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!
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]
