Coast to Coast Diaries - May 2003 I know the start of the journey as I live in one of the villages just outside Whitehaven, where the C2C path passes, and use the track on a fairly regular basis to get into town and home again. I decided therefore to use this as a start point. Cycling into Whitehaven is a joy – all downhill for about 11 miles. Coming back was going to be much harder. Although the track follows an old railway line, the line originally serviced iron mines and so trains leaving Whitehaven would be empty and were not therefore overly restricted on gradient. The first couple of trips were killers, but gradually the journeys became easier and on the way back home I began to lift my head and actually look at the surrounding countryside. Several weeks passed with trips to and from Whitehaven and jaunts round the local lanes. Each trip increasing stamina and speed and decreasing butt pain and leg stiffness. On Good Friday, a fortnight before the due start, my brother came to visit to get a little practice. We decided to take the C2C route from Rowrah to Keswick and then to return following the Workington route until Cockermouth before travelling back south on country roads to Arlecdon. The weather was excellent and we set off carrying both the C2C map and an OS map of the area. It became rapidly apparent that my brothers preparations had had one vital ingredient missing – hills. His idea was that if he could get to Keswick without pushing, then Hartside should be no problem on the day. We cycled merrily through to Lorton and then came the first of our walking bits. Knowing this area well it was therefore annoying to be pushing a bike up a very steep hill when the “main” road is considerably flatter and not overly busy. We crested Whinlatter and sped through the forest section and finally we reached Keswick and settled down to lunch and a quick break. Then back following the Workington route in reverse, heading towards Cockermouth. All was well till we reached the woods by Bassenthwaite, I would be worried coming down this track in anything but dry conditions and uphill had us pushing again. By the end of our practice 50-mile trip my brother had decided that an attempt on Hartside the following day would be a waste of his time and decided that comfortable walking shoes would serve well in certain areas. During the following 2 weeks I got out nearly every other day for an hours quick zip about. Great fun but was this the right type of preparation? Day 1 Our bags transferred to the support van and all the bikes given a quick once over and we were off, along the quayside to the slipway for the obligatory wheel dipping and photo sessions. Ten minutes later and we were off in earnest. Knowing the route out of Whitehaven, I took the lead through estates and lanes, paths and tracks. It was about then that I realised I’d forgotten spare shoes so once onto the track I set off, leaving the others behind, giving myself a few minutes to dive off the track and call in at home. I collected the shoes and got back to the track, catching up the main group just after the first of the steep but thankfully short hills leaving Kirkland. A quick drink and away we all went again. Through Lamplugh, past Loweswater and into Lorton. After experiencing the C2C route out of Lorton, my brother and I decided to stick to the “main road” route out and split off from the main group following the B-road to the top of Whinlatter. We arrived and sat down with the van and waited. After about 10 minutes then next members of our party arrived. This showed clearly two things – 1. The route on the B road is considerably easier (as neither
myself or my brother would consider ourselves hardened bike riders). Appearing with cut knees and horror stories of carrying bikes over and round felled trees, the group reassembled before attempting the forest track section down from Whinlatter. Having done this previously I knew it could be very dangerous and should be given the respect it deserves. We set off in high spirits but I’d only gone 50 meters onto the track when I heard a crash. Stopping and looking back, I saw that my brother had gone down. He had hit a 1” kerb at the end of the car park and the bike had thrown him off. It had been a heavy fall and his left knee, elbow and hand were badly cut up. His bike had hit the ground with such force that the brake lever cover had been bent and was stopping the operation of the lever. We tried to call back the van but no ones mobile had a signal. His hand was such that he wouldn’t be able to ride the path. After discussing it, we decided it best to carry on and then get the van to go back for him. We set off down the path, stopping every so often to check for mobile signals. On reaching the bottom, I set off for Keswick using the most direct route possible. On reaching the Keswick, the hotel was closed and the van was nowhere to be seen. I waited anxiously by the road junction looking for the van. Luckily someone had managed to get a signal and the van had gone back to collect our faller. However, bored of waiting he had decided to take the road down and had just reached the bottom of the pass when the van found him. He was brought to Keswick and whilst we waited for the hotel to open, I set off into town for medicines. Within a street of returning to the hotel, the rest of the group passed by and told me that he had gone off to the local hospital to get his hand checked out. “Come back tomorrow when we can X-ray it properly” they said. But still they checked out the cuts and bruises and cleaned and bandaged him up. As for the rest of us, we decided to replenish our fluid levels with a couple of pints