A coast to coast ride in the UK, punningly known as the C2C

[RobSN]

From C to not so shining C: riding the C2C or Coast to Coast in England
Rob’s ride from Whitehaven on the Northumbrian coast to Tynemouth on the North Sea in 3 days from May 30, 2019 to June 1, 2019.

May 28: I landed at Harwich after my Rhine ride, and managed to squeak through immigration, or more accurately, I confused the poor immigration lady who asked where I had been (“I rode the Rhine from its source in Switzerland to its estuary at Hook of Holland”, “How long did that take?”, “18 days including one rest day”. Cue: Immigration officer looking confused, looking at my bike, me and then the computer screen. I realized that she was seeing when I last left the country and it wasn’t adding up. “Ah,” saith I, “I live in the States”, “Ah,” respondeth she “That makes sense. Have a good day.”) I took the train to London and then rode from Liverpool Street to Euston, which should have been easy, as I used to ride that route in 1990 when I commuted. Wrong! Hardly recognized a thing! Then it was a train up to Carlisle and a change to a train to Whitehaven, where on May 29 I took a rest day, perhaps foolishly, because it was a lovely day, whereas dum dum dum dum-dum May 30 started drizzly and then rainy and only dried up temporarily at the end.

 

[RobSN]

May 30 Whitehaven to Edenhall

So, as I said, the day started drizzly, and generally got no better. I got the traditional picture at the start of the C2C by the sign in Whitehaven harbor and set off across Cleator Moor, battling midges on the way who had come out in the damp weather. As the morning wore on, the rain got heavier and I had to stop to change into my rain pants as I entered the Lake District. In fact, the heavier rain explains why there will be no more pictures until the third day as I didn’t want to drag my camera out and get it wet. As I approached Loweswater, the first of the Lake District lakes that I would go past, I became concerned about some squeaking from my front wheel and stopped to tighten it (although I think in the end I overtightened it). It was pretty slow going though, especially as the route was hilly, and I’d only had two of those on the Rhine ride! At about 2hrs 45m into the ride, I hit the big hill of the day, Whinlatter Pass, and it was pretty tough. There was one section that was very steep and had gravel spilt over the road so that my back tire couldn’t grip: I gave up and pushed the bike a couple of hundred yards to get past it. As I approached the top of the Pass, the drizzle changed to rain and right at the top changed to cats and dogs. I went into the Visitor Centre to refill my water bottles and hung around for 15 minutes to see if the rain would ease up. Perhaps it did a little, but after I had eaten a Tesco flapjack I could think of no good reason to tarry and set off down the Pass. It would probably have been fun in good weather but with water streaming over the road and a fully loaded touring bike, I had to come down with the brakes on all the way.

As I approached Keswick, I was becoming mildly concerned that it was already 2pm and I had only done 31 miles and had 20+ to do. Shortly after Keswick and Threkeld, I came to an area that I had ridden on the Jogle, and indeed the C2C wanted me to take a big detour up to Mungrisdale. Having already done that on the Jogle, I thought “been there, done that” and stuck to an alternative route alongside the A66 until … eek! the bike lane ran out, and I was darned if I wanted to die. It was raining, the A66 had a 60mph speed limit, and most cars were doing 70 mph with the big trucks doing 69mph, in misty nasty conditions: there was no way I was going to ride on it even though it was for only about 1½ miles. A consultation with my GPS followed, and even though I had to cross the A66, an endeavor that required at least 5 minutes waiting for a gap in the traffic, I took some country back roads to avoid an early death.

A short while later, having seen no shelter of any kind, I gave up looking and stopped at the side of a country road and broke out the tea in the rain. A couple of cups of tea, and a piece of chocolate, constituted my late lunch, but it at least gave me a little break, and shortly thereafter, so did the weather. It stopped raining! My route then took me through Greystoke, and having searched in vain for a man in leopard skin undies swinging on a creeper, I decided to take matters into my own hands and … (no! not purchase leopard skin undies) bang my chest with one hand, as the other was needed for the handlebars, and make “ooh-ooh-ooh-ooh” noises, thereby greatly enlivening the day and enabling me to contemplate my future fame in Hollywood as “Robzan of the Cycling Apes”.

As I was navigating my way through Penrith, and getting peeved with impatient drivers who thought that they, and only they, had the right to go around roundabouts, something minorly magical happened. A bright yellow thing appeared in the sky! Yeah! Not that with only 5 miles to go it was going to dry too much out. Anyway, the ride out from Penrith to the country hotel at Edenhall was really very pleasant, other than having to thread my way around the after-effects of a large number of extraordinarily incontinent cows on the back roads. I arrived, still very soggy, at the hotel and was happy to get to my room. There, I soaked the bathroom floor merely by stripping off: my waterproof socks had likely succeeded in keeping water out but had nonetheless filled with water that had run down my legs. Fortunately the hotel had a drying room (methinks every hotel in the Lake District probably has to have a drying room) so after my shower I delivered my dripping cycling gear yea even unto said drying room, and made a beeline for the bar and had some decent ale and nibbles before dinner. I was darned hungry given that I’d only had chocolate and a flapjack so I partook of a roast beast, and sticky toffee pudding and ice cream, before wending my way to bed.

