They called 1940 ‘the Spitfire summer’. It was one of the finest summers of the 20th century. The endless dry, sunny days and azure skies provided a vivid backdrop to the Battle of Britain. Some seasons in history provide a stark contrast between nature and reality.
Spring 2020 is proving similarly contrasting. The coronavirus lockdown is taking place during possibly the most vivid British spring of the 21st century.
I have relished this extraordinary spring during my lockdown bike rides from home in Buckinghamshire. Today, I marvelled at the glorious birdsong as I made my way to Burnham Beeches, including the call of the majestic red kite. As I skirted the beeches, one red kite swooped down barely 10 feet away from me. He landed on a tree by the side of the road, thought better of it and flew off, those immense wings giving him lift. Burnham Beeches is a historic area of Buckinghamshire woodland owned by the Corporation of London. It’s the closest I’ll get to London for some time…
Yesterday, I was thrilled as confetti-like blossom blew in the warm wind across the country lane in my path. These natural delights soften the pain of lockdown, and give an intense taste of life renewing as well as fading; a high note of joy to lift us from the daily tragedies of the COVID-19 pandemic.
No one’s London-bound: the M40/M25 junction
The lockdown has emptied our fume-fuelled motorways and roads. Today, I cycled past the M40/M25 junction, above. How many times have I waited patiently in the rush hour on the slip road on the left to join the M25? Today, Easter Saturday, it was deserted. No one was hurrying to Heathrow or London. Birdsong ruled.
A silent Good Friday, Cliveden, Bucks
On my Good Friday bike ride yesterday, I paused to reflect on this stunning explosion of blossom at the pub opposite the entrance to the National Trust’s Cliveden estate. I love my rides to Cliveden for tea and cake on a weekend afternoon; that pleasure will have to wait. It is sad to see so many fine town and country pubs closed and quiet. Let us hope that they will reopen when the pandemic is under control.
Camper vans: a home from home
Karen and I both saw Volkswagen camper vans on our respective exercise sessions today. These classic campers inspire an idea of freedom and the open road. For now, that idea is just a dream. The campers are on the drive, rather than the upland roads and sun-kissed beaches of Great Britain and beyond. Their moment – our moment – will return. For now, let us enjoy this spring san pareil. It’s our equivalent of that Spitfire summer as history is made as nature unfolds.
These are the strangest of times. Our lives have changed almost overnight. Those carefree evenings out, family get-togethers and shopping trips are fading memories. (Although it’s a relief we no longer face that scramble to find a meeting room.)
Yet in Britain, for now, we can still go out for exercise. It has become a precious escape for me – a time away from the laptop screen, getting a physical challenge as a change from the intellectual challenge of communications work in the time of coronavirus.
It helps that the first week of Britain’s lockdown has been gloriously sunny. (Although that may have forced the lockdown, as crowds were gathering in London and people were flocking to Snowdonia and other national parks.) I revelled in the sunshine as I enjoyed my regular bike rides in Buckinghamshire, snatching an hour a time from work.
Don’t underestimate the importance of these daily escapes. These strange times are tough on us all. (Although obviously those at the front line in the NHS, care homes and serving the public face to face have a far greater challenge.) Getting out for some decent exercise is good for body and soul. You may experience a high that will get you through the loss of all those activities that you can’t enjoy at present.
Let’s make the most of these days of cycling and running while we can.
I didn’t plan to get an electric bike. I had thought of upgrading my 16 year old Brompton. But an impulse test ride on the Brompton Electric at the Brompton Junction store in London’s Covent Garden had me smitten. A week later, I collected my own Brompton Electric from Cycle Surgery and began my electric dream.
As a Brompton owner since 2002, I was familiar with the clever design. The electric version is a classic Brompton, with the same simple fold, which is perfect for journeys when you use the train for part of your commute. But the powered Brompton is even heavier, so you’ll won’t want to carry this bike very far. (I’m now far more familiar with the lift at Gerrards Cross station!)
