2012 10 12 Friday

Walney to Whitby Day 4

Potto to Whitby

The Dog and Gun at Potto was a great find but it was wasted on me, well, sort of. We didn’t have time to appreciate it. I wish I'd had my best friend staying. Chrissie would have loved the room and that would have pleased me. The decor was very chic in a contemporary way. Dark oak modern furniture against a light coloured background was very appealing and the Italian marble tiled bathroom complemented it very well, and it was clean. If I thought I had a dilemma, Brian's was even greater. He’d drawn the short straw and was in the bridal suite on his own!

The grub wasn't bad. Last night we had slightly picture on a plate food and enjoyed it, for example, miniature ham and eggs for a starter with wispy crisps. Sitting in good company over good food and drink discussing the day's events is a hugely significant part of our rides. For me a good beer is a big part too and Captain Cook Brewery beers from Stokesley were on tap and went down very well.

We never finish at table very late. Must be something to do with the very high average age and that's all down to Dave, our only septegenerian! Sorry Dave, only joking, seriously! In spite of this I end up blogging into the early hours, up to 03:00 or later. It's very enjoyable but such slow work on the smartphone/s yet over only 5 days isn't a problemo. Today, Friday it's now midnight so here I go again. Wake me if I start rambling! No unkind remarks please!

After three dry days rain was forecast during Thursday night, and so it came to pass. I could hear it on the roof of the Dog and Gun but was tucked up warm and dry so was beyond caring. The day broke to patches of blue sky giving our last stage a huge hint of positivity. A ride of four totally dry days would be a first.

Dinner service had been in the safe hands of Egyption Manager Bilal. Breakfast was presided over by Kim, a former publican with a friendly disposition. We had our fill of the best breakfast of the trip. I loved the particularly tasty herby sausage and was raring to go by 09:00. We were late but weren't chastised because Michael wasn't himself. Got a great group photo to tweet and followed the rest once I'd remembered to switch on my Strava to record the day's trip.

The small hotel was on Station Lane. In the way of things I should have twigged that was the clue for finding out about another disused railway line. Also, Potto is significant for one or two of us who, for years have passed Prestons of Potto lorries on the roads and wondered where Potto was. When we looked up Prestons to find them the satellite maps showed their garage on the site of the former Potto station. Two local interest stories rolled into one. That was good news because, for the obligatory photo I would be passing the garage on my way out of Potto.

En route today roadkill started 1:0 to a dead rat.

The landscape here is very arable over gently rolling farms. Ploughed fields abound and are being disc harrowed ready for winter sewing. As I cycled on the back lanes the distinctive hills of the North Yorks Moors loomed with dark forboding to my south beyond this autumnal farm landscape. Researching the local railway has told me about the ironstone production all over the area and whinstone from over Roseberry Topping way, the distinctively pointy hill in the east of that hillscape. 

With the benefit of a stiff tail breeze I met up quickly with the lads half way to Great Ayton. In spite of a collection of ailments, sore head, painful joints, etc we continued to make good progress and we'd soon done the five miles to coffee.

But, just before we got there: roadkill dead rats 2:0.

Many of these northern villages we pass through are really pretty. Stone and white rendered houses under red clay pantile roofs much of the time facing the village green. Here in Great Ayton they have the added beauty and interest from a stream, the river Leven burbling its way through. Today the stream is very brown and in full spate due to the heavy rainfall last night. 

With a recommendation and directions from a village elder we found Stamps Coffee Shop and Petch's Pork Pie Shop and topped up supplies. Captain Cook's youthful statute on the green advertised his schoolboy connection with the village. In fact, it was his home from this village that was moved stone by stone to Australia.

Suitably refreshed we returned to the bikes and pedalled our way from the edge of urban Teesside over Kildale Moor into the Eskdale Valley. The last time I was here I travelled by train to Whitby from Newcastle on the beautiful single track railway weaving it's way down the verdant and sylvan valley, a line we crossed a number of times as we cycled. This time the trip down the valley required a deal more effort, mostly up Crag Bank, the biggest hill of the ride, aided by a following wind, a very welcome contribution! 

Today's stage included a few off road sections, mostly gravel lanes/bridleways. The first was from Commondale to Castleton, a stretch reminiscent of miners’ tracks half way up the hillside and with views to match. We stopped a while in Castleton for lunch. Michael and I had our Petsch pies on a bench, enjoying the sublimely pleasant weather. Take-out tea came from the Castleton Tea Room across the road where the others went after the Castleton Pensioners Friday luncheon club had done!

Michael and I were finished first so continued on our way to Danby, then the Dales Park Centre to the next severe hill. They keep coming! This time though we ended higher up the valley hillside and were rewarded with a following wind and stunning panoramic valley and moor top views of much of Eskdale

After several miles Michael dropped behind. When he caught me up again on the top between Leaholme and Stonegate I learned he'd had to sit down because of a funny turn. This incident had the advantage of allowing the others to catch up and thankfully Michael seemed ok to me.