 

[RobSN]

May 31 Edenhall to Parkhead Station

This was always going to be the toughest day, and so it proved, although it was not the biggest hill that was the killer. The day started out overcast but bright, but within 5 miles it began to become a bit misty, which a few miles further on would be British understatement. After said 5 miles, I began the 1,326ft slog up Hartsdale which I had been dreading. It turned out to just be a continuous grind for a further 5 miles to get to the top, but there were few really nasty grades. At the top, there are fabulous views over the countryside … I am told. Had I taken a photograph, it would have been pretty similar to a piece of white paper!!! The ride down the other side was much better and not only because it was downhill rather than uphill: the hills were obviously holding back the clouds and the rain, as it cleared up to become merely overcast, although it was still pretty nippy.

I stopped in Alston at a café advertising itself as cycle friendly and had a late morning coffee and piece of cake, although not without giving myself a heart attack when I couldn’t find my wallet in my handlebar bag. One of the ladies in the café was looking at me strangely as I rummaged through no doubt looking panic stricken (I did NOT want to cycle back up the hill to go back to my hotel), and then said “your wallet is by the bag, love”, and ‘twas true, I had clearly grabbed it with my brain on autopilot and put it down by the handlebar bag, and then forgotten about it in the excitement of getting my coffee and cake. Eek.

After said refreshment, I set off again, and it was in fact the next 5 miles that just misses qualifying as the hardest. I found that I was going through what used to be coal country where there used to be coal mines, but there were also some killer hills. In particular, the 1¾ miles to the east of Nenthead had some short grades (13%+) that were impossible for me to ride with the loaded bike, so there were sections of that where (sob!) I had to push the bike, much to my chagrin. At the summit, 2,200ft, there was a cold wind blowing and having sweated up the hills, I became concerned as I went downhill, as I was getting colder and colder. I realized that I might get into some difficulty if I didn’t deal with it, and down the hill at Wearhead I saw a young man outside a house and asked if he lived there. He did, and when I explained that I needed to change out of my top, he opened up his shed, which was generally for woodworking, and let me change out of my two soaked and cold merino tops into my two spare merino tops, which made a very big difference. Thank you, Sam Gill!

Feeling much better, I rode on, and as I did, the weather got better until it got so good that the sun came out and stayed out! It was really a very pleasant ride all the way to Stanhope. Interestingly, there was a delivery van that was always very considerate passing me, but which would clearly go up side streets and make its deliveries, and would then reappear in my rear view mirrors. In the end, we were clearly both quite amused and would give a toot toot on our horns as he passed. As I approached Stanhope, the wind started to get up from the southwest, which was not to be sneezed at as I was going north east of Stanhope, and tail winds are very nice when one can get them, thank you. Except that the hill out of Stanhope qualified as the hardest, and had a section with a 17.1% grade which was a walker and ever more shall be so. Fortunately, this was the last significant hill of the entire ride, as tomorrow would be mostly downhill. I was staying at an old railway station on the moor for a railway line that had been taken out of commission in Dr. Beeching’s 1960’s railway reorganization. The station had, apparently, been derelict for many years and then was taken over and renovated and turned into tea rooms, and a bed and breakfast. When I arrived, the wind was howling, and continued to do so for most of the evening. It turned out that I was the only guest that night, although they had been full the night before and were due to be full the night after. Because they are so remote, I had had to order dinner in advance, so I knew that I was getting soup and steak pie “served with chips, garden peas & a jug of gravy”, and while they had no bar per se, there was Theakstons available in the bottle, so I knew I could look forward to some calorie replenishment. My room looked out over the moors and was extremely comfortable, although there was no wi-fi.

 

[RobSN]

June 1 Parkhead Station to Tynemouth, and back to Newcastle

The wind had died down in the night, so although I had a tail wind, it was only a few mph. I rode along the old railway tracks for the first 7 or 8 miles on mostly paved surface, before arriving in Consett where there, by the path, was an enormous bucket on a rail wagon which apparently was used to transport steel from the blast furnaces that used to be at British Steel Consett before it was closed in 1980, resulting in 36% unemployment in the town. When I got to the outskirts of Newcastle, there was a diversion for the bridge I wanted to use which resulted in a convoluted way in. I stopped at the Hampton Inn, where I would be staying the night, to drop off my panniers – there didn’t seem much point in lugging them out to the coast and back. Although the cycle paths to the coast went along the Tyne, after Newcastle they seemed to be cunningly designed to prevent one actually seeing the river. Anyway, at about 3:30pm-ish, I arrived at the marker post at Tynemouth showing the end of the C2C. I then reversed course and went back into Newcastle. There, as I went out for something to eat, I noticed bouncers all over the place outside pubs and clubs. On my way back I asked a couple of them what the scoop was. They said that people would go out on Saturday nights and get monumentally drunk, and that every bar had to have security to deal with them. Based on the detritus on the streets the next morning, they weren’t kidding.

The End.