Saturday 27th June 2015 – Before leaving.

The Plan...

The idea for this one came about on a wet and gloomy afternoon last winter when I tried to cheer myself up by planning some rides for the coming year.

It occurred to me that I'd never attempted a tour before. I quite fancied the idea of taking a few days to get from A to B, so I started looking at Google for possibilities.

The C2C (Coast to Coast or Sea to Sea, depending on who you talk to) stood out immediately as a good route for a first-timer who prefers his adventures to be tame.

Although it's only about 140 miles in all, I decided to split it over three days, giving me loads of time to take a very relaxed pace, with frequent stops or detours to admire the scenery, take photographs and eat cake. I'm planning on eating lots of cake.

And yes, I'm taking the wimpy option and staying in B&Bs each night. As much as I normally enjoy camping, my bike isn't really equipped for carrying a tent, sleeping bag and cooking equipment. There's also something comforting in the knowledge that I'll be getting a warm shower, a pub within walking distance, a dry bed, and a breakfast cooked for me the next morning.

The Bike...

As much as I’d have liked to do this one on my fixed-wheel Specialized Langster, a quick review of the gradients I’d be encountering, and the current state of my weight and fitness, convinced me that I’d definitely be needing some gears for this trip. My 10-year old Decathlon 7.3R seems my best option, so I’ve serviced it and fitted new tyres and brakes. 

The Rider…

There has to be a weak link in every chain and I suspect it’s going to be me. Part of my initial plan involved losing the best part of three stones and getting down to my ideal weight. None of that actually happened so, as well as my luggage, I’ll be hauling an extra cargo of animal fat over the hills with me.

Monday 29th June 2015 - Getting There.

It’s been six years since I last rode through London during office hours and I’m hoping it will be at least another six before I have to do it again. I only had to cover the three miles between Victoria and Euston stations but I hated every minute. It was baking hot (27 C), there were traffic lights every twenty yards, always on red, and the traffic was mental. The black cabs and buses were fine - it was the delivery vans that appeared to be driven by lunatics.

It was a relief to load my bike on the train, take my seat and read a book for a few hours until we pulled into Carlisle. The Virgin Trains call-centre had originally cocked up my cycle reservation and had booked it onto a train that left an hour after I did. Fortunately I'd spotted the error in time and got it corrected, but it didn't instill any confidence in their service. As it turned out the staff on the train were very good and they'd assigned the four seats nearest to the luggage van for travelling cyclists, which was a nice touch.

For the last leg of the journey, between Carlisle and Whitehaven I got chatting to another cyclist from County Durham who was planning to set off at 7pm and would be doing the whole Coast to Coast in one go, riding through the night. He was a recovering alcoholic who'd replaced his booze addiction with cycling and was regularly riding hundreds of miles a week. He also had an artificial hip. Bloody hell, they make them tough up north. And ever-so slightly deranged.

Also sharing the carriage was a girl who was completely off her face and who, five minutes after leaving Carlisle, puked up copious amounts of cheap lager into the aisle. I just love train travel.

Whitehaven Station

The B&B I’d booked for the first night was three miles from the station. The first half of the ride to it was a lovely gentle pedal along a coastal path.

 The second half was a little taste of things to come – a couple of hills that had me in the lowest gear and breathing heavily. It certainly justified my decision to leave the Langster at home!

Tuesday 30th June - Whitehaven to Penrith

It was exactly 9:00am when I stood on the harbour ramp at Whitehaven for the start-of-ride photograph. The air was humid and the temperature was already just over 20 C.  

Whitehaven Harbour

I set my MP3 player to random and switched it on before pedalling away to the sound of ‘Thank God it’s not Christmas’ by Sparks.

It took me just a mile and a half until the first time I rode past a turning, due to two sodding great people-carriers that had been parked on double-yellow lines, completely obscuring the entrance to the off-road cycle route.

The next couple of miles were a on succession of footpaths through grassy fields and council estates where a third of the houses appeared to have been painted in exactly the same shade of magnolia. I assume somebody got hold of a job lot. In several places the paths were strewn with broken Budweiser bottles. I passed a couple of people with bikes upside-down, attending to punctures. I offered to help but was relieved when both declined.