Brian was struggling though so he took the shorter ridge top main road route arranging to meet us at Ruswarp for the final push. However, within a mile of Brian’s departure Michael was off his bike again and lying on the grass verge feeling faint. Panic over when he ate something and seemed fine again.

Our task now was to nurse Michael home as he felt fearful of fainting on his bike. Initially progress was slow. The fear of blacking out and falling off the bike was all too real over to the windswept village of Egton. With warmer clothes on and some food in him Michael gained confidence and made good progress as we contoured (with yet more ups and downs of a hilly sort to keep us working) over to Aislaby. A long stony bridleway descent of 450 feet then added some interest and a little excitement down to the road bridge at Sleights and got us into the valley bottom.

Nearly there! At Ruswarp we met up with Brian again and proceeded on the south bank of the Esk squeezing past a bridge collapse road closure then up and up yet again to the 120 feet high former Larpool railway viaduct onto the so-called Cinder Path over the river Esk. From the viaduct we could look south up the valley and down at the swollen river or northwards beyond the viaduct's long shadow across to Whitby's Abbey and the sea in the late afternoon sunshine. Beautiful! It's good to be alive!

From the Cinder Track we rode into Whitby town, past the fish dock and along the pier into the sunshine for a celebratory photo. Apart from finding the official finishing place that was it, all over, and I could quite easily have carried on. Warm handshakes all round concluded our latest adventure, the W2W.

Michael was back on track craving food so we needed to find the girls and get to Trenchers Fish and Chip Emporium for the usual. A phone call resolved the missing wives conundrum. They were waiting at the cliff top Captain Cook Memorial near the whale bone arch expecting us there but there was no W2W sign there either. We literally found no sign anywhere indicating the official end. That all done the cars were repositioned by the station opposite the restaurant and we enjoyed a banquet in the opulence of this award winning caff. THE END.

Final day’s cycling 40 miles and 2515 feet of climb. Is that all?!

2012 10 11 Thursday

Walney to Whitby Day 3

Tan Hill to Potto

What a fabulous experience, not to everyone's taste admittedly but staying at the Tan Hill Inn didn't disappoint. What was good? Triumph over adversity for one. Seeing the publican manage without his chefs in one of the most inhospitable places in the country. The pub is managing to survive. Also, the beer was good and the coal fires remain an old fashioned pleasure even though they are a necessity. There are no mains services up here: borehole water and diesel generated electricity. Being able to stay somewhere on the middle of the ride was also quite important to us and there's nowhere else anywhere near so the Tan Hill it had to be. What was wrong? You'd better ask Dave, he has a list as long as his arm! To start with I seem to think he said something about cleanliness not being state of the art . . . .

The sun rose at dawn, well it would wouldn’t it! It produced an idyllic scene not to be repeated for the rest of the day as the cloud soon came over. Our breakfast was made by Adrian who was candid about his lack of experience of cooking breakfasts. Nevertheless, the bacon and egg sandwich was good and we survived.

With no bills to settle and our farewells said we braved the elements, and of that you can be certain there are always elements at work up there. We cycled eastward into the distance. Very annoyingly, the terrain yet again proved to fit our newly discovered truism, there is always an uphill after stopping for something to eat.

Today, there was an anticipation of the weather being against us up on the tops so I started the day wearing thermal long Johns and was glad I did. The strong south easterly wind was cutting.

We thought we had 16 miles of quick descent to Bowes. We estimated our descent over Stonesdale Moor to Bowes from available data . . but got it quite wrong. We didn't allow for the number of uphill rises across the plateau-like moor. Equally we didn't expect the long length of bridleway of very rough and gravelly surface which slowed us down. 

Eventually we got back to tarmac which was largely downhill. When we arrived in Bowes we found no coffee shop only a derelict castle so made our way across more moorland past Nova Scotia! to get to Barnard Castle for one.

On the way I discovered another part of my railway from yesterday, the disused local Lartington station. In fact, checking the map shows that much of the A66 dual carriageway over the summit is built on the former railway.

Barnard Castle was a welcome break for coffee at NEsT coffee shop and gallery as recommended by the nice old lady walking into town. Not forgetting the millionaire’s shortcake to die for made with condensed milk!

Like many northern towns Barnard Castle has an attractive look due to the broad main street running through its centre and the predominantly Georgian properties on each side. The octagonal Market Hall here is a fascinating feature.  

At this point we were leaving the W2W as it made its way to Sunderland and continued our own journey towards the North York Moors and Whitby. The landscape changed enormously from here onwards, from the grouse moors of Stainmore and Stonesdale to pastoral farming then arable land. In some ways the flatter the landscape the less interesting but it had the advantage of making the cycling easier, much easier.

By now we were travelling in the general direction of the river Tees. We crossed it at the pretty village of Whorlton but not for the first time. That was at Barnard Castle over the listed cast iron aqueduct. Here, the Whorlton suspension bridge is a listed toll iron bridge, the first road bridge of its type. There’s history all round us!

Villages, fields, hamlets, castles, manors, halls, churches - we passed them all and passed their ilk again and again as we progressed towards the sea. The air became quite still at times where we were sheltered. At other times it was breezy but much of that was of our making as we cycled in a east south easterly direction doing about 15 mph.

