I'm about to get onto the ferry to Brodick on the Isle of Arran. From here I shall cycle to 15 miles to Lochranza. I need to cover the 15 miles in 2 hours in time to catch the last ferry off the island and onto the Mull of Kintyre.
Had a very enjoyable morning cycling 30 miles and visiting castles. More of which later. If you don't hear anything for a couple of days, you can either blame the awesome scenery or the lack of connectivity on the west coast of Scotland.
See you soon. Ben Nevis now 2 days away.
John
Friday, 7 May 2010
Thursday, 6 May 2010
Dumfries and Galloway
It rained steadily all night, disturbing my sleep, but only with the noise on the flysheet. Having discovered that sleeping under the flysheet only and using the inner tent as a ground sheet affords me considerably more space, I am now able to pack my things away in their entirety without going outside.
I did this this morning, climbing into waterproofs before making my exit, only to discover that the rain had stopped. The skies were still leaden grey, but there were promises of breaks in the cloud to the north and west, which is where I was headed. It seemed that my luck on the weather front would hold up.
The 10 miles or so into Dumfries were unremarkeable really. Fields of rolling grassland with lots of smelly cows and sheep; it is trully amazing how the pungent odour of slurry can colour your image of a place, but being the strongest memory sense, I worried that Dumfries might always be remembered for this.
I stopped in Dumfries and populated Costa coffee again, where I new that I would get power for the computer, good coffee and a little something to tie me over before I stopped for my obligatory bowl of porridge later in the day.
Robbie Burns and his legacy are in evidence throughout the town and surrounding countryside. I was going to take a picture of the statue of him, but a gull was sat on his head and the evidence of so many others before this one was such that he looked a little sorry for himself bewigged with guano. Just to say that I've been there.
I did this this morning, climbing into waterproofs before making my exit, only to discover that the rain had stopped. The skies were still leaden grey, but there were promises of breaks in the cloud to the north and west, which is where I was headed. It seemed that my luck on the weather front would hold up.
The 10 miles or so into Dumfries were unremarkeable really. Fields of rolling grassland with lots of smelly cows and sheep; it is trully amazing how the pungent odour of slurry can colour your image of a place, but being the strongest memory sense, I worried that Dumfries might always be remembered for this.
I stopped in Dumfries and populated Costa coffee again, where I new that I would get power for the computer, good coffee and a little something to tie me over before I stopped for my obligatory bowl of porridge later in the day.
Robbie Burns and his legacy are in evidence throughout the town and surrounding countryside. I was going to take a picture of the statue of him, but a gull was sat on his head and the evidence of so many others before this one was such that he looked a little sorry for himself bewigged with guano. Just to say that I've been there.
Heading out of town I passed briefly through Terregles, the ancestral home of the Carlisles, my father in laws mothers family. I include this photo for you Jack. 
I spent the next 6 hours or so weaving my way through the country lanes following the A76 heading toward my eventual destination of Cumnock, in Ayr. I stopped for lunchbeside the beautiful River Nith and watched the young trout rise for the small number of flies that alighted on the water. On another day I would have enjoyed to cast at them, but today I was happy enough to be an observer and to take in the sounds of the Drumlanrig estate.
I spent the next 6 hours or so weaving my way through the country lanes following the A76 heading toward my eventual destination of Cumnock, in Ayr. I stopped for lunchbeside the beautiful River Nith and watched the young trout rise for the small number of flies that alighted on the water. On another day I would have enjoyed to cast at them, but today I was happy enough to be an observer and to take in the sounds of the Drumlanrig estate.
Just before 7 I arrived in Cumnock hoping to find information about campsites close by. Hunkered down on the pavement by a bridge crossing the Lugar Water I referred to the laptop for inspiration and was duly spotted by Christine and Alec passing by in their car. Recognising me for a fellow cyclist they stopped to ask if I was looking for accommodation.
I am now sitting in their wonderfully warm home having spent the night in a proper bed, eatne their food and drunk their beer. I have promised to return the favour by bestowing it on another traveller when I get back home. Alec and Christine, I am so grateful, not just for the hospitality but for the generosity of spirit that says more about this little town than words could.
