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.
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!
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!
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