Sleeping with the ancestors

From Abbey Farm, that I left in the small hours and to whom I am grateful for taking me in so late at night, I took to the back roads again, heading for Leyland and Preston. Shortly into the journey I hooked up with a gentleman who was testing out his bike and muscles in anticipation of cycling around the Outer Hebrides. Good luck to him. He at least had made the smart decision to carry very little and to B&B it on his way around.

At some point he dropped me near to Leyland from where I continued to battle into the stiff north westerly that blew in my face until I eventually crossed the Ribble in Preston. Thankfully being a Sunday, the town was virtually empty and therefore easy to get through.

By this time getting hungry, I was looking for somewhere to cook my breakfast. I did finally find the ideal spot next to the Lancaster canal, where I passed the time of day with a number of slow boat travellers who were enjoying their breakfast by the water.

During the afternoon I criss-crossed the M6 before eventually being overtaken by a deep weeriness. The nedless hills were finally beginning to take there toll and I had to find somewhere to shut my eyes, even for a few minutes. When you're this tired you can almost sleep anywhere.

Refreshed to a point, I battled on, covering many many more miles of rolling hills with headwind before finally, finally turning left onto the A590 and the Lake District National Park! At last!

With a smooth fast road empty of its usual holiday traffic, I was able to average nearly 15 mph and chewed up a good 15 miles before running out of daylight. On the way a very helpful m,an from the RAC assisted with the tightening of the cranks again, donating an allen key for the job, that I am extremely grateful to him for. As you will see from the lasy picture, needs must. This campsite would not gain any stars, being next door to a graveyard and behind the village hall store shed, but it worked for me and I was undisturbed by any strange noises in the night.

Tomorrow the 35 miles to Wast Water. Just 35! You wait Bakewell, we have a little joke to share with you. It's called Ulpha Fells. Just you wait!