For a few miles I could see that the path was always sloping upwards but the gradient was gentle and my legs were fresh so it really didn’t feel like I was climbing. Trees were growing at either side of the grass verges, containing the view.

Weird industrial structures abound. This was actually a seat.

Suddenly the trees stopped and the view opened out, giving me my first look at the hills in the distance.

After about ten miles of off-road, but generally well-surfaced tracks, the route fed out onto roads. I was happily amazed when after ten minutes, I still hadn't seen another vehicle. There was quite a climb just outside Kirkland and suddenly the hills seemed an awful lot closer.

Ironically, Thomas Dolby's "The Flat Earth" was on my MP3 player here.

 So far it had all been uphill, but now came the first of many cyclist warning signs...

...which is just as well because in addition to the bends and gradients, shortly after this sign the road had been resurfaced and was covered in a layer of very small and exceptionally loose chippings.

After a few more easy-ish climbs, it was all downhill to Loweswater where I stopped off for a few minutes to soak my cap in the icy water. It was overcast but felt much hotter than the 23 C showing on my Garmin.

Loweswater.

The climb out of Loweswater was rewarded by some cracking scenery...

The next five miles or so were brilliant, like being on a roller-coaster. Descents were followed by uphill bits but, because of the momentum I'd gathered, I hardly had to pedal to reach the top, before plunging down the next drop.

That all ended at High Lorton, where a short but really steep incline had me in bottom gear and gasping for breath. This was followed almost immediately by the climb up the Whinlatter Pass. This  wasn't actually as bad as I'd expected, and a long steady spin in low gear got me to the top. It was, however, getting very hot, with my Garmin now reading 27 C, so I took a detour to the Siskins Cafe in the Whinlatter Visitor Centre.

Top of the Whinlatter Pass

Here I purchased two horribly overpriced glasses of Coke and a slice (also overpriced) of unpleasantly dry coffee and walnut cake. The butter cream filling had the consistency of axle grease. Mary Berry would have been horrified, as was I, but I ate it anyway.

I don't recall a great deal about the ride from the top of Whinlatter into Keswick, so it couldn't have hurt that much. There were some lovely views...

And a suspension footbridge just outside Derwent Water...

...and then I was in Keswick. After a glorious morning of splendid isolation it was odd to suddenly see so much traffic and people again. I would have ridden straight through but I needed to top up my water bottles, as the Garmin was now registering 32 C and the sun was beating down. 

Keswick. Way too busy for my liking

I pushed the bike into a general store and emerged with a couple of bottles of Gatorade and a rum and raisin ice cream cone. With hindsight I should have eaten the ice cream and then refilled my water bottles. That way I wouldn't have dropped the ice cream onto the concrete while trying to lift a bottle out of the cage. I had an urgent desire for cooling down and for calories so, much to the delight of a little girl looking on, I picked up the ice cream, prodded it back in the cone with a grubby finger and ate it while it melted over the back of my glove.

It's about two miles from the centre of Keswick to the Castlerigg stone circle, and both of those miles are very much uphill in nature. I'd visited the circle once before, on a cold bleak day in March, and had the place to myself. On that day I was impressed by how it imposed a presence on the landscape. Today it just seemed like a field with rocks in, swarming with people, picnicking and taking pictures of each other in front of the stones. I waited till I had got my breath back and left them to it.

View from Castlerigg, avoiding the tourists and ice cream vans.

The next few miles were mainly downhill, easy going and pleasantly scenic..

 

Until now the navigation track I had plotted into my Garmin had been spot on. The route is generally really well sign-posted anyway, but I found it nice to be given a few hundred yards warning before any turn.

Now it tried to take me up onto the Old Coach Road, through a big gate and a sign declaring it to be unsuitable for motor vehicles. I looked at the rough surface of packed rock, then looked at my flimsy road-wheels, and thought 'stuff that for a lark'.

I'd checked this bit of the route against the Google Earth satellite images when planning the ride and it had looked OK, but I really didn't want to risk it so I turned back and then followed the first signpost I saw that pointed towards Penrith.

This took me on a five mile stretch of the A66 which, compared to even the minor roads in Kent, was virtually traffic-free. It was a long steady slog and the Garmin was hovering around 31 C. I was a bit concerned to see a sign indicating there would be a slow-vehicle crawler-lane for two of those miles, but it didn't appear to get much steeper than it had been previously.

