Glorious weather predicted and the prospect of quiet roads, because of big TV audiences for the Royal wedding. A good reason to be putting on my cycling shoes in Barnard Castle at 8.30 am. The air was still cool down by the Tees and on the road up to Romaldkirk. Up the lanes past Hury and Blackton reservoirs, then over the tops to Grassholme reservoir and out over Mickleton Moor on the road to Brough. The road topped out at 1550ft just after the county border to give me stunning views out over Cumbria to North Yorkshire and the peaks of the Lake District. I dropped into the Eden Valley losing 1,000ft in five miles and rolled through Brough for a cake stop at the Pink Geranium cafe in Kirkby Stephen.
Then climb through Nateby and up over Lamps Moss, a two and a half mile climb averaging 8%, but with stretches much steeper. The signs said 20%. I was caught and passed by several other cyclists. It was such a beautiful day, but I was struggling to catch my breath.
The climb topped out at 1650ft and 32 miles into my ride, I crossed into my third county of the day. Upper Swaledale is glorious. Glorious! And such a joy to ride downhill. I used every advantage gravity can give, but my breathing got worse and a wheeziness became a whistle. By the time I reached Reeth, I was really sruggling. I crawled into the Dales Bike Centre at Fremmington and collapsed on the grass.
Coffee, a good sandwich and an enormous slice of cake later, I thought I was ready to push on, but a mile up the road after climbing and 250ft, I knew my day was done. I had to do something I’ve not done in years: make the call of shame. I called home to be picked up.
It was an excellent ride. Will definitely go back to complete it at some point soon.
There is little better than being out early in the Durham Dales. Quiet roads, stunning landscapes, and the chance to rub shoulders with our wonderful wildlife. It’s my favourite time of day and there’s no better way to enjoy it than by bike.
Hamsterley Forest makes an excellent starting point for a ride. There’s plenty of parking and good facilities at the visitor centre. And to get you started the National Cycle Network’s route 70 follows Forest Drive for the better part of five miles’ traffic free riding tracking Bedburn Beck deep into the forest. The forest is full of quietness this morning. It’s just me, a few mountain bikers heading off on the forest trails, the odd dog walker and some squirrels scurrying away as my tyres crunch on the gravel. The challenge of following route 70 is the monumentally steep hill from the forest up to the Woodland road. There’s no shame in walking your bike up the steeper parts.
There are spectacular views as route 70 strikes out across the moorland towards Eggleston. On a previous ride I was joined here for a short stretch by a barn owl gliding over the hedgerows in search of breakfast. This morning I’m treated to lapwings peewitting their courtship in the air above me. The official Hamsterley to Barnard Castle cycle route turns to Kinninvie, but I head to the top of Langleydale and get a peak of the high Pennine fells from the gloriously named Folly Top that stands on the watershed between Weardale and Teesdale.
It’s hard for a cyclist to argue with five miles downhill cycling anywhere. Here, overlooking Teesdale, it would be impossible. I’m soon following cycle route signs through quiet residential streets to Barnard Castle’s bustling Horse Market.
The town has an impressive collection of traditional independent shops that still outnumber more recognisable chain stores. And its smattering of antique and collectable shops would get even the most reluctant of shoppers bargain hunting. But I’m here to see the sights and taste the delights, so I head for the sheltered bike parking offered by the Witham Arts Centre.
The Witham is the beating cultural heart of this rural market town. A fabulous not-for-profit enterprise, housing a gallery, gift shop, and versatile performance space that hosts famous comedians, folk music, live drama and other performances. Right in the middle of the Horsemarket, it’s great as a base for touring the town. And it has a busy cafe serving homemade food, good coffee and freshly baked cakes. What a fabulous place to stop.
Coffee and a sandwich in the Dispensary Cafe followed by a glorious slice of Victoria sandwich sets me up for the second half of the trip.
