I have no idea how many ride and stride / heritage weekends I have done, probably close to fifteen.
Once upon a time, it was churches and buildings around Dover and east Kent, then further and further away.
I had tried to plan better than this. I made a list a couple of weeks ago, then I thought of the twenty or so churches on the map of the first volume of Kent churches by John, and I saw that starting at Dartford, I could do a full day going from one church to another, and ticking off maybe 15 churches.
What I failed to take into account was there was no scale on John's map, and so the distances might not be that accurate. This is important, as one was near to the Sussex of Surrey border, that's Cudham that is, and would involve an hour's drive there and back, through the outer sprawl of south east London, and it's traffic. That took over an hour out of the day, and then there was the unexpected road closures that meant a five minute drive between churches was thirty, and down meandering six-foot-sixers, up and down downs, into wooded valleys.
I could go on.
And will.
Being Saturday, and that I had missed a session on Thursday, we had to go to the gym, but going to Tesco afterwards was a squeeze with the drive to Dartford, so as we were both awake at five, we went to Tesco before phys instead.
Tesco is full of people stacking shelves, and clearing up after the shelves being filled: trollies and rubbish everywhere. Aisles being blocked, and the early morning confused, of which we are in their number, trying to find stuff weeks after the store was refurbished.
Of course they could change the layout on a weekly basis, I don't think we would notice.
Then to the gym, do a 30 minute or so session, then back home for breakfast, put the shopping away and have a shower.
Out of the house at quarter to nine, up the Alkham Valley and onto the M20, up to the top where it joins the M25, then into outer Dartford, skippung the main church, and settling on Wilmington for the first visit.
This had the honour of being the 400th church, give or take, of the project.
St Michael and All Angels sits in leafy suburbia, just off the main road, down a residential street wide enough to be considered something close to a motorway in Norfolk.
Two fine listed memorials in the churchyard, and once inside I am greeted by two wardens, who are thrilled i have visited and very eager to hear about the project.
We talk for a while, already the timetable was slipping. This always happens.
It has recently been reordered, and had a screen where the rood screen used to be. Could be a modern version depending on what film was being screened I suppose.
A church not to please the trationalists, but warm, welcoming, and full of colour. And the warmest of welcomes.
My route to Horton Kirby took me through more urban sprawl. With terraced houses and industrial units along the main road. And parked cars.
But once under the railway bridge, it was a sharp left and into the countryside. After a right turn, on the lane into the village, and the church on the right, and I found parking beside a hedge, with just about enough room for traffic to get past.
St Mary suffered a tower and nave collapse, so a brick central tower replaced the ruin. It rises like the alien out of John Hurt's chest, from the roofs of the nave and chancel.
I was warmly greeted again, and the tower's history explained.
Inside the arches are very high indeed, out of scale with the rest of the church, but from the nave, the chancel and altar can be seen.
There is a fine window in the west wall to celebrate one of Queen Elizabeth's coronation anniversaries. It is modern and full of colour, and the wardens liked it very much.
And can confirm the church was very clean indeed.
Farningham was a ten minute drive, through what should have been fine woodland. But the road was lined with what can only be described an strata of fly-tipped rubbish, which stretched for a good couple of miles.
Such fly-tipping must have been going on for years, and no one, not even the local council seems to have done anything about it.
That being said, Farningham is a five village, just a few hundred yards to the west of the M20, though I heard no traffic.
The village has a narrow high street climbing steeply up the valley of the River Darent, but on the other side there are mansions, with high gates and warning signs.
Beside the fairly recent bridge, is the balustrade of a much older pack horse bridge, just that, no roadway memains.
It is home to one of only two seven sacrament fonts outside of Norfolk and Suffolk. And it is a testament to the information I received from John and Simon that I recognised it as such.
There is an unusual wooden grave marker beside the path to the porch.
Inside, the church is fine enough, though it is that font that takes the eye, and rightly so.
Wilmington seems affluent, even in a fairly well to do county, though the large pub didn't seem to be doing much business, but then it was only just after midday.
But I had appointments with up to twelve more churches, so no time to waste.
Back to the car.
A few weeks ago, at the height of the long hot summer, I went with friends to Lullingstone Park to try to snap the Dark Green Fritillaries, only for us to draw a blank. And take so long in doing so, we ran out of time to go to the church, was isn't a part of the park.
Any more.
Nor it is part of the English Heritage site of the Roman Villa, which contains the oldest Christian symbols in the British Isles.
Nor it it part of the Lavender Farm, but it part of Lullingstone Castle.