in town. Back to the hotel, shower and change and then out to sample the delightful food (and a few more pints of beer). Day 2 We set off however in high spirits, our number depleted by one, but the previous day had been a decent start to the journey. Threading our way past Keswick Spa we were onto the cycle path and away again. The rain continued to gently fall, just waiting for us to leave the cover of the tree lined cycle path.We continued on, shouts warning of us of impending gates that crossed the route. By lunch we had reached Penrith. All of us were soaked to the skin and the day was only half done, the easy half at that. We stopped off at McDonalds by the train station. My brother and the van had caught us up and we waited for his news. Two fractures and the local hospital had recommended that he see an orthopedic surgeon to get it checked out by a specialist. How could he get home? That was a good question. His car had been left near Whitehaven, over an hour back even following the main roads. That would put the rest of us without our backup van for at least 2, more probably three hours. He decided to check the taxi’s - £80! He decided to check the trains – 2 hours, first to Carlisle and then down the west coast line to Whitehaven, then a taxi to the car, then a drive, if he could drive, back to Cheshire. Then the buses, at least that would take him to within about 10 miles from the car and a taxi might be more reasonable, but it went about 5 minutes before. Eventually he struck up a deal with the taxi, and £60 lighter set off to go home. We all set off again, through Penrith’s one way system and eventually leaving Penrith up a hill that was to signal the start of what was to come over the next two days. The roads were becoming treacherous and several of the bikes skidded on the slippery surface of the wet road. Extra care was required if we were to keep our remaining riders intact. About an hour out of Penrith the weather decided to be kind to us – just a ruse on the weather’s part. We caught up to the van at the next rendezvous and several layers of clothing started being removed. Several hundred yards further down the road most of us began to regret the move. A farmer had decided that nearly as much muck was required on the road surface as the field and with no mud guards and plenty of residual rain to make the slurry really wet, we were coated in a film of muck from head to toe. Another mile further on and the rain returned. By this time we were approaching the daunting hill at Hartside. The road in front of us began to rise and slowly we headed for the summit, now shrouded in a veil of mist and cloud. The café shone out like a beacon with promises of warmth, tea and sustenance, our goal, our reason to continue. We reached the summit as the clouds started to swirl about the café. Inside was a beautiful sight, a warming fire, a steaming kettle and a counter piled high with goodies. We removed as much of our wet clothing as modesty allowed and armed with cake and tea set about refocusing on the rest of the days ride. Finally warmed, both outside and in, we set off again into the swirling cloud that surrounded the car park. The hill from Hartside toward Alston may be steep but continued peddling was required to maintain any kind of reasonable speed. In weather conditions like this, the position within a group that you ride can prove to be a delicate weighing up of pros and cons. In the front you faced the full driving force of the wind, behind you sat in the spray of the other bikes. With the end in sight we pushed on to Nenthead, reaching The Cherry Tree about 4:30. The Cherry Tree is a delightful place, not as an upmarket and swanky place to stay (anywhere like that would not have accepted us that day) but the proprietor went to lengths over and above the call of duty to make us welcome. We hosed down our bikes and placed them in safe storage, then were shown to our rooms. Our hostess, Hellen, had made a huge pan of chicken broth for us, knowing just how cold and wet we’d be after the days ride. Then she collected armfuls of clothes and set about washing and drying them for the next day. Now warmed again, she then insisted we use her car to travel the ¼ mile to the local pub to avoid getting soaked again. We dined that night at the local Nenthead pub. We had arrived unannounced and unfortunately the cook was away. However, although the menu was restricted we all ate well, and drank even better. As the last of us prepared to return to The Cherry Tree, a coat was noticed were we had sat. Thinking it one of our party who had forgotten it, the coat was brought back for return to the forgetful owner in the morning. Unfortunately the coat did not belong to any of our party, and later that night, an irate local turned up at The Cherry Tree to recover his property (sorry). Day 3 The hill out of Nenthead seemed to go on and on and on. We stopped by the sign at the top for photographs and then off down hill, then up, then down, then up. I can’t believe that there isn’t a more direct route and less hilly route to Stanhope. At least each climb was matched with a section of downhill. Coming out of Rookhope some of our party missed the sign that took them over the fell route and followed the main road into Stanhope (I’m not sure if this was intentional). I zipped down off the fell and onto the main Stanhope road, noticing that I had a puncture, possibly the result of taking a cattle grid a little quickly (the first and only of the trip). The inner tube patched and we were off again. The hill out of Stanhope (Crawleyside) is probably the worst on the trip. At the top you leave civilisation and cross a section