Barnard castle has a lot to offer and I can’t resist a little tour before setting off. Arriving in town from the east, you’d be forgiven for missing the castle at first. The entrance of the building that gives the town its name sits behind the Methodist Church at the bottom of Galgate. (Find the Post Office and look downhill). At the other end of the Market, the weather vane on the impressive Market Cross bears the scars of a local legend that says two men used it as the target in a contest to see which of them was the better shot. If the holes were made by the shots they fired, I’m not sure the matter was settled at all. And a mile and a half a loop out over the Tees to the eerie ruins of Egglestone Abbey.
Cycle route 165, takes me out of town past the the Bowes Museum, an unlikely French-style chateau purpose-built as a museum by John and Josephine Bowes in 1869, and on through Westwick, Whorlton, Little Newsham and South Cleatham.
Nine miles from Barnard Castle, Staindrop village oozes medieval heritage. It’s pubs, post office, shop and cafes offer the chance for a breather before the final leg of the trip.
Out past the impressive St Mary’s Church at the eastern end of the village, the Darlington road takes me to the back lanes around Wackerfield and up to cross the A688 at the Sun Inn.
Descending into the Gaunless valley at Esperly, the farming landscape starts to include echoes of the area’s industrial heritage. A steep climb through Low Lands to High Lands and there are two miles of descent to enjoy before a one last climb up into Hamsterley village. A mile-long valedictory roll down to Bedburn and I’m back at Hamsterley Forest visitor centre.
This route is an extremely enjoyable 33-mile day out with mostly moderate hills. It is suitable for riders of all abilities with touring, gravel and mountain bikes.
It’s been a week since I got home from my adventure and I’m still riding the high of finishing it.
Sixteen days, cycling 967 miles with 55,000 ft of ascent. (That includes 23 miles from Thurso railway station to Strathy Point and 16 from St Catherine’s point to the ferry at Yarmouth).
It is an immense privilege to be able to do a trip like this and see our fabulous country at a pace that meant I could take it all in. The hard parts. The easier parts. Every turn of the pedals was worth it. Every slice of cake was definitely worth it.
I saw wonderful places, heard amazing stories, ate delicious food and met exceptional people. What a way to spend a couple of weeks.
Thanks to everyone who sent a message. Your interest, your support and encouragement helped all the way.
Add up all the tiredness of the trip so far and mutiply it by a factor of your choosing. It’s nothing compared to how I felt climbing on the bike in Stockbridge at the beginning of the day.
I followed the back lanes down the west side of the Test Valley, crossing the river at Mottisfont and following it on down Romsey.
I was looking forward to the finish, but these were long miles and I wondered if I’d ever reach Southampton. At Chilworth, that changed with a gentle descent all the way down into the city centre, where I found the Bargate proudly flying the rainbow flag for Southampton Pride.
Buying my ticket for the crossing to East Cowes, I met a woman who’d looked out her window that morning and decided it looked like a good day to cycle round the Isle of Wight.
Ruth was great company and the hour or so it took to board and cross the Solent passed quickly. She cycled off on her trip round the island’s 64-miles of coast roads leaving me with cheery goodbye and some welcome professional advice about strengthening the muscles around my knee.
The Medina is the tidal river that runs from Cowes to Newport. I was on the east bank and Route 23, which runs down the middle of the Island, is on its western bank. Minutes after my first ferry journey of the trip, I took my second, on the Cowes floating bridge. Route 23 is largely on dedicated, traffic-free cycleways that were fabulously busy with cyclists of all ages on a glorious afternoon.
Five easy miles later I was in Newport with only ten miles of my challenge left. The hills in the final six miles sapped every last remaining drop of energy I had. Then, framed by trees, I saw St Catherine’s Lighthouse. My target. My destination. I was picked up by a wave of relief, achievement, and happiness. 926 miles, 55,000ft of hills and 15 days’ pedalling after leaving Strathy Point, I floated down the steep hill as fast as the tears flowed down my face, elated to have reached my goal.
38 miles; 1,613ft of hills
(And 16 miles over to Yarmouth for the ferry back!)
