Maryport to Tynemouth in a day

It’s been over eight years now since our epic C2C2C ride. I vowed at the time that I would never try to ride that far again in a single day. I am pretty sure I will stick to that promise for the rest of my life. However, that doesn’t mean I’m not up for a challenge, so when thinking about something a little edgy to do with our youngest son, Jacob, I began to consider doing a modified version of the C2C with him in a day. Having previously ridden 200 km together (Ride to the Sun, in Edinburgh, followed by ride to Grandma’s in North Berwick) the thought of doing a mere 180 km, in daylight, no less, seemed eminently doable!

I hit my first snag at just the point when I should have been transferring turn-by-turn route data onto the bike computer: just because I have been happy to ride my gravel bike for the past year without a working back brake, does not mean that anyone else should. Indeed, I realised it would be morally negligent to let anyone else ride it down the big hill from Garrigill into Nenthead without fixing it. I have to say that the two hours I spent out in the late August sunshine, bleeding, testing and then re-bleeding the brake, were far from wearisome. I enjoy a mechanical challenge; but time was running short before our Monday morning deadline - catching the 7:39am train from Lazonby to Carlisle, followed by the train to Maryport, arriving in the little harbour town just before 9am.

And so we set off in the gorgeous morning sunshine from the Irish Sea, heading inland via some
interestingly-named places: Gilcrux, Plumbland and Torpenhow. The route brought us over one of my favourite stretches of seemingly desolate grazing land - Caldbeck Common - then down into Hesket Newmarket and along the still-verdant Caldew Valley. A brief stint on the B5305 (not really recommended, but unavoidable) brought us to the quiet road network south and east of Skelton Transmitter Station, then via Calthwaite back to Lazonby for a leisurely lunch.

At this point a little more forward planning might have saved considerable pain and frustration later. While we dined like kings and relished the change of clothing, we should have been charging my phone and bike computer. It might also have been useful to consider that it gets dark an hour earlier in late August, compared to July, and that having lights to be seen by is great on Newcastle Quayside, but in dense woodland you really need something more powerful. Hey-ho, you live and learn!

So, after washing down our omelettes with a can of “red” Coke each (something I drink maybe once or twice a year!) we set off across the river, carrying only a pair of ‘presentable’ shorts and a T-shirt each, in addition to snacks, to begin the ascent of Hartside. The climb is over-rated, in my opinion, having only a couple of really steep bits on the road between Renwick and the A686. Nevertheless, it still felt like blessed relief to get to Mr Macadam’s gentle 1-in-20 road that took us to the summit. The steep descent to Leadgate was followed by an undulating road (more so than I recalled from eight years previous) to Garrigill, where we encountered

our route’s THIRD ‘Road Closed’ sign (the other two being near Iredale and Hutton End). Just like the other two, this was no challenge at all for bikes, as we just filed past the place where they were rebuilding the wall on the bridge. Much has been written about the climb that follows, so I will just say this: it’s really steep. But not too long; in fact Jacob and I
got up the worst of it pretty swiftly, only for Jacob to shunt his chain off the largest sprocket and into his spokes (at the point where he should really have been moving it onto a smaller sprocket!) Once again, I remembered my amazing prowess at leaving jobs half-finished: having taken up the slack to stop the chain dropping off the smallest ring and jamming in the frame, I had forgotten to adjust

the limiter screw to prevent it doing the same thing at the other end.) I ended up fixing it outside the next corner shop as a celebration for descending into Nenthead without either of us skidding or going through a wall. One last push up a climb with at least 3 false summits found us at the county border, ready for the long and sweeping descent into Weardale and the ‘Land of the Prince Bishops’.

