Wrexham to Liverpool is a miserly 50kms. Ha! Pfffft! What. Ever. 50kms - hardly worth getting out of bed for.
Took us ages.
The first 40kms went by like the trivial fluff they were. The last 10kms took an hour. I was knackered (I think we both were, but Jai's demon image needs careful husbandry and I will not despoil it), and even though we wanted it to end (dear God, let it end), neither of us wanted it to be over. The journey had taken on a momentum of its own. The fact of the journey had kept us going, and it had provided a helpful buffer from The End.
The End of the ride. The End of the Palace as we know it. And while not The End of Jai and Amber, for now The End of the daily face-to-face sharing of trials, tribulations, triumphs, tea and too much information.
The day started in what had become the customary way - raiding a Sainsbury's and sitting somewhere odd - like the memorial set by the checkouts in Bridgnorth, or in Wrexham the Sainsbury's caff. Seriously. And we were like naughty little school kids and ate the things we'd bought in the store in the caff even though we knew we shouldn't have. Once we removed our hi-vis, we were dressed head to toe in black and ergo were ninjas. When the staff approached, we just went invisible. Simples.
So. I was knackered, and in denial about The End, but also I had kind of given up the will to route plan by this point in my preparations, and I could not for the life of me figure out how to cross the river on my OS map. Google maps appeared to be suggesting my bike become amphibious, and the ViewRanger route finder seemed to be suggested riding around in circles till you just decide to stay on the side you're on. Unacceptable.
Dear Liverpool. Get a bridge. They're lovely. Kind regards, Everyone.
We didn't do Liverpool justice. It looks like a really interesting, happening place. We dropped off our stuff and proceeded to behave as though the town didn't exist. It was the strangest feeling. I just couldn't care. After 4.5 years of living beside some of his lesser known work, the bollards of Bellenden, I'd had all these notions about going up to see the Antony Gormley figures at Crosby Beach, but the closest I came would have been if I'd virtually recreated the piece by lining up the prosecco bottles along the edge of the table as we emptied them.
What I was doing in Liverpool was almost too private to be doing anywhere, least of all in public. Effectively, Jai and I created our own bubble of achievement-awestruck-adoration and stayed there all afternoon and evening. Until, clutching yet another prosecco and a block of chocolate, we crawled back to our room, at all of about 10.30pm. Like winners.
Liverpool, I'm sorry. You deserved better. Another time.
Took us ages.
 |
| About 10kms into the Day 5 |
The first 40kms went by like the trivial fluff they were. The last 10kms took an hour. I was knackered (I think we both were, but Jai's demon image needs careful husbandry and I will not despoil it), and even though we wanted it to end (dear God, let it end), neither of us wanted it to be over. The journey had taken on a momentum of its own. The fact of the journey had kept us going, and it had provided a helpful buffer from The End.
The End of the ride. The End of the Palace as we know it. And while not The End of Jai and Amber, for now The End of the daily face-to-face sharing of trials, tribulations, triumphs, tea and too much information.
The day started in what had become the customary way - raiding a Sainsbury's and sitting somewhere odd - like the memorial set by the checkouts in Bridgnorth, or in Wrexham the Sainsbury's caff. Seriously. And we were like naughty little school kids and ate the things we'd bought in the store in the caff even though we knew we shouldn't have. Once we removed our hi-vis, we were dressed head to toe in black and ergo were ninjas. When the staff approached, we just went invisible. Simples.
So. I was knackered, and in denial about The End, but also I had kind of given up the will to route plan by this point in my preparations, and I could not for the life of me figure out how to cross the river on my OS map. Google maps appeared to be suggesting my bike become amphibious, and the ViewRanger route finder seemed to be suggested riding around in circles till you just decide to stay on the side you're on. Unacceptable.
Dear Liverpool. Get a bridge. They're lovely. Kind regards, Everyone.
We didn't do Liverpool justice. It looks like a really interesting, happening place. We dropped off our stuff and proceeded to behave as though the town didn't exist. It was the strangest feeling. I just couldn't care. After 4.5 years of living beside some of his lesser known work, the bollards of Bellenden, I'd had all these notions about going up to see the Antony Gormley figures at Crosby Beach, but the closest I came would have been if I'd virtually recreated the piece by lining up the prosecco bottles along the edge of the table as we emptied them.
What I was doing in Liverpool was almost too private to be doing anywhere, least of all in public. Effectively, Jai and I created our own bubble of achievement-awestruck-adoration and stayed there all afternoon and evening. Until, clutching yet another prosecco and a block of chocolate, we crawled back to our room, at all of about 10.30pm. Like winners.
Liverpool, I'm sorry. You deserved better. Another time.
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