Thursday 9th August 2007. Leg 11: Tarbolton to Glendaruel.
So this is Middlemuir Caravan park. We are parked on a slight slope. More ‘Titanic’ parallels, this time it’s the crockery, which seems to want to slide from the shelves at the slightest opportunity.
Off at 09:15, into a bright and apparently windless day. Not a cloud on the horizon.
Second breakfast at Monkton Lodge services near Prestwick Airport. Muffins, cappuccino, J2O. Hanging on the wall, an empty box, labelled “Take-Away Menu” causes to me to pause a while and ponder.
Swarms of tiny black flies hit us on the A77. Keep your mouth shut.
Then onto the A78, where “The Great White Whiskerless One” stares impassively as we pass (see Finn McCool, Leg 9).
Negotiating the roads round Irvine, there was much more broken glass to be seen on the roadside. Every morning before we set out, I make sure I check the tyres for embedded sharp objects. Note to self: extra vigilance require when checking tomorrow.
Meet Jacky at Tesco Irvine, 11:30. The hugest tower of Pringles I have ever seen is there. Is it in the guidebooks? Very tasty paninis in the café, surrounded by happy-looking pre-school kiddies being fed (Tesco – very little whelps). Left after a very long stay of about an hour.
Up the A78, very hot on the ascents, with a few short stops along the way to try and get some shade for Georgina. Some like it hot. She does not.
Then we’re on the flat coastal run to Wemyss Bay (meeting J. in a layby North of Largs). My eye was caught by a Hillman Imp in pristine condition, just south of the ferry terminal. Boarded the 16:45 ferry, together with white van lady, yay!
At Rothesay, Jacky pushes on towards the ferry off Bute to Colintraive. We stop for a bit a snap, and the weather has suddenly gone overcast. Fancied an Ice Cream, but we felt our delicate Sassenach pallets might not be up to Irn Bru flavour, not helped by the chip-fat smell emanating from the shop. We headed for Rhubodach (Rubber Duck?) to follow Jacky’s tyre-tracks to the ferry. Georgina’s verdict on Rothesay: “like a cross between Tobermory and Morecambe, but without the nice ice cream.”
Just rolled down to the ferry, up the ramp and off it went. (Good of them to wait for us).
9 miles North, arrived at campsite around 20:00, via the back road up the Glen. Consequently nearly couldn’t find the campsite. But we asked at a nearby cottage. Owls in evidence in the trees, and quite a few midges too. Jacky had prepared a hearty meal Further re-planning ensued, to capitalise on the miles gained from yesterday’s sacrifice of the rest day.
A few spots of rain, followed by overnight rain.
The insect scores:
Midges: few – black flies: infinity.
Couple of buzzards and the odd heron spotted along the route.
(Thoughts as I drift off to sleep: Am I imagining it, or is the Brooks a tad less uncomfortable today? Could be down to better road services. Georgina has been very tolerant of the few bad calls I’ve made today on the navigation front. Perhaps we are finally gelling together as a team. Is this Glenda Jackson? No Glendaruel Zzz…)
Distance covered: 63.2 miles
Moving time: 06:48
Average speed: 9.3 mph
Maximum speed: 28.0 mph.
Monday, 17 September 2007
Day 12 08/08/07
Wednesday 8th August 2007. Leg 10: Penpont to Tarbolton via North Nowheresville (Map Ref 884944).
Bad kharma this morning as the enormity of Scotland looms ahead of us. Yes, we’ve done 600 miles. Yes, we’ve crossed the border to leave England behind. But today is a big psychological downer, for a number of reasons. Firstly, we’re losing a rest day. Secondly, I feel I’ve failed in my planning, as all my routes seem to have ended in the recycle bin. Thirdly, we threw in the towel last night 7 miles short of the campsite, which in itself was a minor defeat. But that’s compounded this morning by not being able to agree on where to re-start the cycling today.
I’m holding out for being taken back down the A76 to last night’s pick-up point. Georgina is not keen on that idea, and thinks we should just start at Thornhill,a few miles to the East of here. I can’t agree to that, as it would mean that we’d had too much assistance, and hence I’d feel we’d cheated. Besides there would be a 7-mile gap in Garmin’s tracklog, which would offend my obsessive compulsive nature. The argument continues with a massive falling out, where I finally say that if we’re going to do that, I’m ready to just call it a day and go home. (and I really mean it).
Jacky is doing her best to mediate, but I stomp off to the toilet block, to reflect. Mentally, Georgina and I have not quite ‘gelled’. Which is a great shame, as physically on the bikes it’s as though we’re joined at the hip. We both pedal with a similar cadence, we respond to road conditions alike, changing gear virtually simultaneously. And she has been great as my eyes and ears, warning me if I fail to notice anything dangerous ahead or behind.
When I return, the atmosphere seems to have improved, and everyone is much more in the mood to compromise. The middle path agreed upon is that we will cycle off the campsite, and do a little southward loop just to put in a few extra miles, without completely retracing our steps back to the original pick-up point. Everyone is mighty relieved. That iceberg just grazed us.
Meanwhile on the saddle front, the one which Jonathan brought over to Ainsdale is no more comfy than the Brooks (the damage is done). So I take the decision to swap saddles again. (“Zippin’ up my boots, Goin’ back to my Brooks, yeah” – Odyssey.)
All this kerfuffle means that we do not get away till 10:45. But, hey, we’ve now actually got a reasonable distance of about 47 miles to Tarbolton, in place of the originally planned implausible 80 to catch the last ferry to Bute. The only other fly in the ointment is that we have quite a climb ahead of us out of Galloway into Ayrshire.
Cakes in Thornhill after just 4 miles. We’re not exactly making immense progress. We see some cyclists heading south, possibly doing the JoGLE.
Georgina likes the monument, which has a big plinth and a spindly column, as though they ran out of dosh after the first 6 feet. I feel it’s a bit like the Stonehenge on Spinal Tap.
