Penny’s husband was in Spain, so she had a free weekend; and we decided that rather than run both days we’d run on the first and cycle on the Sunday. One route I’ve done and enjoyed was out through the North Pennines to Lambley Viaduct, but you get to Haltwhistle from Lambley along a disused railway line, which I thought might be a bit boggy for our bikes. I was quite keen to try the ‘Raid’ – the 50 mile cross-border sportive route – but in the end we opted to drive to Bewcastle and go from there up to the scottish border at Kershope and back.
It was a friendly sort of a day. At Bewcastle we bumped into a friend’s parents, and had a chat with them, before starting off up a hill. Penny started strongly and I worried that I was going to repeat yesterday’s dismal performance and be lagging behind. I love this part of the world: there are very few cars, very few people, and lots of sheep: and at this time of year, of course, a lot of lambs. We took a wrong turning and ended up at a farm called Flatt (just one of at least two up here). As we were turning round a gentleman in a car came up looking for Bewcastle: we were able to send him back the way we’d just come from, just as the farmer came up on his quad bike and greeted us cheerily.
At another junction we were greeted by two ladies looking for Bewcastle; however just as I was about to send them to the church and castle, a BT van came past. The driver in that knew that what the ladies were really looking for was in fact the Bewcastle Hub at Roadhead, as tea and cake were on offer (unfortunately by the time we got back we’d just missed it; one thing missing on this route was a cafe). The very kind driver showed them the way, and off we headed again.
Rather than going straight up the road that goes almost due north along one edge of Kershope forest (one of our running routes), we instead turned off and wiggled around through Bailey. Although there are a lot of pine/spruce forests up here, there are also some older woodlands, with trees and boundary walls covered in moss.
We finally dropped down the hairpins to Kershope Bridge: we had made it to Scotland! Time for a Graze bar and some water.
Cycling back to Bewcastle seemed to go a lot more quickly than cycling up to Scotland had, despite a large hill from Oakshaw Ford up to the Roadhead road. I’ve cycled up here before (so I knew there was more to go as it kinked round to the right) but today it felt harder: I think I’m a lot less cycling fit (or fit generally) than I was. However I did get up it, and there’s then a fast, mostly downhill, sprint back to Bewcastle – with just one of those sneaky little hills that always seem extra hard just before the end.
We neither of tend to stop for pictures much when cycling, but the scenery was stunning and the roads quiet; and we saw lots of footpaths, bridleways and forest tracks which looked like inviting trail running routes.
There’s so much world to explore, just in and around Cumbria, and the views remind you of it: you could live a lifetime up here and not see all of it. I’m really grateful to still be fit and healthy and able to have these micro-adventures, and will keep doing so as long as I am able.
Last year in a rush of enthusiasm I entered this sportive; and then as nobody else I knew was doing it, I hadn’t trained for a 60-mile bike ride, and I had no idea what the weather would be like, I didn’t go. I’ve also always been rather hesitant about cycling in the Lake District, knowing how windy and narrow some of the roads are, and how much traffic they have on them: including drivers who don’t have a clue about how to drive on such roads and don’t appreciate that they are used by horses and people as well as by cars (and buses, lorries, delivery vans…).
This year however I persuaded Penny to enter as well. As the day grew closer she was expressing her doubts about her fitness; but having done the Border Reivers ride and the 50+ mile ride from Penrith around Caldbeck Fell and back, I was sure she’d be OK. The day before the ride I sent her a message asking if she wanted to back out: the thought of getting up at the crack of dawn (actually it was dark when I left home) on a Sunday had lost its appeal and I wanted to stay in bed. Her response was that we should do it. I’m glad she didn’t let me back out.
We met in Stainton at about 7a.m. (I was a bit late) so that we could travel in one car to Grasmere. We had been hoping to start at about 8a.m. but hadn’t appreciated quite how busy it would be. Having parked and sorted out bikes, clothing etc., we went to the village hall where a long queue bent around the outside of the building before going up the stairs and into the main hall to register. A sticker on our helmets, a bright pink wristband (for food) and a sticker to put on our bikes, and we were ready to approach the start line.
A week earlier we had tried out Red Bank, the hill which leads out of Grasmere towards Elterwater, on a Friday afternoon. We started with a 15 mile loop and then when we got back to Grasmere tried Red Bank two more times. Neither of us made it up the hill – the third time I got about halfway and then fell off my bike. It’s a 25% (1 in 4) hill, so fairly steep. I’m determined I’ll get up it one day.
Knowing what Red Bank was like, we were prepared to walk it – and assumed that other people might also be walking, which they were, although the vast majority of the cyclists around us did manage to cycle it all. Having climbed the hill one way or another, there’s then a fairly wiggly descent into Elterwater where there was a camera filming us. Neither Penny nor I feature in that film, despite my giving them my best smile and wave.
From Elterwater we pedalled along some of the lesser used lanes and down to Coniston Water; as we turned down the eastern side of the lake we commented that so far we’d followed the same route as the Keswick to Barrow (an annual 45-mile walk, which some people run). We passed Brantwood, which was having some work done to it judging by the scaffolding up outside it; and then once we were at the bottom (geographically of course, not on the lake bed) of the lake went along a lane which was more or less parallel to the main road. It’s one we’d run a bit of before when we did our ’round 16 lakes’ runs for Penny’s 50th, but I’ve never had any reason to drive along it as it comes up the eastern shore of Coniston from Greenodd. My main memory of it from this ride is going through a long, deep puddle which soaked my feet and my lower legs with rather chilly water. I still haven’t quite worked out what to do to keep my toes warm with trainers and toe clips, as opposed to cleats.
Before long we had crossed over the A590 and were on a road which seemed familiar – I then realised it was the road that goes down past Holker Hall, which we had cycled along when we cycled from Barrow to Grange. That time we’d gone over the singing bridge (by the Greenodd roundabout) and along a very bumpy track which wasn’t particularly suitable for roadbikes; today there wasn’t anything quite so memorable, although the views across the Leven estuary are worth seeing. We started going through more places, but their names are a bit of a blur as by now my mind was on getting to Cartmel and the lunch stop: I’d had half a flapjack and half a cup of coffee for breakfast and whilst I wasn’t feeling obviously hungry, it wasn’t a lot for a 30-mile-plus first half of a bike ride.
