I had an important mission for the day. I had a liaison planned with a man who seemed to be the only source in the UK for a battery compatible with my bike. Apparently a meeting at his house was not a possibility “because of the dogs” so we were planning to meet on the roadside at a place called Ruston Parva.
This all sounded very dodgy, not least because I had recently had my eyes opened to the issues of illegal dog breeding in the UK and that “cuckooing”, where an undesirable criminal uses the victim’s home as a base for dealing, is now widely practiced with dogs, in particular the theoretically illegal (but fashionable and valuable) bully types. This gives the buyer the impression that the pup they are buying comes from an individual’s home rather than a puppy farm, but in fact the dog will have been bred intensively and commercially and placed in a home just for the purpose of sale. My vendor’s profile photo definitely included a bully-type dog.
It was Hobson’s choice for me because if there was one thing that the first two days of my journey had taught me it was that a second battery was vital if I was going to make anywhere close to the daily mileage I had planned on. The battery was expiring after about 28–35 miles (depending on the uphill factor) and then taking nearly four hours to recharge. I had pretty much killed myself pedalling the heavy loaded bike when it ran out of battery and I needed to rebalance the pleasure/pain factor on the trip.
Having naively assumed that I would be able to waltz into a bike emporium and pick a suitable battery off the shelf, my investigations had led to the annoying discovery that not a single off-the-shelf battery was available in the UK, for assorted reasons to do with the model of my bike being outdated and the reluctance to make bike batteries an easy find in a market where e-bike theft is rife. On the plus side it was easy to plan a route with little detour involved across the Yorkshire Wolds that day, so it did seem to be serendipity that the only available solution to my problems was so conveniently located.
Hull was nice and flat so once again made for good cycling, although as I approached the outskirts and the cycle lanes petered out the problems with planning a good route staying away from major roads became more obvious. It was another issue that as a non-cyclist I was having problems with.
Having blithely assumed that Apple Maps would provide me with bespoke cycle routes (because, in my defence, the app has a picture of a bike and allows you to select that alternative) I could not have been more wrong. On each occasion I had requested a cycle alternative on my satnav I got the simple but unhelpful message “cycling directions not available”. As a test, at one point where I knew I was at the start of a main cycle route I put in coordinates for a route I knew had a direct cycle track option. Still the same message. Shame on you Apple.
However I was hell bent on solving my battery issue that day so I focused on that priority and just did my best to find alternative small roads that seemed to be linking up the same points. The roads became quieter and greener, though at one point, having to traverse the A1035 for a section at Monk Dike I was most distressed to see a group of half-fledged mallards all dead on the pavement. Whether they had attempted a flight and collided with one of the many lorries thundering along the road, or whether one of the many human beings who abuse and enjoy their dominance over other species had found and dispatched them for entertainment, I do not know – but it was a truly grisly sight.
The sun came out and my route rolled across the Yorkshire Wolds all glowing green that day. I kept my fingers crossed that my battery would last until the spare became available (and that the spare was going to work, which was a definite gamble). On a wide verge I located Nico and swopped my empty battery for his charged one. Hallelujah it worked!! It had been considerably mauled by something, having deep longitudinal gouges out of the case, but asking questions seemed foolish. It worked and it should get me to Scarborough that night which was destination point. As a bonus I asked for a lunch recommendation and Nico directed me to the perfectly located Old Star at Kilham where I celebrated with a large cheese omelette and cider.
Throwing an old man off a cliff 