Tight lines Alec and please thank your friend for the patience that caught him the Salmon.
To Scotland and beyond
Not at all sure exactly where I had pitched my tent during the night, I was keen to be up and away in good time rather be woken by some grumpy farmer. As it was I discovered that I had chosen my site well, being next door to the Scout camp ground. Let's face it, most of the bush craft and love of camping originated in my own scouting days way back when, so this seemed fitting.
I had become more pragmatic about my rooute finding after the last couple of days. Exhausted by the relentless hills and bumpy roads, I alternated the morning between a few short legs of A class roads and smaller back roads through the more interesting looking parts of the western lakes.
I fairly quickly arrived in Cockermouth and boy what a shock. Somehow I thought that the town would probably have recovered. After all it was last year that the flood took out the town centre, right? It just went to show that despite all the media coverage, nothing can paint the picture in a way that the people of the town would remember it. I came into town thinking firstly about getting a coffee, but was quickly taken aback by the number of shops and buildings that were boarded up. Many had signs saying open for business, whilst others quit evidently were still along way from being functional. As I drove up the high street the extent of the devastation became ever more apparent.
The large stone bridge at the top of the high street still lacked some of the topmost stone, where two large trees had become wedged against it, thrown there by the force of the flood. One gentleman that I stopped to talk to said that the water had run down the high street to a depth of 8 feet!!
I continued over the bridge and turned right. Despite the elevation here, it was obvious that the water had come down here too. I was now determined to spend some money in this town. I was conscious of not wanting to appear to be a disaster tourist, so took only one photo as I left the town of the remains of the footbridge across the river, but I felt uneasy about that. I include it here because I want anyone that reads this to have a reminder of what this beautiful little Lakeland town is still dealing with, long after the media have moved on.
The hotel that I stopped in provided my with a superb breakfast and I sat there for a couple of hours completing more blog entries for the previous days. In the hotel they have a copy of the photo album that was put together in the aftermath of the flood, presumably to raise money for the relief effort. The pictures are shocking, awe inspiring and a reminder of how powerful both nature and the human spirit can be.
I could have stayed longer. I would like to come back. I hope that some of you might to. The western lakes are beautiful and tranquil, Cockermouth, an inspiration.
The A595 I think it was sped me toward Carlisle,
where I later to learn from Anna, that Gordon Brown was at that time touring and talking to the locals. I did skirt through the outskirts of town passing the castle, before picking up NCN route 7 which to my delight I discovered followed a new road not on Google earth, that ran alongside the M6, all the way into Gretna.
Another big milestone passed. I took in the multitude of references to marriage venues this side of the border before grabbing a swift coffee from a garage vendor, as much to make asking her to fill my water bottles more palitable. Why would I feel guilty about asking someone to fill my water bottles. I guess I don't like asking for anything for nothing. That despite being offered many kindnesses on this journey for exactly that.
I had become more pragmatic about my rooute finding after the last couple of days. Exhausted by the relentless hills and bumpy roads, I alternated the morning between a few short legs of A class roads and smaller back roads through the more interesting looking parts of the western lakes.
I fairly quickly arrived in Cockermouth and boy what a shock. Somehow I thought that the town would probably have recovered. After all it was last year that the flood took out the town centre, right? It just went to show that despite all the media coverage, nothing can paint the picture in a way that the people of the town would remember it. I came into town thinking firstly about getting a coffee, but was quickly taken aback by the number of shops and buildings that were boarded up. Many had signs saying open for business, whilst others quit evidently were still along way from being functional. As I drove up the high street the extent of the devastation became ever more apparent.
The large stone bridge at the top of the high street still lacked some of the topmost stone, where two large trees had become wedged against it, thrown there by the force of the flood. One gentleman that I stopped to talk to said that the water had run down the high street to a depth of 8 feet!!
I continued over the bridge and turned right. Despite the elevation here, it was obvious that the water had come down here too. I was now determined to spend some money in this town. I was conscious of not wanting to appear to be a disaster tourist, so took only one photo as I left the town of the remains of the footbridge across the river, but I felt uneasy about that. I include it here because I want anyone that reads this to have a reminder of what this beautiful little Lakeland town is still dealing with, long after the media have moved on.
