The bike ride that resulted in the Pause for Thought script Poem 30.10.20, happened on September 28th and I recorded it on twitter as I rode. This is the thread, with the images I posted en route and this is the route.

I have a manuscript written in the early 1820s by a clergyman named Robert Fiske. It’s a long, terrible poem called ‘The Seasons’.
So, for a small adventure, I’m going to Fulbourn, near Cambridge, to see the church where he ministered for 45 years.
Then I’m cycling home.

First stop @hotnumbers in Gwydir Street, for breakfast with @RobertHanks Then, via Cherry Hinton Brook and Fulbourn windmill, to St Vigor’s, Fulbourn, where Fiske was rector from 1781 to 1826.
Excellent tomb there (not Fiske’s, obv).
On, on.

The next section, from Fulbourn to Saffron Walden started with the pleasure of a Roman road, between Babraham and Linton, through the swell of the Gogmagog Hills (no giants, though, @alixebovey) and then the glorious swoop of north Essex after Hadstock.

Stopped in Saffron Walden, because it is so handsome and for the castle, St Mary the Virgin (as fine a parish church as there is), Oliver Cromwell and, at last, in some fabulous 17th century pargetting on the Sun Inn, the giants Gog and Magog.

And on to Wendens Ambo, where Robert Fiske was born in 1751 and where his father was rector of St Mary the Virgin, tucked between Church Row and the cricket pitch.

Fiske’s poem of ‘The Seasons’ was dedicated to his niece, Mary Ann, who was also his daughter-in-law, married to his son, also Robert.
Robert Jr. was rector of Wenden Lofts, a few miles northwest of Wendens Ambo. Bear with me.

Wenden Lofts, frankly, barely exists. There is no parish church to be found, or trace of Fiskes. I rode round for a few miles, over the highest point in Essex, saw Holy Trinity Chrishall in the distance & ate my Famous Five lunch in the graveyard by the wooden hamlet church at Duddesdon End.

Time to turn south and home now. There’s a long way to go.
See you later.

I haven’t been stopping much on this leg but the litany of villages has been a delight: Arkesden, Clavering, Stocking Pelham and Much Hadham.
Still a long way to go.

Just when you think it’s all over bar the long drag to London down the Lea valley, there is, of course, a 15th century brick gatehouse surviving next to the sewage treatment works.

It was unfair of me to suggest that riding along the River Lee/Lea would be other than beautiful. Communities of narrow boats like Pullman’s ‘Gyptians, moorhens and swans, moon over the water. Even going under the North Circular at Edmonton had a certain sleazy charm.

It got too dark for the towpath in the end, so home via Clapton, Victoria Park & the Rotherhithe Tunnel.
Good adventure for a bright, autumn day.
For bike nerds, the ride was done on a 1979 Reynolds 531 Raleigh frame with a fixed gear at a ratio of 48:15.
Thank you and goodnight.

ps I’ve been unkind about the poem. It’s actually rather touching, and Fiske’s notes, on plants, animals and birds, and ideas that interest him, are a fascinating insight into the library and reading habits of a Georgian gentleman Rector.
I’m transcribing it; more here soon.

on October 5th, I added:

Fiske notes that “The Martins do not appear till near 20 days after the Swallows, & remain several days after them, often till the 5th of October.” So they’ll be away from Fulbourn tonight.

Transcribing the poem (and Fiske’s notes) is going to be a very long job.