Days 2-6 Farmfest to Chithurst
Farmfest is the most amazing festival. It's very relaxed, I don't think there were more than about 200 people on site at any one time, but during the four days of the festival there was a constant stream of musicians and artists, mostly from London, but with influences from around the globe. What I really like is that there are quite a few younger artists testing themselves out at the festival level and this is a great place to do it because there's no "artists only" enclosure and you are quite likely to be rubbing shoulders with the singer of the headline act at the food counter. So there is a huge interplay between artists and audience, and just as important, between all the different performers. I shouldn't single out any one single performance as they were all so good, but there was a moment on Sunday afternoon that practically everyone I talked to was smitten with.
A band called Black Bordello played an absolutely spine expanding cover of David Bowie's "Five Years". I was actually in the toilet at the time but I could hear the whole place, me included, joining in with that amazing lyric. I got back to my place in the "arena" just in time for the glorious finale.
On Monday at lunchtime I was invited on to the stage by Scott who is to all intents the manager of the Farm (the refuge) and the festival. We both said a few words explaining some of what the farm tries to do, the history of the movement and the reason for my cycletrip to Algeria. Scott insisted that the bike should also be on the stage so after our speeches, it was hauled down with the help of a few volunteers and I pushed it through the crowd who swarmed around me with messages of good will and support. It was like walking through a guard of honour and for me it was very emotional. Suddenly I was leaving, all on my own with the bike and the road.
At the gate of the farm I was delighted to find that some of the volunteers who work at the refuge had gathered to say goodbye. I am so so impressed with these guys, Francisco, Kuan, Olly, Simon and many others, forgive me if I don't mention you all, who have given selflessly of your time, to keep this amazing project alive, providing support to women and children who do not have access to public funds and benefits and who would otherwise be begging on the streets. I love you all deeply!
My route from the farm was back along the Grand Union canal to West Drayton where I took the Stanwell Moor Road which runs around the perimeter of Heathrow airport. It's quite exhilarating to have enormous airliners flying what seems like a handful of metres over your head, they come in quietly of course, so it doesn't get noisy until they actually hit the ground and apply the air brakes.
Only a few miles further on to the wee village of Lyne, and my first stopover with Warmshowers.
Warmshowers started in America as a kind of directory of touring cyclists willing to share their accommodation with one another. You have to be a touring cyclist to join, and you are not allowed to charge for hosting your guests. Since then it has grown into a worldwide phenomenon and there are literally thousands of potential hosts ahead of me on my route through France and Spain, so I'm looking forward to making a few friends.
I wasn't to be disappointed. My first night was spent in the home a PCSO (police community support officer) who was a very keen and experienced cyclist (Lands End to John o Groats kinda stuff) who put me completely at ease, fed me with delicious chicken risotto and inspiration for the journey.
Totally refreshed and in an improved and favourable state of hygiene, I set out next day to cross the suburban sprawl that extends through Woking and Guildford to Godalming. I felt that there was a quite distinct point at the village of Milford where the green belt begins. At Milford there is also a commonwealth War Graves cemetery which I could not resist visiting. My Dad was in the RAF during the war and a POW for quite a lot of that time. He frequently took time out when traveling to visit these places and pay his respects. In my professional and personal life I have met a lot of military service people and I am humbled by the risks that they take, the sufferings they endure and the ignominy with which they are often treated on their return from service, so I felt honoured to be able to pay my respects to, in this case, the Canadian artillerymen who had fallen in the first world war. What caused them to be laid to rest in this humble graveyard in Milford, I can only wonder at. Just behind the rows of identical military tombstones there was another that took my eye and I felt, worthy of a photograph, as it was so unusual and told another story of its own.
Only a few miles further on and I reached my destination for the night.
To be continued