The hotel that I stopped in provided my with a superb breakfast and I sat there for a couple of hours completing more blog entries for the previous days. In the hotel they have a copy of the photo album that was put together in the aftermath of the flood, presumably to raise money for the relief effort. The pictures are shocking, awe inspiring and a reminder of how powerful both nature and the human spirit can be.
I could have stayed longer. I would like to come back. I hope that some of you might to. The western lakes are beautiful and tranquil, Cockermouth, an inspiration.
The A595 I think it was sped me toward Carlisle,
where I later to learn from Anna, that Gordon Brown was at that time touring and talking to the locals. I did skirt through the outskirts of town passing the castle, before picking up NCN route 7 which to my delight I discovered followed a new road not on Google earth, that ran alongside the M6, all the way into Gretna.Another big milestone passed. I took in the multitude of references to marriage venues this side of the border before grabbing a swift coffee from a garage vendor, as much to make asking her to fill my water bottles more palitable. Why would I feel guilty about asking someone to fill my water bottles. I guess I don't like asking for anything for nothing. That despite being offered many kindnesses on this journey for exactly that.
Before I left Gretna, I quickly contacted the Queensway Caravan Park in Annan, who were happy to find room for me, preferably if I could get there before 8. Actually when they realised that I was doing this for charity, they relented and just said, 'turn up and we'll fit you in.' In the end I had the best pitch in town. My bedroom window, (tent flap) looked out over the Solway Firth and as the night closed in I was serenaded by the Oystercatchers and Redshank out on the tideline. 
The campsite owner let me stay for free. Thank you again. Thank you.
Scafell Pike from Wasdale Head
More perfect conditions you could not ask for to climb a mountain. I woke at 05:30, thought it was 06:30, stripped the bed, used the bathroom, realised that it was 05:30, remade the bed and went back to sleep.A similar tale was unfolding with the girls who were staying farther up the valley in the Wasdale Head Inn. Too much excitement. I was looking forward to climbing a second 3,000 foot lakeland peak with Lizzie and Anna. We had summited Helvellyn via striding edge 4 years ago in equally good conditions.
At the real 06:30 I packed up again and hit the road. This time the girls were waiting for the red bike as I came up the road. Anna was taking photos from the window and Lizzie met me in the carpark. I was glad for the help up the stairs with the bags.
After a big breakfast we headed out, following the footpath straight from the door. Stopping frequently to ooh and aah at the lambs, (the girls are as mad about them as George had been,) we eventually started the gentle climb across the contours to meet the ridge line up Lingmell.
The gradient increased dramatically from about 100m and with infrequent stops to catch our breath, we were soon on the levelish plateau below Lingmell's peak. From here we had unobstructed views of the summit of Scafell, though Scafell Pike, our destination, was just hidden behind a false summit.
There were patches of snow dotted across the northern flanks of both mountains and we couldn't resist the temptation of standing on one for a quick photoshoot. The ultimate goal pulled us on though and we were very soon atop the highest mountain in England. Two down, one to go!
The girls had done really well, completing the haul up the slopes in two and a half hours. The drop down to the valley took almost as long and was harder on both the knees and the thighs, but the attraction of a swift half in the pub was all the incentive I needed. I was not disappointed.
Discussions with the shopkeeper of the outdoor shop next to the pub persuaded me to change my planned route. Originally I had determined to follow the mountain bike route over Blacksail Pass before dropping down into the valley and out via Ennerdale Water. The steepness of the ascent coupled with the weight that I would have to push, however, made this hopelessly unrealistic and I was glad to change my plans. 'Flexibility is the key to air power' A phrase that I remembered from my time in the Fleet Air Arm, sprang to mind.
I stole a march on the following day by leaving that evening, cycling the 20 miles around the base of the hills, heading west and then north west into the village of Ennerdale Water. It was dark by the time I hid myself, my tent and bike in a wood and dropped off to sleep. A good days work well done.
Wednesday, 5 May 2010
Done In!
The day started off fine. I got up at 05:30, leaving the long term sleepers to their peace and quiet. My campsite looked none the wiser for my having been there. As all wild campsites should be when you leave them.