I got the bike in February, when we had an unseasonal heatwave, with temperatures over 20C! I took advantage by going for lunchtime rides along the Thames from Richmond to Teddington and through Richmond Park.
But this is a bike designed for commuting. I have meetings in London at least once a week, and have loved cycling to the station to get the train from Gerrards Cross, and then completing the journey from Marylebone to Victoria or Tottenham Court Road. The Brompton is a perfect city bike: I can weave in and out of traffic and the electric boost gives me an unfair advantage as the lights turn green. (My favourite moment was beating a Porsche away from the lights!)
Is it perfect? No. There are times when the power seems slow to kick in, although most of the time this isn’t a problem. I’ve experienced a few rattles and a part fell off (from the City bag In think) today and I have no idea how to put it back on. There are also times when I change gear and nothing happens but applying more force to the gear lever tends to sort things out. But these are minor niggles. I love this bike. For many people, the biggest problem will be the price. You’ll be saying goodbye to at least £2,500 for this bike. I think it’s worth it if your commute includes a train journey. You might disagree, even if you can afford to spend that kind of money on a bike.
The Brompton Electric comes with a clever essentials bag that contains the removable battery. You can pop the charger, your phone and other essentials in it. I splashed out on the City Bag for commuting – you’ll need it if you don’t want to carry a laptop on a backpack. It’s cleverly designed with the two pockets at the back and side pockets as well. The battery fits in the middle and clips into place. It’s not as big as it looks inside because the battery takes up a chunk of space but I’ve not found this a problem. The bag and laptop are heavy, so you will be grateful for that electric motor!
Bromptons have small wheels, which means you have to be careful to avoid potholes and other obstacles. I learnt a lesson early on: take care not to charge curbs as you may get a puncture, as I did in High Wycombe. I also discovered that you need a spanner to take the wheel off to mend a puncture.
Brompton has adopted these three icons showing the famous fold. You’ll find it on various components on the bike, which is a nice touch. I first saw them displayed on the old Brompton factory in Brentford, west London, on my (car) commute. I used to enjoy seeing Brompton employees cycling home as I drove past. I was sorry when the company moved, although it’s heart-warming that Brompton still makes its bikes in London.
I love cycling, and was thrilled this year to complete Land’s End to John O’Groats on my Cannondale Synapse road bike. But there’s something very special about flying around the city on a Brompton Electric. It gives me a lot of pleasure, especially as I know I’m avoiding the crowds yet getting to my destination faster than on the tube.
I’ll end with a photo that sums up the joy of this special bike. This was on an early lunchtime ride in that February heatwave. I can’t wait for my next Brompton Electric ride!
This was bound to be an unforgettable day: the end of our epic ride from the south west tip of England through Wales and Scotland to the far north shores of Great Britain. But I had no idea that this would be my fastest ever day’s long distance bike ride.
It started with the forbidding sound of heavy rain. Would the last day be spoilt by the weather? Happily, no. We finished as we started, with overnight rain giving way to sunshine when it mattered.
We got a lift on the minibus back to The Crask from Lairg. I knew the ride from here to the coast would be magical. But I hadn’t realised how fast those miles would be – over 17 mph for almost 20 miles.
When I cycled from The Crask to Altnaharra in 2002, I saw one of the guides standing on the side of the road, and hoped he’d taken a photo of me in this stunning open landscape. He hadn’t… This time, I took photos and video as we made our way north on a gorgeous Scottish summer’s day. In winter, Altnaharra often features in weather reports as the coldest place in Great Britain, but today I was wearing shorts and – as soon as I warmed up – a short sleeved jersey.
After Altnaharra we cycled along the shore of lovely Loch Naver, which seemed to last forever. I drank in the views and the tranquility of this beautiful and deserted corner of Scotland. The loch finally gave way to the river Naver as we headed closer to the coast. We passed through lonely Syre, with its tiny, picturesque church, which I remembered fondly from 2002.