I had convinced myself that the next (and final) big climb, Crawleyside, from Stanhope would put us on the fast track to Tynemouth, to get there in time for “tea and medals” (well, fish and chips) on the beachfront. Somehow, despite being tantalisingly

close to the end, this section (known as the Waskerley Way) always feels further than it looks, despite being fine grit and a first rate surface for a swift descent. Just before its end we found the place where the two versions of the C2C diverge. Straight on, through Stanley, to Sunderland, or left, via Rowlands Gill, to Gateshead, Newcastle and then Tynemouth. We were just about to turn left when we noticed a smaller, yellow sign below the inviting blue ones advertising 27 miles to Tynemouth: “Rough narrow track NOT suitable for road bikes”, so I lost confidence in the map I had been following on my phone and tried, instead, to follow the blue signs. To be charitable, it may have been the gathering dusk, rather than inadequate signage, but a few minutes later we found ourselves heading out of Consett on a cycle path that was definitely heading to Sunderland, not Newcastle. We lost more valuable time comparing the Ordnance Survey map with the official C2C one that my friend John had sent me via WhatsApp, concluding that the best bet was to use Google Maps (and precious battery power) to traverse the now-closed industrial estate on the outskirts of Consett. 

We joined the ‘Derwent Walk’ (a paved walk/cycle track along a disused railway -  that, I suspect, previously may have been described as ‘not suitable for road bikes’) by a pub, appropriately named the Derwent Walk Inn, with the sun now firmly blocked from view by the surrounding hills. Despite the lack of light, our eyes soon grew accustomed to the gloaming and we were able to keep up a brisk pace through what I imagine, in daylight, is a beautiful stretch of deciduous woodland. Every so often a farm track or road would cross the cycleway and we would have to open a gate, or pass through ‘calming measures’ that ensured cyclists wouldn’t just ride across another right of way. 

As we neared the end of the Derwent Walk it had become properly dark, so we switched on our lights. Ah, yes, those lights. Great to be seen by - we had stacks of small red lights up the rear frame on both bikes, plus white lights on the handlebars - but not that great to see, it turns out. The point at which I realised this was after slowing for another of these calming measures and aiming for a gap I assumed was for bicycles. It was for horses. Horses can step over foot-high railway sleepers, but bicycles generally don’t! It was a good job I had slowed significantly, because the resulting launch was still pretty spectacular: the bike just stopped dead and I landed on the sleeper, left thigh first. I don’t remember ever being “dead-legged” since my school days, but I do recall the sensation. This was like that, but about 20 times worse! I didn’t see the look on Jacob’s face, but I did my best to put a brave face on it and picked up the bike to assess for damage (happily none), then got back on and began pedaling, about 10% with my left leg and 90% with the right, aware it was now fully dark and we still had around 20 miles to go.

Gateshead gradually made its presence felt, as lights began to twinkle through the trees and we were joined by a road up and to our left, then a few streetlights (mostly switched off) appeared alongside the path. Finally we emerged on the south bank of the mighty River Tyne, that tiny brook we had crossed on the ‘closed’ bridge in Garrigill six hours previous. Surely it would now all be plain sailing - not literally, of course (although it might have been faster by boat!) Across Scotswood Bridge, down the side of the former Vickers-Armstrong site, then onto the Quayside, we made short work of the ride to the centre of Newcastle and beyond. But once past Millennium Bridge, the revellers thinned out, and so did the blue C2C signposts. Having already abandoned the use of my bike computer for navigation purposes (failure to charge it at lunchtime meant that it conked out around the time of my crash) we were now reliant on the screenshots of the official C2C map on my phone, plus the OS map, which was also on my phone, which, on closer inspection was now down to 8% battery. Oh dear!

After attempts to ride along the edge of the river, only to discover that there wasn’t a path in several places, we decided that the ‘A road’ was the best option. Not for the faint-hearted in the daytime, I’m sure, but after 10pm we had the dual-carriageway to ourselves. There were no signs to Tynemouth, so I used the final 7% of my phone battery to memorise the place names from the OS map: Walker, Wallsend, North Shields then Tynemouth. We set off at pace along the A187, narrowly avoided going down the Tyne Tunnel, and eventually hit Tynemouth at 11 p.m., exhausted, bruised (on my part), and profoundly ready to sit on anything broader than a narrow strip of leather.

Looking back now, with the benefit of several days’ healing time, the ride had all the ingredients of an epic adventure: sunshine, big views, mechanical incompetence, navigational uncertainty, unexpected obstacles and a finish that seemed permanently beyond reach until suddenly it wasn't. Most importantly, it was another day spent sharing the road with Jacob, watching him take on the challenges with good humour and determination. The miles will soon fade from memory, but that privilege is something I shall remember for a very long time.

