So here
we go, two 43 year olds (which I suppose is better than one 86
year
old) attempting the Sustrans C2C route. We both have advantages
and disadvantages.... Thursday 5th August We cycle the short and flat mile or so to the start at Whitehaven marina and follow custom by dipping our wheels in the sea by the large C2C sculpture which we admittedly had difficulty finding...not very promising for future navigational challenges as it's stainless steel and about 8 foot tall and very obvious. That was also almost the end of the trip for me as the slipway lived up to its name and I almost slide noiselessly beneath the water. Then we are off, finding our way out of Whitehaven is easy although the route goes through some less than salubrious areas with kids on motorbikes using the cycle paths as a racetrack. We are however quickly on the cycle track that leads up and over Cleator Moor. The gradient is slight but the weather is warm and we are soon peeling off layers of clothing and are down to summer cycling gear. At this stage we are not aware that the C2C route is superbly marked from start to finish and we have a few hesitant moments and are tempted to leave the path. But the very good guide book tells us otherwise and we soon gain confidence in the route markers. In retrospect this was easy cycling, we passed through pretty villages and were soon running alongside beautiful Loweswater. It is not long before we reach High Lorton and the bottom of the big climb of the day, the Whinlatter Pass. The bottom part of this is steep and we are immediately in our lowest gears, grinding up, but at least having the satisfaction of seeing a group of younger and fitter looking guys on mountain bikes get off and push. The road soon joins another larger but quiet one for the last pull up to the top. How strange to arrive hot and sweaty at the top only to find a large bunch of very orthodox Jews out for a stroll! We whiz down into Braithwaite at high speed and I realise I need to sort my terribly squealing brakes out or I will be deaf by the end of the next big descent. At least everyone can hear me coming. It's a short ride into Keswick where the impact of not eating or drinking enough hits me like a hammer. After collecting our stamp I suddenly feel lousy and irritable and we hasten to the Lakeland Peddlar (a very good combined veggie restaurant and bike shop) for emergency food and fluid intake. On the advice of the man in the bike shop I scour my wheel rims with a brillo pad and that sorts my noisy brakes once and for all. As we sit outside the sky blackens and the rain starts to fall. It's on with the waterproofs and we follow the cycle path out of Keswick towards our first overnight stop at Motherby. We encounter at least 100 teenage schoolgirls who are on a camping trip in the area. We are both struck by their cheerful friendliness as they greet us along the way. By the time we reach the track alongside the A66 I am feeling very miserable and wet. The thunder is rumbling, the rain is tumbling and I feel like grumbling especially as my very expensive Pearl Izumi waterproof is offering me no protection. I feel unwell, probably as a result of lousy food and drink planning on what had been a very warm day. Deborah cycles on while I retire to a field to attend an urgent call of nature closely monitored by a herd of brown cows. Dirty, (Deborah seems to think chain oil is good for her legs and always has a liberal coating of it) and wet we arrive at last at Motherby House in Motherby where Jackie, our landlady immediately takes charge. Dirty clothes are washed and dried, and generally she makes us very welcome. The weather is wild, violent thunder and lightening and heavy rain but Jackie and Dave, her husband, are in the Patterdale Mountain Rescue team and so taking us down to the pub - The Sportsmans Inn- in her Land Rover and picking us up when we call is mild stuff but very welcome nonetheless. Friday 6th August Fell Lane out of Penrith comes as a short sharp shock but we climb it easily enough knowing that in not too long we will be at our planned lunch stop in Little Salkeld. We stop in Langwathby and discover the joys of Kendal mint cake...we are not going to run out of fuel like we did yesterday. At the Mill in Little Salkeld we enjoy wholesome vegetarian fare in the sunshine and gird our loins for the biggest hill of the trip, Hartside. The chap at the Mill, while apologising for his carnivorous cat devouring a bird in front of us (at least he said it would be organic if it was caught on his land), told us that the climb out of Garrigill was tough but little did we know.... Unfortunately directional dyslexia takes over here and instead of us heading straight to Renwick and the bottom of Hartside I take us to Kirkoswald. We ask some chap out jogging for directions but he can't help us for very good reason...he is running from Lands End to John O'Groats! It puts our trip into perspective as he must have been in his mid-50's. I wish I had asked him more about the whys and wherefores of his trip. We cycle back up to Renwick, "up" being the operative word and we hit the bottom of Hartside. As it seems with all the big hills Hartside is steeper at the bottom and Deborah and I take it at our own speeds. Although Deborah is some way behind me I can see her from the higher ground and she manages to cycle while sending me romantic texts! You can take the girl out of Whitefield........ At the rather scruffy and surly Hartside Top Café we are at 1893 feet and sit outside eating distinctly average coffee and cake. Two chaps next to us are cycling from Haltwhistle to Manchester and it turns out one of them lives round the corner from Deborah. It's on with the warm clothes for the drop down from Hartside to Garrigill. This is a hoot with me seeing speeds of 40 miles an hour before my nerve goes and I apply the brakes. How the professionals can do 60 or 70 mph is beyond me. At Garrigill we stock up on mint cake and spot our mountain biking friends last seen at Whinlatter. And guess what? They are pushing again because, as the man said, this is a hill worthy of some respect. It is steep and straight for several miles and Deborah finds it hard going but will not, and does not give in. The views are amazing though and when we reach the top there is a steep and twisty descent into Nenthead. What can I say about Nenthead? We collect a stamp at the Miners Arms and sit outside on the wall. The landlady tells Deborah off for sitting "on the garden" while ignoring the local ruffian rolling a joint by the front door. This is like Salford but without the benefit of a Tesco's and we quickly get out of there before someone invites us to the type of wedding where the bride and groom are brother and sister.... Ouch! The climb out of Nenthead to Black Hill, the highest point on the C2C, is a killer and now I begin to realise how tired Deborah is. She struggles on but I wait at the top of Black Hill in vain. I walk back and see her pushing her bike, she is exhausted. I help her to the top and she looks done in, it is going to be will power alone that gets her the few miles across the moors to The Allenheads Inn. Deborah grits her teeth and we finally arrive. She collapses into bed and is very stressed about why she feels so lousy. I try to explain that we have been cycling all day, in hot weather, up some very steep climbs and she has burnt far more calories than she has taken in. She is also very sun burnt. After a bath I make her eat and drink and she begins to perk up especially after a telephone consultation with her dad convinces her she doesn't have diabetes, measles, thrombosis, or smallpox. She is soon asleep and I hope this will restore her for the last day. Saturday 7th August After breakfast we set off to be hit within a few yards by the Currick climb. Most unkind, 1½ miles of hill on cold legs straight after breakfast. Deborah makes it but I can see she is in for a tough day. We speed down for about 6 miles into Rookhope alongside a valley with disused mine workings. Deborah told me later that she was really uneasy as I had disappeared off into the distance (the one advantage of carrying over 4 stone more that Deborah) and she felt very vulnerable, alone and tired. After that we stay together but at Stanhope I take one look at Crawleyside Bank and my heart sinks. This is very very steep, probably the steepest section of the C2C, and I know there is no way Deborah will do this. So I take her pannier and cycle slowly up, sweat soaked but surprisingly not breathing too hard, stopping to let my legs recover every few hundred metres. Deborah cycles some, walks some but we eventually see a woman walking her dog who tells us that "the other side of the cattle grid and it's all flat". Filled with optimism I cycle up to the grid and....oh no! more uphill! We grind onward and upwards and finally reach the café at the top. With 40 miles to go, we know that this marks the beginning of the long gradual descent to the coast and our spirits lift helped by another stamp and excellent muffins and coffee from the very nice chap who runs it. He was quite funny, especially when he said "yes, we do latte, espresso and cappuccino", in other words "this is not some backwoods shack" We had a good chat with a couple out walking for the day but the other cyclist in there hid some dark secret behind his dark glasses and neither spoke nor acknowledged anyone else. Very strange. As we sat there we spotted our mountain bikers again looking cheery as they precede us down the Waskerley Way. For the next two or three hours it was gravelled and cinder cycle tracks with a gentle downhill slope. We stop in Consett for a sandwich at the petrol station and Deborah is feeling tired. I am very conscious of this and the miles speed beneath our wheels but still tick by very slowly on the odometer. With 8 miles to go I take Deborah's pannier again after it is dislodged by a big bump in the trail, and we reach the outskirts of Sunderland. Deborah is really shattered and every little rise in the road is a challenge but she is very tough and I know she will do it. I ring Dave to tell him we will be a bit late but no problem, so will he. And finally we see the sea. The estuary of the Wear comes into view, then the Stadium of Light and despite a badly timed puncture on Deborah's bike (no time to repair, just keep pumping it up every mile or so.) we arrive at the final stamping point and then we are there, on the beach at Sunderland dipping our wheels in the North Sea. Ecstatic, tired, proud, grubby but with a real sense of achievement. We left the car at Whitehaven 51½ hours and 150 miles ago. We burnt about 22,000 calories between us but probably consumed far fewer than we needed. We suffered one puncture and one of my tyres came close enough to the end of its life to warrant replacing. And we only lost our way once. From Sunderland Dave took us back to Whitehaven in 2½ hours! Great chap and worth paying a little bit more than one would on the train. So what did we learn? Well lots of people have done the C2C and I suspect that all but the very fittest and experienced take away something. I learnt that both Deborah and I are very determined, that you can never eat and drink enough when doing that sort of exercise, that there are still some very wild and undiscovered areas of England, that I was fitter than I thought I was and that when you are on a bike, most people who are not their in cars are very nice and helpful. I also learnt that once you start to read about the C2C it becomes matter of fact, but it isn't. I suppose that if all the books and web sites had a big warning stamped on them it would dull the pleasure and anticipation somewhat. But this is a serious challenge. Around my home county of Cheshire I can cover about 100 miles in 6 hours of pedalling that would be inconceivable in C2C country. As a postscript when we reached Sunderland there was only one thing left to do, any woman who can still look so sexy and beautiful after all that is worth holding on to. So on the beach at Sunderland I asked Deborah to marry me. And she said yes.
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