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Day 1
Landovery - Acton Turville
143km
Early on the morning of Easter Monday, after a night of merriment and farewells, I make the first pedal of many from my back doorstep in Wales, which will eventually take me over the soaring mountains of central France and western Italy, alongside the sun-drenched coastlines of the French Riviera and through the sprawling cities of Marseille, Monte-Carlo, Rome and Naples, .
After a little preparation of maps, funds and kit, all it really takes is that first pedal from home. Soon after that there is no turning back. This 2,000-mile trip across half of continental Europe has been set in motion. Saying goodbye to my mum, I don my helmet for show, and am gone.
The first morning is overcast and not particularly inspiring. I have cycled this route from my home in South Wales to Bristol several times before, and presents nothing new in terms of a great sense of excitement or adventure. After the first 20km I am treated to a cold shower, so I retreat to a bus shelter to put on my rain jacket and gaiters. I have brought gaiters because the worst possible scenario I could imagine is to have wet shoes for days. I should have brought sandals!
After some 50kms, just after Abergavenny, I leave the main road and follow the country back roads towards the River Severn. I must admit here that, despite the excitement of now being on my way towards sun and adventure, the Welsh drizzle still manages to dampen my high spirits. This is my first ride with fully loaded panniers and it shows. I pass another cyclist with the same red Ortlieb panniers, going in the opposite direction, and wonder where he is going, and where he has come from.
Between Usk and Chepstow I meet the biggest hill that I will have to cross on home turf. In a few weeks' time, on Italy's mountainous west coast, I will come to the realisation that Wales doesn't really have any hills at all, save Pen-Y-Fan and Snowdon. This hill, however, does offer a good challenge with a fully loaded rig. As I reach the top of this first hill, my melancholy mood quickly gives way to elation, and I gain sight of the old Severn Bridge and England. I can now look forward to the half-hour descent into Chepstow.
On the Severn Bridge I stop to eat a little food, and take in one last breath of home. Leaving Wales behind me, I cross the bridge and then begin to pass around the north of Bristol on quaint English roads towards Yate. Stopping by a hay field, I make myself comfortable on a stack of hay bales and phone home to say that I've safely passed out of 'The Shire'.
I then press on through Yate, where I encounter my first mechanical problem. My cassette and chain have recently been replaced when I had some work done on my bike. The previous chain was a little oversized and I have therefore never encountered this problem before. Mounting a short, steep hill, I find myself in the gear ratio 3 -1. This is the combination of the largest chainring on the front and the biggest cog on the rear mech. This combination should never be employed as it causes wear to the chain. However, in this case it causes the chain to seize up completely and I can't change gear at all. The result of which is a half-hour pit stop in which I have to remove all the luggage from the back of the bike, and disconnect the back wheel in order to free the chain. I subsequently will never make this mistake again.
As the evening draws in, I enter the Cotswolds, which turns out to be one of my favourite parts of the whole 49-day trip. I'm already planning to return and explore more of the Cotswolds by bike. As the western sun nestles down to sleep on the horizon, I find myself on a small plateau covered in a patchwork of fields and dotted with a small handful of farms and cottages. I walk my bike off the road to a small wooded area in the middle of the fields. Here I camp under the shelter of the canopy. Stars sparkle like white jewels on the crowns of the old trees.
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