The heat was really uncomfortable and I stopped for a couple of minutes at the top for a drink, and to take my shoes off for a few minutes. It surprised me how much they'd swollen over the day.

Once I'd turned off the A66 I was treated to another succession of roller-coaster drops and climbs, with very little effort required. I rejoined my originally-planned route just outside Greystoke, where I came across a really nice cycle cafe. Although I knew I didn't have far to go to Penrith, I couldn't resist sitting in the sun with a big mug of tea and a huge slab of lemon drizzle cake. My Garmin was up to 37 C in the sun and it felt ridiculously hot.

Greystoke Castle, viewed from the cafe garden

Just five more miles and a couple of small hills ( at one of which, in Newton Reigny, I managed to trigger a speed warning sign - I was doing 8mph) later I rode into Penrith, my first overnight stop.

I think I spent about 30 minutes cooling down in the shower. I'm so glad I took the B&B option - with an overnight low of 20 C forecast, it would have been unbearable in a tent.

The finance sector of Penrith. Everywhere you look there is a bank.

I had a couple of pints in the local Wetherspoons and then, as tomorrow would be Canada Day, I treated myself to a large helping of Poutine, the Canadian national dish from the Angel Lane chippy.
Although, being Cumbria, in order to get it I had to ask for "cheesy chips wi' gravy".

The Route:

Wed 1st July 2015 - Penrith to Stanhope

I'd slept on top of the bed, with the window open, but still kept waking up at regular intervals, and after 4.00 am it was too light to get back to sleep. I consumed the entire supply of complimentary coffee and biscuits before breakfast.

I loaded my bike at 08.30 and the temperature was already reading 26 C in the sun. I stopped for a chat with a group of ladies who were also doing the Coast to Coast on hired heavy mountain bikes and who had taken just under twelve hours to get from Whitehaven to Penrith the day before. Oddly they didn't seem to be in hurry to get away, reasoning that "it's not as far today". They hadn't even looked at the elevation profile. I didn't see them again but I hope they got to the end OK.

That's Penrith down there, behind the trees

It was hard work leaving Penrith, with a couple of miles of stiff climbing to prepare the legs for what was to come. Then there were several miles of descending, leaving the moorland behind and riding through farmlands and arable fields. The air was full of the smell of fresh-cut hay.

There was even a bit that was flat enough to land a plane on!

It could have almost been Kent, except the fields were flanked with drystone walls rather than barbed-wire fences. Oh, and there were sodding great hills in the distance. Until now the sky had been virtually all blue but, as I turned a corner at Renwick, I noticed a bank of ominous grey cloud that had been quietly bubbling up behind me.

This was the start of the long climb up to Hartside. It started off well enough, quite steep, but manageable. About halfway up, rain started falling, accompanied by a sudden increase in the wind. The rain lasted all of thirty seconds but the wind remained and blew strongly for most of the day.

The Hartside Summit cafe, arrowed.

The road kept zig-zagging as it climbed up the hill and the wind was always either full-on or from the side, getting ever stronger the higher I climbed. I could see the cafe at the summit but, with all of the twisting, it was anybody's guess how far away it was by road.

It was certainly an impressive view

For the last mile or so of the climb, the little road I had been on turned onto the A686 to the summit. This was silky smooth, freshly laid tarmac, which was a joy to ride on, and the gradient eased off considerably.

There were dozens of motorbikes on that stretch of road, most of them being ridden really well. I did have one squeaky moment when a couple came screaming round a blind right-hander at stupid speeds, very much on my side of the road. If I had been two feet further out from the kerb the emergency services would have had some messy clearing up to do.

Shut up. Everybody takes this photo. Although most don't look so close to collapse.

I got to the top at 11:20 and glanced at the 'Time Moving' figure on my Garmin. It had taken me  exactly two hours to cover just 16.7 miles. In my defence, the temperature was now up to 32 C and the wind was blowing a plastic picnic chair across the car park. And I still had four more biggish hills to go.

I never drink tea. Until yesterday, I can't even remember the last time I had a cup. Yet up here, for some reason I still can't fathom, that was exactly what I wanted. That, and carrot cake. The big slice, thanks. And a couple of bottles of full-fat Coke to refill my water bottles.