Cycling through Cartmel and up to the Scout Hut near the racecourse was quite funny, as previously I’ve been there for the Cartmel trail race. Again, I was seeing a view from a slightly different angle and from a different perspective.
We navigated a muddy track to the scout hut and left our bikes propped up against a fence. The place was, not surprisingly, buzzing with cyclists: everybody seemed to have turned up at once. Despite it feeling as if it was lunchtime, it was only in fact 11 a.m. – we’d been cycling just 2 and a half hours, which was rather gratifying as one of the things I’d been a bit worried about was whether we’d get back to Grasmere before dark. But in fact without having to stop to check the map or for photos, we’d made better time than we might normally.
The only photos we took were at the feed station, despite some lovely Lake District views elsewhere on the course. It was clear by now that we were surrounded mainly by men – we said later that the entrants seemed to be about 75-80% men. I commented to Penny a couple of times about how I’d forgotten how testosterone-fuelled bike rides can be: cyclists who had overtaken us earlier in a blaze of machismo speed, we then overtook back going uphill; and there was one old guy towards the end who then tried to overtake me after I’d overtaken him and basically couldn’t get past me – I had to shout at him not to pull in too soon, and then overtook him again just a few metres later (yes, I get competitive too – and so does Penny though in a less obvious way!).
The lunch was cheese sandwiches, ham sandwiches and cake of various types – and jam sandwiches and peanut butter sandwiches for those that like them – and there was a hill soon after the feed station. I had tried to warm up my feet, which having got so wet were like lumps of ice, and now my stomach and chest felt tight, and I was conscious that I hadn’t digested my lunch and probably shouldn’t have eaten so much. This feeling did not leave me for the rest of the ride, and even driving up the motorway to get home I felt bad and a couple of times thought I was going to be sick. I only felt better after I’d had a bath; and it reminded me of the time I attempted Kielder marathon, ate too much about half way round, and then struggled for the rest of the run and ended up with pains in my chest. This time they were in my back more than my heart area, but even so it reminded me to be a bit more sensible about ‘fuelling’ when exercising (usually less of a problem when cycling than when running).
Having crossed back over to the north of the A590 we turned to pedal along the Rusland valley, which is really pretty. For Penny this was a trip down memory lane, as she used to work at Grizedale Forest. Just before Grizedale we met her husband coming in the other direction on his motorbike – they had a brief chat before we continued past the forest, and he headed home having satisfied himself that we wouldn’t need rescuing. As we started up the hill to Moor Top a guy passed us saying ‘hills, more hills’ – I replied ‘well, it is the Lake District’. Another photographer and another smile – I was, despite feeling rather uncomfortable, basically enjoying myself.
We were now on familiar ground and as Penny zipped down the hill into Hawkshead ahead of me – normally I’m the one in front going down hills but she was ahead of me into Elterwater and on this hill – the many times I’d driven through here when the children were younger and we were on holiday in the Lakes went through my mind. It wasn’t then far into Ambleside, where we repeated the route we had a week earlier alongside the River Rothay – but with rather more people around, which meant we were dodging walkers as well as other cyclists. By now we’d been through two showers of rain and as we headed into Grasmere it started to rain again, rather more heavily. We crossed the finishing line, took our bikes to the car, and then went back to the village hall for ‘hot food’ (and to have our pink wristbands cut off), glad that we were no longer out in the rain that was now falling heavily. We had a brief chat with a nice guy who looked a little like the actor who plays Mr Tumnus in ‘Narnia’: he was wearing only socks on his in the hall and had left his shoes on a windowsill outside, where they were no doubt filling up with rainwater… fortunately he said he had dry clothes in his car.
I wasn’t feeling well enough to have any more food, which was just as well as it looked like an unappetising slop (Penny confirmed that it was pretty tasteless). There were 800-odd people to cater for, but you’d think they could have done a decent soup or soups with bread rolls. But never mind: I’ve never catered for 800 people all arriving at different times, and it can’t be easy. As ever the marshalls along the route were great and really friendly: having marshalled a half marathon in the past I know how cold it is standing around waiting for people to go past, but they do a great job and it can be really cheering to see a friendly face if you’re struggling: so thank you to everyone who marshalled.
Our final conclusions though were that although we were glad we’d done the ride, we wouldn’t do it again. But I’m glad that I now know I can cycle 57 miles in a day and feel OK, and my appetite has been whetted to do more cycling. There are various European routes I want to try out, and I’m now thinking I might save up to take two weeks in the summer to do one.
Part One: Penrith and round the back of Blencathra
The two younger children went to Spain for half term with their father, which meant I had two weekends when I was able to do long bike rides. It was just as well: having entered the Cumbrian Cracker sportive last year and then chickened out of actually turning up and doing it, this year I have entered again and persuaded (at least) two friends to do it with me. It’s 60 miles, and as we all know, the Lake District is not flat.
I’ve previously enthused about a bike ride which loops around the back of Blencathra and then comes back along the mixed-use former railway line from Keswick and the gated road back to Mungrisdale (https://runningin3time.blog/2021/03/28/return-to-the-lake-district/). Looking at another selection of routes I had – this time from Penrith, many of which I have previously written up – it looked as if there was a 50-mile route which linked the ‘back of Blencathra’ loop to a shorter (and probably flatter) loop from around about Rheged or Stainton.
Penny and I met in Stainton, parked up, both feeling a bit nervous about doing 50 miles. Would we be able to? How would we feel at the end? On the other hand I was also looking forward to revisiting the previous route and potentially stopping at the Old Sawmill Tea Room at Dodds Wood or the cafe at Threlkeld. We met quite early, just to make sure that we had plenty of time to complete the ride before it got dark. Fortunately the weather was dry – it’s been very changeable the past few weeks and the weather forecast always seems, correctly or incorrectly, to predict showers.
We cycled out along some quiet lanes, my commenting on how if/when I move to Penrith these will become part of my normal cycling routes. As we pedalled through Skelton and admired some pigs I wondered why the village name rang bells – it’s because there’s a Michelin-starred pub there, the Dog and Gun; we passed close to Greystoke Forest, where we had run earlier in the year but which will be closed to walkers and runners again at the end of this month until next April; and then down the hill to cross the river at Haltcliff Bridge before joining the other route and continuing on into Hesket Newmarket (what a great name for a place!).
