Road
cycling has defined for me certain environments. Or rather there are physical
spaces that I relate to purely within a cycling context. Such psychogeographic
relationships are particularly pertinent to cycling, a pursuit that demands mobility
and encourages an acquaintance with one’s milieu.
It
is more to do with perpetuating a mind-set, rather than covering physical
ground. The cyclist is restricted to the road, and certain roads at that:
motorways are out of bounds; many A-roads are best avoided; and cul-de-sacs,
crescents and alleyways will rarely feature on any cyclist’s itinerary. The
quotidian commute to work is particularly limiting, informed as it is by the
need to move from A to B as swiftly as is feasibly possible, but wherever one
cycles, and for whatever reason, there will always be constraints.
Geographical
abandon is not what it’s all about. It could be, if you liked, but cyclists
tend to want to know where they are going, how much ground they might cover,
and the time all this is expected to take. The physical dénouement is the
thing, as opposed to an interrogation of the landscape for its own sake.
For
illustration, the first 7 miles of a 30 mile ride I take semi-regularly out to
Chertsey are of no great consequence; I am too familiar with them and the
attendant roads are trammelled with traffic, uneven surfaces and perpendicular
junctions. It is not until I reach Marshall’s Roundabout and pull clear along
the B375 that I begin to feel some sort of harmony within my location. Passing
through Shepperton the road rakes upward. The approach into Chertsey itself
offers a port-side vista over the Thames which, on a hot day, is singularly
reminiscent of some of the riparian features I’ve come across in Southeast Asia
(I think it’s the boats moored along the Thames’ riverbank, obscured by reeds
and framed by Dumsey Meadow to its north and Chertsey Meads south). And then,
as one leaves Chertsey via the A317, there is another roundabout, which is the
fourth in a whole series of roundabouts that will ease my passage all the way
into Kingston some 14 miles later.
It
is this corridor – from Chertsey to Kingston – that more vividly conveys these
psychogeographic elements I wish to explicate. I mix my route up a bit once I’m
south of Thames, which is not so easily done on the northern approach through
Twickenham, Hampton and Sunbury. Occasionally I’ll head down to North Haw and
Byfleet, but more often than not it is through and around Weybridge, Hersham,
Molesey or Esher where I seek to venture.
Chertsey
itself is something of a dismal vicissitude, a necessary portal I must
navigate to reach more fluid pastures and through which I take the path of
least resistance. I did venture to its heart once, intent on pausing somewhere
for coffee, but very quickly actuated an about-face and didn’t stop again until
I’d made it all the way to Kingston.
Anyway,
one needn’t hang about. Crossing Chertsey Bridge, I effect the first meaningful
left turn and then take it all the way out the other side of Chertsey, almost
bypassing the town entirely. Next, I attack the first climb – if you can call
it that – a steady 700 metre push that is Woburn Hill. This is my least
favourite section of this second stage of my round trip. One is encouraged to
diverge off the road and onto a cycle path that takes up much of the pavement.
I might occasionally disregard an injunction such as this, but for some reason
motor vehicles are want to floor it up this particular incline, and the road
itself is fairly narrow. Then the road levels out again for the short approach
into Weybridge – or the part of Weybridge known as Elmbridge – with its
peculiar High Street and incongruous collection of boutiques. If I’m going to
be impeded by traffic then I’ll expect it here. There are potholes to be
mindful of too, and then the next ‘climb’ – a sharp 300 metre kick up Monument
Hill – where after I’ll pass Weybridge Green and start on the 3.5 km long
stretch along Queens Road as far as the five-spoked roundabout that grants
access to Hersham. This might be the best part of the whole ride. The roads are
in fairly good condition and are flanked by many trees. The air smells fresh
along here. If it’s been raining then you might find yourself cutting through
cool pockets of air – something to do with Walton Common being there, I think.
Weybridge
is an odd place. I like passing through it but wouldn't want to live there. It
epitomises some sort of suburban ideal, although I'm not sure whose. There's no
sense of there being a central hub, and neither any distinct periphery. The
merest hint of a town centre will dissipate no sooner than it has appeared, but
will then resurface again, apparently at random, despite the woods that
intervened in-between. I do like the preponderance of trees but I'm not so keen
on the fact that the general environment is so governed by groves, crofts,
closes, drives, walks, and so on – residential avenues that lead nowhere, or do
lead somewhere but forbid you from finding out. It is these gated communities
(as well as the many golf courses) that seem to define much of Surrey – and
Berkshire too.
Eight
roundabouts on from Chertsey – after having passed through
Weybridge/Elmsbridge, and Hersham (nothing doing there) – I enter Esher.
There's an 800 metre climb up Lammas Lane, before I decide whether or not to
take the northerly route around Sandown Park or continue east through Esher
town centre. Esher is only marginally more intriguing than Weybridge and I will
invariably have to stop at traffic lights. Still, from there it's an almost
uninterrupted run into Kingston along Portsmouth Road, 6 km of fast riding
before negotiating Kingston's one-way system. I might stop for coffee here or
continue on to Richmond and the Hollyhock Cafe off Petersham Road, where
familiarity nullifies the exciting potential of not knowing exactly
where I am.
[Photograph courtesy of Alan Hunt.]