Apart from the roadkill carrion the wildlife we saw along the way was mostly birds. On the flashes and ploughed fields were many sea and migrating birds. For the second day running we identified a buzzard. Yesterday it was the screeching we heard. Today we saw one in a tree, its watchful eyes on us I'm sure. Our cycling earlier over the moors had disturbed the red grouse into panic clucking.  Later a skein of overwintering or migrating geese descended in front of us to roost in a ploughed field.

Nearing Darlington our major landmarks were the A1, the A19 and the East Coast main line. We then needed to search out lunch with not having had much breakfast and aimed for Croft on Tees. The first and obvious eatery was The Croft, a traditional hotel with barely any customers. We had reservations about it but decided to give it a go. The place had seen better days but the ciabattas were so really good, crunchy and to die for. There is a plan to refurbish the hotel and among the things to go is a remarkable "feature", the quite bizarre black glazed gargoyle urinals. In the meantime they continue to scare folk, especially young customers so the staff say.

Over the Tees again and cycling through the beautiful village of Hurworth Place beside a meander in the river was delightful. Its Conservation Area status will continue to protect it.

And finally we're in the land of the big tractor, more scary even than the gargoyle urinals. It's time to sew seeds again for next year's crops so much disc harrowing was afoot.

Tonight's stop finally loomed up at Potto, the Dog and Duck, a traditional-looking pub but really modern inside. Such a treat after last night, a beautiful contrast, with the added extra of James Cook Brewery beers. The dinner was fine dining style, picture on a plate but very pleasant.

Today's distance 54 miles and height gain 1330 feet.

Post Script: Michael and Brian have gained a reputation on this ride for stopping but it's not been deliberate. They have had joint trouble along with Dave whose age is against him. He’s just plain old but don’t tell him I told you he was the best cyclist. For the next even I'm sure they hope the problems can be controlled or eradicated. Stephen and I do!

2012 10 10 Wednesday

Walney to Whitby Day 2

Oxenholme to Tan Hill

Where do I start with this unfolding story? So much has happened today. Well, as I sit in the Tan Hill Inn lounge nearing midnight writing this blog after all and sundry have gone to bed I'll start with an apology to Stephen I suppose. A repeat of last time and he requested it!

Sorry Stephen, it was a terrible omission not telling everyone you're a plonker. It went like this . . . As we, the tailenders arrived at our hotel last night, The Station Inn, Oxenholme with relief and delirium really, we realised that Stephen was 200 yards beyond the place. He'd cycled past and missed it totally and it's a big building on the corner of the crossroads! Bearing in mind that Stephen booked the accommodation it came as some amusement to us!  And that's it! I’m sorry you’re a plonker Stephen. Is that OK?!

Right, balance redressed, onto today's performances.

Our journey started in the dining room at 08:00, once the doors into the Inn were unlocked. As our rooms were in the outbuilding we were locked out of the main building until they deigned to unlock! To all you early risers: jolly hard luck! Being a tardy sort the doors were open by the time I emerged!

The breakfast, served to all five of us and not one person more, was very average. But for me, any B&B breakfast that doesn't include a hot brew, meusli and marmalade, not together obviously, has failed and fail they did! So, only half fulfilled we posed for the obligatory photo and got going, 10 minutes late according to Michael! We’re getting better!

The day was grey and cool. We were layered accordingly topped out with our dayglo jackets. The day's ride started out with one hill followed by another. This "bad planning" is never well received but, mustn't grumble . . . . the route is a given after all. But, with the total age of the group exceeding 325 years you can see where I'm coming from! By way of illustration, the first main stop entailed a certain baring of flesh and the application of lotions and potions.

Happy on the quiet back roads and setting out as the tail end of the morning rush hour was in its closing moments, we were content with the relative peace which ensued. Creaking bodies and groaning bikes aside all was well!

For quite a way our route this morning was roughly northwards. We were aiming for the legendary Tebay gap, between the Lake District mountains and the Howgill Fells and then journeying east to the roof of the Pennines at Tan Hill.

As a matter of great disappointment, we came so close to but completely missed Kendal and the Lyth Valley. Therefore, no local produce either mint cake or damson gin to fortify us. Only time would tell if we would find a suitable alternative.

We soon crossed over one of our favourite landmarks, the M6 and the west coast main line before descending at a pace to the magnificent but disused, rust-coloured stone Lowgill railway viaduct at Beckfoot.

Route agreed, we descended further thought the beautiful vernacular Beckfoot hamlet to the river Lune. This bridging point must have loads of history if the narrow old slate bridge is anything to go by.

A steep ascent up the other side brought us to the road which skirts the Howgills, those magnificent rounded hills, east of and so different to the Lake District fells (Dave told me to say that! He’s very fond of them).

                                         Here he is, Dave admiring his beloved Howgills . . . .

