I have never been cycle camping before and my only camping experience was when I was a boy. Now that is a long time ago!

On a whim I bought a tent, self-inflating mattress and two cycle panniers for storage on the  run-up to the Bank Holiday weekend which was predicted to be a heat wave.

I tried out the tent and mattress in the garden, sleeping overnight with my wife saying that I had finally “Gone mad”.

When I started to look at my trip in detail I realised that wild camping is actually illegal in most of the UK unless you are on private land with the owner’s permission. Looking at campsites I found everywhere fully booked. Of course I should have known with the warm weather and Bank Holiday coming up. So I started looking at B&Bs with a similar story until one lady came back to me and said she had a spare single room. It was at Chislet which I had never heard of but found it was somewhere between Canterbury and the coast.

I set off on Saturday, a bit wobbly with the unaccustomed weight of the camping gear, and within a mile from home a car pulled out on me on Rainham High Street. Swerving to the left another car driver pushed his door open in his rush to get to the cash machine. Not a great start but it can only get better I told myself. After another mile I had some rattling niggles and gear catching on my shorts so I stopped, sorted them out and finally felt I was underway.

Approaching Sittingbourne a few miles later, a car overtook me on a blind summit heading into a cyclist coming the other way.  The cyclist’s first shout was ‘Dickhead’ followed by ‘What on earth?’ or something that sounded like that!

Cycling over the top of the M2 motorway I could see that there was a coast-bound queue so was glad I could choose the quieter roads. It did strike me as I was on the minor roads that they have been forgotten about and that Kent in these places has not changed for many years.

It was lunchtime before I arrived in Faversham and I realised I needed to relax into the pace of cycle touring. I passed minor roads through Graveney and then followed the coast through Seasalter, Whitstable and Herne Bay. Each had it’s own niche: Seasalter was quiet and full of serious sailing buffs, Whitstable was now a trendy international resort and Herne Bay was somewhere between the two but without the tackiness of Margate.

Classic beach huts and the uniquely British day at the beach.

 

I stopped at a skate park where the kids were doing some impressive stunts on their BMX bikes and even little scooters. They liked me taking pictures recognising the tricks they had been practising all day.

On the less radical park an attractive skater girl appeared as if she had just been teleported from Miami Beach.

I carried on through Reculver getting some lovely photographs of the medieval towers.

I continued on the coastal path to Westgate and Minnis Bay. These are lovely areas that have retained their genteel ambience, much like in Victorian times I imagine.

It took me a while to find my farmhouse stop at Chislet but it was worth it as I had just passed a country inn with live music and knew I would be heading there on the bike straight after a shower.

At the Gate Inn I listened to the music for a while and then went inside away from the crowds. The pub cat came and sat on my lap and went to sleep. That was until my meal arrived and the cat woke up, sniffed the air and shared my dinner!

In the morning I had a classic full breakfast, chatting with two other guests who were Canadians who’d been living in Oxford for the last six years as their daughter had married a Brit. They were telling me with a disapproving look how their son-in-law put ketchup on his steak and brown sauce on his roast dinner. The B&B was a farm house with a lovely view from my bedroom.

I headed off with no particular route planned but cycled through Wingham towards Canterbury. Most of the area was within the Kent area of outstanding beauty and it lived up to its name.

 

I was desperate to try out my camping gear on Sunday night but the closer  I got to Folkestone the more remote it seemed. By 6pm I had found no camping as my phone and sat nav had run out of power. All the B&Bs that used to be there have long since gone and I was left with a choice of five hotels, one of which was a Marco Pierre experience!

In desperation I was heading to the only Guest House with rooms left when I saw a brown camping sign. I followed the signs to ‘Little Switzerland’ and it truly felt like it by the time I had done the last climb.  I have to admit I was totally exhausted when I reached the camp office and said ” I hope you have room for a one man tent” To my relief he said ” No problem, set up your tent and come back for a beer”.

I spotted the Whitstable Bay beer and said ” I’ll take the beer first then set up the tent”!

Thirty seconds later he said “that went down well”….

My first camp and I felt a bit self-conscious as people watched me set up my tent.  I started to relax when others headed off to the showers in their underpants with towels over their shoulders. That was when I realised I had forgotten my towel so had to use a spare t-shirt to dry off with.

My first camp was probably too idyllic in a warm, sunny, totally calm evening.

I missed my evening meal as I was too tired to cycle into town so my breakfast was one of the best meals I have ever had!

One night without electricity and all that it supports feels like a long time. I saw lots of children hanging around the clubhouse asking where was ‘the internet’ and clutching their screens to which the owner said “go and play – that’s what you’re here for”.

I headed for home past the impressive old buildings of Folkestone which must have been really grand in their time.