General trend of the road is upward. Six miles out of Thornhill we stop in a layby on the A76 next to the river Nith, and hey, Presto! Here comes Jacky. Beautiful river, beautiful day: plenty sun, and not much wind in evidence at the moment. Pity about the discarded Telly in the lay-by though. Really spoils the view somewhat. Nevertheless, old habits die hard, and we stand and watch it for a while, before remarking “There’s nothing on the Telly”. (“Broken Household Appliance, Natural Forest” – Grandaddy seems so very appropriate).
Roadkill is tending to be small mammals today.
At 13:45 ,we dined on bananas at Kirkconnel on a bench near the river, but you don’t want to know about that. At some point, we hit such rough road surfaces, that I decided to stop, and let some air out of our tyres, just to give a less bone-shaking ride. I knew that this may increase the chances of pinch-punctures, but I felt I would be able to justify this sop to passenger comfort should a Board of Trade enquiry be called.
Ayrshire border was reached at 15:00. Shortly after, bumped into Jacky reading Harry Potter in a lay-by. 23 miles done (half-way mark?)
Eventually you cruise along the A76 at an altitude of 700 feet, before gently descending to the lower lands of Ayrshire.
Cumnock toilet stop 17:00, very fine example of gents’ upright urinals in the Victorian style. Feel these ought to be featured on those ‘Cash in the Attic daytime programs. There must be a market for collectors in the U.S.A.
Turning West from the A76 toward Tarbolton, the road surfaces deteriorated, but there was more downhill to exult in. Last turning for the campsite took a long time to appear, though. Made landfall 18:45. Thus was our ‘rest day’ spent.
Weather notes: Wind still westerly. Sunny / cloudy / sunny. Georgina was hot / cold / hot, with cycling top off / on / off. Wind abated towards evening. Very pleasant.
A76 pretty good, not too busy, but some rough surfaces latterly.
After 45 miles in the saddle, you don’t have to walk like John Wayne, but it helps.
Distance covered: 44.2 miles
Moving time: 05:34
Average speed: 7.9 mph
Maximum speed: 26.5 mph.
Bad kharma this morning as the enormity of Scotland looms ahead of us. Yes, we’ve done 600 miles. Yes, we’ve crossed the border to leave England behind. But today is a big psychological downer, for a number of reasons. Firstly, we’re losing a rest day. Secondly, I feel I’ve failed in my planning, as all my routes seem to have ended in the recycle bin. Thirdly, we threw in the towel last night 7 miles short of the campsite, which in itself was a minor defeat. But that’s compounded this morning by not being able to agree on where to re-start the cycling today.
I’m holding out for being taken back down the A76 to last night’s pick-up point. Georgina is not keen on that idea, and thinks we should just start at Thornhill,a few miles to the East of here. I can’t agree to that, as it would mean that we’d had too much assistance, and hence I’d feel we’d cheated. Besides there would be a 7-mile gap in Garmin’s tracklog, which would offend my obsessive compulsive nature. The argument continues with a massive falling out, where I finally say that if we’re going to do that, I’m ready to just call it a day and go home. (and I really mean it).
Jacky is doing her best to mediate, but I stomp off to the toilet block, to reflect. Mentally, Georgina and I have not quite ‘gelled’. Which is a great shame, as physically on the bikes it’s as though we’re joined at the hip. We both pedal with a similar cadence, we respond to road conditions alike, changing gear virtually simultaneously. And she has been great as my eyes and ears, warning me if I fail to notice anything dangerous ahead or behind.
When I return, the atmosphere seems to have improved, and everyone is much more in the mood to compromise. The middle path agreed upon is that we will cycle off the campsite, and do a little southward loop just to put in a few extra miles, without completely retracing our steps back to the original pick-up point. Everyone is mighty relieved. That iceberg just grazed us.
Meanwhile on the saddle front, the one which Jonathan brought over to Ainsdale is no more comfy than the Brooks (the damage is done). So I take the decision to swap saddles again. (“Zippin’ up my boots, Goin’ back to my Brooks, yeah” – Odyssey.)
All this kerfuffle means that we do not get away till 10:45. But, hey, we’ve now actually got a reasonable distance of about 47 miles to Tarbolton, in place of the originally planned implausible 80 to catch the last ferry to Bute. The only other fly in the ointment is that we have quite a climb ahead of us out of Galloway into Ayrshire.
Cakes in Thornhill after just 4 miles. We’re not exactly making immense progress. We see some cyclists heading south, possibly doing the JoGLE.
Georgina likes the monument, which has a big plinth and a spindly column, as though they ran out of dosh after the first 6 feet. I feel it’s a bit like the Stonehenge on Spinal Tap.
General trend of the road is upward. Six miles out of Thornhill we stop in a layby on the A76 next to the river Nith, and hey, Presto! Here comes Jacky. Beautiful river, beautiful day: plenty sun, and not much wind in evidence at the moment. Pity about the discarded Telly in the lay-by though. Really spoils the view somewhat. Nevertheless, old habits die hard, and we stand and watch it for a while, before remarking “There’s nothing on the Telly”. (“Broken Household Appliance, Natural Forest” – Grandaddy seems so very appropriate).
Roadkill is tending to be small mammals today.
At 13:45 ,we dined on bananas at Kirkconnel on a bench near the river, but you don’t want to know about that. At some point, we hit such rough road surfaces, that I decided to stop, and let some air out of our tyres, just to give a less bone-shaking ride. I knew that this may increase the chances of pinch-punctures, but I felt I would be able to justify this sop to passenger comfort should a Board of Trade enquiry be called.
Ayrshire border was reached at 15:00. Shortly after, bumped into Jacky reading Harry Potter in a lay-by. 23 miles done (half-way mark?)
Eventually you cruise along the A76 at an altitude of 700 feet, before gently descending to the lower lands of Ayrshire.
Cumnock toilet stop 17:00, very fine example of gents’ upright urinals in the Victorian style. Feel these ought to be featured on those ‘Cash in the Attic daytime programs. There must be a market for collectors in the U.S.A.
Turning West from the A76 toward Tarbolton, the road surfaces deteriorated, but there was more downhill to exult in. Last turning for the campsite took a long time to appear, though. Made landfall 18:45. Thus was our ‘rest day’ spent.