The White Horse at Duns Tew does an excellent dinner and a cooked breakfast to match. Still full of grilled shrimps, chicken and chips, and exquisite chocolate and salted caramel dessert, I migh have had to force down my breakfast, if they hadn’t put in front of me easily the best plate of scrambled eggs on toast I’ve had all trip.
I’d planned a route down to Oxford, then following the Thames to Reading with the aim of getting past Basingstoke towards Winchester by the end of the day. It was the sensible choice, but hardly inspiring. Executive decision to head to Woodstock and across the North Wessex Downs.
In Woodstock I caught a glimpse of Blenheim Palace through the gate, but the gate staff were having none of me cycling through the park, so to comiserate, I went to the natural bread shop for coffee and flapjack.
Rolling roads in the bright sunshine. I don’t mind telling you, I was enjoying it. Past Eyesham, through Cumnor, Eaton, and Apleton, I was making good progress, the villages kept coming. At Childrey, there was a change of direction: up. If there was a down side to choosing this more direct route, it was that the Downs go up.
The route profile showed three climbs, with the Ridgeway at the top of the first and Lambourne beyond. The climb was tough in the heat, but it was steady and I kept the pedals spinning until the wonderfully breezey descent took me to lunch in Lambourne. The second and smallest of the three climbs took me over to Hungerford and out onto the common.
The third climb out from Inkpen over to Faccombe gave me many miles of view north over Berkshire and south over Hampshire. They were worth every turn of the pedals.
The day went downhill from there. Quickly downhill. Hurstbourne Tarrant, St Mary Bourne, Hurstbourne Priors, Wherewell, Longstock into the heart of the Test Valley at Stockbridge.
It was a beautiful evening and I had a mind to carry on. But there was a room at the White Hart, so I called it a day.
Another lovely morning. Atherstone showed me a prettier side than the Hight Sreet had suggested last night. I left the town via station road, heading south west through winding country lanes. One of the great joys of having a general heading, rather than a specific destination in mind, is the luxury of choosing the roads based on attributes other than their directness. I could indulge myself only so far though, beacuse I was aiming for the green at Meriden and the obelisk erected to mark the town as the centre of England.
Accomepanying the obelisk on the green are two cycling memorials. One to Wayfairer W.M. Robinson, whose “devotion to the passtime of cycling encouraged many to enjoy the countryside and the open road.” And another, dedicated to the cyclists fallen in the world wars and other conflicts. I doffed my helmet.
Right in the heart of the Midlands and Sustrans have been at it again. Five miles down the road from Meriden, there’s an entrance to the Kenilworth Greenway, part of national cycle route 52, which gave me a smooth, level, peaceful and quick three miles into Kenilworth.
Route 52 followed the main roads to the outskirts of Warwick where I dropped onto the canal towpath for a leisurely, waterside bimble.
Royal Leamington Spa is an impressive town. Set out around the river, its parks, wide avenues and grand Georgian, low-rise buildings give it a feeling of space and comfort, like an outsized village communing around its green.
Banbury is bigger than I expected. It combines the sandstone prettiness of Oxfordshire with the demands of modern commerce sometimes uncomfortably.
Coffe and the best fruit cake of the trip so far at Cafe Veneto on High Street and with 50 miles done, I booked accommodation another 13 miles away.
If I had been in any doubt that I was in Oxfordshire, that vanished as I passed through the natrow lanes linking its golden villages. A lovely evening for cycling and there were many others out. I reached the White Hart at Duns Tew.
Thunder. Rain. Heavy rain. Just what you want on a morning. Four miles of gentle climbing to Newhaven. On another day, the view would extend for miles. I saw only the suggestion of landscape silhouetted against the mist and drizzle.
I found national cycle route 68 Just south of Newhaven. This time none of the rough-forest-track nonsense I experienced up near Kielder on Friday, here it’s a smooth-surfaced former railwayline that consistently looses height over its 15-mile run to Ashbourne.
