This winter hasn’t just been wet; it’s been aggressively soggy. Cold, windy, and featuring enough rain to make me consider trading my bike for a kayak. But, riding in the UK, we live for that five-minute window of "not currently a deluge" to justify our outdoor hobbies. Gravel season never truly ends—you just cycle a little slower, dress like an Arctic explorer, and hope for the best.
The Shortcut to Nowhere
Right after the latest named storm blew through, I spotted a break in the clouds and set off from Moordown. My usual "lazy" route into the Forest involves crossing the River Stour via the pedestrian bridge by the old mill.
Armed with off-road tires and misplaced confidence, I headed for the bridge. Mistake. The river hadn't just "risen"; it had staged a hostile takeover of the bank. I’m fine with a little splash, but this was waist-deep territory. Given that it was still dark and I wasn't keen on a pre-breakfast swim, I opted for a detour over the A338. It’s about as scenic as a car park, but when you’re on a schedule, you embrace the awkwardness.
I was not keen on a pre-breakfast swim this time
Ponies and Potholes
Finally, I hit the stretch from Hurn to Burley. The tarmac lanes were quiet, allowing me to settle into a rhythm before hitting the proper gravel. The wild ponies were out in force, watching me with what I assume was pity as I navigated a series of "potholes" that were actually miniature lakes. This is one of my favorite bumpy sections, providing a free, full-body vibratory massage even when it's slicker than a buttered eel.
The wild ponies of New Forest
The Bolderwood Pitstop
Next up was the loop toward Bolderwood Arboretum. This is proper, wide-track gravel—nothing technical, just a lovely cruise through the woods. At the peak of the loop, I found a bench for the most important part of the mission: snacks and coffee.
MePro Tip: Everything tastes better from a thermos when your fingers are slightly numb
Great picnic spot in Bolderwood
The Watery Way Home
For the return leg, I took the classic New Forest gateway: the old railway line. It was predictably flooded, but unlike the Stour, it was actually rideable (if you don't mind soggy socks). After a speedy descent from Thorney Hill, and remembering that the river was still trying to swallow the bridge, I skirted around via the gravel tracks near St. Catherine’s Hill. I finished with the classic footpath along the Stour through Throop.
The Aftermath
I successfully dodged the rain, but my bike looked like it had been pulled from a peat bog. After an intensive hosing down of both the gear and myself, it was time for the real reward. Nothing makes a 40-mile winter slog worth it like post-ride food—it just tastes better when you’ve had to fight a river for it.