Stuart.

[These final two photos were taken during our 10-mile ride back to Newcastle Station the following day]

Proposed Wikipedia Entry: The Powley Exclusion Principle

 Powley (Train) Exclusion Principle

The Powley (Train) Exclusion Principle is a humorous observation inspired by the peculiar and statistically improbable misfortunes of Nick Powley, an electronics enthusiast and train aficionado. The principle posits that:

"No two functional trains can occupy a state of readiness when Nick Powley attempts to travel."

Origins

The principle derives its name from Nick Powley, whose train journeys are so routinely disrupted that they border on the metaphysical. Despite his deep interest in trains and their systems, Powley’s presence on any railway infrastructure appears to trigger a series of improbable calamities. The name is a playful homage to the Pauli Exclusion Principle in quantum mechanics, as both phenomena seemingly operate on a mysterious, fundamental law of nature.

Examples in Practice

Documented cases of the Powley Exclusion Principle in action include:

• Preston Station's Driver Dilemma: On multiple occasions, trains at Preston Station have been unable to depart due to the sudden and unexplained unavailability of drivers.
• Rolling Stock Breakdown Cascade: Trains that were deemed perfectly operational before Powley’s arrival have been known to suffer catastrophic mechanical failures moments before departure.
• Phantom Delays: Entire rail networks have experienced "unforeseen delays" that mysteriously resolve once Powley decides to abandon his journey.

Possible Explanations

While scientific investigation into the phenomenon is ongoing (or, more accurately, non-existent), theorists suggest the following hypotheses:

1. Electromagnetic Interference: Powley's mastery of electronics could inadvertently interfere with onboard systems.
2. Cosmic Irony: Some propose that the universe itself harbours a mischievous sense of humour, singling out rail-loving individuals for poetic torment.
3. Statistical Improbability Field (SIF): A theoretical field surrounding Powley that causes rare but catastrophic events to become inevitable within a 10-mile radius of his travel plans.

Cultural Impact

The Powley Exclusion Principle has become a running joke among friends, train enthusiasts, and rail staff who have witnessed its effects first-hand. It has even inspired a niche Twitter hashtag, #PowleyEffect, where commuters share tales of uncanny travel disruptions that align with the principle.

Conclusion

Although entirely fictional, the Powley (Train) Exclusion Principle captures the essence of humanity’s love for finding humour in life's frustrations. Much like the trains Nick Powley longs to ride, the principle remains in a state of perpetual delay, leaving laughter as the only reliable arrival.

Book Recommendation - Around the World in 80 Days by Mark Beaumont

Having been reintroduced to Mark Beaumont last summer by a Global Cycling Network video on YouTube, where presenter Simon Richardson rode the bulk of Day 1 alongside Mark, I went on to follow his 78½ day journey around the world daily (often twice a day!) throughout the summer of 2017. What began as mere curiosity (Is he serious about doing 240 miles a day for the best part of two and half months?!) steadily turned into fascination and then devotion to the cause. Each day, full of anticipation, I would fire up my browser to check on Mark’s progress, willing him on to succeed.

The release of his book, Around the World in 80 Days, coincided with my 2018 summer holiday and so I have been able to enjoy the whole experience all over again, albeit at an entirely different level. Despite knowing the eventual outcome I found myself utterly gripped. He writes in an engaging style, the greater part of the book covering each of the 79 days using a combination of the pithy YouTube comments (which top and tailed each day), and descriptions of the journey and his inner battles. His status as a hero to many is only enhanced, in my opinion, by his candour about the times he was beyond himself and struggled to be gracious to some of his team members. Anyone in that situation would struggle, but it takes courage to admit it and apologise.

In addition to the day to day story of the journey around the globe there are also significant chapters on the preparation and planning involved. While it was clear from following his progress on YouTube that there was a large team involved in the effort, I was taken aback by the sheer complexity of the operation. It was also enlightening to find out about the months of travail and heartbreak seeking out sponsorship. The details here make for very interesting reading, but he wisely does not reveal the names of those who promised much but delivered nothing.