I enjoyed the climb up to Bettyhill, a tiny village overlooking the most stunning, deserted beach. One of my favourite memories of my first Land’s End to John O’Groats ride 17 years ago was seeing that beach in the pouring rain and deciding I had to go back in sunnier weather. That prompted me and Karen to return to the far north in 2004. We were so glad we did.
I remembered the north coast as being hilly, and expected our average speed to drop dramatically between Bettyhill and Thurso. But – and this was so satisfying – I found that my new-found fitness gave me the power to conquer the hills and regain speed on the inevitable descents. I was actually waiting for people at the top!
We were descending after one of these climbs when I saw people waving in the distance. I didn’t think much of it as we’d seen a few people waving at us in the past few days. But then I heard a cry: “Daddy!” It was my 11 year old son Owen, with Karen. It was a wonderful moment two weeks after I last saw them at Cape Cornwall near Land’s End. I was sure they would come to find me, as Karen did in 2002, but I didn’t expect to see them this early in the day.
We had a lovely family lunch at the Halladale Inn at Melvich. This was probably the best lunch of the tour – even better than the lunch at the Wee House at Glenshee. Just 35 miles to go to John O’Groats!
In no time we were passing through Thurso, the most northerly town in Great Britain, and sweeping on to Dunnet, with its lovely sandy bay, and enormous sand dunes, which cover a Norse settlement. We stopped at the Northern Sands Hotel to regroup before the final 11 miles to our legendary destination. It was a delicious interlude, sitting in the sun on the benches, sipping coffee, knowing that we were about to complete our epic journey. Nothing could stop us now!
Well, almost nothing. Between Dunnet and Mey, Chris’s tyre gave out a loud noise, followed by a mini-explosion as it blew out. Simon got him back on the road in no time.
I really shouldn’t have been surprised to see a group of people pushing a bed along the road. Anywhere else in Britain you’d have feared for their mental health. Here you just known that they must have been heading for Land’s End to raise money for charity!
John O’Groats is a tiny village, but it is a lovely destination unlike Land’s End. We cycled slowly down the modest hill towards the famous sign. Owen and Karen were waiting for us, along with friends and family of other members of our cycling clan!
Last year, I reached John O’Groats by plane and car. I had expected to journey there by bike, but my cycle trip was cancelled. It was a moment of pure joy to fulfil my dream this year, thanks to Steve, Simon, Julie and Howard from Peak Tours. And I was thrilled to complete this last day at my record speed of 16.4mph!
After the celebrations, I made my way to the chalet that would be our home for the next six days. This was the perfect place to relax after cycling 1,000 miles. I stretched out across the map of Great Britain, reflecting on how far I had come. And I relished the unique tranquility of this far north tip of Scotland, overlooking Orkney. We started plotting my next cycling adventure – but that’s a story for another day.
As I end this final chapter of LEJOG19, I reflect on the fact this was almost certainly the last time I cycle this epic journey. I will never forget these 14 days in the summer of 2019: the company of our cycling clan and the dramas and landscapes we shared. Over the past couple of years, I wondered whether cycling the length of Great Britain would be easier in my fifties than in my thirties. Thanks to my training and Peak Tours it most definitely was.
If you’ve ever dreamed of cycling from Land’s End to John O’Groats, just do it!
After yesterday’s drama, today was plain sailing, despite a rain-sodden conclusion. It was certainly an easy day’s cycling although my hill climbing is definitely stronger after 12 days on the road.
It was a novel experience cycling over Kessock Bridge over the Beauly Firth from Inverness having driven over it several times. It felt strange but exciting knowing Karen and Owen would be crossing it by car later today on the way to John O’Groats to meet me tomorrow.
This morning was a wonderfully easy ride. We followed the Beauly Firth from Kessock Bridge towards Muir of Ord. It was exhilarating cycling at speed in a peloton to Dingwall. We then had a sharp climb away from Dingwall. I’m not a natural hill climber, but unusually I was in the mood to attack the ascent and soon left the others behind. (Though I’m sure most of them would have left me behind had they chosen!)