We had memories of hills out of Hesket Newmarket, and in fact the first one turned out not to be as bad as we’d remembered. However as we dropped down the other side we could see a longer hill ahead: and a tractor halfway up it, hedge cutting! We made it up the hill and past the tractor, breathing sighs of relief that we hadn’t got punctures whilst on the way up (and so far from home – though obviously we carry puncture kits, spare inner tubes, etc.).
Before long we were out on Caldbeck Fell with the wind against us: to be honest it was probably the hardest and most miserable part of the ride, and whilst I love the openness of the countryside and quite often choose to drive home from (e.g.) Keswick that way, today being exposed to the wind was no fun. It seemed an awful lot further to the turn-off towards Over Water than I’d remembered. With relief we turned in an easterly direction and started to drop downhill and out of the wind a bit. As we dropped down the sun was out on part of the hills around us, but by the time we’d thought perhaps we’d stop for a photo, the clouds had come hidden the sunlight again. We tend not to stop so much when cycling anyway: it’s too much of a palaver for me to get my small backpack undone, get the phone out, and get packed up again and lose the momentum of cycling, but it does mean I’ve missed some potentially decent photos. I thought, not for the first time, that I’d quite like a headcam.
We went the correct way, to the east of Over Water, today – for some reason we’d gone to the west and then ended up going down a very steep hill into Bassenthwaite, previously. This took us along a beautiful tree-lined road next to the river – you can see from my face how much I was enjoying cycling along there. It was then a case of cycling through the village, devoid of people on this chilly grey day, along some more lanes and past where the new water pipeline has been installed, then up on to the A591 to get to the Old Sawmill Tearoom – where we sat inside, near the log burner, for our soup and hot drinks, as we were feeling chilly. This is a great place for a break as there are clean toilets and good food, plus bike racks to tie your bikes to if you have a lock.
It’s not far from there to Keswick, and I won’t repeat my enthusiasm for the multi-use track and the gated road: they were just as enjoyable today as they were the last time I did them, and I’m sure I’ll be doing them again.
At Mungrisdale we took a road neither of us had ever been on before, which gradually led uphill towards Berrier. The views were stunning over towards the Lake District. There was then a descent to Greystoke: I know there’s a very popular cycle cafe here, but I’ve never been in it: today it was too close to the end of our ride (note to self to look up another route which takes in Greystoke as the halfway point). We were both flagging a bit by now but the weather remained dry – I seem to remember the sun had even begun to come out – and we passed through Newbiggin and back to Stainton without incident. I nipped to Cranstons in Penrith for cake (unfortunately Cafe Oswald had just closed) and Penny managed to get to Specsavers in time to get something fixed on her glasses, before joining me for cake in the car and a high five for making it.
Part two: Border Reivers
Feeling confident now about doing 50 miles, and with the children still away, I suggested two more rides to Penny: one shorter and hillier one around Alston and Nenthead, and the other the so-called Border Reivers cycle trail, which was a leaflet I’d picked up several years ago, and which from Brampton would result in about a 50-mile cycle. We opted for that one. Notably we only saw one sign for the route whilst we were cycling it: I think it’s got mainly forgotten.
It’s a great pity as this wild and enormously historic countryside, some of which forms part of the Debatable Lands, provides a haunting cycle ride. There are very few cars and not many houses; and fewer cafes than further into the centre of Cumbria. You’re right up near the Scottish border, north of ‘The’ Wall (Hadrian’s Wall) and you know that plenty of blood has been shed up here.
I’ve cycled many of these roads previously, and did most of the Border Reivers route myself a few years ago, in the opposite direction to the one we took today; some of it also forms part of the Cross Border Sportive routes. Lanercost, Askerton and Bewcastle are all familiar to anyone who reads this blog: the route booklet has anecdotes about the various reiving families, a phase of history which is little known outside this area and which would take too much room to recount here. Needless to say there is still a slight sense of danger in being so far removed from ‘civilisation’, and I have ambitions to cycle even further north and take in the windswept fell between Langholm and Newcastleton, and to cycle past Hermitage Castle.
Appropriately enough for the surroundings, it was raining. It rained all day, with little let-up, so even by the time we got to Bewcastle we were soaking. However it’s too tempting to take a photo not to stop by the sign which states ‘Rome 1141’, so we paused, took wet gloves off and tried to get photos without too much water on the lenses before setting off again. One day I think I might try to cycle from Bewcastle to Rome…….
I have to admit my memory of the route, although accurate in terms of which direction we needed to go in, was optimistically misinformed about how far it was between each memorable point. I guess that’s always the way though: you keep visual pictures in your mind of key features and your brain doesn’t bother with the bits of lane which look just like the previous mile or so of lane. Before long we had turned down from Penton, through KirkAndrews Moat (I wonder why it was called Moat?), which in my opinion is one of the least attractive-looking places around here, and then down past some abnormally green fields near Netherby. Having been to a talk about ‘The Importance of Soil’ on Thursday night, and with Penny’s knowledge of ecology, we were discussing how artificial the grass looked, and also how compacted the ground was, meaning that water wasn’t percolating through but just sitting on the top. It’s not the first time we’ve seen lurid green grass.
By the time we got to Longtown we were keen to stop for something to eat and drink. As the rain came down ever more hard, we slogged our way out of Longtown on the A6071 rather than taking a scenic detour through Arthuret and Sandysike, and went into the cafe in Whitesykes garden centre and dripped all over their chairs (I sat on two paper napkins to try to alleviate some of it). This is another great place to stop, with home made soup, generously filled toasties, and good coffee. It’s family-run, which just adds a bit more of a personal touch to it than being part of a big chain: I hadn’t been in for ages but the manageress still remembered me and asked after my parents.
From there we passed through Kirklinton and Smithfield before having a gentle but fairly long climb up to Hethersgill, where we went straight across until we crossed over Walton Moss before coming out in Walton itself and then cycling down to Lanercost. Again, there’s a tea room I haven’t been to in Walton, and a tea room which is good at Lanercost: but today we just wanted to get back and get dry. I remembered the last time I’d cycled up the hill at Lanercost and overtaken a cyclist who’d come from Newcastle along the Hadrian’s Wall bike trail: I hadn’t done as far as him today, but it was another long ride and I got home feeling happier again about doing 60 miles in a couple of weeks’ time.