The first portion of the book also recounts Mark’s 3000 mile Around Britain (warm-up?) tour. I must admit that reading this part alone, at the start of my holiday, left me feeling absolutely shattered – and the only thing I had been doing was turning pages!

Mark Beaumont is clearly an amazing athlete, but he is also a very talented communicator and writer. His words are always well chosen, his turn of phrase often incisive –  a real joy to read. Maybe I am biased, having become so emotionally invested in his journey at the time, but this is one book I would heartily recommend to anyone with an interest in travel, adventure or cycling – or, ideally, all three!

Available at all good bookshops, or, if you're feeling lazy it's also on Amazon - follow this link.

C2C2C summary

Strava file is at:  https://www.strava.com/activities/1728359040

YouTube video of our ride is >here<

Coast to coast - and back! - in a day

Not long after we had moved to Cumbria I heard about something called the Coast to Coast cycle route. It begins at Whitehaven on the west coast and traverses the Pennines, finishing at Roker Beach in Sunderland, 135 miles east. A fellow member at Penrith Methodist Church had been treated successfully for prostate cancer and he was arranging for a gang of people to join him on a sponsored ride to raise funds for the Cumberland Infirmary as a way of thanking them for his treatment. I duly invested in some slick tyres for my mountain bike and did the ride, over three days, stopping at home, near Penrith, the first night and in Stanhope, County Durham, on the second. While the whole trip was really enjoyable and worthwhile I have always felt that the length of the final day’s ride from Stanhope to Roker Beach was rather anticlimactic, wondering whether it might not be better to do the whole journey over two days, stopping somewhere near Alston in the middle. 

The following year I heard that a group of staff from my school were planning to do the whole journey in a day. I was interested in joining them, but prior commitments got in the way – and, besides, I thought that I was probably not fit enough! It was around this time that I heard others speak, in hushed tones, about our colleague, Gary, who had done the whole trip and back in a day. Though this sounded utterly bonkers it was to become an enduring idea, a thought that stuck with me for another half dozen years and returned to me at around the time Mark Beaumont began his astonishing cycle ride “Around the World in 80 Days”. Throughout the summer of 2017 I watched, daily, Mark’s YouTube updates, with increasing emotional investment, to the point where (during a bout of insomnia on holiday in Pembrokeshire) I would ‘tune in’ for the latest updates from Australia and New Zealand in the middle of the night, watching it under the bedclothes using an earpiece, so as not to wake my wife. His premise was simple: ride 240 miles a day for two and a half months. Over the years since my first C2C I had increased in fitness and so a thought began to gnaw away at me: If Mark Beaumont can do it for 2.5 months, why can’t I do it for a day?! Part of me wanted to try there and then, but various factors caused me to stall, not least of these being the fact that my Garmin’s battery life was only around 12-15 hours and I thought it would take more like eighteen. And as they say, if it’s not on Strava it didn’t happen, right? Besides, by late August the days were already getting too short. Excuses, excuses... 

During the winter I mentioned the idea to my regular riding partner, Shaun, and he immediately picked up on the challenge. The preceding year he and I had joined a number of others to do the Lakes and Dales Loop over two days – a reasonably challenging ride, but not overly so. This was later confirmed to me when I heard that Henry Rogers, a friend of a friend, had done the whole Loop in one day! I mentioned to Henry, via Strava, that I was thinking of doing Coast to Coast and back in a day and asked if I could interest him in joining me. His response was swift and decisive: “Oooooo, you can indeed.”  And so, on the morning of July 25th 2018 we set out on the biggest ride that any of us had ever attempted.

I was up and eating breakfast by 4am, making sure that everything was ready for the ride. At 4.25am I saw Henry’s van pull up, so wheeled out my bike to meet him a couple of minutes later. Shaun joined us a couple of minutes late, having ridden across from Kirkoswald, but when you see what time we finished this was of little consequence! 

We set out over Lazonby Fell to Calthwaite, careful not to inject too much pace too early in the ride, yet fast enough that I’m sure I wasn’t the only one thinking Oh my goodness, I hope that I am not the one who collapses like a house of cards after the first hundred miles!   