We were soon enjoying a coffee at the morning brew stop overlooking the bridge over Cromarty Firth. Again, I reflected that Karen and Owen would cross that very bridge this evening, 13 days after I saw them near Land’s End in Cornwall.
It’s strange how memory plays tricks. Looking back to my Land’s End to John O’Groats bike ride 17 years ago I was convinced there was a long climb from Evanton to the viewpoint at Struie overlooking Dornoch Firth. It wasn’t like that at all! There was a long but not difficult climb but it was a good few miles before Struie. (I enjoyed the view when I got there!) As we approached the lunch stop at Ardgay, the sun was shining and it was turning into a warm summer’s day. It was a pleasure eating the excellent lunch at the quirky Ardgay Shop and Highland Cafe. I was in no hurry to rush away.
I loved the ride from Ardgay to The Falls of Shin. I remember this as a lovely ride in 2002 and unlike this morning my memory wasn’t playing tricks.
The Falls of Shin was a lovely interlude. We walked down to see if we could spot salmon leaping up the falls. We did! This is an amazing sight, showing one of the most extraordinary feats of the natural world. You can see the salmon leaping in today’s highlights video, below. The cafe is excellent and we had a family trip here after I finished in John O’Groats.
By the time we got to Lairg the sunshine had given way to cloud and then rain. The ride to The Crask Inn is a gorgeous one but it was pouring with rain by the time we made the journey, with no views at all. (Much like our ride over the Lancashire moors on day 7.)
Much as I’d have preferred sunshine to rain, we did get a feel for what a relief it must have been for travellers to arrive at the Crask in terrible weather. We hurried into the bar, and gained comfort from the real fire.
We had a magical hour ‘drying out’ at the Crask. It was a true ‘traveller’s rest’, and by popular request I sang Hen Wlad fy Nhadau, the Welsh national anthem, in Welsh, and Kevin sang the Belgian anthem in Flemish.
Ironically, by the time we were taken by minibus back to Lairg for the night the rain had stopped and we had a gorgeous view of the neighbouring mountains.
It’s hard to believe that tomorrow will mark the very end of our epic ride from Land’s End.
68 miles, 3,209 feet climbing, 4 hrs 42 mins cycling, 14.2 mph average speed
I was confused. A familiar figure waved me into a picturesque cafe in the Cairngorm mountains. We’d barely gone 13 miles – didn’t we have the Lecht, one of Britain’s toughest cycling climbs, before our morning brew? We’d done some serious climbing but I was sure I couldn’t have missed the Lecht!
I hadn’t. Instead, Peak Tours wanted us to stay safe as the weather was worsening by the minute, and they assessed whether it was safe to tackle the five mile ascent. I was cold and wet as I sipped a hot drink, and listened to the verdict from Simon and Julie. Visibility was very poor, with strong sidewinds, so they recommended that they give us and our bikes a lift to the top. Most of us agreed straight away. Much as I’d have liked to tackle the Lecht, I was relieved to have been reprieved! I climbed into one of the vans and Howard drove me and Nigel just beyond the summit.
It wasn’t the start we expected to the day. It was sunny as we left Ballater, heading along the Dee. We were overtaken by a Range Rover with fishing rods attached to the car. We were soon climbing, which was when the weather started to deteriorate quickly. I ditched the jacket as usual, but soon decided that I needed the warmth on the descent. The experience showed how quickly the weather can turn in the mountains. “I’m still alive!” Holger joked with a smile a mile or so before our unexpected coffee stop.
Ironically, the weather improved as soon as I got back on my bike. The sun was shining, and I warmed up after 10 minutes despite the strong wind. I soon passed through Tomintoul before another stiff climb. It was satisfying to look back at how far we had climbed.