I was drenched through, but my first thought was that I wanted to go out cycling again on Sunday. As it turned out I didn’t, but I carefully cleaned the mud and grit off my bike, including cleaning and re-oiling the chain. I hope my bike and I will have many more miles together, wherever I end up living. Meanwhile my two younger children were back from Spain and I went off down to Penrith to have dinner with them: hooray!
I have, basically, cycled around the whole of Cumbria now – over a period of time (several years, to be honest). However of course whichever road you take there are always alternatives, and there is still plenty of this enormous and varied county to explore.
I’m one of those people who collects leaflets and pages from magazines. I had a collection of ‘interesting-places-to-visit-at-some-point’ (I like to think of it as my tourist information point) which I gave to a woman and her husband having met them in the woods nearby while I was out running one day. I should perhaps add that I wasn’t carrying the leaflets with me – she mentioned that she volunteered in a local charity shop, so I dropped them off there.
That left leaflets and magazine pages about runs and cycle rides. These are mostly left in a neat(ish) pile along with the relevant maps, partly as I’m going to turn them into a book one day (!) and partly as I want to try out some of those alternative routes which I haven’t yet done. They’re not all in Cumbria: I really want to explore more of southern Scotland, which lies just to the north of the Solway Firth (and which has sandy beaches rather than muddy marshland) and also Northumberland – which is, of course, another huge county.
Alston is allegedly the highest town in England, and sits close to the Northumberland/ Cumbrian border. It’s about 18 or 19 miles from Brampton, where I live, along a wiggly but interesting road (you even pass the remains of a Roman fort). As the ride I’d decided to do was about 20 miles and hilly, I thought I’d drive to Alston and park in the middle – especially as by the time I’d decided which route I wanted to do it was getting into mid-afternoon. Alston has a reputation for being a bit weird and the home to lots of hippy-types who moved there in the 1960s and never moved away again. I’m not a hippy type, but I do like Alston, but other than a steam railway it suffers from a lack of public transport (I’m sure there’s a bus service, but like so many rural places I would think that you’re basically reliant on having a car and being able to drive).
The start of the bike ride took me downhill out of Alston and then out along a minor road going in a southerly direction towards Garigill (or Garrigill). I was cycling more or less alongside the river South Tyne, which starts up in the Fells to the south of Alston, and passed or crossed several burns or becks which also come down off the fellside into the south Tyne – including one called Dry Burn, which was as its name describes.
The road drops downhill into Garigill and the river valley, and the routemap showed that I should now turn to the south towards Ashgill to go around Flinty Fell. However I decided not to but to follow the Coast to Coast cycle waymarks. This took me up a very steep hill out of Garigill to climb up to a crossroads with the B6277. The lovely weather (sunny, with a bit of a breeze) had brought the boy racers out and three small sporty cars zoomed past before I could get across the road.
It then continues to climb up Nunnery Hill between Middle Fell and Flinty Fell, albeit more gently. The wide open landscape is absolutely stunning and I stopped to get a panoramic photo and to soak up the views. No long after that a male cyclist overtook me, commenting that the hill seemed to go on for ever. I kept him in my sights for a bit (but not long – he was going a lot faster then I), until I stopped again, this time to look at my map.
Looking back towards the crossroadsLooking northwest.
There then followed an incredibly steep downhill into Nenthead. I was extremely glad to be on my Cannondale Synapse, which has disc brakes and where my feet are not clipped into my pedals!
You’re in real ex-mining country by now: I didn’t pass any mines but nearby Nenthead mines are open to the public a few times a year, and Killhope Mine (County Durham) is not far away.
Today I cycled back along the A689 to drop back down into Alston. A man was singing and playing the guitar outside the pub with a small audience of people enjoying a drink in the late afternoon sun. It was tempting to join them, but I don’t have the confidence to walk up to a group of people out of the blue and introduce myself, so instead I headed home after soaking up the atmosphere for a bit and taking some photos.
The following weekend I decided I’d go out on a slightly flatter ride, and opted to do the one I’d done over the Solway plain but in the opposite direction. It was sunny again, but what I hadn’t factored in was the wind, which was coming from the south/south-west. For most of the ride I was heading straight into the wind, so despite the lack of incline, it was still more effort than it might have been! Never mind – it was worth seeing the Lake District fells from a different angle, and when I arrived at my parking place the tide was in, making the Solway look blue and attractive as it glistened in the sunlight.
I find it hard to believe sometimes that I once thought living in London was the be-all and end-all and that I couldn’t bear to live anywhere else. The countryside is definitely not boring (and I have more friends than ever, I think), and whether you live in a village, town or city it seems that if you want to try out new cycle routes and new runs you often have to drive to get there, unfortunately. At least there are plenty of routes I can do from home as well: ones I rarely write about in this blog as I do them so often, but in between blogpost adventures I am out running around the Tarn, and Gelt Woods, and up on the Ridge. I’ll end with some photos from a springtime but slightly damp run in and around Gelt Woods yesterday.
As the weather got chillier and greyer, swimming Snowdon was beginning to lose its appeal. Whilst I’ve walked up a little bit of a hill in a wetsuit before (between Styhead Tarn and Sprinkling Tarn – see post of 23rd May), I didn’t really fancy walking all the way up Snowdon and down the other side in a wetsuit. I’d been hoping that September/early October weather and water temperature would be warm; but it didn’t look very likely. Then, unfortunately, Penny’s bad back flared up, making sitting in a car almost impossible for her, and injured Tim fell out of bed so she felt she couldn’t leave him for the entire weekend anyway.
With Coniston 14km trail race coming up next weekend (only 2 left to go after that, to complete the series) and a 60 mile bike ride at the end of November, it was quite good to have the opportunity to relax and get some long runs/bike rides in. Plans for the weekend fluctuated and it wasn’t until Saturday morning, after coffee and a read in bed, that I decided that I’d go for a bike ride. It took eating breakfast to decide which bike ride to do: would I go up to Alston and Nenthead (hilly but interesting) or should I opt for a route out of the Ordnance Survey Cycle Tours – Cumbria and the Lakes book? In the end, feeling a bit lazy, I chose to do a route from the latter which was going to overlap day 2 of the cycling around Cumbria ‘project’. It looked flat; it would take me along that magical coast line which seems so different from the rest of Cumbria; and it was 30 miles.
