Rat Race Run Britannia - Week 1, day 7 - Bridgwater to Bristol

The longest day

Distance: 68.75km (total so far 386.35km)
Total climb: 1082m (total so far 8279m)
Steps: 80,542 (total so far 472, 628)

Also:

Number of ice creams: 0
Number of times chased by angry goose: 1
Number of north Somerset drivers who tried to kill me: 13 (approx)

Normally on Run Britannia (if anything could be said to be normal on Run Britannia) we would run for 6 days, then get a rest day. But the first week was different - to make the schedule fit, not only did we get an extra day, but it was also the longest day we would do during the entire expedition. Officially, it was 63km. It ended up rather further than that.

Bridgwater to Cheddar

When we started this day, we wanted a day with the fewest possible navigation issues so that we had as little as possible waste mileage. Inevitably, we hit trouble after about the first km.

The route we'd been given crossed the Bridgwater canal and headed up the left bank straight into hip high grass and weeds - the path was barely distinguishable. Across the other side of the canal, there was a nice wide tarmacced cycle track heading in the same direction. Most obediently stuck to the official route, but I decided to be a bad boy. Having had my legs react to something yesterday and rash up, I wasn't keen on making them any worse, so I had a quick look at the OS map, whipped back, across the river and up the other side, waving graciously at the team from the other bank as I passed. I crossed at a bridge further up and rejoined the route - which would have worked perfectly if the point at which I rejoined it hadn't got a bridge closed sign on it. I was looking at that when the rest of team caught up - and by the time we'd sorted that one out we were all back together again. However, I did have the smugness factor of not having scratched my legs to pieces - a state which didn't last long.

Once clear of Bridgwater, the next bit was road walking or running along the roads of north Somerset - sometimes known as the Somerset Levels. It was all very pleasant without being particularly exciting - but a good opportunity to get some easy flat miles in before the hills started at Cheddar. I'd decided that with fairly swollen ankles by now I needed to walk in today, but with a clear road and road shoes on I was cranking along at a fairly good rate (about 9 min kms). Gradually we started getting away from roads and into a few paths connecting the villages. I hit pitstop 1 (Rat Race had added two extra ones today, to help us with the distance), and moved along quickly. Until I reached Bob's Farm.

We had a WhatsApp group for discussion between the gang, the occasional funny photo, and useful route hints from the fast people at the front about mistakes they had made (which is why you let the pawns go first). And Bob had messaged about a farm. On approach, you got a loudly barking dog (not unusual). You also got assaulted by an angry goose (less usual). While that was going on, you had to work out where the route out of the farm was.

The obvious route which looked correct was also the one that got you away from the goose first, and dived through a gate into a field. That worked until you got further into the field, and realised that you were on the wrong side of a drainage ditch. At exactly that point, a number of interested cows decided they wanted to be friends with you, which made further navigation more complex.

That wasn't my experience - that was all on WhatsApp before I even got there. I passed the dog, evaded the goose, and successfully got into the right field. Which then had a fence across it, which you had to step over. The exit to the correct route was eventually found by climbing a rusty fixed gate to a supposed path overgrown with brambles. Apart from that, it was a clearly marked route.

The next fun was not much further along, and was just bad luck and timing - but a bit nasty. We'd ended up crossing two fields just as they were being sprayed with slurry (look it up, but not when eating), and this meant that we were walking shoe deep in the stuff, as well as it being in the air. We left those fields stinking, and the smell was so bad that it was still very apparent in the minibus 12 hours later.

My last run-in with the Somerset Levels farmers was the one who shouted at me not to walk across the field with (apparently) crops planted. I pointed out politely that the public right of way went straight across the field (the "public footpath" signs were a dead giveaway) and that the entire field had been ploughed up hedge to hedge, so there was no footpath anywhere that was not walking across where a crop had been sown. I moved off before he came back at me again.

Fortunately, that took us to lunch.

Cheddar to Bristol

The afternoon was pretty much the same distance as the morning, but far steeper, far more beautiful and felt far further.

The first part was straight up the east side of the Cheddar Gorge - a rocky ascent straight up. I'd made the decision to stay in my road shoes - partly to give me some cushioning, and partly because I really didn't want to put my smelly shoes into my pitstop back to swap for my trail shoes. This meant the climb was trickier, but since I passed tourists doing it in flip-flops I thought I'd be OK.

The wild goats on the way up I wasn't expecting - apparently they are local residents, and they seem to tolerate tourists with cameras. And the views were amazing.

Once you were up on to, there was a little while to enjoy it before the descent started.

The descent was hard work in the wider trail shoes, and my feet were starting to hurt. However, it was still a lovely day in lovely countryside, and the odd sign amused me:

As something else old and falling down, I took its advice and headed off.

The next few miles were all paths, which made them work hard, and included a couple of difficult navigation sections and one reroute when the path completely disappeared in to the bracken and brambles (I spent 10 minutes trying to find it and, bleeding for my pains, I decided to reroute). 

The last section was now 19km off according to the navigation, but I'd already done well over 40, and it was still feeling a long way off. However, I'd been told that we finished at the Clifton Suspension Bridge at Bristol, so I was keen to look out for it in the distance. However, I wasn't getting too far.

Not the Clifton suspension bridge.

Not even a sight of the Clifton suspension bridge.

Not the CSB, but very beautiful - it was called Ashton Gate, and we ran straight through the grounds. However, I need to have a word with the 18th century garden designers about their provision for ultrarunners, because I didn't need this with 65km in my legs that day:

However, we were definitely getting more urban, and had to be getting close. However, every step was getting painful, and the path routes out of Ashton Gate, which I would have enjoyed on every other day, were not what I needed. 

OK, that's a strong hint that I wasn't far off now.

And that is the Clifton Suspension bridge. Journey's end. For me, 69.5km.

(Camera credit Emmie)

(camera credit Glynn)

Song of the day: "On and On and On" - Abba. For really obvious reasons!

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