I N S E A RC H O F
LOST LANES A
ccording to statisticians, southern England is the most crowded part of pretty much the most crowded country in Europe, and a look at a road map reinforces that impression. At the centre, London, an urban octopus whose tarmac tentacles reach out far into the home counties. Beyond the M25, a dense a constellation of ever-growing towns. Year by year, ring-roads, retail parks and industrial estates eat further into England’s green and pleasant land, concreting over the countryside. At least, that’s how the story goes. But there’s another story, of a magnificent and surprisingly tranquil countryside. From standing stones on windswept hilltops to bluebell-filled ancient forests, from sparkling chalk streams to lazy rivers, flower-filled meadows to unspoiled beaches, bustling harbours to neat village greens; for natural beauty and human history, this is the equal of any place in the world. That southern England is so heavily populated makes it all the more satisfying to seek out its hidden corners and wild places, whether that be a thousand-year-old fresco in a tiny Saxon church, a meadow dotted with marsh orchids or a sun-kissed swimming hole. And it’s not all the remnants of a bygone pastoral idyll. There’s grandeur and elegance in the pylons that stride across the Chilterns. The offshore wind farms of Kent add a new dimension to the luminous seascapes that enthralled Turner and Conrad. Spending a summer night on top of the Sinodun Hills in the upper Thames Valley and watching as the first light of day fell on the monumental cooling towers of Didcot’s power station is as close to a transcendental experience as I can remember.
Travelling at the speed of the land This book is based on the belief that there is no better way to explore southern England than by riding a bicycle along its ‘lost lanes’, the quiet capillary counterparts to the network of thundering arterial roads. These strips of serenity represent as much as a third of the road network by length, but carry just a tiny fraction of the motor traffic. Lanes classed as ‘generally less than 4m wide’ are perfect for cycling for the simple reason that most motorists shun them. They’re too narrow for cars to pass each other without slowing to a near halt or backing up to a passing place; not knowing what’s around the corner, those people who do have to use them drive slowly and carefully. It’s an ideal environment for cycling. All the rides in this book are accessible by train, which is both faster and less stressful than driving to them. Cars have their uses, and more than 80 per cent of the people who ride bikes also own cars, refuting overblown claims of a factional war on the roads. Even so, taking a car ‘detox’ for a day or two – or more – is good for our own sanity as well as an act of spontaneous kindness towards other cyclists. And this is just where the benefits begin. Of all modes of travel, only the bicycle combines freedom and speed with total immersion in the surroundings: the sun, wind and rain, and every sight, sound and smell. As Ernest Hemingway said, ‘it is by riding a bicycle that you learn the contours of a country best’; we don’t just see the landscape, we actually feel it, sweating up hills and freewheeling down them. Lost lanes might not be the quickest or most direct route from here to there, but nobody sees the world better by going faster.
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