We headed towards Tebay but with ankle trouble Brian took the shorter route carrying on the old main road through the village to get to Orton for lunch. The rest of us purists stayed with the official route on the quiet but very up and down lanes. This took us over more becks: Fairmile, Borrow, Roundthwaite, Bretherdale, Eskew, Birk and Chapel! All such very northern names. At Birk Beck we had the chance to roll alongside the tree lined babbling beck and it was all rather relaxing until we had to climb again up to the West Coast Main Line underbridge. However, we had the good fortune to arrive in time to get up close and personal with a Virgin Pendolino. Simple pleasures! But to have seen a double headed steam train climbing this bank would have been something else.

Orton was well placed for lunch. Stephen had found Kennedys fine chocolatiers on the Google map so we tried them. They were rather expensive but “complementary” real handmade chocolates arrived with our hot drink! Missing Kendal wasn’t such a disaster after all!

Replenished we cycled along a rolling road, very much like an estate drive planted with tree shelter belt eventually climbing up onto the moors. It was desolate up there but at least it was calm with no wind so we were content passing the beefy curious cows on the unfenced road. We were on Tarn Moor for a while then rode down into the Eden Valley to Kirkby Stephen for afternoon tea at The Pink Geranium Cafe with fruit cake or crumpets. There was some banter about the cake as I missed out on it but I had the last laugh going up to Tan Hill. In the end I didn’t weigh as much as the cake-eaters so got ahead. That's my story and I'm sticking to it!

Approaching Kirkby Stephen we passed where an old railway level crossing once existed. Looking at our map revealed an old railway route curving round Kirkby Stephen and up over the Pennines to the North East, the South Durham and Lancashire Union Railway. Once a very busy route it was closed by Beeching in 1967. In its heyday it brought coke from the NE coalfield to Barrow in exchange for Iron Ore. It seemed incredible to make this discovery since we only saw the iron ore mines yesterday!

Our final leg took us round the edge of Stonesdale Moor to the start of a six miles ascent to Tan Hill. It was steep in a number of places and caught out most of us. On the really steep part at Barras edge a large Victorian house stands overlooking the valley. It turned out to be the old stationmaster's house on the South Durham and Lancashire Union Railway’s Barras station which, when in service must have been one of the highest stations in Britain at around 1150 feet above sea level, almost identical to Dent, currently the highest.

Our final leg over the huge, remote and increasingly open and windswept moor just south of the notorious A66 was a painful one for Michael's knees and Brian's sore ankle. Even though Dave declared it bad as well and in spite of being the oldest he managed to get to the Tan Hill Inn first. I was close behind messing about taking photos and enjoying the thrill of the occasion! Before the final climb we covered a mile or two of unfenced road crossing the beautifully named Potter Sike beck draining into the Bealah valley below where we were treated to hazy views as the sun cast its rays through the greyness.

And finally, to the legendary Tan Hill Inn, perfectly placed for our second overnight stop. It's location fitted exactly into our schedule, half way on the W2W and at least ten miles in any direction from significant habitation. It is so well known as the highest Inn in Britain at 1732 feet above sea level and the pub in the Everest double glazing advert. Derbyshire farmer and tv presenter Ted Moult RIP fronted the ad and famously dropped a feather to show there were no draughts through an Everest window. Until recently a framed photo with the actual feather inside had pride of place in the lounge bar but it has been stolen. A "Wanted" poster hangs in its place!

Back in Kirkby Stephen when we asked the proprietors of the Pink Geranium what to expect there was a certain sharp intake of breath and circumspection. We were definitely left pondering what it would be like, thinking the worst. Stephen was most concerned as he'd booked it! On checking in we were asked to pay in advance which is most unusual and made it look like they planned to do a runner in the night. The location is so bleak and windswept it's a bit League of Gentlemen with all the connotations that suggests. Nevertheless, we started to settle in. We settled down to a beer for half an hour to reward ourselves for our superhuman efforts getting here before going to our rooms.

Showered and changed we returned to the bar for our pre-booked dinner only to find the chef hadn't turned up. We had another pint to help contemplate the situation while we waited, Dent Brewery Ewes Juice and Black Sheep! Finally Adrian, the Polish publican realized that chef Maria must have swapped shift with chef Alice and both had forgotten. He doesn't do cooking but was able to offer us a meal of frozen lasagne . . . and were we grateful?! In the end a very pleasant evening was had and we were the only customers.  What happens in the morning will rest in our hands it seems!! The parting conversation with mein host suggested Michael would be helping out in the kitchen!

Today we cycled 44 miles and climbed a total of 4610 feet although it seemed a great deal more to me!

2012 10 09 Tuesday

Walney to Whitby Day 1
Walney to Oxenholme

Can you believe our luck. We've had wall to wall sunshine nearly all day. Good weather makes such a difference to these rides. It raises our spirits and simplifies things but above all it massively elevates the view we have of the areas we pass through. Today was no exception and, although the rule was true, being fringe Lake District, the quality of the scenery was out of this world. Well pleased we were!

The day started early, at 04:23 to be precise when mice with clogs on started their ritual dance in the room above. Along with the Hewitts in the room next door I shall never know what was going on but thankfully I went back to sleep until the alarm at 07:00.

Our departure was prompt at 08:00 followed by our first bike trip across the road as it happens to the cafe at Asdas for breakfast. Strange how they say Asdas up here as well as at home!

