scenic detours in the wrong direction. Luckily, I had my compass on my bike, although it was refusing to point anything other than north.

We arrived at the ferry terminal in good time and were the first ones aboard, shortly joined by two other cyclists. Instantly dumping the bikes we made our way straight to the bar for the first (and possibly the priciest) pint of the trip. One hour, some sandwiches, and some chav entertainment later, we were the first off the ferry. As we cycled out of Cowes we were greeted almost instantly by quite a few hills. Halfway up one we passed the girl who had caught the ferry with her old man with her bike upside down, and a few minutes later her dad who hadn't bothered to go back for her. They must have been playing by Top Gear rules.

We soon turned off the main road towards a town called Fishbourne, stopping off at a garden Bazaar to pick see if we could pick up a mug. Luke, being the spanner that he is had forgotten his. After a bit of searching we found a pretty, floral tin mug to do just the job. At 50p, this was on offer he just couldn't refuse. We told the old ladies where we were heading and they strongly advised we visit an Abbey just up the lane. Unconvinced, we set off down a muddy cycle path instantly forgetting their advice. Barely a minute later we turned a corner and a huge Abbey appeared in front of us, so impressive there was just no way we could cycle past without taking a look. We took a peek inside, just about managing to stop Luke stealing a pencil Monkey Island style; simply because it was there. After a very civilised cream tea, we were back on our way.

The next area of interest on our itinerary was a vineyard spotted on a leaflet while we were on the ferry. We headed in what we thought was the right direction until we admitted defeat, stopped and checked the iGay. Looking up from the route, we saw a 50-foot spoon-like construction sticking straight out of the field next to us and bending in the wind. After a bit of guessing, we concluded that there could be no possible use for such a giant spoon and got back on our way.

Reaching the vineyard, we were glad to drop our bikes and bags and take a rest. We headed into the shop and quickly learnt they were doing free wine, mead and liqueur tasting. Many shots later, our light-headedness had lead us to the decision to buy a bottle of mead which we stashed and moved on.

Past Ryde, we decided to cut the Eastern most corner of Bembridge, and head south towards Sandown. However, little did we realise this would involve cycling across some of the steepest hills the Isle had to offer. On the route we encountered the toughest cycling of the trip, even though it was all on-road, but somehow managed to overcome it. Finally reaching a sign saying 'Welcome to Sandown', we were knackered and headed for the first signposted campsite. Despite being marked on our OS map as a camping and caravan park, it was closed for tents as it was out of season :(

At this point morale was low. We grabbed some food from the closest shop and had a brainstorm session. After a lot of phone calls and swearing, we'd found a farm that would have us, only problem was that it was a few kilometres down the road. With a last push of strength we made it to the farm at about 6pm, thankful that we could pack it in for the day. As we rode through the front gate, we were greeted by possibly the second largest collection of garden gnomes and disco balls we'd ever seen. These Isle of Wight folk were strange, strange people. Luke went off to sort out our arrangements with the farm owner while George and I pitched the tent. Only thing was, half an hour later, Luke still hadn't emerged.

We waited and waited until eventually came out of the farmhouse. Apparently, the bloke who owned house had ignored his wife and dinner, and constantly explained the same directions to the nearest pub. At least that's Luke's story and he's sticking to it. Some beans on toast and a cup of tea later, we'd (thankfully) Googled the nearest pub, only to learn it was in the complete opposite direction to what the farm owner had told Luke. We spent the rest of the evening in a nice, quiet pub, but to be honest, we didn't last much past 10pm.