I enjoyed our lunch stop at a very quiet hotel in Nethy Bridge. But the next 14 miles were a real slog. Was I tired? I probably was, but looking back on Strava that evening I saw that the route had climbed steadily to Slochd summit at over 1,300 feet above sea level. And we had a vicious headwind at times. From there, it was mostly a continual descent to Inverness. But there were nice moments on the way to the summit, including seeing the old bridge that gave its name to Carrbridge, and the deserted road that was the old A9, superseded by the new road. Perfect for cycling.
I was pleased to stop for a cuppa at the brew stop in Tomatin, near another viaduct on the Highland Railway to Inverness. I knew the last session of the day would be an easy one, and it was a pleasure to cycle with Fiona and Simon and the rest of the Cheshire crew in the sunshine. Finally we saw the Moray Firth and Inverness below us.
After quiet lanes, it was a shock to join a huge traffic jam approaching Inverness town centre. But we were soon passing through the car-free high street to our guest house.
That evening a few of us had a pint in the lovely Castle Tavern. On my Land’s End to John O’Groats ride in 2002, I had noticed how some Scottish beers were named after shillings, the pre-decimal equivalent of 5p. Tonight, I had a pint of 80/- (80 shillings). It was a very malty beer, and the only ‘shilling’ beer I saw this year. We chatted to a man who claimed to have done LEJOG in eight days. He was probably telling the truth, but there was just a hint of a tall tale in the way he recounted his adventure…
67 miles, 3,983 feet of climbing, 5 hrs 32 mins cycling, average speed unknown
We could see the landscape changing. Soft hills gave way to mountains in the distance. I felt a mix of excitement and nervousness: we’d be climbing those mountains by bike this afternoon.
In the morning, the scenery was pleasant but not especially interesting after yesterday. But as always there were moments to remember. As we approached Perth, I noticed a cyclist on a sturdy bike with a tray on the back. On a steep climb on the outskirts of the city, he started outpacing us, which suggested he was a strong cyclist, given we were on light road bikes and had gained fitness from riding over 700 miles in 10 days. He explained that he was cycling to work at a garden centre in the north of Perth.
We crossed the Tay, which reminded me of the famous, ill-fated railway bridge over the river’s estuary. That structure collapsed when a train was crossing during a storm in 1879, shocking Victorian Britain. Our crossing passed without incident…
We had the best lunch of the trip so far today at the Wee House of Glenshee: soup, a very generous ploughman’s platter. and a cake that I saved for this evening. The staff were lovely too. Our enjoyment was overshadowed by the knowledge that we’d be tackling the toughest climb of the trip so far straight after the meal: the climb to Glenshee ski centre.
I was lulled into a false sense of security initially. I could barely sense a climb: was this to be one of those comfortable ascents like the Devil’s Beef Tub yesterday? But then I saw the road heading skywards in the distance. A little later it was thrilling to inch up the mountain, but once again I found myself struggling to produce enough power. I could have done with a lower bottom gear. My Garmin gave the game away: my heart rate was not going over 140 beats a minute. My heart had more to give – my legs didn’t!
“You’re still smiling!” I was told as we paused at Glenshee ski centre. “That’s because I’m at the top!” I replied. It was a lovely moment, especially as we could relish the downhill to Braemar.
It was a very odd feeling cycling past the ski centre and the ski lifts. A year ago, we’d visited Whistler in Canada, and had seen mountain bikes on the ski lifts. (The British Columbia resort has become a huge mountain biking centre in the summer.) By contrast, the lifts at Glenshee were still and silent on this August day.
That downhill was exhilarating if windy, and I enjoyed the brew stop two miles down the mountain. We passed through Braemar, and cycled along the Dee valley, admiring the bridges across the famous river.
We soon found ourselves at the gates of Balmoral, the Queen’s Scottish retreat. It’s not hard to see how generations of monarchs have relished the tranquility and beauty of this corner of Scotland. It would have been lovely to have had longer to explore Deeside – that pleasure will have to wait for another visit. But we enjoyed a magical moment when a policeman guarding Balmoral took our photo.
