To Be A Pilgrim:
Searching for St Olav
Getting started
The trip from Southwark to Rouen was to be a proper pilgrimage experience. This was to retrace the steps of Olav after his departure from a besieged London with King AEthelred to Rouen, where he would be baptised a Christian. It was a shorter pilgrimage experience of three days cycling (with time at the beginning and end at Southwark and Rouen for prayer) and appropriately four hundred kilometres. The longer journey would be the second leg, from Southwark to Trondheim. If I managed that, this would be two thousand one hundred kilometres.
The day before departure, I arrived at Southwark Cathedral for evening prayer. I usually cycle to the cathedral from my home, and I did today. However, I had special dispensation to bring my bike into the cathedral with me. After evening prayer had been said, and it’s rhythm and peace carried a new solemnity that evening, I went back to the vestry to collect my bike. Fully laden with packs for tent, sleeping needs, cooking equipment, cycling spare parts, a couple of changes of clothes, camera equipment and water, I wheeled it into the quire. I stood before the high altar in my black cassock and with bike in hand, received pilgrim prayers and blessing. It was a genuinely Spirit-filled moment for me, reminding me once again that I was not going on a cycle tour, but a pilgrimage. This was not to be a holiday but a series of holy days. My strength would not simply be in my legs but ‘in the name of the LORD’. In these and many other inarticulate ways, this pilgrim commission was a profound moment. My colleague and Sub-Dean Michael Rawson was kind enough to arrange this. He also collected a pilgrim’s card from the cathedral shop which was duly stamped with the Southwark Pilgrim Stamp. The Verger, Rob helped me with my bike and recorded the event for posterity. After a final sprinkling with Holy Water- on me and the bike- we returned to the vestry.
The bike was, as you can imagine heavily laden. I didn’t put it on the scales, but the combined weight of bike and pack couldn’t have been under thirty kilogrammes. Getting it up the stairs of the vestry and back on to the ‘open road’ made me question if I had packed light enough? However, I reminded myself that the purpose of ride was to be a spiritual, physical and personal adventure. You learned things about yourself on an adventure, didn’t you? That evening, final checks were made, tyres were pumped, cycling clothes were laid out for an early start and an early night was had.
It’s not uncommon for me to wake up before the alarm goes off when I am going on a trip. Tuesday morning 13thAugust 2019 was no exception. This morning I had to be on the road before light at 5.30am, so it meant banana porridge (great cycling fuel) and a small strong coffee (caffeine hit without too much fluids- for obvious reasons) before 4.45am. I wanted to leave by 5.30am because my aim was to have a ‘second breakfast’ (in the words of Merry and Pippin for Tolkein’s ‘The Lord of the Rings’) around 8.30am.
Cycling in London has a number of drawbacks. They include: the awful road surface, particularly on the side of the road, the inconsiderate drivers, the traffic lights or pedestrian crossings every one hundred yards, the number of junctions which require you to stop or manoeuvre. I could go on. South London does not encapsulate the joy of the open road. However, I knew that before I started and had allocated three hours to travel the thirty miles to Rochester. This part of the route, I reminded myself, is as much part of the pilgrimage as any other. In fact, as Canon Missioner for the parishes of South London and East Surrey, this part of the ride afforded me the opportunity to pass through and pray for several parishes of the diocese. I get a number of opportunities to visit parishes and people in Southwark Diocese. However, with three hundred and fifty parishes, in the first eighteen months of my tenure, I have not been able to get around all of them. This part of the pilgrimage led me to give thanks for their faithful and constant presence and witness to their local community.
There is a certain feeling of elation when one cycles over the bridge spanning the M25. Although you are not leaving behind suburbia or poorly tarmacked roads, you are leaving behind the massive conurbation of 8.9 million people that is Greater London. You are approaching open country roads and the beauty of the garden of England- Kent. I had that feeling at about 7am when I was less than half-way to Rochester. Time was on my mind that day, because I had an unexpected rendezvous. One of my cycling friends from Orpington, Ian, had heard of my trip and had decided to take a day of annual leave and join me for part of the first leg.
If I’m honest, I was conflicted about riding with Ian. This was not borne from the fact that he and I didn’t ride together. We had completed the Velo Francette- six hundred kilometres from Caen, Normandy to La Rochelle, in the Vendee. We had faced mechanical breakdowns, puncture, muddy off-road trails and more! No, my confliction lay in the fact that this was a pilgrimage by bike, rather than a cycle tour, and I didn’t know what Ian’s expectations were. He was going to ride with me from a village outside of Dartford to Canterbury (or possibly Dover). How would our different expectations be met on the journey?
I arrived only ten minutes late at the rendezvous point, which I hoped, in cycling terms wasn’t too late. That was another of my anxieties of riding with another- pacing. Here I was, trying desperately not to go out too hard or fast, conserving my energy for the three or four days ahead, whilst Ian, on his carbon road bike weighing eight kilogrammes was going for a one-day ride of around seventy miles. I would have to talk to him about this; as I would about the pilgrimage element of the trip.
After initial greetings and the sharing of family news, we set off for Rochester. We spoke about the need for a ‘steady as she goes’ pace, and Ian was fully and graciously understanding of this. In fact, his presence was a great encouragement on day one. It reminded me that pilgrimage includes journeying with the unexpected guest. Although I use cycling as a means of active solitude, I also enjoy the comradery of riding with others. Ian’s quiet faith and solid friendship was a great combination for the start of the journey.
Although, it is unlikely that Olav stopped in Rochester (for a full-English, or any other kind of breakfast), I thought it will be a good way- mark on my pilgrimage. For me, was on the way to Canterbury Cathedral and a recognition of Archbishop Alphage’s capture and eventual martyrdom. Yet, in its own right, Rochester is a wonderful destination for a pilgrimage.
Before entering the cathedral, we thought it was better that we were physically sustained with breakfast. Breakfast couldn’t be at the new cathedral refectory in the wonderfully renewed Crypt. Nor could it be at Tiny Tim’s, a tea rooms which serves a fine full English Breakfast. Our third choice, and the only place open near by was Costa Coffee. It wasn’t exactly what I had hope for, but the brie and cranberry panini, with a cappuccino and millionaire’s shortbread put some of the calories back that I had burned off. One off the lessons that writers on long-distance cycling (such as the wonderful Tim Moore[1]) will tell you is that you can’t eat too much when cycling. All the calories you put in you burn off. However, you can eat too fast and suffer from indigestion. You can eat the wrong things- and give yourself stomach cramps. I was to learn some of these lessons in the days ahead. However, for now, panini, cappuccino and shortbread hit the spot. One moment in Costa was worthy of note. A man, who had been sleeping rough came sauntering in took a hand-full of sugar sachets and then went out again. My heart went out to him, experiencing my own sugar depletion and bought an extra millionaire’s shortbread to help him through the first part of that new day.
Rochester Cathedral was quiet when we eventually entered it. The morning eucharist seemed to have finished, and new tourists or visitors had arrived. Ian went back to the bikes while I said a prayer of thanksgiving for the first part of my pilgrimage completed and looked around for a verger in order to get my pilgrim card stamped. The stamps on a pilgrim card take on an unnecessarily important significance as symbols of celebration on the way.
History of Pilgrim Stamps
When I did eventually find a verger, he was surprised to see a pilgrim in lycra at 9.30am in the morning. However, he was glad to get my card stamped and bid me ‘good camino’.
As I returned to the nave, I looked back to see that the mini golf course that had been erected in Rochester Cathedral over the summer had been dismantled. It caused quite a media stir in the ‘silly season’ of light news during July and August. Of course, for some people, erecting a mini-golf course in a cathedral nave is silly, or worse than silly, profane.
On leaving Rochester, I had decided to cycle, on, or close to the London Road on my way to Canterbury. This isn’t the typical way people make pilgrimage from London to Canterbury. There are some much more pleasant country lanes that you can take, stopping at pubs to get your pilgrim card stamped along the way. The previous summer, I had cycled from Southwark to Canterbury with Ian and we had used this route. Getting a bit lost along the way, we did over eighty miles. With a ninety-five mile day to Dover, I felt I couldn’t afford this luxury. Added to this, the London Road carries the fabled name Watling Street amongst much of its length.
We jostled with cars, walkers and articulated lorries on a mixture of cycle path, quieter road and A2 thoroughfare (or should it be thoroughly unfair). The advantage of my London cycling experience is that I’m not too phased by large vehicles being driven in a way that is a threat to life. Nevertheless, it was always nice to acknowledge (with a wave) a friendly lorry driver who showed you consideration and honours your right to be on the road. We found as many quiet ways to take us through Sittingbourne to Faversham. We looked longingly at the Shepherd Neame brewery and its sign welcoming us on brewery tours. Brewing has been going on continuously in Faversham since 1147, and Shepherd Neame is Britain’s oldest brewery I tried to tell myself that ‘no, I would not be tempted by the demon drink’, but the reality was, we hoped to make our lunch stop at Canterbury and set aside proper visiting/ prayer time at the cathedral.
One of the wonders of a walking or cycling pilgrimage is the emotion of seeing the spire or tower of your destination. Whether it is your final destination or a church/ cathedral on the way, I experience a sense of renewed energy and purpose at the sight. This has got to do with the energy expended and the satisfaction of reaching an important place whilst not having got lost along the way. Even in the days of sat nav, walkers and cyclists still should take maps with them as back-up and the constant recharging of devices cannot be guaranteed (as I was to learn). So, there is a special kind of elation perhaps kept for pilgrims who propel themselves which makes the site of a holy place or pilgrim site extra special.
Canterbury Cathedral is one such place which induces such feelings in me. Southwark and Rochester Cathedrals, in their own way have been ‘home’ to me. Nevertheless, neither allows the visitor very much room to come upon them slowly. Both are crowded by shops and businesses. Neither have Cathedral Closes surrounding them. Canterbury does; but you do have to reach it first! As a cyclist, you cannot ride to the gates of the cathedral, you have to walk and push your bike. The pedestrianised area of Canterbury creates an enforced slowing and anticipation. Walking across cobbles in cycling shoes adds to the slowing and expectation as well!
Our appearance as cyclists and pilgrims wasn’t exactly what the Cathedral Shepherds (the name for the welcome team at Canterbury) were expecting. Nevertheless, when they learned of our motivation and journey, they happily sprang into action. They stamped my pilgrim card and called for a personal attendant to lead us into the cathedral. I had packed pair of shorts that could be slipped on to create a more modest attire and, with those duly donned, we were escorted (free of charge) into the cathedral close and then into the cathedral.
Olav and Canterbury Cathedral in 1014
Ian and I were taken into the cathedral by a female cathedral shepherd. The grandeur of the Canterbury cathedral is as impressive on the inside as it is on the out- if not more so. This was only heightened by the removal of the chairs during the month of August to convey the way the cathedral would have welcomed people during the medieval period. Had Olav visited the cathedral (perhaps during the capture of St. Alphage), he would have seen a smaller cathedral, but an open nave- just as we did. Ian and I were asked if we should like to see a chaplain for prayer. We agreed this would be a lovely idea and a retired clergyman, who now gives his time as one of the day chaplains of the cathedral, came to meet us. Learning that I was from Southwark, he enthusiastically told us of his past ministry in Southwark as well as asking us about our pilgrimage and its destination. ‘Would we like to go down into the crypt to pray’ he asked? We both welcomed the idea and although, he told us it was meant to be a quieter part of the cathedral (for the rest of it was bustling with tourists and visitors.) As we walked down to the crypt, we entered one of the oldest parts of the cathedral.
A pasty and pie shop was nearby and we made a beeline for it. We had been spiritually renewed by our visit but were now in need to physical sustenance. Coffee pasty, millionaire’s shortbread and the biggest Chelsea bun Ian could have wanted were duly consumed. We were missing our ‘five a day’ but that would have to be rectified later (or not at all).
Ian needed a charging cable for his satnav/ milometer and I had a small charging unit I lent him, so we found a phone shop which overcharged us handsomely for a cable we both had at home. Such is the way of the unprepared traveller or pilgrim.
We then had to reverse our steps and walk out of Canterbury town centre to the ring-road and look for the cycle route south. Leaving and entering major towns and cities with a bike is often difficult. Finding our route to Dover presented such challenges in the initial stages. However, once we found dedicated cycle routes, it was clear that the way from Canterbury to Dover would be one of the most pleasant parts of the journey. Riding to Canterbury, there is no escaping climbing the Kent Downs
Whichever route you take, Canterbury is higher than Rochester. So, there was some huffing and puffing in the ‘granny gear’ of my heavily laden bike in order to arrive at Canterbury. This was good preparation for the days ahead. Yet, the country lanes and cycle ways through farmland did give me a foretaste of French cycling too. More than that, as a pilgrim, the seeming-unchanging countryside connected me with those who travelled before.
On the road to Dover we met an Australian bike-packer. He was keen to stop and exchange news, choice of equipment and enjoy the company of fellow cycle tourists. Amazingly, he told us that he had been on the road for six months and had travelled across Europe. He had recently come through Dover and had ‘wild camped’ most of the way. He couldn’t believe that I had fitted a tent in my equipment bags and said that he slept in a hammock each night, strung between two trees. The modern hammocks completely encapsulate you and can have an airbed placed within them to improve comfort. Nevertheless, it was too ‘hard-core’ for me and I told him I wasn’t sure my fifty-year old bones could handle it. He reassured me of its comfort, and I have to say, it was impressive how little equipment he managed to carry. What was noticeable was his desire for companionship and conversation on topics of shared interest. It seemed that he had somehow been starved of these. The sub-culture in the online bike-packing community has a sense of fraternal fellowship akin to pilgrims on the road. Such online communities bring together bike-packers who share stories, seek advice and encourage one another on. It is noticeable to me how supportive they can be if you are in the midst of a trip or preparing for one. Such is the value of a fellowship of ‘pilgrims’ on a similar journey. For most of those who I meet online, it is very much the journey, rather than the destination which has the attractional ‘pull’. After wishing one another safe journey, we rode on.
It was around 5.30pm when we began to descend a very steep hill into Dover itself. It was not one that I would enjoy had I needed to make a return trip. As we approached Dover castle, Ian snapped a picture of me with the castle in the background, as proof to our WhatsApp cycling group that we had made it. Twelve hours on the road and ninety miles/ one hundred and forty-five kilometres completed. As Ian had to turn off to the railway station, I bade him farewell. I was making my way to a back-packing hostel. Or so I thought.
I pulled over to check the postcode for the backpackers hostel I had booked. I thought that it was near to the ferry terminal, but curiously, the postcode was up the castle. This was not good news as the journey was at least a mile of steep climbing with a twisting road of at least 10% gradient. However, the Holy Spirit or the adrenalin got me to the top without getting off to push, encouraged by the fact that my ride was coming to an end. When I asked directions from the kiosk worker at the ticket booth, she looked at me blankly. There was no backpackers hostel here. Maybe there was one down by the port. This was strange. I phoned the number connected to my online booking but got no reply. I rode back down the steep hill I had just climbed and pointed my bike in the direction of the port and the suggestion of the ticket office worker.
To my deep frustration I found a backpacker’s hostel, boarded up and with no sign of life. It was possible that it closed between my online booking and departure, but more likely, the scam of taking money from unwary travellers might have been too great a temptation for unscrupulous businessmen. I was glad that I arrived in the light, and spent the next hour trying bed and breakfasts on the sea front, but to no avail. Even the Premier Inn was full, and they told me I was not the first bike-packer, or back-packer with the same story. (I had even checked online to ensure they had safe bike storage, and the reply had come back in the affirmative!) I finally found a room in a Travel Lodge at an eye-watering ‘day rate’, but I was grateful that I had the resources to pay it, even if I didn’t want to. Reassuringly, they let me take my bike into the ground floor room where I was staying. I was glad not to have a sleepless night worrying if it might get stolen. As I gave thanks to God and ran a bath, I wondered over the centuries of pilgrims who were conned or cheated on their journeys to holy sites.
The next day I would be setting sail for France on my St. Olav’s Pilgrimage.