Weather notes: Wind still westerly. Sunny / cloudy / sunny. Georgina was hot / cold / hot, with cycling top off / on / off. Wind abated towards evening. Very pleasant.
A76 pretty good, not too busy, but some rough surfaces latterly.
After 45 miles in the saddle, you don’t have to walk like John Wayne, but it helps.
Distance covered: 44.2 miles
Moving time: 05:34
Average speed: 7.9 mph
Maximum speed: 26.5 mph.
Day 11 07/08/07
Tuesday 7th August, 2007. Leg 9: Lazonby – South Nowheresville (Map Ref 913861)
My Ischial Protuberances have decided to do a Jim Morrison and the Doors’ "Break on Through to the other side". They are now exploring an entirely new dimension in pain.
We set off to find the A6, as we thought this would give us a bit of a boost, speedwise, however it was a hardish climb out of Lazonby. What time we got away is not recorded, but we were in Carlisle at noon enjoying a Big Mac Meal each. Hand dryer in the gents was World Dryer Corporation serial number 156777. Must tick that off in my Ian Allan spotters’ book.
After the meal, was aghast to find that I'd left Garmin on the handlebars right in the middle of busy pedestrian precinct. Mighty relieved to see he was still there. Hats off to the citizens of Carlisle for honesty.
On the A7, a heavily laden touring cyclist passed us going south. He was cycling with one leg. The other wedged on the down tube. I thought that seemed somewhat nonchalant.
One mile south of Longtown, met Jacky in layby, 3:30 ish. She mentioned that she'd encountered the cyclist. He was German, and had injured his leg. He was trying to get to hospital in Carlisle. She couldn't help as she was heading the other way.
By this time, we had only come 23 miles, about a third of the way.
Cycling through Longtown, a song for cyclists which popped into my head at this point was "Born to be Mild" by Steppenwolf (should that be Steppensheep?). You know the one...
"Get yer pedals turnin'
Head out on the highway
lookin' for a tea-room,
for malt loaf or Eccles cake."
My reverie was disturbed by a loud crack, which turned out to be caused by Georgina's back tyre flicking a large stone sideways, which rebounded off the door of a parked car. Apologies to the motorist whose paintwork may have been damaged by this.
At length, the song in my head mutated into that lament to saddle soreness, "Between a Rock and a Hard Place" by the Rolling Stones.
We turned West along the A6071 into a rather harsh headwind and Dylan's "All Along the Watchtower seemed appropriate for this border country. (Two riders were approaching, and the wind began to howl).
I then tried whistling something appropriately Gaelic, designed to lift our moods as we headed toward Scotland, a Dick Gaughan song. I don't think Georgina was impressed. We stopped for a snack. I drew out a couple of bananas from my right hand pannier. Imagining them as a pair of pearl-handled duelling pistols, I asked Georgina to choose her weapon. She shot me a look of disdain, and chose the least blemished of the two. As we set off again, two buzzards appeared, rather too much like vultures for my liking.
At Gretna, Jacky was waiting for that "crossing the border" photo-opportunity. We posed and continued Westward through the town, in search of a toilet. Somehow, we managed to miss the facilities, but we were able to flag Jacky down for use of the cassette toilet just before getting onto the A75.
Fairly hard going for the next 30-odd miles along the A75 into the headwind. With me in front most of the time. We're going slowly, slowly going crazy, with Georgina imagining the cat's eyes to be aliens part-buried in the road, and waiting to spring out and scuttle Space-Invader-like across the tarmac.
Now we had heavy rain showers to contend with. ("A Hard Rain's Gonna Fall" - Bob Dylan).
I think I can safely say that the A75 has the most litter-strewn verges we have encountered so far. I trust it’s only Iron Brew in those half-empty bottles.
Eleven miles East of Dumfries, there is a hole in the A75 the shape of Ireland. Legend has it that this was created when Finn McCool, lorry driver with McCool’s Refrigerated Logistics, broke down late one night on his way to the Stranraer ferry. With a rapidly defrosting consignment of frozen turkeys, and realising he had missed the sailing, in a blind fury he tore up a chunk of road with his bare hands, and flung it clear across Dumfries and Galloway into South Ayrshire, to land on the soft shoulder of the A78 near Irvine. There the jagged fragment sits, its rubber cat’s eye in a cast-iron chair presiding over the passing traffic, like a miniature Buddha. The only witnesses to its fall from the heavens were a tribe of feral cats, who worship it to this day as “The Great White Whiskerless One From The Sky". (Sorry for the excessively long sentences in the above section, these may be reduced on appeal).
17:30 loo stop and coffee and coke at the rather plush Hetland Hall hotel, where on our approach, a couple of American guests asked if we’d come far. (“Ownly from bladdy Lend’s End!” I thought to myself).
Pavement picnic alongside the A75 at 18:30.
Dumfries (loo stop) 19:30.
Sang a number of songs designed to cheer us up over the last 13 miles to Penpont. “500 miles” by the Proclaimers seemed appropriate. All were received in stony silence by Georgina.
Dead halt 20:30. 7 miles to go. Georgina would / could go no further. Radioed a Mayday to the “S.S. Carpathia” a.k.a. Jacky + Mercedes motorhome, who steamed down the A76 to pick us up. A huge relief.
Weather summary: overcast at first. Strong Westerly. 3 heavy showers, one nearly hailstones. Fine evening, with wind dropped.
Total buzzard count: 5.
It was only when we got to the campsite that Jacky disclosed that she had been taken poorly during the day with flu’-like symptoms, and had had to lie down in the back of the van on the campsite for 3 hours. This had given her the strength to fight back, and somehow rally herself to pick us up. So while we’d been struggling most of the day against a headwind, we’d been oblivious to Jacky’s plight. Luckily the symptoms cleared, and Jacky was to feel much better after a good night’s sleep. The voyage could so easily have ended in failure that day. We never saw that particular “iceberg” coming.
Distance covered: 60.7 miles
Moving time: 07:48
Average speed: 7.8 mph
Maximum speed: 27.9 mph.
My Ischial Protuberances have decided to do a Jim Morrison and the Doors’ "Break on Through to the other side". They are now exploring an entirely new dimension in pain.