My usual food disaster that followed was predictable. I was the first in the queue and ordered one of the set cooked breakfasts. Michael and Judith on the other hand ordered what they wanted and, to add insult to injury, paid less for it. Will I ever learn? Later at the hotel I let the consensus decide my choice and it worked great!

By 09:00 we were off down to the west coast of Walney Island where the W2W start point is marked. While we did Jill was averting the traditional disaster of a late start by taking Dave to Halfords to buy a seat clamp and post to replace the one “Janet lost” when the bike was packed in the car in pieces. Ooops. Sorry Janet, the one that Dave should have taken better care of! Jill got a quick result as well. She drove past before we'd cycled the three miles to the Walney start giving us the thumbs up! Nice one Jill. You saved us there from Michael's wrath, a sight not to behold. Amazing how anyone can conceal wrath when you know for sure they're wrathing away under the surface! 

The start was inauspicious. The view over the Irish Sea was beautiful with a plethora of wind farms in view. However, none of the land-based razamatazz that we're used like on the C2C and WotR and TPT with sculptures, signs and landscaping. Just a sticker on a flagpole with no flag. Nevertheless, it gave us the marker for our group photo and, once taken we were on our way. There was a fly past but I don't think that counted as it was only a light plane landing at Barrow airport!

Walney has its own model town development, Vickerstown, but you wouldn't have known on the route we took.  The fight through morning rush-hour traffic in Barrow was no more than a custard fight and we were soon past the huge BAe yard sheds and the edge of the early example of a new town by James Ramsden. We were leaving on the cycle lane on the wide, tree-lined boulevard out of Barrow passing Furness Abbey but it was so boring I missed our turn-out onto country lanes. At least I had the good fortune to pass the Gatehouse to Abbey House which is an Edwyn Lutyens Edwardian creation and, therefore, a national architectural treasure.

Our route soon corrected we arrived at the remains of the Cistertian Furness Abbey, a big un as abbeys go, or should that be went? With a stop for a photo and derobing break Michael went off to find the hotel where he did his first Whitbread relief manager stint. He found it but here we go again, a sign of the times, it was all boarded up. And after all that, we were on our way proper.

Familiar territory. Narrow, hedge-lined lanes weaving around the contours and sometimes up and over them but, almost always the long way round to keep us safe from the main roads. Nevertheless, the occasional vehicles, some courteous, others not. Vans and trucks in a hurry. Tractor-mounted hedge cutters jangling our nerves. Even a monster tractor revving and bearing down on us as if it was ever likely to get past. “B****y tourists, d****d cyclists, old gimmers, who do they think they are getting in our way? We have work to do and it's being hindered!” But the fresh air and freedom, the camaraderie and the countryside, and the views from those climbs make it all worth while. The sun shimmering on the distant sea to the south and the greens and oranges of the bracken, grass and autumnal trees and grey peaks of distant mountains to the north.

But also the history of Britain unfolds as we go. Last night walking to the restaurant we passed some sculpted panels illustrating the industrial past of the Furness area. One of them showed a steel-making blast furnace marking the beginning of Barrow as an industrial city and, in its time the largest steel making town in the world. Today one of the narrow lanes at Newton was closed. We missed the subtle sign change telling us and, it wasn't until we reached the railings totally blocking our path, and I mean totally, that we realised. And the reason? The road had disappeared down a hole, the result of collapsed mine workings. With all the rain recently maybe not surprising. Thank goodness the blockade was so effective. Wouldn't want to end up down a hole immitating a mole! And the mine for? Iron ore apparently, haematite. As we diverted back the way we'd come we passed road works but on closer scrutiny they turned out to be another collapse gobbling up a chunk of the hedgerow. Here you would have no idea of the history but further on at Dalston there were the clear remains of the mines. And, of course, that all ties in with the sculpture of the industrial history which progressed to include ship building.

A cry of eureka did I hear? No, coffee was the answer! No guesses from whom! And so it came to pass, with a long descent into Ulverston, Stan Laurel's home town, and the home to the prominent Hoad Monument which is a replica of the Eddystone Lighthouse on a prominent local hill. Most importantly coffee was a success at Poppies Tea Room Café. Very nice too.

Cobbled streets behind us and more climbs and descents ahead we continued northwards up the Furness peninsula. At Greenodd the terrain changed where we were directed to our very own dedicated bridleway bridge across the Leven estuary and onto the flat, alluvial plain. This lulled us into a false sense of security.

Bigland hill was next! And it was big. It took out nearly everyone with lack of fitness the number one excuse, sorry, reason for walking. Once on top we had a good view of the Lake District mountains and a downhill run to Cartmel with only a docile bull being driven to new "pastures", ahem, a cause for concern!

As we entered the village we passed Cartmel Racecourse. How it has changed. From originally being a field used for the annual races it’s now a very permanent feature on the landscape. Cartmel village on the other hand hasn't changed and gave us more food and tea to fuel us along @CartmelCoffee.

