Ten of us left the Square, but only nine turned toward Westgate. The other chose Winchcombe as his destination! Heavy traffic burdened us from Westgate Bridge to Whitehall Lane, whose numerous potholes were considered preferable to the presence of motor traffic. A closed gate could have trapped us, had the infamous dog been loose. Fortunately the gate wasn’t locked and the dog wasn’t loose so we were perturbed only by the uneven road surface.
A sharp intake of breath followed an unexpected left turn into Bulley Lane – not the normal thing at all. Our route took us along the rarely used Oakle Street past the Silent Whistle, truly silent since its conversion from pub to private house. A mercifully brief sojourn along the main road toward Chepstow next to the Severn, brimful after a full moon and high tide, led us to Goose Lane and a tour of the low lying lanes on the north side of the estuary. A curious mixture they are: indifferent surfaces with significant surface mud seeming at odds with the Range Rovers and (today) Bentley that service the racing stable.
Onwards though Westbury on A48/Severn we took the Flaxley Road and entered more familiar territory, though New Road and The Slad were new to some, at least in this uphill direction! A general consensus was that the views across the Arlingham horseshoe were indeed splendid but there was a clear preference that they better when approached from the other direction. At least from here it was gently downhill to Littledean Jail leaving only two short climbs to the Dean Heritage Centre.
Here we ate, drank, and discussed the onward route. The ride leader was keen to take the Soudley Valley Geology Trail but not everyone wanted to join him on the journey through nearly 100 million years of history so in the end riders A(lastair), B(rookes), and C(aptain) joined the President. Riders D(aryl) and E(mma) chose the direct route back along the Elton Road, with the F(ew) remaining going with one G(roup) or another. So much for H(istory)! As it turned out, there wasn’t as much to see on the trail as hoped. One of the sculptures had been removed, we hoped for benign reasons, and the geology was hidden by a thick carpet of fallen leaves. As we proceeded along the former route of the Forest of Dean branch line, which served the Shakemantle Mineworks, that same carpet created the illusion of a smooth trail but the bouncing of our wheels gave a different impression: that the ghosts of the railway sleepers still lay under the leaves!
Emerging onto the road at Ruspidge a final split took place. I chose St. White’s Road, up and over he hill to Littledean, but others J(udged) this one hill too many, chhosing the aptly named Valley Road for their onward journey to ta pub lunch.
MT