After passing Skelton’s radio masts we had a short section to cycle on the main Penrith to Wigton road before peeling off towards Caldbeck Common, via the back road from Hesket Newmarket. At this point the sun was rising, the sky was getting bluer and our hopes of a successful day out were probably at their peak. The legs were feeling good and I had to keep reminding myself that we had to pace ourselves for the long haul. 

The journey to the coast was uneventful and relatively easy riding. Beautiful scenery and sporadic settlements eventually led us to the long, sweeping descent into Maryport, our chosen point on the Irish Sea coast. First, all-important stop: the public loos! Next, the obligatory photo at the end of the harbour (sadly there was no way to climb down and ‘dip in a wheel’ without endangering life and limb!) 

Ah, yes, that long, sweeping hill… fortunately we were taking a different route back out of town so the hill didn’t seem quite so steep (although, ironically, we ended up climbing significantly higher before returning to undulating backroads on the way to Cockermouth. It was pleasing to reach Cockermouth as the day was beginning for local traders, knowing that we had already been to one side of England and were now on our way to the other.  Departing this pleasant market town, I temporarily forgot which way I had planned to go and was all set to pedal past Cockermouth School when the Garmin ‘bleated’ (that’s the best way I can describe the sound!) at me: “Course Lost”. Ah, yes, that’s why the name Isel Road looked familiar as we powered past it. Fortunately, it turned out that Shaun has sold kitchens to people all over west Cumbria, so he was able to guide us back on to Isel Road without having to double back.  And very nice road it turned out to be; it is a feature of several official CTC routes.  It contours around the north side of Cockermouth Golf Course and crosses the River Derwent just between the Lakes Distillery and the top end of Bassenthwaite Lake.  At the Castle Inn Hotel we joined the less-sleepy A591 to Keswick and took the opportunity to do a three-man Team Pursuit, thereby minimising the amount of time spent in the company of traffic, although I did manage to elicit the comment “Ease off a bit!” a couple of times when I was on the front, such was my enthusiasm.   

Our first ‘proper’ stop of the day was for coffee and a piece of date slice at ‘Laura in the Lakes’. We spent a few minutes just resting and enjoying the morning sunshine.  All too soon we set off along the appropriately-named Penrith Road with me feeling slightly anxious about finding the way on to the back road to Burns Farm.  It turned out to be relatively simple, but one side-effect was that we must have ridden straight past the aforementioned Gary who had biked out to meet us.  Fortunately, I heard my phone beep and realised what had happened soon enough - so we slowed down a little as we pedalled through Threlkeld enabling Gary to zip back from Keswick and catch up with us.  It was a very pleasant ride from the White Horse, then along the back road near Wallthwaite, to join up with the old A66 near the Sportsman pub.  Gary shared with me some aspects of his 2005 venture. It turned out that he had taken a significantly different route, so we didn’t feel compelled to attempt to beat his time! Gary peeled off at Motherby, leaving the three of us to do the very familiar ride from there back to Lazonby by way of Greystoke, resisting the urge to stop for another coffee at the Cycle Café! 

Lazonby looked very different in the bright sunshine.  Henry and I took the opportunity to use the loo and put on fresh sets of clothing while Shaun rode on ahead to Kirkoswald to do the same – and ensure that our lunch orders had been received and understood!  Lunch turned out to be quite something: Sue had cooked up large plates of bacon, beans, toast and the biggest omelettes I’ve ever eaten, courtesy of Shaun's chickens.  It set us up brilliantly for the remainder of the day, although its immediate impact was not so positive… 

Have you ever tried ascending a steep hill in the blazing mid-day sun, having already cycled over 80 miles, while your stomach is doing its best to re-route the blood supply from your legs? Don’t. It’s not nice.  Reaching Hartside Summit at about two-thirds our normal speed Henry made straight for the ice cream van and bought a can of ice-cold Coke.  I followed suit and marvelled at its restorative properties.  Do people really drink this stuff as a ‘soft drink’?  It’s medicine!  (Like a couple of energy gels and a double-espresso, all washed down with slightly more liquid.)  For us it was just what the doctor ordered before the hair-raising descent to Leadgate and the subsequent climb at Garrigill.  Fortunately a few fluffy clouds had moved across the sun by this point, so we couldn’t blame our slow climb on having our brains boiled, just the mashed legs. 