We set off to find the A6, as we thought this would give us a bit of a boost, speedwise, however it was a hardish climb out of Lazonby. What time we got away is not recorded, but we were in Carlisle at noon enjoying a Big Mac Meal each. Hand dryer in the gents was World Dryer Corporation serial number 156777. Must tick that off in my Ian Allan spotters’ book.
After the meal, was aghast to find that I'd left Garmin on the handlebars right in the middle of busy pedestrian precinct. Mighty relieved to see he was still there. Hats off to the citizens of Carlisle for honesty.
On the A7, a heavily laden touring cyclist passed us going south. He was cycling with one leg. The other wedged on the down tube. I thought that seemed somewhat nonchalant.
One mile south of Longtown, met Jacky in layby, 3:30 ish. She mentioned that she'd encountered the cyclist. He was German, and had injured his leg. He was trying to get to hospital in Carlisle. She couldn't help as she was heading the other way.
By this time, we had only come 23 miles, about a third of the way.
Cycling through Longtown, a song for cyclists which popped into my head at this point was "Born to be Mild" by Steppenwolf (should that be Steppensheep?). You know the one...
"Get yer pedals turnin'
Head out on the highway
lookin' for a tea-room,
for malt loaf or Eccles cake."
My reverie was disturbed by a loud crack, which turned out to be caused by Georgina's back tyre flicking a large stone sideways, which rebounded off the door of a parked car. Apologies to the motorist whose paintwork may have been damaged by this.
At length, the song in my head mutated into that lament to saddle soreness, "Between a Rock and a Hard Place" by the Rolling Stones.
We turned West along the A6071 into a rather harsh headwind and Dylan's "All Along the Watchtower seemed appropriate for this border country. (Two riders were approaching, and the wind began to howl).
I then tried whistling something appropriately Gaelic, designed to lift our moods as we headed toward Scotland, a Dick Gaughan song. I don't think Georgina was impressed. We stopped for a snack. I drew out a couple of bananas from my right hand pannier. Imagining them as a pair of pearl-handled duelling pistols, I asked Georgina to choose her weapon. She shot me a look of disdain, and chose the least blemished of the two. As we set off again, two buzzards appeared, rather too much like vultures for my liking.
At Gretna, Jacky was waiting for that "crossing the border" photo-opportunity. We posed and continued Westward through the town, in search of a toilet. Somehow, we managed to miss the facilities, but we were able to flag Jacky down for use of the cassette toilet just before getting onto the A75.
Fairly hard going for the next 30-odd miles along the A75 into the headwind. With me in front most of the time. We're going slowly, slowly going crazy, with Georgina imagining the cat's eyes to be aliens part-buried in the road, and waiting to spring out and scuttle Space-Invader-like across the tarmac.
Now we had heavy rain showers to contend with. ("A Hard Rain's Gonna Fall" - Bob Dylan).
I think I can safely say that the A75 has the most litter-strewn verges we have encountered so far. I trust it’s only Iron Brew in those half-empty bottles.
Eleven miles East of Dumfries, there is a hole in the A75 the shape of Ireland. Legend has it that this was created when Finn McCool, lorry driver with McCool’s Refrigerated Logistics, broke down late one night on his way to the Stranraer ferry. With a rapidly defrosting consignment of frozen turkeys, and realising he had missed the sailing, in a blind fury he tore up a chunk of road with his bare hands, and flung it clear across Dumfries and Galloway into South Ayrshire, to land on the soft shoulder of the A78 near Irvine. There the jagged fragment sits, its rubber cat’s eye in a cast-iron chair presiding over the passing traffic, like a miniature Buddha. The only witnesses to its fall from the heavens were a tribe of feral cats, who worship it to this day as “The Great White Whiskerless One From The Sky". (Sorry for the excessively long sentences in the above section, these may be reduced on appeal).
17:30 loo stop and coffee and coke at the rather plush Hetland Hall hotel, where on our approach, a couple of American guests asked if we’d come far. (“Ownly from bladdy Lend’s End!” I thought to myself).
Pavement picnic alongside the A75 at 18:30.
Dumfries (loo stop) 19:30.
Sang a number of songs designed to cheer us up over the last 13 miles to Penpont. “500 miles” by the Proclaimers seemed appropriate. All were received in stony silence by Georgina.
Dead halt 20:30. 7 miles to go. Georgina would / could go no further. Radioed a Mayday to the “S.S. Carpathia” a.k.a. Jacky + Mercedes motorhome, who steamed down the A76 to pick us up. A huge relief.
Weather summary: overcast at first. Strong Westerly. 3 heavy showers, one nearly hailstones. Fine evening, with wind dropped.
Total buzzard count: 5.
It was only when we got to the campsite that Jacky disclosed that she had been taken poorly during the day with flu’-like symptoms, and had had to lie down in the back of the van on the campsite for 3 hours. This had given her the strength to fight back, and somehow rally herself to pick us up. So while we’d been struggling most of the day against a headwind, we’d been oblivious to Jacky’s plight. Luckily the symptoms cleared, and Jacky was to feel much better after a good night’s sleep. The voyage could so easily have ended in failure that day. We never saw that particular “iceberg” coming.
Distance covered: 60.7 miles
Moving time: 07:48
Average speed: 7.8 mph
Maximum speed: 27.9 mph.
Day 10 06/08/07
Monday 6th August, 2007. Leg 8: Lancaster – Lazonby.
Full English breakfast in hotel before checking out. Collected bikes from the 'cellar' where the drinks are kept cool. Condensation on the bikes as soon as they hit the outside world. Didn't have time to use the spa or the pool: another frustration of our demanding schedule. Three pints of beer were some compensation last night, though.
Today is going to be a bit hard as we head towards the Fells. Am kind of looking forward to it, as I feel like we're on home turf, in t'North Country. Wind seems good, southerly, some cloud cover, giving cooler conditions than yesterday.
Got off at 9:50, and headed for Hornby up the Lune valley. RAF jets active overhead. Then Ingleborough appeared. We cycled in its presence for the next 10 miles, till we reached Kirby Lonsdale. Lunch was wraps from Booths, eaten by the bottom bridge in K.L.
