A tour of Cambridge

Overnight snow showers put paid to Maurice’s planned outing but, come lunchtime, the snow had melted away, prompting Brian to issue an open invitation. Would anyone be interested in joining him for a lunchtime ride around Cambridge? No fewer than eight Windmillers turned up at his place in Shelford and, after a quick coffee, we set off for a tour of the town.

Setting off from Shelford, Jeremy on the newest bike, followed by Ric on the oldest

Brian led the way along the DNA cycleway to Cambridge Station and on over the Tony Carter Cycle Bridge. Named after a councillor of the day and opened in 1989, this was listed for a time in the Guinness Book of Records as the world’s longest covered cycle bridge, lofting riders high over the railway. The only downside is its greenhouse-like design; it does get stiflingly hot in summer.

The Tony Carter cycle bridge at Cambridge Station

Then it was on to the Chisholm Trail, the newly opened £21 million cycling route across Cambridge, the highlight of which is a gleaming new, 40 meter long bridge spanning the river.

Graham and Martin at the newly opened cycle and footbridge across the Cam – with the old rail bridge in the background

Next we paused for a photograph by the swift tower on Logan’s Meadow. Combining conservation and public art, it’s meant to look like a pixelated African sunset (Cambridge, eh?) and, on closer inspection you can see it contains dozens of swift and bat nesting boxes.

Posing in front of the swift tower – in the distance on the left

Crossing Jesus Green, we wound our way through the town centre, past Trinity College and the tourist tat shops, before re-crossing the river and heading for Newnham and thence Grantchester, the murder capital of East Anglia; if you watch the eponymous BBC drama series you’ll know what I mean.

It was in Grantchester that we pulled in at The Blue Ball for lunch, a couple of beers and, if Deborah had had her way, a traditional pub game. Her curiosity had been piqued by the large ring slung from a rope attached to the ceiling and, but for the timely intervention of the landlady, she would have swung it with gusto over the heads of anxious diners. However, Ringing the Bull is best played in an empty bar and, thankfully, we will never know whether the club insurance would have paid out for third party pub injuries.

Back on the bikes, it was a short return leg – via Hauxton – to Shelford.