The next few miles were something of a blur to me, except for the point in Nenthead where the even-scarier descent suddenly reaches a T-junction.  Fail to stop there and it could be curtains! I think the next few miles involved some more climbing and descending but don’t really recall much (apart from the lovely scenery) until we reached St.John’s Chapel for coffee.  From there it wasn’t far to Stanhope, site of the last brutal climb before the gentle descent into Sunderland. 

On my previous ascent of this climb I had been on a mountain bike, with its low gearing, and had been chatting to a man riding a recumbent. On a road bike, with Shaun setting the pace up ahead, it was a very different matter! At the top we visited the old railway station at Parkhead to replenish water supplies and then gingerly began our descent of the Waskerley Way, initially unsure of the surface on which we would be riding.  (After some ‘interesting’ experiences following Google Maps’ “stay on roads” option in France I was not sure whether it would be large limestone chippings or fine grit. Fortunately, it was mostly was fine grit, or even tarmac in many places.)  With blue sky all around we were treated to fabulous views all the way across to the coast… except that our imagined view across to the sea didn’t materialise.  Despite having done the same route eight years ago I had forgotten that the edge of the Pennines is still quite a sizeable distance from the North Sea (over 35 miles).  Nevertheless, we pressed on, maintaining a cracking pace as we swept along the old railway. 

On reaching the outskirts of Sunderland the C2C route then did some pretty weird ducking and weaving, to such an extent that we passed a “Sunderland 18 miles” signpost somewhere near Stanley, only to reach a “Sunderland 20 miles” signpost 5 minutes later! (No, we weren’t lost - or hallucinating!  I can only assume that they measure the distance ‘as the crow flies’.)  Initially this weaving was fun – popping in and out of woodland – but the closer we got to the coast the more we seemed to zig and zag.  Fatigue was beginning to set in, as we turned each corner expecting to see the sea, only to be confronted with another little hike on the pavement through an industrial estate and then back down to the River Wear.  We don’t know if it was started deliberately, or was just a result of strong sunlight, dry grass and a bit of broken glass, but on our penultimate stretch of riverside path we came upon a huge plume of smoke.  The grass beside the path was well alight and this had set fire to the ivy growing up the wall, which, in turn, had set fire to the grass at the top, some thirty feet above us.  Henry stopped and phoned the Fire Service, and as we continued along the path we passed two fire officers with rubber beaters.  I do hope they sent something more substantial to the top of the wall! 

At last we reached Roker Beach, to fairly muted euphoria.  I went to dip my front wheel in the water, while Shaun made a bee-line for the loo.  Making my way back across the sand Henry was nowhere to be seen. After waiting for a couple of minutes I decided to call him and fortunately he answered. It turned out that he had sat down at the end of the promenade, overwhelmed by the enormity of the ride so far, and was contemplating the task yet to be done. Or words to that effect! I have to come clean at this point and confess that I was wondering how on earth we were going to ride all that way back again. After all, it had seemed like forever getting from Parkhead to the coast – and that was when we were much fresher and it was all downhill!  I guess that the other two were probably thinking much the same thing.  I was certainly weighing up other transportation options, although I was fairly sure that my wife, for one, would not be driving out to collect us. It was my own stupid idea, after all! 

