So now for Newmarket …
At the not especially bright and early time of 8:30am, I set off for Newmarket. The sky was clear and the flies were singing. After adjusting my saddle height, things seemed a little easier. I passed lots of my little Villages such as Little Shelford and Nourbane before crossing the A143.
After checking my directions list, it became clear I had now entered the unknown. A few directions later, I found a nice little methodist chapel in the definitely undulating enough village of Grantchester, established in 1872 ( I know I have a history a-level but it is written on the sign) …
After the rape fields had liquified my eyes, justified my tissue stash, and offered a rather charming fleck of yellow for my photo of the chapel, I managed to reduce the 8 to 5 miles to Newmarket.
After doubting my sense of direction, I hurtled down a big hill passing a “welcome to Cambridgeshire” sign. Many more land wrinkles later I arrived !!
1 closed football stadium ( no photographs for common sense reasons), and 1 pretty decrepit train station ( no photographs …) later, I then passed tattersalls which is the auction house for the racehorses. It was probably rather nice inside, but from the outside, again it wasn’t worth a photo.
5 minutes of high street congestion later, I had sweated my way to the landmark I most wanted to see ( the clock tower to commemorate Queen Victoria’s’ 50 year (Golden) jubilee. Built on voluntary donations, by a local builder. A few steps back and photos later, I managed to photograph my trusty steed and the tower, both close up, and from distance, with and without each other’s company.
A couple of selfies were irresistible at this point. You wouldn’t believe how noisy that clock tower is. I know clocks tick a lot, but so much traffic travelled past it off a mini roundabout pretending to be a normal sized one, that it was quite noisy. I had to whittle down the photos considerably to minimise congestion capture. (Sorry 4by4 snobs).
After securing my bike, photographing myself at the war memorial, then taking an emergency loo break in the local pub, I found myself being educated by a rather eccentric looking “posh” gentleman beside the Frankel statue. After learning where the phrase “on your tod” comes from, I took a few snaps of the statue between his incessant cleaning of it, and took a few nearby pictures of the cobblestone street and the palace house centre (you have to pay to go inside so I stayed outside) …
I then had a quick trip to the gates of the race course before calling it a day, and cycling many miles home.
Very soon you can see all my journey photos on redbubble so I encourage you to visit (link 1 below). In the meantime, stay tuned for my Easter cider review I shall post later today. Remember to like us on Facebook for all the latest on Reasea.org
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