Ice cream in Sedbegh, where we met up with Jacky at 2 o'clock. Departed 2.20, after another RAF fly-past over the town.
An hour later, spirits still high as we ate a few wild raspberries from the hedge alongside the B6257. Georgina amazed that two old railway viaducts are passed without so much as a photo-stop. Got a busy schedule.
Crossing underneath the West Coast Mainline and the M6, followed by a long climb and steep descent into Tebay for a toilet stop, sandwiches, and an enforced sojourn in the bus-shelter waiting for a very heavy shower to abate. Set off again, nearly 5 p.m. and still a long way from Lazonby.
Big pull up the hill out of Orton to traverse from the Lune gorge to the Eden Valley, wondering if the ominous clouds behind would catch us up (they didn't).
Celebratory half pint and coke in the White Horse, King's Meaburn, near enough our half way point (495 miles).
Very unpleasant short stretch of A66 to negotiate, lorries bearing down on us, with no room to get past.
More short steep hills, including the one up to Culgaith where "Woah, Nelly" a RAF Tornado (fast and raucous!) passed directly overhead. 19:20 hours, sir! Didn't know they flew so late (or quite so low).
Georgina's knees hurt. My knees hurt.
Arriving at Lazonby at ten to nine, we're both done for - quite a contrast from yesterday's easy time of it. There's a swimming pool, but that shut at 7.
More 'fine tuning' of the route for tomorrow. (to use more 'A' roads, of course).
Distance covered: 65.2 miles
Moving time: 08:05
Average speed: 8.1 mph
Maximum speed: 26.1 mph.
Full English breakfast in hotel before checking out. Collected bikes from the 'cellar' where the drinks are kept cool. Condensation on the bikes as soon as they hit the outside world. Didn't have time to use the spa or the pool: another frustration of our demanding schedule. Three pints of beer were some compensation last night, though.
Today is going to be a bit hard as we head towards the Fells. Am kind of looking forward to it, as I feel like we're on home turf, in t'North Country. Wind seems good, southerly, some cloud cover, giving cooler conditions than yesterday.
Got off at 9:50, and headed for Hornby up the Lune valley. RAF jets active overhead. Then Ingleborough appeared. We cycled in its presence for the next 10 miles, till we reached Kirby Lonsdale. Lunch was wraps from Booths, eaten by the bottom bridge in K.L.
Ice cream in Sedbegh, where we met up with Jacky at 2 o'clock. Departed 2.20, after another RAF fly-past over the town.
An hour later, spirits still high as we ate a few wild raspberries from the hedge alongside the B6257. Georgina amazed that two old railway viaducts are passed without so much as a photo-stop. Got a busy schedule.
Crossing underneath the West Coast Mainline and the M6, followed by a long climb and steep descent into Tebay for a toilet stop, sandwiches, and an enforced sojourn in the bus-shelter waiting for a very heavy shower to abate. Set off again, nearly 5 p.m. and still a long way from Lazonby.
Big pull up the hill out of Orton to traverse from the Lune gorge to the Eden Valley, wondering if the ominous clouds behind would catch us up (they didn't).
Celebratory half pint and coke in the White Horse, King's Meaburn, near enough our half way point (495 miles).
Very unpleasant short stretch of A66 to negotiate, lorries bearing down on us, with no room to get past.
More short steep hills, including the one up to Culgaith where "Woah, Nelly" a RAF Tornado (fast and raucous!) passed directly overhead. 19:20 hours, sir! Didn't know they flew so late (or quite so low).
Georgina's knees hurt. My knees hurt.
Arriving at Lazonby at ten to nine, we're both done for - quite a contrast from yesterday's easy time of it. There's a swimming pool, but that shut at 7.
More 'fine tuning' of the route for tomorrow. (to use more 'A' roads, of course).
Distance covered: 65.2 miles
Moving time: 08:05
Average speed: 8.1 mph
Maximum speed: 26.1 mph.
Sunday, 9 September 2007
Day 9 05/08/07
Sunday 5th August 2007. Leg 7: Ainsdale to Lancaster.
Jonathan has driven over from West Yorks, and brought the saddle from my commuter bike, as my bum is very sore. Have high hopes that this will help.
Also across from home territory are Debbie and Simon Hassell, who have come to cycle this leg for us. Simon’s parents have driven them over, and will take them back home after this leg.
We are looking forward to a little luxury this evening, as we have booked a night in the Lancaster Holiday Inn to celebrate the approximate half-way point. And of course, it’s just a couple of weeks since Georgina had her degree conferred at Lancaster University.
A leisurely start time of 10.00 a.m. followed by a 50 mile run to Lancaster is just what we need after previous exertions.
Along the front at Southport, in the baking sun, where a good cycle path is to be had. Then it’s inland towards Preston. The sunshine has brought out classic cars in their hundreds. MGs, TRs,and a surprising number of bubble cars. Man, they must be hot inside those canopies.
Ice creams on approach to Preston. Our first of the trip. This is more like it!
Lunch on the lawn at the entrance to an NHS establishment north of Preston. Got to keep stoked up with energy, the Hassells have their preventative medicine from the bonk-bag in the form of tortilla wraps. Sounds nice. The Hassells are into triathlons (I would say Simon in a serious way, but not an over-serious way, as that would be out of character). Debby was telling us how they have done a lot of cycling in the French Alps. And the occasional mountain biking. I was asking her what she thought about mountain bikes, and she said “They’re alright once you get used to pedalling and going nowhere.” Which I thought was profound.
Simon and I trade thoughts on the different levels of friendliness of the various echelons of cyclists. There are very few roadies who will even acknowledge your presence on the road, let alone say “hello” as you pass them in the opposite direction. This is very sad. My theory is that they are all so competitive, that any other thing on two wheels is seen as a potential threat, to be beaten at all costs (even when you’re going in the opposite direction). Very snooty they tend to be. Simon says that Tri-athletes tend to be a lot more friendly, and if he is typical of the breed, then I would agree with him. As for mountain bikers (who have somehow lost there mountain and ended up on road), well you never can tell. The jury’s out. I just think we should all stick together as an endangered species, and the less cliques and bickering the better.