Our destination tonight was the Deeside Inn at Ballater. I had a lovely room, and took advantage of a heated towel rail and radiator to wash some cycling clothes. I also enjoyed the delicious shortbread from lunch at the Wee House. It was a smart move saving it for later!
The day’s stats
83 miles, 4,672 feet climbing, 5 hrs 59 mins cycling, 13.9 mph average speed (curious how my average is often higher when there’s more climbing!)
What a wonderful day. Enjoyable cycling and unforgettable experiences, especially cycling through Edinburgh during its famous festival.
Once again, there was an autumnal chill in the air as we set off from Moffat. But we knew we had the six mile climb of the Devil’s Beef Tub to warm us up. I was looking forward to this as I remembered it as an easy and enjoyable climb from my 2002 end to end. So it proved. The sun was shining and we had impressive hills to frame our views on the ascent. The name Devil’s Beef Tub is a reference to the notorious border reivers who hid stolen cattle here. There is another historical link: the ‘postie stone’, a memorial to the driver and guard of a mail coach who died in a blizzard in 1831 trying to deliver the mail. We had perfect weather today, but our experience on the Lecht near Aviemore two days later showed how treacherous Scottish weather can be even in summer.
The ride to Edinburgh from the Beef Tub was a wonderful one – some 12 miles of easy downhill cycling with the bucolic accompaniment of the Tweed to our right, near that lovely river’s source and hills to both sides. We had a nice lunch stop at the Royal Hotel in Penicuik; we could all say the town’s name correctly thanks to Scotsman David! I was happy to while away a pleasant hour, anticipating the pleasure of Edinburgh and the Forth Bridge.
There can’t be a better way of visiting Edinburgh during the festival than by bike. (A view confirmed later by colleague Imogen, who had the impossible task of getting a cab in the city later in the month.) We thrilled to the sights and sounds as we threaded Scotland’s capital, freewheeling down the Mound to stop at Princes Street for a view of the castle. There was a piper stationed there – no doubt enjoying rich pickings from people like us, happy to get the statutory bagpipe sound in our videos. (Fiona and Holger danced to the tune, which made a nice feature in my highlights video at the end of this post.)
We then made our way through Edinburgh’s New Town and onto a railway path towards the Forth road bridge.
Unfortunately the east cycle path overlooking the famous 1890 Forth Bridge was closed, so we were routed onto the west path, overlooking the latest, 2017 Queensferry crossing. (Footnote: the ‘Forth Bridge’ is the railway crossing, built to withstand an enormous storm after the collapse of the original Tay bridge at Dundee in 1879 when a train was crossing.) I was surprised how tranquil the crossing was, compared with the very windy Severn Bridge six days ago.
We got our best view of the railway bridge as we climbed away from the Firth of Forth towards Kinross. It was a hilly ride to our destination, but I enjoyed it, especially the views of Loch Leven. It reminded me of my childhood in Cardiff, where my friend Anthony lived in Leven Close. Many roads around Roath Park Lake in the Welsh capital are named after Welsh, Scottish and Canadian lakes.
On first glance, our destination, the Green Hotel in Kinross was a treat, with its airy corridors and comfortable rooms. I had the biggest room by far of the treat of the trip, with a bath – always my first measure of a good room!
But appearances can be deceptive. As the sun streamed through the window, I went to run a bath. But no water came out. I got on with other tasks but when I tried again, there was still no water. I went to the front desk, who said they’d had a problem but everything should be fine shortly. I paid three visits to the reception desk, but the promises of hot water never came true. When water finally started running, it was a horrible brown colour – and still cold.
Chris, one of our party, was kind enough to let me use his bath. At no point did the staff at the hotel apologise to me or find a way for me to have a bath or shower after 80 miles’ cycling. They gave everyone a free drink, a miserly recompense for their incompetence. (There was no hot water in my bath in the morning either.) I will not return to the Green Hotel in Kinross, although I am happy to point out that dinner in the bar was excellent.