For each part, there is a different entrance, but at least from Farningham it is up along the narrow High Street, a sharp right along the top of the valley, then sharp right under the railway viaduct, thus avoiding the old pack bridge and/or ford in Eynsford.
Instead, down the dead end lane to the castle, and park on the wide grass verges, with the Tudor brick gatehouse to the west.
The church is still consecrated, so though in the castle grounds, you don't have to pay to visit.
I talked to the lady in the ticket booth, and she let me in. Walked over the grass to the white later porch, and inside.
A grand estate chapel, with several effigy tombs, but all in good condition, 17th century plater and corbel, with a rood screen, but one too late to be used as one, with the flared top added in the 19th century.
A fine church, and a visit enlivened by the arrival of a couple with their young children, down for the day from London. They were no trouble.
I think I recorded it all, so a brisk walk back to the car, and set the sat nav for the next church: Cudham.
Had I known how far Cudham was away, I would have skipped it. But as it was, I set the sat nav, and I drove off, back up the lane and back to Farningham.
The area at the top of the M26 I know well, and where it joins the M25. Which I did for one junction, then off at the next exit, and into the south London suburbs.
Round roundabout after roundabout, through housing estates and rows of shops. I mean it looked affluent enough, but all this was taking time.
Then down endless wooded lanes, sharp bends and steep hills up and down.
The church sits back from a busy, steep junction. I parked near the gate, as there was no other parking, with the nearby houses having clear no parking signs.
There was no one else there, so I went in, got my shots, and left a donation before walking quickly back to the car.
The afternoon was getting on, and I was getting tired.
But onwards, and back the way I had came. Back through the endless houses, back onto the M25, and back to Brands Hatch, thankfully here was no racing on, so the roads were very quiet.
There are several parishes in Kent with the same names: there are four Boughtons at least, and even two Paddlesworths. So, it should be no surprise to find there are two named Ash as well.
This Ash is at the end of a dead end lane, that peters out to a track, that the old gentleman inside the church told me will on one side have a solar farm, and on the other 700 new houses.
He was reading the Torygraph, which these days is never a good sign, as it is no longer a paper of record.
I go round getting my shots, but I was getting jaded.
Next up as Stansted.
Nestled in the fold of the downs, its less a village and more of a hamlet.
The church, St Mary, bears a strong resemblance to Hastingleigh, but after walking through the churchyard, past the ancient font outside, I find the door locked, and the parish playing no part, apparently, in ride and stride.
This made my mood darker.
Just up the hill, however, I pass another church, unexpectedly.
A group of people were taking either side of the churchyard wall, one old gaffer looking like Phil from Timeteam.
I park, and pass the time of day with the watchers, who are happy enough to have me visit and take photographs.
St Peter, John describes as a farmyard church, which it still is. Simple and rustic, which the centuries have mostly passed by, leaving a fine east window behind the altar.
I take my shots, pass the time of day once again, and am off, to what would turn out to be the final church of the day.
And so to Luddesdowne.
I used postcodes to find churches, and for the most part these work, as the towers can usually be seen.
But not here.
But the wardens had put out signs and arrows pointing to the church, so instead of heading straight on at the little used junction, I turned up the dead end, and there was the church, behind the trees.
Come in and see the wall paintings, the sign said. Who could turn down such an offer.
Frinsted near to Hucking has Victorian stencils, so inside I was to see these done on a grand scale, and mostly in good condition.
I disturbed to two wardens, who were delighted to have a visitor, even though I was neither a rider or strider.
Tea? Cake?
I accept squash.
And we talk long. About the project, and the churches I had seen and the wonderful people I had also met during the visits.
In time, I was shown in, and the scene dazzled.
As a whole it is wonderful, but the details are equally stunning too.
I take shots, but I am done.
I am sure I did a good job. I go back to the vestry, accept another squash and declare that my day is done, I was going home.
They wished me a safe journey, and I returned to the car, programmed home in the sat nav, then turned the radio on, as it was ten past three, and the football was on.
At Middlesborough, there had already been three goals: Norwich first, then two for Boro. Who scored a third as I drove back along the A2 to Faversham, then to Canterbury.
Once home at four, Jools had made me a brew, and Norwich pulled two goals back, so 3-3.
Sadly, Boro scored a winner in injury time.
So, bah!
We had defrosted ragu, pasta for dinner. Then the last slices of the coffee and walnut cake Jools had made.
Football on the tellybox, then the highlights of the cycling.
The end of a long, but brilliant day.
Now for bed.
It wasn't bad: sweetish, with a hint of vinegar in the background, but great on bread and with salami.