I stopped at Burgh by Sands and used a revolting portaloo in the car park before realising that I didn’t need to start the ride there, but a few miles further along, nearer to Port Carlisle. It meant I didn’t cycle across the long straight road which crosses the marshes, with flood warning signs at frequent intervals and humps which roads to higher ground lead off. Instead I stopped in a parking bay at a corner where the road drops down towards the Solway, and started cycling, passing through Port Carlisle – a strange linear place with a handful of attractive Victorian (?) houses but not much more. Apparently it was originally named Fisher’s Cross but was renamed when the canal was built which linked Carlisle to the Solway.
Going through Bowness on Solway I noticed flags with suns on and signs about art open days. People were ambling up the main road – I had to make ‘ding ding’ noises so they noticed me – and then I saw two people I knew. I smiled and called out: but then felt guilty for not stopping to say hello properly and to have a chat. The Garrison bistro looks promising: I must go back there sometime.
I remembered from cycling this way before that we’d had to stop to open gates at the nature reserve: now there are brand new cattlegrids which mean you don’t have to stop. From now on the radio masts at Cardurnock/Anthorn made a clear landmark for nearly all the rest of the ride, the bends in the coast and the road making it appear sometimes closer than it would have been if I’d needed to cycle there.
There were also what looked like brick look out posts; two at least now being used to store hay bales, which struck me as eminently sensible. They presumably date from the 2nd world war: there were air fields and military bases all round the area. If anyone is interested in finding out more, it looks as if the Solway Firth Partnership promotes various trails: https://www.solwaymilitarytrail.co.uk/trails/
The amazing thing around this entire area is that although there are plenty of ugly modern buildings, and old buildings left to go to rack and ruin, there are also some beautiful ones. As you cycle into Anthorn you pass some attractive old buildings, before going past a particularly ugly more modern housing estate. As you turn off the road to go down to Kirkbride, a particularly dilapidated signpost rather sadly gives out your options: but Kirkbride is lovely and the signpost is presumably just waiting to be budgeted for in the right financial year. Around Kirkbride Penny and I had previously been overtaken by a group of fast (young, male) road cyclists; today I kept coming across groups in blue going in the other direction, and I wondered if there was some sort of event on.
At this point I was about halfway through my ride, and it struck me how liberating cycling is. I always love being out on my bike and feel as if I could cycle for ever: but then as I get back towards the end I look forward to finishing and to getting home. I sometimes have the same feeling whilst running, though as running is generally harder work the end can be more of a relief: though the great thing about feeling quite fit is that you get to the end and wonder if you could have gone further.
What this signpost highlights is how the roads around here can only be a mile or two away from sending you back to where you started from: it’s actually quite a small area geographically, but there are plenty of roads linking the villages to each other. So much so that I had to check the map quite often, and then the time I didn’t check the map I ended up missing out Wigton: no bad thing as it frequently smells and, being on one of the A59-somethings, it wasn’t really a great loss. Having said that, the John Peel theatre is great and I believe there are also several good restaurants in the town, plus it also has a station: https://wigtontheatre.org/. I found I was spending quite a lot of the ride checking out nice houses and wondering if I could live in any of them: but one of my criteria for wherever I move to is that I should be near a station.
Having turned left instead of right at Lessonhall I crossed what seemed like quite a main road (it wasn’t – but it was straight) and past a farm where a wedding was taking place: the sun seemed to be about to come out just as they were taking photos. Having read that the route was flat, I was then surprised to find that I plunged down a small hill, and then another: I had obviously cycled up a very gradual gradient without realising it, which made sense as I was no longer on land that looked marshy and as if it might flood. Not, that is, until I passed Wampool where there were some slightly alarming signs about the road being liable to flooding, ‘turn here’. I cycled along wondering if I might have to turn back at any point, but fortunately the ground is still quite dry at the moment and the worst I had to cycle through was dried cowpats. The river Wampool and the river Waver, both of which I’d cycled alongside, empty out into the Solway Firth and the land is criss-crossed by drains and marshes.
Signs pointed back towards Bowness on Solway and an ice cream van I’d seen earlier in the afternoon passed me at the junction: but I turned towards Glasson, seeing Bowness on a distant rise. Past Glasson as I turned back onto the coast road to get back to the car, I noticed the tide had come in and panicked briefly that I would find my car under water. Fortunately high tide at the moment didn’t mean ‘ridiculously high tide’ and I got back with enough grass to walk across to take a photo of the River Eden outflow/the Solway. As I got back in my car from taking photos, some more cyclists in blue passed me and I realised it was the last of the groups I’d seen before.
Driving back to Carlisle I went past some more groups in blue, and then having been to Sainsburys passed them again. They had ‘AAK’ (I think it was) on their shirts and something about being in aid of the blind; so I assume it’s a company doing a charity ride. I wish I’d stopped to ask them: I wonder if they’re doing the entire Hadrian’s Wall cycle route. I hope they enjoy it and raise plenty of funds. I had done 52km.
Since my head cold and the 18km trail race, I must admit to having been feeling a bit sluggish. Somehow I just didn’t have my usual energy levels. I wasn’t sure whether it was the aftermath of the cold and the race combined or just a phase in the ups and downs of life. As the next race is at the beginning of June, however, and is a half marathon, I was conscious of not having much time to increase the distance I was running, and the couple of short runs I got in during the working week felt hard.
On Friday 14th May, Hannah – whom I know from work – and I had arranged to meet up, and possibly go for a swim in Broomlee Lough. We were both excited – she’s been more or less shielding for most of the pandemic, but had also joined the Ladies of the Lakes Whatsapp group and bought herself a wetsuit – and I was just looking forward to meeting up with a friend and also potentially swimming in Broomlee Lough again.
With the weather we’d had I wasn’t sure how warm it would be, but thought that perhaps as it’s relatively shallow it wouldn’t have got too much colder since the group of us had last swum there. The weather that morning was a little dull and we were messaging each other about whether to take wetsuits or not – I decided I would take mine in the car, and the nearer I got to Housesteads the more I felt that it would be worth going swimming anyway, even if it wasn’t for long.
When we arrived we found out from the member of National Trust staff at the gate that in fact we need not have booked tickets. A public footpath leads straight across the site, so as long as you don’t want to visit the ruins of the fort then you’re allowed to cross the larger site. It makes for a shorter walk than from the layby on the road, although you do then have to cross the boggiest part of the field. I had wellies on but Hannah hadn’t managed to find hers, nor her walking boots – her (fortunately old) trainers were excessively muddy by the time we’d walked up and back.