I sat outside the cafe, chatting to other cyclists and to a couple in a camper van who came from Sunderland and expressed amazement that anybody would choose to end the trip on the northern side of the Tyne.

Noon, during a heatwave. Probably not the best time of day to saddle up and start riding again, and it was a genuine struggle to push my bike through the clouds of wind-blown dust across the car park.

At least the next four and a half miles to Leadgate were all downhill, some of it scarily so. From Leadgate the road started getting lumpy again, requiring a lot of effort and concentration to get up it, before dropping down into Garrigil.

The Leadgate-Garrigil road

These girls had the right idea

Over the next three miles, things started unravelling quickly for me. Where the roads to Hartside had the decency to at least be twisty, these were all straight as a die and increasingly steep. The wind was relentless and that, coupled with the gradient, meant my front wheel started lifting off the ground with every turn of the pedal. Not being used to riding unicycles, I got off and pushed up the really steep bits.

The view looking back down the road.

The summer ones can be pretty bloody tricky, too.

It kept getting hotter. My Garmin was reading 35 C. The landscape was getting increasingly barren. I hadn't seen another living soul for over half an hour. And here was I, an unhealthily fat bloke, doing the most physical exertion I'd done in ages. I wasn't coping well with the conditions and it felt like I'd been on this bit of road for hours. It's amazing how that sort of stuff can screw with your mind.

I don't think I've ever been happier to see a simple road sign. It wasn't lying either. There were some really interesting turns that had me pumping the brakes for all I was worth.

The Nenthead drop

I was even happier to pull to a halt outside the Nenthead village store and buy two big bottles of ice-cold mineral water; one to drink and one to pour over my head and jersey. Even happier still to realise that I'd have no need for the machine on the wall next to me. Not today, anyway.

There's another steep climb out of Nenthead and I really wasn't looking forward to it but, after half a mile there's a sharp left bend at which point two things happened. First, the evil headwind I'd been battling against was now fully at my back, helping me along. Secondly, it started raining. Good summer rain, with droplets the size of peas. It only lasted a few minutes but it seemed to cool the air slightly and the smell of hot, damp tarmac was just fantastic. The roads were steaming and I was feeling a lot better by the time I got to the borderlands.

The border signs are always at the very top of a big hill. I've no idea why.

From here it was mainly downhill for a few miles, with a few short climbs but the countryside was the bleakest I'd seen since setting out.

We're on the road to nowhere...

Rolling hills. Wonderful.

It was just me. Nobody else for miles around. I couldn't resist singing along to the tracks on my MP3 player. I'm just glad there was nobody except the occasional sheep to hear me belting out Baccara's "Yes Sir, I can boogie" at the top of my lungs.

Eventually the road dipped down and once more I was amongst trees and greenery, heading into Allenheads.

The sun was back to full blast, and I still had a couple of climbs to tackle before the day was out, so I decided to stop off at the Hemmel coffee shop in Allenheads, where I ordered another cup of tea (what the hell was wrong with me) and a toasted teacake, which was excellent, even if I did have to pour the butter, rather than spread it.

OK, so the Garmin was in full sunlight but, god it was hot!

 Soon after the stop, and at the top of the penultimate climb of the day, I crossed into my third county of the day.I really did need to lean against that signpost for support.

I think the Prince Bishops were X-Factor semi-finalists in 2009

Another cracking descent followed, through deserted moorland and past deserted buildings. This road appears to have been the site of some kind of rabbit Armageddon. Every fifty yards there was another sad clump of brown fur, rapidly decomposing in the sun. Oddly, I didn't see a single live rabbit all afternoon. I can only assume the cars have already killed them all.

Once again the moorland descended into farmland and I passed through the lovely village of Rookhope.

From there it was a gentle five mile trip into Stanhope and the Red Lodge B&B, where I spent even longer in the shower than the previous day. I turned on the TV news to find that it had been the hottest July day since records began. There was also a lovely piece about how older and overweight people would be well advised to stay indoors and not exert themselves in such heat. Oops.