Up the A6, which seems to have quite a bit of cycle path, and arriving at Lancaster Holiday Inn at 5 p.m., to a welcome committee of Jean (Jonathan’s mum) and Terry, Sheila, Aodhan and Conor (Jacky’s cousin and family), Phil (my bro), and of course Jacky and Jonathan.
Sat outside under the parasol and did “the song” for the benefit of those who had missed it, after warming up with a rendition of Captain Beefheart’s “Orange Claw Hammer” for Conor’s benefit and to up the embarrassment factor for everyone else.
Debbie and Simon left us to head home with parents. Nice meal with Jean and Terry, Phil, Jonathan, Georgina, Jacky.
And so to bed.
Sign on a Preston shop front: “Ambulant Physiotherapist”. Wot is one of them? Do they go walk-abouts doing random acts of physiotherapy?
Advert on a parked car at the Lancaster Holiday Inn: “Teeth Whitening smile spa. Look good, feel great. A Hollywood smile in under an hour. Only £199. Limited period”.
Think we may be in need of treatment from both of the above. We are certainly feeling it in the knees, and not smiling enough on this journey.
Distance covered: 48.9 miles
Moving time: 04:34
Average speed: 10.7 mph
Maximum speed: 23.1 mph.
Jonathan has driven over from West Yorks, and brought the saddle from my commuter bike, as my bum is very sore. Have high hopes that this will help.
Also across from home territory are Debbie and Simon Hassell, who have come to cycle this leg for us. Simon’s parents have driven them over, and will take them back home after this leg.
We are looking forward to a little luxury this evening, as we have booked a night in the Lancaster Holiday Inn to celebrate the approximate half-way point. And of course, it’s just a couple of weeks since Georgina had her degree conferred at Lancaster University.
A leisurely start time of 10.00 a.m. followed by a 50 mile run to Lancaster is just what we need after previous exertions.
Along the front at Southport, in the baking sun, where a good cycle path is to be had. Then it’s inland towards Preston. The sunshine has brought out classic cars in their hundreds. MGs, TRs,and a surprising number of bubble cars. Man, they must be hot inside those canopies.
Ice creams on approach to Preston. Our first of the trip. This is more like it!
Lunch on the lawn at the entrance to an NHS establishment north of Preston. Got to keep stoked up with energy, the Hassells have their preventative medicine from the bonk-bag in the form of tortilla wraps. Sounds nice. The Hassells are into triathlons (I would say Simon in a serious way, but not an over-serious way, as that would be out of character). Debby was telling us how they have done a lot of cycling in the French Alps. And the occasional mountain biking. I was asking her what she thought about mountain bikes, and she said “They’re alright once you get used to pedalling and going nowhere.” Which I thought was profound.
Simon and I trade thoughts on the different levels of friendliness of the various echelons of cyclists. There are very few roadies who will even acknowledge your presence on the road, let alone say “hello” as you pass them in the opposite direction. This is very sad. My theory is that they are all so competitive, that any other thing on two wheels is seen as a potential threat, to be beaten at all costs (even when you’re going in the opposite direction). Very snooty they tend to be. Simon says that Tri-athletes tend to be a lot more friendly, and if he is typical of the breed, then I would agree with him. As for mountain bikers (who have somehow lost there mountain and ended up on road), well you never can tell. The jury’s out. I just think we should all stick together as an endangered species, and the less cliques and bickering the better.
Up the A6, which seems to have quite a bit of cycle path, and arriving at Lancaster Holiday Inn at 5 p.m., to a welcome committee of Jean (Jonathan’s mum) and Terry, Sheila, Aodhan and Conor (Jacky’s cousin and family), Phil (my bro), and of course Jacky and Jonathan.
Sat outside under the parasol and did “the song” for the benefit of those who had missed it, after warming up with a rendition of Captain Beefheart’s “Orange Claw Hammer” for Conor’s benefit and to up the embarrassment factor for everyone else.
Debbie and Simon left us to head home with parents. Nice meal with Jean and Terry, Phil, Jonathan, Georgina, Jacky.
And so to bed.
Sign on a Preston shop front: “Ambulant Physiotherapist”. Wot is one of them? Do they go walk-abouts doing random acts of physiotherapy?
Advert on a parked car at the Lancaster Holiday Inn: “Teeth Whitening smile spa. Look good, feel great. A Hollywood smile in under an hour. Only £199. Limited period”.
Think we may be in need of treatment from both of the above. We are certainly feeling it in the knees, and not smiling enough on this journey.
Distance covered: 48.9 miles
Moving time: 04:34
Average speed: 10.7 mph
Maximum speed: 23.1 mph.
Day 8 04/08/07
Saturday 4th August 2007. Leg 6: Oswestry to Ainsdale.
Managed quite an early start: 09:00.
Whittington 10:00 (ruined castle). Ruined castles have long held a fascination for me. Georgina is flatly unimpressed.
Wrexham Little Chef 12:00. We flouted the system. Didn’t wait to be seated. Just found a seat by the window where we could watch the bikes. Consequently the waitresses struggled to come to terms with this anarchic approach. Caused similar havoc as we left, ‘cos I thought we could just pay at the till, but no, it appeared you have to “ask for the bill” first. Things would be a whole lot simpler if they were just self-service. Or why not go one step further and let you cook your own meal in their kitchen? Just think of the cost-savings.
Hawarden, toilet stop at the Glynne Arms, and lunch on the wall opposite 14:00 hours, watching guests make their way down the road to a nearby wedding. A latecomer got out of the car and asked us if we were locals, we answered honestly, and he didn’t probe further. Had he asked “Where’s the wedding?” we would have been able to point him in the direction whence the sound of the bells were coming.
A550 across the base of the Wirral was, in places, a nice dual (or should that be duel?). We found our place on the two-foot shoulder, and at one point enjoyed undertaking some traffic which was held up in a road-works induced tail-back.
“I’ll be with you in my own time” – Family.
At length, the A550 led us to the A41 up the Wirral. Georgina’s “Dad, Birkenhead six and a half!” caused me to come to a sudden stop. What I heard was “Dad, me chain’s come off!” After coming to an understanding we were off again.