Allithwaite and Grange over Sands came next and went without stopping. Then the caravanners' quiet lane to Mythop leading us beyond to more estuarial plains, those of the river Kent before Levens village and more vertical contouring. This lane gave Brian a connection as we passed Witherslack where a branch of Jill's family hail from. And that's another story.

Further struggles with the terrain up Sizergh Fell Road and resolutions to go to the gym more took us past the entrance to Sizergh Castle and Barn, or more accurately past it as time was pressing. This was Michael's and my connection as we retraced some of our End to End steps to Natland, just outside Kendal. This section was only marred by the motoring madness that is rush hour. And yes, it exists here as it does in urban areas only to a lesser degree.

Our final leg was another killer hill up The Helm but again for views to die for of Kendal and the Lakes mountains. As we cycled along the tops, on a single track lane squeezing past traffic dashing home we unexpectedly came to crossroads with The Station Inn, Oxenholme, our stop for the night on the opposite corner. I say unexpectedly as it's about half a mile from the railway! And there you have it: 50 miles done of which 47 miles W2W and 4700 feet climbed. And it's pretty much to be repeated tomorrow. With some bike maintenance carried out and suitably rested, plus a few painkillers as well maybe, we'll be ready to do it all again! Right, where’s the beer and fish and chips?!

2012 10 08 Monday

Walney to Whitby Day 0

Getting to Barrow in Furness

"I just rode 33.8 kilometers! Check it out on Strava: http://app.strava.com/activities/24368043" Now, I need to tell you Strava wrote that not me! but I thought you might like to share this morning's ride.

It's the most beautiful day here, sunny and dry, a perfect autumnal day. I've arrived at Preston station travelling solo to catch the train up to Barrow in Furness. Michael and Steven are driving up in Michael's car later this afternoon with Judith and Margaret. Brian and Dave separately with Brian's wife Jill. I was always making the trip under my own steam but originally planned to do it with Chrissie. By mistake I diarised Monday 8th October as the start date for the ride. But this is one of those rides where we stay over the night before so Sunday was safeguarded for the trip up. Turns out it should have been Monday for Tuesday not Sunday for Monday. Now Chrissie has other bookings so I'm making my own way to the start. 

It's comfortingly warm sitting on the platform with my beef sandwiches and a coffee writing, such a contrast to last week when I tipped over 3 inches of rain out of the gauge at home. My train leaves at 14:04 so I'll chill out here until it arrives playing with my new phone. For example, did you know, according to Strava, cycling over here I'm supposed to have burned 550 calories! . . .  .   .   . 

The morning started well. I woke on time and had time to spare. It was a misty start but that augured well for a fine day as forecast. I was away in very good time. Cycling to Preston station from Read shouldn't take more than two hours but with massive potential for a puncture from the Council's hedge cutting plus my desire to be in good time I left myself four hours for the 20 miles trip. It was worth it. No pressure. The opportunity to stop and take a photo of my beloved Pendle without recrimination. The opportunity to explore the cycleway into Preston (well, nearly into Preston) without angst because of the impediment to progress from all the anti-motorbike gateways and a final dead end that even the beer swigging alcoholic found ridiculous. And the beauty of having the time to soak up the exceptional weather. What joy! And time too for sandwiches and coffee on the sun soaked platform.

When the TransPennine Express train arrived they broke it in half and we, the Barrow lot, got the back bit, and very luxurious it was too. The journey took us through Lancaster then Carnforth, the home of Brief Encounter, that soppy, oops I mean romantic war-time drama starring Trevor Howard and Celia Johnson. Time for a romantic email methinks! At this point the train leaves the West Coast main line to skirt the Lake District and Morecambe Bay. As you can imagine, the scenery here is Britain at its best but in the sunshine today it was unbeatable.

                                         Eric Morecambe hide on Morecambe Bay

Passing the Morecambe Bay flashes, now nurtured for bird watching south of Leighton Moss, crossing the notorious sinking sands of the Kent estuary at Arnside with the silvery sun shimmering on the sand and sea, trundling through pensioners' paradise at Grange over Sands then Stan Laurel's Ulverston we finally arrived at world's end, Barrow in Furness, home to BAe's Trident Submarine. This is a railway line I shall return to. There is the sheer natural beauty but also a palpable pride of place such as in the stations, all with attractively painted wrought ironwork.

These journeys are often made by the people we meet. Today it was a young mum with her six month old Cohen. Yes, he'll be the only one in his class with that name. It came from a tv programme apparently as did our Anna's from a 1977 production of Anna Karenina. Cohen was a delight. It was his first train trip and he “chatted” all the way home.

At the station three schoolboys peered over the fence at me photographing the train. "You like trains" one said. "You're not from round here" said another. "From Millom" said the third, as if it was round the other side of the world rather than 10 miles up the road. Yes, Barrow is at the end of the world, “at the end of the longest cul-de-sac in the world” as the adage goes.

