We left Nige and the car at Whitehaven about 15:00ish after doing the traditional
dipping of the tyres in the Irish sea. The sky was blue as we sped off at full
bore, popping the odd wheelie and bunny-hopping lumps of doggy-doo, such was
our enthusiasm we couldn't resist bellowing pretend motorbike noises as we
slipstreamed each other to take the lead. This enthusiasm lasted all but a
mile before remembering we had a long way to go.(Oh, and it was also a tad
embarrassing, we are in our mid thirties.)
The first big hill was about twenty miles into the trip and I
think this left our Stu regretting the lack of training he'd done.
He seemed to think winning a boozy bike ride with his mates a few
summers ago, was all the practise he needed. Needless to say he
had soon dismounted and was pushing his bike up the hill. Andy
and I found it hard not to feel some self satisfaction at our better
prepared training schedule of several twenty mile plus trips. Stu
found it a little easier when we raised his Ronnie Corbett seat
height at least six inches. Some three and half hours later we
were in Keswick and Nige was already at the digs with all our clobber.
An excellent dinner, the Liverpool game and a pub quiz made up
the night's entertainment all washed down with a sensible two rounds
of beer each, considering, of course the fifty five miles expected
the next day.
Not the earliest of starts after a massive full English and it was at least
10:30 when we departed the digs. Another big hill greeted us out of Keswick
as we opted for the more macho 'Old Coach Road off-road route'. Stu moaned
when he realised there was an easier, alternative option which we failed
to tell him about. All of a sudden the weather took a turn for the worse
and the heavens opened exposing our lightweight clothes as useless. We were
freezing, as the wind (which is supposed to be predominantly westerly) turned
against us.
A Cafe pit-stop in Penrith for soup and a sock dry was needed.
Stu's excellent idea of rummaging through ' Oxfam', 'Age Concern'
and the 'British Heart Foundation'
saw us coming out armed with fleece jumpers, hats and more gloves all for under
a tenner. You can take the kids out of the council estate, but the council
estate out of the kids, definitely not!! Not Andy though, too cool, reputation
to keep and all that. Two hours later we finally set off again into the rain.
Stu's £6.99 'Lidl' radio snaps off his bike and smashes, his pride and
joy gone, not bad for a bloke that hasn't even got mudguards or a water bottle
on his bike.
Got slightly lost near Alston and went a few miles in the wrong direction.
Again Stu was about to erupt when we talked of going back to pick up the right
trail. We didn't.
The dreaded Hartside was next. Thankfully it wasn't as steep as expected and
we almost, comfortably, made our ascent, although it did seem to climb forever.
Unfortunately we couldn't enjoy the descent as we had hoped. The wind and rain
were unbearable and the faster we rode, the more the rain grit blasted our
faces, all three of us complained of some strange spasmic shocks in our freezing
hands.
The final hill into Nenthead, for Stu, was like a marathon runner
hitting the proverbial 'wall'. I've never seen him so low and 'non
compos mentos'. The
day's fifty miles had caught up with him and even walking up the hill was turning
into an impossibility. Our smug 'We told you, you should have practised.' faces
probably didn't help. We later found out he had actually phoned Nige to come
and pick him up, but the time he had got to him we only had a mile of downhill
to go. We'd made it to the Miner's Arms which was to be our B&B for the
night. Excellent meal in the 'Overwater Restaurant' and then back to the pub
for our nightly quota, including a take out we could drink in the bunkhouse.
Stuart wisely headed for bed at 21:00 giving himself the best possible start
for the remaining 55 miles on the last day.
You wouldn't believe the weather could have been any crueller than the previous
day, but now we had snow. Several snow ploughs passed the window as we ate
our breakfast, contemplating whether to continue. The next six miles were
truly horrendous you couldn't see more than ten foot in front of you due
to the blizzard. Some of the hilly roads couldn't be driven on and had a
six inch coverage. Our brakes had now given up completely but they weren't
really needed as even down hill your bike came to a stop unless you went
down your gears.
We found a little cafe at Allenheads which was like finding an oasis in a desert
(but the complete opposite.) We were allowed to take our socks off and drape
them over the radiators as we slurped a big bowl of soup. The time we left
the cafe 3 hours had passed with only 6 miles to show for it on the clock.
The snow did disappear as we came down from the hills just leaving
an icy wind and sleet. We had to endure the next stretch at Rookhope
by pushing our bikes up hill for at least a mile, as the so called
track had turned into a flowing stream obviously going the opposite
way to us. Fog and blizzard conditions added to the bleak, barren
stretch of wasteland which for some reason was home to a plethora
of dead animals. Sheep, pheasants, foxes, rats, hares, hedgehogs
and Oran-utans where strewn all over the road which seemed eerie
as the road was desolate. Still, wasn't going to stop for an autopsy,
had to keep moving before our spirits were joining the road kill.
We spent another couple of hours at Parkhead cafe where a very friendly young
lady asked us all for our wet clothes to put in the tumble dryer. Normally
quite an erotic, surreal proposition but to be honest we were to cold to raise
even a smile. It did the trick though and again we were rejuvenated, even if
it did only last for half an hour.
From this point on I can't really remember anything except for stopping for
those turn-stile/gate things every mile. Beautiful sculptures paved the way
but damned if we were going to get the camera out or even look at them as our
hands were to numb to un-zip our pockets.( The photo's we did take were during
happier times and the weather wasn't too bad.)
I'm afraid I can't tell you we happily biked the last thirty five mile into
Sunderland. Despite the run in, being mainly downhill it seemed we were in
one of those dreams where you're running and not actually getting anywhere.
It was now getting dark and we didn't really know how far we had left to go,
twenty miles or five? The pace had really slowed giving you too much time to
reflect on the fact you were freezing and hypothermia was setting in.
We called Nige to pick us up feeling a little dejected at the fact we had
no lights on our bikes and rueing our eleven o'clock late start. (Also not
allowing
for such treacherous conditions.) Never before was I happier to see my younger
brother's smiling face. The mileage on the car showed we were 9.5 mile short
of our B&B and it was never in doubt that we were going to finish the last
stint the next day.
A five course Indian meal that night, then the Lincolnshire lads hit the town
big as the Sunderland pubs were nearly supped dry. This of course didn't happen
as we all retired to bed at 23:00 still complaining of cold.( Even Nige which
I found strange.) We completed the next day in about forty five minutes and
to rub salt in the wounds the weather was glorious tee-shirt weather.
Knowing it was only nine miles away and with the benefit of lights I still
don't think we could have made it. It would have taken us at least two hours
and my body was beginning to shut-down. We weren't joking at the time when
we said they should make this challenge the entry test to get in the Marines.
We all agreed the bike ride, although it did have some testing hills, could
be comfortably achieved if you're reasonably fit, in three days. But the weather
and no waterproofs, was the real challenge!!!
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