Dinner was taken in the Bonny Moorhen, just across the road from the B&B, where a very nice steak and ale pie, chips, peas, carrots and cabbage was washed down with a couple of pints of Tyneside Blonde. Returning to my room I turned the TV on at about 8.30 and fell asleep in front of it before 9.00

The Route:

Thur 2nd July 2015 - Stanhope to Tynemouth

I woke up before 7.00 and got an immediate reminder of how dehydrated I must have been the day before. I'd consumed 1.5 litres of water, 1 litre of Coke, half a litre of Gatorade, another 750ml of water, 2 mugs of tea and 4 cups of coffee during the day. I had topped that up with a couple of pints in the evening. I hadn't been to the loo since Wednesday morning and now, after a good night's sleep, all I could manage was about 2 egg-cupfuls. And it was the colour of Tizer.

The full-English breakfasts that Dawn serves up at the Red Lodge are both plentiful and really top-notch quality. The only advice I would give is to leave it more than twenty minutes between finishing one and attempting to scale the aptly-named Crawleyside road between Stanhope and Parkhead Station. I know this because, 10 minutes after setting off, I was in trouble, hunched over the bike and gulping in huge lungfuls of air while trying to avoid throwing up.

I did the sensible/cowardly thing and got off and pushed for a bit until my stomach was slightly less liable to explode. Once the town had been left behind and the moors took over again, the gradient was slightly less steep and I was able to ride, gingerly, to the Parkhead Station cafe.

This quickly gives way to...

...this

The local council are just taking the piss here.

It had taken me 45 minutes to cover the three miles up to the station but I now had the happy knowledge that it was almost entirely either flat or downhill for the rest of the day.

The next nine miles were on the Waskerley Way, an old railway line (hence the Station cafe) that had been resurfaced and was ideal for a road bike. The only problem was the sheep. They seemed to enjoy laying on the path, possibly for the heat it was reflecting and, once there, they certainly didn't intend moving for anything as trivial as a bloke on a bike. Twice I had to steer off-path to get around the buggers.

Optical illusion - this was downhill all the way

As on previous descents the moorland was replaced by coniferous woodland...

 

 Which, in turn was replaced by deciduous trees and shrubs

 I rode over the Hownsgill Viaduct, some of its charm having been ruined by the anti-suicide railings.

And then I hit this junction. My planned route had been through Berry Edge, but I got the feeling that may not have been such a good idea.

I decided to play safe and take the Consett route, which would give me a chance to test out exactly how good the C2C signposting actually was.

As it turned out, it was very good indeed. Plus, by taking this route I got to see these weird sculptures.

By 11.00 am I was back on my original course and back on schedule to hit Tynemouth by early afternoon. The route for the next ten miles took me along fast woodland paths, with loads of cool shade. I'd seen an article on the morning TV news about Gateshead getting a massive hail storm the previous night and there was plenty of evidence of that here. The ground was littered with greenery that had been ripped out of the trees overnight.

Eventually the scenery started getting a bit more industrial and the lovely woodland path spat me out in the vicinity of the charming Intu MetroCentre in Gateshead.

I followed the cyclepaths along the south bank of the Tyne

Crossing over at the swing bridge

Passing the other famous Tyne bridge, which somehow seemed smaller than I'd imagined.

Looking back

And the newer Millenium bridge, which was bigger than I'd expected.

Looking back a bit further on

The last 10 miles weren't so photogenic and, to be honest my mind was now focused on the destination rather than the journey.

If there ever was a man ahead of his time

I remember passing several industrial parks and, bizarrely, a loose horse grazing on the grass verge. I rode over a path where the tarmac was melted and pock-marked. The only time I'd seen something like that before was when a car had been dumped by joy-riders and then burned out. In a 200-yard stretch of cycle-path there were about thirty such patches. Obviously a popular spot with the local youth.

I passed through North Shields where a cafe had a fully-dressed Christmas tree on the pavement and these giant buoys were painted with designated cycle routes.

And then I was rolling pat the Spanish Battery car park, the ruins of Tynemouth priory and castle, and came to a wheezing halt outside the Grand Hotel, overlooking the beach.

Tynemouth North Pier

So that was it - the Coast to Coast finished, and nothing left to do except ride the 10 miles back into Newcastle, stopping off for a couple of well-earned, and rather excellent beers in the Cycle Hub Cafe before getting the train back home again.

 

Cheers.

The Route: