'That little kid just kicked your bike," I told my friend Vanessa. She turned to look at the angelic-looking toddler. "No, he couldn't have," she responded in disbelief. Then, as we watched, he booted her classic Pashley over – in full view of a busy Waterloo station. So began our adventure to Windsor. After profuse apologies from the boy's mother and delayed trains, we finally arrived at Windsor and Eton Riverside station. It promptly started to rain.
Crossing the Thames, we noticed that the rain hadn't deterred a gang of rowers, so we decided it wouldn't deter us either. We would have our day out regardless, so off we pedalled.
After a short spell alongside the road, winding past railway arches and allotments, our route snaked through Dorney Lake Park, where Olympic rowing events are to take place, then ambled along quiet paths beside lush green fields. The landscape became pleasingly picturesque, and mercifully flat. Not only could we see for miles, but it was barely any effort to make progress on our ridiculously girly three-speed bikes.
Coming across the tiny 12th-century St Mary Magdalene's church was an unexpected pleasure. Built from flint and chalk rubble, it escaped demolition several times, and is now a Grade I-listed building, looked after by the Friends of Friendless Churches trust.
We soon arrived in Bray, a village that, on the surface, looks like any other affluent, and very English, village. But it is remarkable for having two of the four three-Michelin starred restaurants in the UK: Heston Blumenthal's Fat Duck and Alain Roux's Waterside Inn. It's also home to Bray Studios, where the Rocky Horror Picture Show and Alien were filmed.
Much as we would have liked to drag our muddy feet on the spotless carpets of the Duck or Waterside, we felt we might be more at home at the Crown, a pub round the corner from Heston Blumenthal's flagship eatery. There's a gigantic beer garden around the back, where we stowed our bikes by locking them to a tree in lieu of bike racks, and then headed indoors.
It turns out Heston owns this one, too, but the atmosphere was that of a traditonal English pub: cosy and informal. The sight of an open fire next to the bar was very welcome indeed. We immediately grabbed the table next to it, selected one of the many ales on offer, while the barman, clocking our drenched jeans, threw some more logs on the fire.
It didn't take long to dry out. We left the village in a buoyant mood, cycling through the Jubilee river nature reserve, where we spotted herons and a field full of swans. Even they looked fed up with the rain. Would it ever stop? It reminded us of the four-year rain storm in One Hundred Years of Solitude. Maybe this was Berkshire's Macondo moment?
Once we left route 4 behind us, we needed to concentrate a little more. The map now directed us alongside the Jubilee river as it meandered towards Dorney. It's a manmade channel constructed in the late 1990s and early 2000s to alleviate local flooding by taking overflow from the Thames. Doesn't sound too romantic, but this was my favourite part of the route: a straightforward, well-signposted path that hugged the river, allowing us time to chat as we pedalled, and spot the birdlife. (It's worth noting that the gates dotted along the routes were very narrow – we both had to lift our bikes over them as our handlebars were too wide. Taking a cargo bike or trailer through would be nearly impossible).
It wasn't long before we arrived at our next watering hole – the Pineapple in the village of Dorney, apparently Buckinghamshire's most southerly village. In fact, Britain's first pineapple was grown not far from the site of this Grade II-listed 15th-century inn, hence its name.
Again, we were able to lock up our bikes in the big beer garden, before heading inside to inspect the menu. We had heard the Pineapple was famous for its sandwich list, and we discovered there are no fewer than 75 different combinations on offer. We spent a good five minutes staring dumbstruck at the menu wondering whether to plump for the Bluebird (breast of chicken, apple, lettuce and blue cheese dressing, since you ask) or the Manhattan Mouthful (pastrami with cream cheese).
When the sarnies arrived they were possibly the biggest I've seen outside of a Scooby Doo cartoon. I'd finally ordered the Yankee Doodle (pastrami, turkey and mustard), while Vanessa went for the Hogfayre (roast pork, lettuce and pickle), both served with salad and chips. Neither of us spoke until we'd downed them, and neither could move when we had. We noticed the Pineapple also served "dessert toasties" with ice-cream, but I'm not sure anyone is physically capable of eating more than a main.
As we left, heavily, some of the locals told us we were quite mad to be cycling through such inclement weather. With that endorsement, we pushed onward to Eton, and after following the river for a little longer we swung into the village. We were able to gauge our distance from Eton College by the increasing frequency with which we spotted small gangs of schoolboys ambling about, eyeing us warily. This was probably because we were absolutely sodden, but at the time we wondered whether they could smell the comprehensive education on the two newcomers. Cycling up to Eton College, and stopping to marvel at the main building, we were now minutes away from where we'd started.
Riding up to Windsor bridge, the grey edifice of Windsor Castle loomed, which we'd inexplicably failed to notice on our arrival. It is truly enormous, and apparently the largest and oldest inhabited castle in the world. It's also far more attractive than Buckingham Palace. It's easy to see why Queen Liz prefers her digs in Windsor over her London pad. We pushed our bikes over Windsor bridge, now designated solely for pedestrian and cyclist use, so this was a good spot to savour the view and a bit of fresh air before heading back to London. As we pulled our bikes on to the train home, Vanessa remarked, not for the first time, that it had been beautiful, but: "Let's come back when it's sunny."