There’s something very special about swimming in lakes and tarns anyway, and I feel it even more so up at Broomlee Lough, where the Romans swam. We discussed how they’d have felt swimming north of the wall ‘outside the Empire’ and decided that perhaps it was confirmation that it was more of a boundary marker and trading post than a constantly-fought-over frontier. And in fact, thinking that it stood for about 300 years or more, there must surely have been times when the frontier was quite stable and peaceful?
Hannah absolutely loved swimming in the lough, comparing it favourably even to Lake Garda: partly as it’s so much quieter and more remote. I got a few photos and a video of her but I’m not going to post them here as they’re not the most flattering of her. But the big joyful smile on her face was like the sun, and a photo can’t in any case accurately show how someone feels on top of the world and pleased with her achievement: it was as if she had won the Olympics. We spoke about ‘movement meditation’, or mindfulness, and how the physical, emotional and mental sides of us are interconnected.
The National Trust has changed the shop and ticket office at the entrance to the larger site into a cafe and we stopped there for ice cream on the way out, and to admire how tame the birds were. A chaffinch was hopping about, and then a bright yellow bird which looked almost tropical. Penny knew what it was when I showed her the photo – a siskin. Now I know why the cafe at Whinlatter is called Siskins.
Later that day Penny and I went for a cycle ride from Walton, round in a 25 mile loop. The sun by now had come out and whilst we’d hoped to be able to do the Border Reivers 40 mile route, Penny’s husband had said he’d be coming past to fetch her at about 5.30pm, so we had to do a shorter version. As it turned out we got back to my house about 5 or 10 minutes before Tim turned up, in time to have a quick cup of tea.
It had been a brilliant day: I’d been outside almost all day, met up with two fab. friends, and done two of my favourite things, swimming and cycling. That evening as I did my singing practice I contemplated that I was feeling more energetic than I had for a couple of weeks. As I ran on Sunday, although it was a fairly long run (17km), I felt ‘normal’ again: and my cold seemed to have gone. I’d got my Mojo back.
Our spell of weather which was growing warmer and sunnier unfortunately came to an end. Having not had many April showers, as May popped its head over the horizon the rain came too.
Penny and I arranged to go for a bike ride on the bank holiday Monday at the beginning of May. We agreed we’d finish the ride we’d cut short previously, aiming to do a 20 mile loop from Langwathby up through Melmerby and back through Kirkoswald (one of my favourite Cumbrian villages) and Lazonby. This loop also meant that in terms of cycling around the edge of Cumbria, I would have completed the circuit up the Eden valley from Kirby Stephen northwards; and in fact in terms of the overall route the only section(s) now missing are from Grange over Sands to Kirby Stephen.
However the weather was not kind to us. We met on a grey chilly day at Langwathby station and cycled north towards Little Salkeld, although we turned to the east before we got into the village: on a nice day and further on into a ride it would be a good place to stop as there are the standing stones of Long Meg and her daughters to see, a working flour mill, and Lacey’s caves down by the river.
We cycled east to Ousby where we picked up the route we’d turned off from before, going almost due north to Melmerby and then Gamblesby. So many of the villages are attractive in the Eden valley, but this was not a day for stopping, so we just admired them as we pedalled through, chatting as we went – Penny’s father in law had recently died and Penny and Tim had been to the funeral on the Friday, so there was a lot to talk about. Fortunately it was relatively easy cycling, without any major hills, so it was quite easy to chat.
At a five-way junction near Busk we turned to the west again, along a lovely undulating road which then plummeted down into Kirkoswald (or KO as many local people call it). We came out at the bottom of the hill which leads down through the village. When driving through the village from the other direction I’d often wondered where the road we came down led; now I knew; looking at the map apparently we’d come past the remains of the castle as well (next time I’ll have to remember not to enjoy the speed so much, and try to take some notice).
It was then a straightforward ride on the ‘main’ B road back through Lazonby and down to Langwathby – but the wind was against us, the rain was coming straight at us, and the 4 miles south felt further and a bit of a drag. We got back to the cars drenched and chilled.
On the way home I stopped at the motorway services to use the toilets – I literally had to peel my clothes off as they were stuck to me, they were so wet; and my car seat was also drenched with the rain water oozing out of my garments. Even with the car heater on full blast I was chilly – when I got home I got straight into a nice deep, warm, bath.
I then went down with a head cold on the Tuesday and Wednesday (I blame Edward and school), which was annoying as I’d been hoping to get some extra running mileage in with the first of the Lakeland trails races at the weekend: however I figured that a couple of days’ rest wouldn’t hurt, and might mean the cold disappeared that much more quickly. I had forgotten what having a cold was like: my brain was like cotton wool and the pile of tissues in the waste paper basket was growing higher and higher.
I’d love to be able to say that Saturday dawned bright and sunny, ready for the run – but it didn’t. I layered up, took spare clothes and shoes, and headed down the motorway to Staveley, near Windermere. I could feel the car slipping a bit on the grass of the field being used for parking, and hoped that I wasn’t going to get stuck – a few years ago I got stuck after the Ullswater trail race and it was a real effort to get the car out. At least there were plenty of parking attendants around, so presumably they’d be able to call a tractor if people started getting stuck.
Hanging around at the start line was quiet and a little strange compared with previous races. We were being started in groups of up to 6 each minute, and for some start times there were no runners. My 1.30 slot however was fully booked, with me and 5 men lining up ready for the off. We’d been asked to arrive only 15 minutes before the start, so hadn’t been waiting long but were already getting wet: though not as wet or cold as the poor marshalls, many of whom would have been standing around for hours.
The route was on bluebell-lined tarmac out of the village for quite a way before turning off to head over the fell. A stony track went downhill before some more hard surface, and even running through the yard of a factory of some sort. Most of the middle part of the race is a bit of a blur, partly as I had no idea how far I’d come or had to go. There was a longish section on top of another fell though, with a lot of mud and water across the path: in places huge muddy puddles covered a wide area and it was difficult to know whether just to run straight through or to go round the edges.
Finally we started crossing fields, at each stone wall having to clamber over a stone stile, before heading up the last hill for ‘the sting in the tail’. I must admit I quite enjoyed that last grassy wiggly hill – it wasn’t as bad as I had expected and I knew there was a downhill section coming up afterwards. The photographer was waiting there: I haven’t yet dared to look at my photo as I dread to think what my hair looked like, I was so wet.