I pootled up the road to the by-pass industrial estate to find the Travelodge. Not in the slightest bit solubrious. Booked in, had a sugar-loaded brew, debagged the bike and set off to reconnoitre Walney Island, even more remote than downtown Barrow. The views from the bike were in total contrast: the natural beauty of the channel between Barrow and Walney with the backcloth of the Lake District fells on the right and the mass of "sheds" as they are known in the property world on the left overshadowed by the biggest shed of all, the BAe submarine yard formerly known as Vickers.

The island is now connected to Barrow by a bridge but the less than sparkling Ferry Inn close by suggests that wasn't always the case. The island is a combination of shingle beaches, nature reserve, caravan park, "airport" and workers village called Vickerstown. The original village core is a Conservation Area. It has the essence of a model village, that's to say an ideal settlement created by an idealist industrialist like Titus Salt's Saltaire and Lord Leverhulme's Port Sunlight and Cadbury's Bourneville . and . . .there are so many. Sadly, through private ownership and a lack of appreciation of the inherent quality and style of the houses there are only a few remaining in tact but what art nouveau treasures they are. Discoveries like this are the manna that continues to make life a joy.

Over on the west coast is the Irish Sea and, though you'd hardly know it, the start of the W2W. Now found I could return to base but would do it via the coastal path and the tiny village of Biggar, there's a contradiction, where the beer is three pints for £5. I'll be back! Back at the hote . . Travelodge, as I pulled up Janet was dropping off Dave, and Brian and Jill were unloading. All good and the Ormonds and Finns arrived soon after.

We were changed and off on foot by 19:00 into "downtown" Barrow to eat at Paulo Gianni's, a restaurant that came with an online recommendation and, it was quite OK. The all Monday "happy hour" was a novelty as were the “invisible” black serviettes on black marble tables. Right, a balmy walk back and negotiations done for an early departure we were off to bed. Only time will tell if Dave's missing seat post bolt expedition and Asda's breakfast will interfere with the best laid plans of Mike and men.

L2B - second and final part

2012 09 16 Sunday

(Continued) After the descent we passed under our first motorway. With little knowledge of this area I guessed that it was the M25, an important marker to giving me a real sense of location and terrain. Turns out we’d done 14miles. Now the capital city was behind us. Indeed, the urban area at Sutton/ Wallington had already given way to the stockbroker belt at Chipstead and now we were in the famous English countryside of the Home Counties. Chipstead straddles the border of the Borough of Croydon and Surrey and moving into Surrey added to the feeling we were leaving “the smoke”. The local amateur football and rugby playing fields on the top of the hill were in active use as we passed. In fact they have also been used for filming some of the tv drama Footballers’ Wives and I wonder if we can conclude that’s an added indication of the type of area we are passing through.

At this point we were cycling on country lanes just to the east of Redhill which, today was the start of the final stage of the Tour of Britain, the “Milk Race” as was, in which Jonathan Tiernan-Locke was in the lead and looking favourite for a British win for the first time in over 30 years. I would have loved to have been there to be a part of it, among the record breaking crowds for this event. We would know the result by the time we were on the return journey home.  

Our second significant climb up Church Hill came shortly before the M23 skew overbridge at the 19 miles point. This second motorway was another clear marker for me and about a third of the way there. The ride by now was becoming straightforward and gently pleasurable. No major features to report and no real change in the weather. There was a gentle south westerly breeze that was noticeable because it was cool but, as every cyclist knows, it would be impacting on our speed too.

After another short rise we were at the 22 miles point, The Dog and Duck pub at Outwood. This was the first of three Mechanic Points but for me a food stop. A convenient picnic table was just the ticket enabling me to sample the cheese sandwiches I’d brought from home yesterday (You’ll eat anything when energy is needed!) Many of the other riders were taking the opportunity to have a break too. The field today is quite small at around 3000. However, there is a similarity between this event and the big charity runs I’ve done. There are T shirts of many different charities being worn and the participants are mostly enthusiastic about the fundraising rather than cycling. The majority of us are proceeding at a similar pace but a few serious road cyclists keep overtaking.

Beside me taking a break were two men wearing Amnesty International T shirts. The younger one lay in the grass looking exhausted while the other, probably his dad, was keeping an eye on him. I was taking my time, tweeting as I ate. The Inn sign advertising Christmas dinner definitely warranted a tweet! When I was ready to go I noticed that the Amnesty lads had left before me. On the road again we passed under the flight path for Gatwick. I then soon found I was overtaking the inexperienced and unfit on the next incline and in the bunch were the trandems and the Amnesty lads. This time it was Turner Hill, a very significant feature in the middle of the Weald. I’m sure any geologist would tell you as much!

When I saw the Turner Hill village signs and, eventually the pretty village green, I could relate it to the lunch stop DOITFORCHARITY had advertised. They were putting on a buffet spread for us and was I ready for it?! We’d done 28 miles: half way.

Many cyclists were gathered at the pub on the green, The Crown but there was no evidence of food. Bikes were going both ways on the same road which was confusing. Seeing some of the road bike boys go past I reckoned that they should be ahead of me so must have just eaten. The papers said “buffet at The Ark” but no sign of any biblical vessel. Sitting looking back at the exhausted riders coming up the hill I could finally see the brown sign for The Ark and headed in its direction hoping to beat the floods!