Ashbourne is a pretty and busy Market town that could do with a bypass. I gave myself a tour, including the Ashbourne Treasures exhibition.
The day had brightened and I was treated to mile after mile of sunny, rolling country lanes linking pretty villages on my way down to the Trent Valley.
I turned down several farm shops and country tea rooms on the way to Burton-upon-Trent, thinking I’d have plenty of wonderful options in town, but its rough streets and bedragled precinct were on the verge of disappointing me until I spied a sign for Cafe B advertising its independentness.
After a bowl of pasta, coffee and carrot cake, I saw a different side of the town. Maybe approaching from the north with an empty stomach is’t the best way to experience it.
More beautiful, rolvling countryside took me through Coton in the Elms – no UK village is further from the sea – Clifton Campville and Austrey. I clocked up 750 miles for the trip in Sheepy Magna and took a break at Market Bosworth, where Richard III’s remains started their journey to Leicester Cathedral, after he’d been fiund buried under that car park.
Then on to Atherstone via the place the Ordnance Survey has named the centre of England at Lindley Hall Farm. A great day’s riding.
My bed at The Woodman Inn had the most comfortable matress of the trip so far. It was only the thought of breakfast that gave me the strength to prise myself from its magnetic hold.
It had been raining before I set off and it was muggy. A steep climb up from Thunder Bridge and the arm warmers came off. A mile on, I packed the leg warmers away. And by three miles my base layer was off as well.
My straight-down-the-middle guideline skirts the eastern border of the Peak District. I had two choices for the day: Head for Sheffield, down through Chesterfield and on towards Derby, or head up into the hills of the national park. I went for the hills.
Then off into the hills. More Tour de France and Tour de Yorkshire roads. Beautiful. Brutal. I saw more 20% signs in succession than I ever want to again with one 25% thrown in for good measure.
The famous Strines Inn provided a handsome lunch and an excuse to catch my breath. Over my sandwich I chatted to Chris and Huw, two cyclists out for a day’s hard hill riding. We shared cycling stories and tips, before heading down (yes, down!) to Ladybower Reservoir and Heathersage.
Ten miles to Bakewell on still hilly, but less brutal roads and the cake taste test of the trip: tart vs pudding. Pudding won, hands down.
I was done for the day, found some acommodation in Youlgreave just four miles from Bakewell and finished the shortest day so far at The Farmyard Inn.
8.30am. Most of Masham was still sleeping. Only the local doctor’s surgery was doing a brisk trade with a queue of a dozen or more patients trailing into the street.
The wide expanse of the town’s square is impressive and I gave myself a guided tour, finding in the top corner a cairn that commemorates the arrival of the Tour de France in 2014.
I set off for Lofthouse ten miles away, thinking I’d be there for coffee in an hour. But these are Tour de France roads and organisers don’t set the professional peleton off on nice, easy jaunts. The hills were hard. Then harder. Then even harder. On the last, I walked the steepest bit. It was like climbing a wall.
The desent to Lofthouse was equally dramatic. At the bottom my hands ached from pulling the brake levers for so long. A roll down to Pateley Bridge for coffee and cake at Rachels’s tea room. 17 miles done.
Rolling hills and more steep climbs over to Otley with a glorious descent into the town. Back into full-on urban cycling for the first time since Lanark on Day 6, which is amazing, and a quick stop in Titas Salt’s peaceful Saltaire.
What a surprise Bradford was. Grand buildings, wide avenues, open parks, and the splendour of a city centre that uses modern architectural tricks to accentuate its heritage. It was wonderful, even on a cloudy afternoon.
I found accomodation near Penistone and plotted a route. I’d been dreading the early evening traffic between Bradford, Huddersfield and Dewsbury, but I needn’t have worried: the ever-brilliant Sustrans had already thought of and solved the problem with the Calder Valley Greenway: part of National Cycle Route 66.
The Greenway took me on a smooth, tarmac path to four miles from the hotel and a short while later I arrived at The Woodman Inn in Thunder Bridge.
 
 
 
 
 
 