Arrived at Woodside Ferry terminal 16:00. Next ferry not for 40 minutes. Time to photograph the preserved tram and replica submarine (‘Resurgam’, which unfortunately turned out to be a misnomer), and slump in a nice leather armchair. Bad news that the restaurant closed early to prepare for a function in the evening. Had a bit of a browse through the display of Mersey ferries through the ages.
Watched the “Royal Daffodil” come in and tie up before taking our bikes on board. There is now a piped soundtrack, ending with the Gerry and the Pacemakers song. A bit of a shame that this once vital mode of transport has been reduced to a novelty tourist attraction. Anyway, we used it to get from A to B (actually from B to L).
On the Liverpool shore, we parked up next to the Cunard building, under the watchful left eye of a Liver bird. We watched smugly as a pair of traffic wardens ticketed away, but of course did not trouble us.
Then we cycled out of the city along the scarcely inhabited dock road. Garmin was asked to navigate on-road, which he dutifully did, but occasionally would advise us to turn up side streets just to locate a misplaced way-point. Eventually switched navigation off completely after he got a bit insistent on us doing ‘U’ turns. By this time we out of the city and heading towards golf-course land.
Arriving at the campsite at Ainsdale at a respectable 7 p.m. Not such a bad day.
Weather quite overcast most of the day, but very warm, with a following wind. Buzzard count down to one, but a couple of kestrels and another unfortunate flattened fox.
Distance covered: 64.1 miles
Moving time: 06:28
Average speed: 9.9 mph
Maximum speed: 23.9 mph.
Managed quite an early start: 09:00.
Whittington 10:00 (ruined castle). Ruined castles have long held a fascination for me. Georgina is flatly unimpressed.
Wrexham Little Chef 12:00. We flouted the system. Didn’t wait to be seated. Just found a seat by the window where we could watch the bikes. Consequently the waitresses struggled to come to terms with this anarchic approach. Caused similar havoc as we left, ‘cos I thought we could just pay at the till, but no, it appeared you have to “ask for the bill” first. Things would be a whole lot simpler if they were just self-service. Or why not go one step further and let you cook your own meal in their kitchen? Just think of the cost-savings.
Hawarden, toilet stop at the Glynne Arms, and lunch on the wall opposite 14:00 hours, watching guests make their way down the road to a nearby wedding. A latecomer got out of the car and asked us if we were locals, we answered honestly, and he didn’t probe further. Had he asked “Where’s the wedding?” we would have been able to point him in the direction whence the sound of the bells were coming.
A550 across the base of the Wirral was, in places, a nice dual (or should that be duel?). We found our place on the two-foot shoulder, and at one point enjoyed undertaking some traffic which was held up in a road-works induced tail-back.
“I’ll be with you in my own time” – Family.
At length, the A550 led us to the A41 up the Wirral. Georgina’s “Dad, Birkenhead six and a half!” caused me to come to a sudden stop. What I heard was “Dad, me chain’s come off!” After coming to an understanding we were off again.
Arrived at Woodside Ferry terminal 16:00. Next ferry not for 40 minutes. Time to photograph the preserved tram and replica submarine (‘Resurgam’, which unfortunately turned out to be a misnomer), and slump in a nice leather armchair. Bad news that the restaurant closed early to prepare for a function in the evening. Had a bit of a browse through the display of Mersey ferries through the ages.
Watched the “Royal Daffodil” come in and tie up before taking our bikes on board. There is now a piped soundtrack, ending with the Gerry and the Pacemakers song. A bit of a shame that this once vital mode of transport has been reduced to a novelty tourist attraction. Anyway, we used it to get from A to B (actually from B to L).
On the Liverpool shore, we parked up next to the Cunard building, under the watchful left eye of a Liver bird. We watched smugly as a pair of traffic wardens ticketed away, but of course did not trouble us.
Then we cycled out of the city along the scarcely inhabited dock road. Garmin was asked to navigate on-road, which he dutifully did, but occasionally would advise us to turn up side streets just to locate a misplaced way-point. Eventually switched navigation off completely after he got a bit insistent on us doing ‘U’ turns. By this time we out of the city and heading towards golf-course land.
Arriving at the campsite at Ainsdale at a respectable 7 p.m. Not such a bad day.
Weather quite overcast most of the day, but very warm, with a following wind. Buzzard count down to one, but a couple of kestrels and another unfortunate flattened fox.
Distance covered: 64.1 miles
Moving time: 06:28
Average speed: 9.9 mph
Maximum speed: 23.9 mph.
Day 7 03/08/07
Friday 3rd August 2007. Leg 5: East Nowheresville (Map Ref 533245) to Oswestry
Just the three of us now. Jacky dropped Georgina and me on the B4521 near Three Ashes (further East than the A466, but an equivalent distance from the campsite to the previous leg’s pick up point). This smacks vaguely of cheating, but in the scheme of things we justified it as a minor route adjustment.
On the road by 09:45, and rolling into Hereford where we espied the van in the local ASDA car park. Toilet stop and a “Fancy meeting you here!” to Jacky, and we continued onward.
Arriving in Canon’s Pyon for a lunch-stop at 12:00, we flagged down a passing motorhome, driven by Jacky no less. Another turn up for the books. So we had the folding chairs out.
Cloud cover increasing slightly and a slight tail-wind help.
We get a text from Jacky recommending the visitor’s centre at Craven Arms, so we head for that. Fentiman’s Ginger Ale and chocolate cake for me, and Fentiman’s very bitter lemonade and crisps for Georgina. We leave at 16:25, refreshed.
Georgina went into panic when she saw a sign near Shrewsbury saying “Oswestry 17 miles”. I tried to set her mind at rest by explaining campsite was some miles this side of Oz.
Some yobs started questioning (in fluent Anglo-Saxon) our right to be on the road. We didn’t engage in the argument as any words would have been lost in the noise of their exhaust. I drive, I pay road tax, ergo I have as much right to be on the road as they do. I merely choose to cycle. Now if they’d questioned our sanity, then they would have had a point.
Arrived at the campsite 19:50
Summary of the day: smoother road surfaces, tail wind, easier terrain, good run. Result!