The Ark turned out to be the Village Hall and sports ground, a fantastic facility for a small village, along with its four pubs! The buffet was all outside. Good job the rains were keeping off. There were savoury, cake, fruit and tea stalls, very ambitious but very successful. Makes me wonder about the London to Paris ride next year with French food! Anyway, the Amnesty boys arrived and asked me to take their photo, father and son as it happened. Their phone battery went flat so I used mine and emailed it to them on the spot! These smart phones are so much more. The large group of frankly unfit friends next to me were talking about their next meet up: Ditchling Beacon. The way they uttered those words were enough to strike fear into any cyclist! They reminded me that I had already been advised that Ditchling Beacon might be a problem!

Refreshed, it was back up to the crossroads past the attractive cottage-style houses and down the hiiiiiiiiiiiiiiill, an unusually long one, five miles roughly. One of the first things to impact as we turned at the crossroads onto the descent was the distant view of Ditchling Beacon, like a wall! Cue orchestra! Strident violins! Horror of horrors! Or plan right now walk up it to the sound of Greensleeves ! Definitely favourite!

Whilst writing this blog in the comfort of my own home I have been able to refer to my record of the ride on the computer. The smart phone App Strava turned on for the duration of the ride records the event and allows me to see, in detail, the route on a map, the elevation profile (you should see Ditchling Beacon on that! It’s like a needle!), distance, time and height gained. It’s really clever and comprehensive. Try it http://app.strava.com/rides/22157955 if it will let you. Even Google street view is possible and other detail like the names of the hills etc. and this long descent is called Ardingly Sprint. I don’t know about that but I was quite happy to take my feet off the pedals and let the wind rush through my hair! Ahem!

Strangely we found ourselves climbing past houses again into an urban area as we passed through the town of Haywoods Heath. The Beacon was looming larger now.

Ditchling was next. I would have loved to have dallied in this pretty Sussex village, the home of the famous sculptor Eric Gill. It has a reputation as an artists’ community and offers many visitor opportunities. Not today though. Passing through the village was a small descent on this five mile climb. By now we’d done about two thirds of gentle climb which continued further before kicking up steeply. Before the headline act I stopped for a drink and chatted to a young couple who, like me, had never cycled this road. They similarly were aware of the reputation of the hill. They led off and rounding a left hand bend at the foot of the hill where the road started the traverse of the escarpment we were all faced with and immediately accepted the long walk. I did try to cycle but my left leg packed up almost immediately, something that has never happened before. I think it was cramp just above the knee. At a mile in length though and at a gradient of 1 in 6 no massage would have made my body capable of sustaining the effort needed to cycle to the top! But the walk was well worth it.

The sight of a straggle of walking cyclists on Ditchling Beacon must be very common. In July when the British Heart Foundation have their mammoth event I presume the road is closed to motor traffic as 27,000 cyclists are released into the Sussex countryside. Apparently, in the 37 years of that annual event 7 cyclists have died. Ironically, I wonder if it was their hearts which gave up on Ditchling Beacon. I’ll not dwell on that but instead have a look back at the fabulous view of the Weald from the 800 feet summit like everyone else. Spectacular.  

Photos taken, all that remained was to ride/coast down to the Brighton Promenade finish line. It was about 7 miles but, from the tops, the English Channel was visible making it seem less. There was some fast descent, particularly after crossing the A27, the South Downs east-west route, but it wasn’t the pleasure it could have been because it’s a busy road. The final half of that distance was in the town still on the busy artery so, when it came, the sight of the prom was very welcome. The finish was roughly another mile to the east at the foot of the long slip road onto the lower promenade and a huge round of applause from the waiting crowd of families and friends with support vehicles. I though there must be someone special behind me when it all kicked off! Name taken by the organizers and medal doled out, that was it! About six hours, 54 miles and 3000 feet of elevation after starting at Streatham I’d done it and, on my faithful Brompton too. Something to feel quite content about: a bonus really on top of the £2000 plus raised for Rosa’s charity.

The coach I’d booked back to London wasn’t until nearly 5 o’clock so I used my time to look at Brighton’s iconic landmarks: the good east pier and the rusting hulk of the west pier, Volks’s Electric Railway, the Grand hotel, the Georgian architecture, the Royal Pavilion and the Lanes. Considering the very chilly on-shore breeze there were still a lot of tourists braving the elements and enjoying what Brighton has to offer.

All done it was good to get on a warm and luxurious coach and relax on the two and a half hour journey back to Victoria Coach Station in London. There was an added bonus of extra warmth when the sun came out over the Weald. I’d cycled most of the way in my CLIC Sargent short-sleeved top but hadn’t appreciated how cool it was. Time for a quick Google of the Tour of Britain which revealed that Jonathan Tiernan-Locke had indeed won: a bonus to the day’s events.    

More cycling to the Tube at Sloane Square and then back from Terminal 5 saw me finish at around 9 o’clock, not yet tired having done over 60 miles, but fatigue will come! When I read later that there was to be an off road, 75 miles BHF event the following weekend my mouth watered in anticipation! But not this year I fear!