This was a less eventful day, apart from the milestone of crossing into Scotland. There was a distinct chill in the air as we prepared to set off. My revised, less favourable view of my Penrith guest house was confirmed when the owner told me off for leaning my bike against an outside view. As if handlebar tape and a saddle would ruin it!
The cooler weather prompted my only clothing mistake of the tour. I started with a base layer and long sleeve jersey. In the chill of the morning, I wasn’t warm enough – but was too hot with a jacket on! That’s when I wished I’d brought a wind-resistant long sleeve jersey.
On leaving Penrith we went through Newton Rigg college campus – which gave me a flashback from my Coast to Coast ride in 2017, when we did the same in the opposite direction.
We reached the border at lunchtime, taking the obligatory photos by the sign. We had reached our third country! Amusingly, we slipped back over the border for lunch at the Gretna Chase Hotel. After the rain of previous days and the cold start, it felt good to sit outside in the sunshine and enjoy an excellent lunch.
The first hour’s cycling in Scotland was a bit of a slog on the road to Annan. There was an unhelpful headwind and the scenery was nondescript apart from glimpses of the Cumbrian mountains and Solway Firth.
We reached the lovely town of Moffat in good time and gave the bikes a good wash after the rain, mud and muck of the last few days. I really liked Buchan Guest House, despite my small room. The owner invited us to leave clothes we wanted washed in a basket; they were back by the time we got back from dinner.
This was a lovely day. It rained a lot, as low pressure continued to dump lots of rain on Great Britain, but it wasn’t as heavy as yesterday, and the roads were drier.
We had many opportunities to see the effects of three days’ rain, especially as the flood plain of the Lune was living up to its name!
The first part of today’s ride took us along an old railway path from Conder Green to Lancaster. I normally have a good sense of direction and geography, but today I was disoriented . Weren’t we going away from Lancaster not towards it? I had a similar feeling later near Tebay, not realising that it was south, not north, of our destination Penrith.
There was an animal theme today. A herd of cows took interest in us at the morning brew stop. Later, we found the lane blocked by a gate as a lovely female farm worker let a lorry-load of lambs into a field. She apologised for keeping us waiting; we said it was no problem on a Sunday morning when we were enjoying the lovely Lancashire hill country. We smiled at the registration number on the van, which ended BAA!
Later, I was intrigued to see a this sign for Arkholme with the reference to its being a thankful village. Thankful villages were those that lost no one in the Great War; 59 men from Arkholme went off to war and came back. Nearby Nether Kellet was ‘doubly thankful’ as it lost no one in either of the world wars.
My favourite part of today’s ride was the stretch in the fells with the West Coast Main Line railway, M6 and river Lune to my left. We saw an electric express train heading south, which led me to imagine steam hauled trains traversing these lonely hills, as they did until my early childhood.
Lunch was a more meagre affair than normal in a pub that had sixties music (a theme we found in northern pubs) competing with Songs of Praise on TV. We joked that we hadn’t prayed enough for good weather!
We had a big climb our of Tebay straight after lunch, which I was pleased to complete without too much difficulty. The afternoon session was relatively easy, and we were soon in Penrith, our final night south of the border.
At first glance my guesthouse in Penrith was lovely – a solid Victorian house with lovely features. We were told there was a drying room, which was a godsend as I needed to wash some cycling clothes, But this drying room proved to be a false god: it was a cupboard with no heat. Needless to say, nothing dried! It proved surprisingly difficult to dry clothes during this summer trip, as the few heated towel rails were typically unheated. Happily our first guesthouse in Scotland did a wash for us.
Venturing into Penrith for dinner, I could feel a distinct change in the weather. I wore long trousers for the first time in two weeks, a pattern that would continue off the bike for the rest of the trip. You wouldn’t know that it was August!
The day’s stats
62 miles, 4,085 feet climbing, 5 hrs 2 mins cycling, 12.3 mph average