Songs of the day: “You picked a fine time to leave me Lucille” Kenny Rogers. (I draw a veil over this one, but suffice it to say that dock leaves make very good toilet paper).
“You gotta roll with it” Oasis. Mind-numbing stuff. Just wish I could numb my bum, which is “all too much for me to take”.
Speaking of saddle soreness, every night of late, Georgina has managed a chapter of the new Harry Potter: “Harry Potter and the Pelvic Gallows” in which Bumblebone is impaled on the Anvil of Anguish. “Excruciatus!”
Distance covered: 73.5 miles
Moving time: 07:14
Average speed: 10.2 mph
Maximum speed: 29.1 mph.
Just the three of us now. Jacky dropped Georgina and me on the B4521 near Three Ashes (further East than the A466, but an equivalent distance from the campsite to the previous leg’s pick up point). This smacks vaguely of cheating, but in the scheme of things we justified it as a minor route adjustment.
On the road by 09:45, and rolling into Hereford where we espied the van in the local ASDA car park. Toilet stop and a “Fancy meeting you here!” to Jacky, and we continued onward.
Arriving in Canon’s Pyon for a lunch-stop at 12:00, we flagged down a passing motorhome, driven by Jacky no less. Another turn up for the books. So we had the folding chairs out.
Cloud cover increasing slightly and a slight tail-wind help.
We get a text from Jacky recommending the visitor’s centre at Craven Arms, so we head for that. Fentiman’s Ginger Ale and chocolate cake for me, and Fentiman’s very bitter lemonade and crisps for Georgina. We leave at 16:25, refreshed.
Georgina went into panic when she saw a sign near Shrewsbury saying “Oswestry 17 miles”. I tried to set her mind at rest by explaining campsite was some miles this side of Oz.
Some yobs started questioning (in fluent Anglo-Saxon) our right to be on the road. We didn’t engage in the argument as any words would have been lost in the noise of their exhaust. I drive, I pay road tax, ergo I have as much right to be on the road as they do. I merely choose to cycle. Now if they’d questioned our sanity, then they would have had a point.
Arrived at the campsite 19:50
Summary of the day: smoother road surfaces, tail wind, easier terrain, good run. Result!
Songs of the day: “You picked a fine time to leave me Lucille” Kenny Rogers. (I draw a veil over this one, but suffice it to say that dock leaves make very good toilet paper).
“You gotta roll with it” Oasis. Mind-numbing stuff. Just wish I could numb my bum, which is “all too much for me to take”.
Speaking of saddle soreness, every night of late, Georgina has managed a chapter of the new Harry Potter: “Harry Potter and the Pelvic Gallows” in which Bumblebone is impaled on the Anvil of Anguish. “Excruciatus!”
Distance covered: 73.5 miles
Moving time: 07:14
Average speed: 10.2 mph
Maximum speed: 29.1 mph.
Day 5 02/08/07
Thursday 2nd August 2007. Rest Day.
Photo caption. “We tried all sorts to get mobile signal”.
Rest day. Took the opportunity for a major re-planning exercise. We need to sacrifice our next rest day to make the subsequent days more achievable. Certainly an 80-mile dash to Wemyss Bay for the 7.45 p.m. last ferry to Bute is not going to be feasible on present form. Also we need to continue our tactics of using A-roads, rather than my original pootling country lanes, which would have been nice, had we the luxury of time.
Early morning rain gave way to a beautiful day. Matthew, Jonathan and I had a game of pitch and putt. Matthew did a powerful 150 yard drive clean across to the hedge, you know the one with the stream behind it. The ball was lost from this world. This gave me the opportunity to duck out of the game and do some bike maintenance (lube chains, and sort a gear cable out on Georgina’s bike).
Some re-booking of campsites is required. The only place we can get mobile phone signal is on the pitch and putt course, so it’s back there to book Tarbolton in Ayrshire.
The day was rounded off by a nice meal in the local (The Mill), and we were joined by Rebecca, Joe and Holly (Explorer Scout friends) who were on their way back to Yorkshire from a visit to Wales. This rendezvous presumably came about due to the power of the mobile phone.
The lads, Matthew and Jonathan then drove back to ‘real life’ in Yorkshire, with the plan being to meet up with them later in the trip.
Just a teensy bit worried about our “Carbon Footprint” on this tour. OK, cycling is very much low environmental impact, but factor in the diesel that the motorhome is using, and Jonathan’s car ‘Graham’ scurrying up and down country lanes keeping tabs on our movements, then we might just as well have jetted off to the U.S.A.
Photo caption. “We tried all sorts to get mobile signal”.
Rest day. Took the opportunity for a major re-planning exercise. We need to sacrifice our next rest day to make the subsequent days more achievable. Certainly an 80-mile dash to Wemyss Bay for the 7.45 p.m. last ferry to Bute is not going to be feasible on present form. Also we need to continue our tactics of using A-roads, rather than my original pootling country lanes, which would have been nice, had we the luxury of time.
Early morning rain gave way to a beautiful day. Matthew, Jonathan and I had a game of pitch and putt. Matthew did a powerful 150 yard drive clean across to the hedge, you know the one with the stream behind it. The ball was lost from this world. This gave me the opportunity to duck out of the game and do some bike maintenance (lube chains, and sort a gear cable out on Georgina’s bike).
Some re-booking of campsites is required. The only place we can get mobile phone signal is on the pitch and putt course, so it’s back there to book Tarbolton in Ayrshire.
The day was rounded off by a nice meal in the local (The Mill), and we were joined by Rebecca, Joe and Holly (Explorer Scout friends) who were on their way back to Yorkshire from a visit to Wales. This rendezvous presumably came about due to the power of the mobile phone.
The lads, Matthew and Jonathan then drove back to ‘real life’ in Yorkshire, with the plan being to meet up with them later in the trip.
Just a teensy bit worried about our “Carbon Footprint” on this tour. OK, cycling is very much low environmental impact, but factor in the diesel that the motorhome is using, and Jonathan’s car ‘Graham’ scurrying up and down country lanes keeping tabs on our movements, then we might just as well have jetted off to the U.S.A.
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