of moorland. I spotted the van waiting patiently at the entrance to the quarry and the start of the Waskerly Way. The Waskerly Way is the kind of riding that makes you forget the previous hills. The track is rough in places but on the whole very good. Best of all is from that point on to the sea there are virtually no hills. Bikes cranked down the gears and away we went. It may prove a difficult ride if the weather were not kind, but for us it was excellent. We reached Consett and met the van for sandwiches. “Take me back to the top, I want to do this bit again!” Through Consett and Stanley without any hitches. We finally emerged from the track at Washington for our final hotel. It was early, only 2:30, but we had decided that a night in Newcastle should be fun. We booked into our hotel and settled in. This was the first hotel we’d stayed with private facilities and better yet, baths, however small they were. Washed and changed we all met at the bar to plan the evening ahead. A taxi to Newcastle, a meal and then a drink – all seemed in order. But where to eat? The barman recommended a TexMex place. Back at the hotel we searched Yellow pages but could not find the place recommended. Finally the hotel went on the internet to find the spot and we booked our table for 12 diners. The taxi arrived about 7pm and we all piled in. Take us to whatever it was called! Were? Unfortunately it appeared that the restaurant was not as famous as we had been led to believe. Drive round a bit and we’ll find it. After 20 minutes circling Newcastle we decided to give up and try somewhere else (sorry about the booking). We managed to get a table at an Italian place eventually (another party had not shown), not bad for 12 people on the busiest night of the week. The meal was great and then we moved onto one of Newcastle’s famous bars. At midnight we hit the streets and waited for the taxi to take us home. A comfortable bed awaited and pleasant dreams till morning – or so we’d hoped. Unfortunately, 2 football teams and several hen parties had also booked a night in the same hotel and had other priorities. The noise of the revellers continued until late into the night or early into the morning and so sleep was fleeting. Day Four We loaded the van and set about limbering up on the car park. Final morning photos before off. Everyone gathered together for the photo, unfortunately one of our team had forgotten he had clipped his feet into his pedals until gracefully he keeled over and hit the deck. Luckily, no damage to anything other than to his pride. We were off again, only about 18 miles to go and then it would be over. The remaining trip followed pathways and along quaysides. Only the wind coming off the sea was against us. Several of our party decided to stop off at the Stadium of Light and were given a brief guided tour, but with the bit between my teeth there would be no stopping till I reached the sea. And suddenly it was over and done! We’d reached our goal and cycled slowly up and down the sea front waiting for the van to arrive. Two of us stopped up by the north pier with the van and we waited for the remainder of our party to arrive. They rounded the final corner and not seeing the van on the north pier, decided to make for the beach for final photos and tyre wetting. Never say that you have finished something until there is no doubt. This close to the finish we still had one further mishap. As our party rode down the slipway and onto the beach, one person skidded her bike on loose sand and came crashing down. Luckily we had all been wearing helmets as her head cracked onto a stone, only the helmet protecting her from considerably more damage than occurred. Gashed knees, a mild concussion and yet another broken hand were the outcome of this slip. In a slightly more sombre mood, we took our bikes to the sea and dipped the wheels in the waters of the North Sea. Then madness struck as three of our party decided to strip to their cycling shorts and throw themselves into the icy waters. The mini bus and assorted lifts arrived and we packed away our trusty bikes. They had served us well. Only the one puncture, and that was caused by inferior rim tape. And then we started to depart. Most of the group went on the minibus to Worksop, but I had arranged for a lift back to Whitehaven, our departure place. I had thought seriously about riding back by The Reivers route, but perhaps it is best to leave something for another year. Afterthoughts And what for next year? Well there’s always The Reivers, or C2C in less time, or without a support vehicle or well we’ll just have to wait and see. And so this is the
end or is it – you see now it is September
and have just got back after sitting at Roker Pier again. After
a long and glorious summer (2003), my brother has decided to wait
till the first true weekend of the autumn to get around to finishing
what he had started. He drove to Keswick and parked up, cycled
out to the bottom of Whinlatter (where he had been picked up by
our support van) and then back into Keswick. He then took 2 days
to finish the trip, cycling alone with no back-up, but luckily
with no further major incidents. Knowing how he’d feel when he
finished by the end, I had volunteered to get him and drop him
back in Keswick. And so it was driving rain and wind, I sheltered
under cover on the sea front till eventually he turned up – I’d
walked into Sunderland and got food and had a look round as his
progress was slower than we had expected – but alls well that ends
well. A drive back over the Pennines in horrendous conditions and
everyone safely home. All in the name of fun !!
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