On the enjoyable long downhill section I overtook a couple of people, which was gratifying, and then there was a run along the road to get back to the recreation ground and the finish. I managed a bit of extra effort to get over the line but not having run 18km for a while I also felt a little bit tired for the rest of the day.
At the finish there weren’t crowds milling around; the whole atmosphere was, like at the start, somewhat muted compared to previous years’ trail races. It was more like doing a triathlon than a normal running race – you’re far more spread out in a triathlon normally due to different swim waves/start times, and before too long the competitors are strung out along the course. One of the features of the Lakeland trails, and other trail races, has been the camaraderie: however the marshalls were all friendly and out on the course whenever people passed each other they’d say hello. It may have been a slightly lonelier experience than before, but it was extremely well-managed and Covid-safe: and at the end of the day great to be able to race again.
According to the stats I completed the course in 2 hours and 7 mins. They’ve put me in the FV50 category whereas I thought I was due to be in FV60 this year; but it doesn’t really matter. It looked as if the fastest female in my race was in the FV70 category, so it goes to show that age doesn’t necessarily affect your running ability!
Now to get in some extra miles so I’m ready for the half marathon in a few weeks’ time… but meanwhile I cooked lunch for some friends on the Sunday. The weather stayed dry – otherwise the lunch would have become a take-away – and we enjoyed a cold cucumber soup, followed by roast lamb with pomegranate, two salads, and then Ruins of a Russian Count’s Castle. I think this could become ‘a Thing’.
After Penny and I had run up High Cup Nick last autumn, I drove back up the rural roads towards Penrith, thinking that I’d like to cycle up that way some time; that possibly those roads could be part of my ’round Cumbria’s edges’ route.
As Penny’s leg is still bothering her, rather than suggesting going running I instead suggested cycling. On Friday I dropped Bella at David’s and drove on to Penny’s house a few miles south of Penrith, bike in the boot. We didn’t have time to do one of the loops from my Ordnance Survey book so this wasn’t going to be my chance to cycle up the Eden valley: yet.
We left Penny’s village and cycled south, the M6, A6 and West Coast mainline railway all parallel to us, like stripes travelling south. Shap is one of those places which I’ve heard about since I was a child, due to Shap Summit being the highest place on that line. When my entire family travelled by train to Edinburgh when I was 7, to celebrate my uncle’s wedding, the height of the railway line was impressed upon me and in fact we even had a ‘double header’ – two engines pulling our train.
However Shap itself is something of a disappointment. When you drive through it it seems just to be a rather dull example of ribbon development, stretching along the A6 towards the quarry at one end of the village not far from a motorway junction. However today we cycled into Shap from the east and I noticed that there are some lovely houses as you come down the hill into the village.
Just south of Shap we turned westwards on ‘the concrete road’ (some people describe this as a military road, but it’s not – it was built for the construction of Haweswater dam back in the 1930s). When Penny and I had run from Shap Abbey up to Burnbanks we’d come back along most of this road; today we cycled it from end to end, and I have to say it was great. There were hardly any cars and the scenery is great, with open rolling fellside either side of a gently curving open road.
At Burnbanks we turned to go down the eastern side of Haweswater, almost to the end of the reservoir, talking about when we’d run round the lake and what a pity it is that there isn’t a footpath around the entire perimeter. The road, as I realised when we turned to go back towards Burnbanks again, is pleasantly deceptive – it undulates gently such that you hardly notice.
When we got back to Burnbanks we turned up the Lowther valley, through Bampton to Helton and then into Askham. I knew there was a hill up through Lowther Castle parkland, but in fact this also proved not to be too hard. What did strike me was how pretentious Lowther Castle is: even as a ruin. Of course it was built for Lord Lonsdale or whatever his title was at the time to say ‘look at me and how much money I’ve got’, and its gothic style (it was built in the early 1800s) emphasises this. Apparently it was only called a ‘castle’ after this: the earlier, smaller, building was called Lowther Hall.
When we got back to Penny’s house and my car we had done 30 miles, and it was time for me to fetch Edward from David’s; but knowing that I might need to bring Edward back down on Sunday, I suggested we could maybe cycle again then if Penny wasn’t having to do things with her husband (over Easter they built a very impressive and professional-looking path in their back garden).
The opportunity arose to do a loop in the Eden valley which included the road I’d driven up that day after High Cup Nick. Although it was cold – we could see snow on some of the fells – it was sunny, and we optimistically met at Langwathby, to the east of Penrith. The road south towards Culgaith was great – there were lovely views of the Lakeland Fells and the Pennines and even as far south as Ingleborough and the Howgills. We passed Acorn Bank (National Trust) and carried on to Newbiggin (pretty) and Kirkby Thore (not pretty, but with an interesting concrete works nearby) before turning into Long Marton and then towards Dufton.
We debated whether to go into Dufton – we’d thought of starting the ride there, but it’s a lot further from Penrith – but instead headed straight back up the valley towards Knock: Penny’s maiden name was Knock so she stopped to take a photo to send to her brother. By now we were heading into a chilly northerly wind which we hadn’t noticed, as it was behind us, on the way out – and there were rather worrying rain clouds ahead of us, which we knew were likely to be coming in our direction.
There are some lovely villages up this valley: one of my favourites is Milburn, where houses gaze over the large rectangular village green and the road just quietly cuts through one of the short sides. By now we were beginning to feel quite a bit colder, the dark grey rain clouds were coming ever closer, and we were wondering whether to cut the ride short for a variety of other reasons as well. We were hoping to get to Melmerby to the Vilage Bakery, which I had checked was open for take away, but the prospect of too much longer on our bikes was losing its appeal. At the next village a sign said ‘Langwathby 3 miles’ and I suggested we just turn down that way. I was glad we did as about a mile before Langwathby, when we were on an exposed bit of hilltop road, the heavens opened and it started to hail. By the time we got back to the cars it was hailing quite heavily. We’d cycled 25 miles, so whilst we’d cut the planned route a bit short we’d still done a decent bike ride – and we can do the ‘top’ part of the loop another time: in fact it’s on a ‘bike rides around Penrith’ leaflet and ties in nicely with the ride I did from home down to Kirkoswald and Lazonby and back. Everywhere is linked somehow in the end…
We popped up in the cars to the bakery, where Penny bought a flapjack for her husband. As we left they began to close: so again we’d been just in time. As I drove back up the motorway towards Carlisle the sun came out again, and I was reminded of when a friend did the coast to coast and told me afterwards that he’d had every single type of weather just crossing Cumbria. At least today I was wearing several layers of clothing, having got too cold on the past couple of bike rides. Spring will surely get warmer soon…
The first UK lockdown started on 23rd March 2020. Approximately a year later, we are just relaxing the rules a little bit from our third lockdown. Spring is burgeoning all around us and there’s a tangible sense of freedom. Even so, radio announcements warn us not to forget that Covid is still present – and of course it’s in fact on the increase now in the younger age groups, the ones who haven’t been vaccinated. I get my first vaccination tomorrow.
