“I shall again be coming to Lewes. But I may come over the Downs next time.”

Those words were written last November, after cycling the recommended, direct route from Brighton, which takes one grimly along the edge of the thundering A27.

The Downs route is more indirect but much, much nicer. First one cycles along Ditchling Road, past Five Ways (not to be confused with Five Guys) and up, up, up; the landscape opens up by Hollingbury golf course [1], with views of the Downs to the North and West, and a hefty Asda nestled in under the chalk.

We pass over the A27, and briefly join Colddean Lane at Old Boat Corner [2], before hanging left and then right to rejoin Ditchling Road.

From here one is freed from most of the traffic, and the views are beautiful and the hills not even especially steep. Half way up, I am overtaken by an ice cream truck, which I meet again, ten minutes later, in Ditchling Beacon car park.

As I pull in, I see a man unloading model gliders from the back of his hatchback. Soon enough, one is riding the wind and the pockets of air alongside an errant seagul. I put my phone away and watch for a while.

Time to take the road down the steep side of the Downs. This is the first time I have cycled in this direction, and I passed the ghosts of my former selves, back sore and legs pumping, making my way up that winding road while tailgated by impatient drivers. [3]

A few joyful seconds later, I was at the bottom, and turning immediately off to the right for Underhill Lane. This narrow road does exactly what the name suggests, and travels in the shadow of the steep and mighty Downs along to the village of Westmeston.

From here we joined the B-road to Plumpton, and then the A-road up the hill to Lewes, nestled and surrounded by chalk, and within soothing sight of the River Ouse.

[1] Nationalise and rewild the golf courses. This is my key policy commitment.

[2] The local historians reckon there might have been an overturned boat used as a toll booth at the crossroad here, before the A27 tore the landscape asunder. Other folk memory versions of events including a loyal old dog returning to the spot of his near departed master, and so the locals left an old boat there so that he could have a bit of shelter. This seems unlikely, but we are all stories and this is the nicest one, so let’s go with that.

[3] I’ve cycled to Brighton from London a half dozen times. First, foolishly, on a fold-up bike, and not even a Brompton. The journey via Devil’s Dyke is an easier ride, but the one over Ditchling Beacon is eminently more satisfying. Shout out to M, H, Y and all the others who have joined me over the years.