At times like these food always makes things better, so finding a chippy less than a hundred yards up the prom was a very welcome discovery.  We sat down in the evening sunshine and enjoyed a big pile of chips.  Plans were made:  follow the roads past the Stadium of Light and ignore all the C2C signs, stopping to buy a final bunch of supplies from a corner shop.  This done, we managed to forge our way back through Washington and out to Beamish in a fraction of the time it had taken us to get there. At this point, however, Shaun punctured, and our tired minds turned a simple task of swapping out an inner tube and inflating it into rather a dog’s breakfast.  Shaun managed to set off his CO2 cannister before it was properly attached, then Henry managed to inflate the tube using his CO2, only to find that the tyre bead had come ‘unclinched’ – a bicycle wheel’s version of a hernia. The only cure for this is to let the gas out and re-seat the tyre bead. But this left us with just one inflation option – my trusty pump. “No problem,” I said. “It will inflate to 100 p.s.i.” At least it used to.  On this occasion it must have been barely 40 p.s.i., and the thought of riding on all that grit/gravel without incurring another pinch flat weighed heavily on our minds, never mind the thought of high speed descents in the Pennines with poor back wheel stability.  As twilight approached we rode on for a couple more miles before I spotted someone’s garage door open, revealing a number of bikes hanging up. “Let’s ask if we can use their pump,” I suggested.  The householder was very amenable, if slightly bemused by our reply to his question about where we were going, and Shaun’s tyre was once again returned to a healthy 100 p.s.i. 

The climb back to Parkhead didn’t seem nearly as far as I had feared, although the sun had disappeared over the mountains some time before we reached the top of the fast descent into Stanhope. For the next few miles we battled on against gravity, taking it in turns to work on the front of the group, doing our best to conserve energy – and morale. The road climbed steadily through Eastgate, Westgate, Daddry Shield and St.John’s Chapel and by the time we reached Cowshill I had convinced myself that we were at the top of the climb above Nenthead.  Henry was swift to remove that particular illusion. “We haven’t reached the main climb yet!” he helpfully pointed out. Now working in total darkness, we ground our way up towards (the perhaps appropriately-named) Kilhope, flanked by those black and white poles with reflectors on. Just as I thought the road must be levelling out my headlight beam caught the next batch of poles and they, from the point of view of my addled brain, appeared to be going vertically upwards! I let out a small moan and got out of the saddle to start zig-zagging in a desperate attempt to remain on the bike. I don’t know what the others were thinking but, given that I had come up with the whole crazy notion, I can’t imagine their thoughts were too charitable. Nevertheless, we made it.  As the road tilted downhill to Nenthead we picked up speed and barely paused for thought as we barrelled along towards Alston. Less than 5 miles to the final climb now.  I began to believe that we might actually be able to finish this thing… 

The final drag from Alston to Hartside was, for me, not about the climbing – the gradient is not steep – nor about the distance. (What’s a mere six miles?!) Rather it was about the realisation that I could no longer sit down.  For several miles now I had been resting butt-cheeks alternately on the saddle while on the flat, and had been gripping the saddle between my thighs, whilst keeping my undercarriage slightly raised, on the descents. The others seemed to be experiencing a similar issue, and as we rode along I trialled a number of techniques, my settled favourite being to put the bike in a reasonably high gear, pedal seven or nine revolutions while out of the saddle, then freewheel while standing on a stretched-out leg. This was then repeated for the other leg.  Every now and again I would park my bum back on the saddle for a moment and think, Oh this doesn’t hurt so much, a couple of seconds before the raging ache began again.  The pedalling technique worked, though, and we soon reached Hartside Summit, just before midnight.  Despite being armed with only a weak, flashing front light Shaun descended at the head of our group (“I’ve done it so many times I could ride down that in my sleep!” he later explained) followed by me and Henry with our more powerful beams.  The last time we rode down there together was a couple of years ago when Henry “Everested” Hartside from Renwick. (In essence you ride up and down the same bit of road until you have ascended the height of Mt Everest, some 8800 metres.  This entailed ascending Hartside 23.3 times!) By now all of us could sense victory, but we didn’t overdo the descent, still aware that one of the many rabbits that we had seen could run into our spokes and land us in hospital.  Henry and I bade farewell to Shaun in Kirkoswald before hammering the ride back to Lazonby.  I had been mentally preparing myself to have to push the bikes from the Co-op up the hill to my house, but a late surge of adrenaline resulted in (what my tired brain imagined to be) a powerful kick up the final half mile. We had made it! Twenty hours, including the food stops, and over 230 miles covered. Not a bad day’s work. 

Now imagine doing that distance every day for 2.5 months. I shudder at the thought…