Having been interviewed about moving to the country from the city, because something like 300,000 people have moved out of London since the first lockdown (with a population of over 9.3m in greater London it’s not exactly a large proportion, though notable), I woke up this morning wondering about exercise. Last summer the Government pledged more money for bike routes, and people who have bikes which need serious repair (as opposed to just servicing) can get a £50 voucher towards their restoration. I wondered how many people started doing more exercise this time last year – but also how many people have kept it up.
I’m doing tons more exercise than I was last year, and prior to working from home one of my frustrations about a long commute to work was trying to fit in as much exercise as I’d like – also I found 4 hours on the train a day quite tiring for some reason (going for a run as soon as I got home would probably have done me the world of good, but I wasn’t that motivated at 7p.m. on a dark, cold and often wet winter’s night). When I was at work I was in the middle of a city with no trails nearby – if I wanted to run at lunchtime I had to run on the pavement (the office did have a shower, so I think in 2 years of being based there I maybe did 3 runs).
I have loved the fact that over the past year I’ve clocked up around 100km a month – quite a bit more some months – running most days of the week; and I have also increased my cycling mileage.
However for me this is something that has been an incredibly important part of my life since I was in my early 30s, so I have relished having the opportunity to get fitter again; and with my ‘6 at 60’ challenges this year I’ve now entered the entire Lakeland Trails series – 9 runs – and also just entered a triathlon. But what about those people who started to get fitter last spring and summer, perhaps feeling that rush of excitement from starting something new, including buying some colourful lycra? Are they still persevering with it? I have to admit at times recently my motivation has waned when there’s still hardly anyone to go running with – I feel a bit of a pariah when, even when we’re allowed to meet up with one other person to exercise, people still think up reasons not to meet up; and there are times when you’re out running and you say ‘hello’ to someone you pass and they look at you as if you’re carrying the plague (let’s face it, I don’t think I would be capable of running if I had Covid – I would guess even the symptomless one must surely affect carrying out demanding exercise like running (especially the hills around here…)).
So – are you one of those people who dusted down and oiled their bike; who dug their running shoes out of the back of the wardrobe? And what are you doing now? Have you gone from strength to strength or did it just get too difficult to remain motivated over the dark winter months? Please let me know!
I have an Ordnance Survey book with bike routes in Cumbria in, and looking through it I thought that perhaps one day when I was taking the kids down to Penrith I could then go a bit further and meet up with Penny for a bike ride.
We met at Dufton, where we’d previously met to run up High Cup Nick. It’s a lovely village in the Eden Valley and has a small car park and public toilets (always useful to know…). The cycling route took us along a small road in a southerly direction at the foot of the hills, and through the Warcop MOD training area. At this point an Army helicopter was circling overhead, and we met some Army officers who asked if we’d seen anyone… there was obviously some sort of exercise going on, and being followed quite closely by the helicopter was amusing if not a little unnerving.
We crossed the A66 without mishap (not a good road for cyclists) into Warcop village and then into Great Musgrave. Rather than turning to go to Brough – which would have meant then cycling down another busy road, the A685 – we cut straight down to Kirkby Stephen, where we turned inland to Soulby. I was quite excited at this point as I saw a signpost indicating Crosby Garrett – where the Crosby Garrett Roman helmet was discovered a few years ago, an amazing Roman artefact.
Undulating roads then took us back to Appleby, with a intriguing brown sign indicating Rutter Waterfall – somewhere to discover another time… We bowled downhill into Appleby, past the Castle (worth a visit when it’s open – once owned by Lady Anne Clifford) and down the main street, a lovely old street which slopes downhill itself. A butcher’s was still (just) open and we stopped for a quick coffee before cycling uphill back to Dufton.
The great thing about this ride was that it opened up a whole host of possibilities for other rides in that area, as it’s not far from Penny and Tim’s house, so they know the area quite well. Despite wet and cold weather, I suggested we cycled on Mothering Sunday, 14th March. I drove to Penny’s house and we cycled from there to the outskirts of Appleby, retracing some of our route from the weekend before, stopping at Coulby for a quick photo of the Andy Goldsworthy sculpture.
After Appleby we turned towards Great Asby with a quick diversion to Rutter Force, a gorgeous spot on a beck which joins the Eden, with an old mill and a house which was pretty but which I’m sure must flood. It was well worth the brief diversion and the hill back to our route.
Great Asby was a village with a stream through the middle, which seemed to be a theme for the day. We headed up hill and then up an even longer hill over Asby Winderwath Common, where the landscape was limestone rather than the sandstone common to the more north-eastern parts of Cumbria. The views from the cattle grid at Hollin Stump were well worth the climb, and it looked as if there could be ample opportunity for some good running routes. This was followed by a fantastic downhill before some more uphill in the direction of Orton.
We didn’t go as far as Orton, where some lovely homemade chocolates come from – I WILL visit Kennedys in Orton sometime – but instead turned in a northerly direction back towards Crosby Ravensworth and Maulds Meaburn. This was a gorgeous bit of road, again undulating and passing lovely houses and more streams. We finally arrived in Morland, where we would have stopped at the Mill Yard Cafe, which is one of the best in Cumbria, if it hadn’t been for the fact that by then we were both freezing cold.
Some small hills on the last few miles were actually welcome as they helped me warm up a bit before the end of the ride; my toes were like blocks of ice, my hands were painful (and red, when I got them out of my gloves) and my bottom was wet. However this was a fantastic route and I look forward to doing it again one day when the weather is warmer, drier and less windy!
I drove home with the heating on full blast in the car, ran a bath and soaked in the warm water with a piece of chocolate cake.
runningin3time 