A traumatic mechanical failure

Worse than a mechanical failure of the bike! The cello bow is falling apart. It’s not serious, and someone with the right skills could fix it in a few minutes. But whereas bike shops are easy to find, where am I going to locate a cello bow repairer? On a Saturday.

I’ve already got 70 miles to go today – fortunately no performance – so I can’t go too far off route. It’s a tall order.

The best option seems to be Stamford Strings, and remarkably it’s less than ten miles off route. Christine and Len, my lovely cousins, who have already fed, watered, and loved me through a very lazy rest day, persuade me they would quite like a day out in Stamford. The plan is that they will drive there, for when it opens at 10.00, and I will get there as soon as possible thereafter – and if Stamford Strings can’t do it, then we’ll think of a Plan B.

It would be a really lovely 30-mile ride if I didn’t feel in such a rush. Underneath arch 59 of the spectacular Harringworth viaduct, sharp right, and back through arch 72. Through Ketton, where Beethoven stares sternly out of a window at me, and a bevy of unburdened cyclists accumulate on the other side of a closed level crossing. And all on quiet roads with no navigational difficulties.

In the event, we’re sitting in the sunshine outside a satisfyingly expensive cafe in Stamford by 10.30, with everything sorted. Honestly, I’m such a drama queen.

So I’m still able to get to Peterborough by lunchtime, and here I am, sitting in the market eating falafels and chips, and being serenaded by a lively gospel choir and their very – very – insistent accompanying preacher.

The sensible thing would be to press on with the remaining 35 miles to Ely, but after the wedding (very posh frocks and suits, with a few of the suits bottomed out with trainers) Peterborough offers a two-hour tower tour.

The tower is only 150ft high, so how can it take two hours? Because it involves a detailed walk around nearly all of the triforium as well, and I can’t possibly pass that up, can I?

There are some vertiginous views down into the body of the cathedral; there’s a lavatorium and a lapidarium; and from the roof itself you can see three mosques. And with the eye of faith you can just about see the tower of Ely cathedral, thirty miles across the fens.

The GPS tells me sulkily that “there are no hills on this route”. There is however a modest breeze, mostly at right angles to the direction of travel, but occasionally head-on, and some very warm fenland sunshine. I’m tired and thirsty by the time I can see Ely’s tower without the aid of faith – 79 miles after breakfast.