At that time in the morning the A590 south of the Lake District is all but empty and by 07:20 I was in a small market town whose name annoyingly escapes me for the moment. Anyway, given the instruments of medieval torture that still furnish the town square, the less time I spent there the better.
Actually there was a really nice looking inter-net cafe in the middle of town that was advertised as being open, even on bank holiday Monday, which of course today was. The only problem was that it didn't open until nine and I couldn't wait that long. Instead I sat on the town monument steps behind the stocks and cooked my breakfast. You guessed it. Porridge and dried bananas....again. All energy.
By 8 I was pedalling again, confident that I would be at the Youth Hostel, situated at the southern tip of Wastwater in good time. The only problem with using a road map to navigate with, however, is that it doesn't show the contours! The scenery was stunning, but the hills, and one in particular rising up from Ulpha, were sadistic. The road swept left then right, tghen left again, winding its way up the mountainside in an attempt to make the gradient acceptable. I wound my way back and forth across the road, within each sweep in an attempt to flatten it further. It was punishing. It went on and on and on and it nearly finished me off.
If you haven't gathered, my bike with all my stuff, is very heavy. Very heavy. I arrived at the youth hostel and being too early to book into my room, collapsed in the lounge of this fantastic house and promptly fell asleep.
Two hours later, the warden woke me and gave me the key to a room out of sympathy and because I was probably making the place look untidy! I gratefully moved my things upstairs, hand washed my clothes, cooked some lunch and went back to sleep for another 3 hours. I was the Doormouse at the mad hatters tea party. ( Alice in Wonderland. A play incidentally in which at the age of 11, I played Alice's big sister. My first line, I still remember. ' Columbus discovered a great big world far over the deep blue sea.')
At 17:30 fed up with pedalling, I thought that I would walk to Wasdale Head where Lizzie, Anna and Christine were staying. Hoping as I went that they had picked up my phone message begging a lift. An hour or so later having enjoyed the 4 mile walk, I joined the girls who by all accounts had been irrepressible all afternoon; looking out of the window for a heavily laden red bike to appear around the corner of the road beneath their window. Sorry girls.
Anyway, I stopped for a welcome supper of pasta carbonara, the girls favourite meal and the best energy filler for me and then scrounged a lift back to the youth hostel with a promise to be with them ready to climb Scafell in the morning. Easily visible above the la
ke, with clear skies promised for the following day, I was excited to tick off the second of the three mountains I had set myself to conquer.
At that time in the morning the A590 south of the Lake District is all but empty and by 07:20 I was in a small market town whose name annoyingly escapes me for the moment. Anyway, given the instruments of medieval torture that still furnish the town square, the less time I spent there the better.
Actually there was a really nice looking inter-net cafe in the middle of town that was advertised as being open, even on bank holiday Monday, which of course today was. The only problem was that it didn't open until nine and I couldn't wait that long. Instead I sat on the town monument steps behind the stocks and cooked my breakfast. You guessed it. Porridge and dried bananas....again. All energy.
By 8 I was pedalling again, confident that I would be at the Youth Hostel, situated at the southern tip of Wastwater in good time. The only problem with using a road map to navigate with, however, is that it doesn't show the contours! The scenery was stunning, but the hills, and one in particular rising up from Ulpha, were sadistic. The road swept left then right, tghen left again, winding its way up the mountainside in an attempt to make the gradient acceptable. I wound my way back and forth across the road, within each sweep in an attempt to flatten it further. It was punishing. It went on and on and on and it nearly finished me off.
If you haven't gathered, my bike with all my stuff, is very heavy. Very heavy. I arrived at the youth hostel and being too early to book into my room, collapsed in the lounge of this fantastic house and promptly fell asleep.
Two hours later, the warden woke me and gave me the key to a room out of sympathy and because I was probably making the place look untidy! I gratefully moved my things upstairs, hand washed my clothes, cooked some lunch and went back to sleep for another 3 hours. I was the Doormouse at the mad hatters tea party. ( Alice in Wonderland. A play incidentally in which at the age of 11, I played Alice's big sister. My first line, I still remember. ' Columbus discovered a great big world far over the deep blue sea.')
At 17:30 fed up with pedalling, I thought that I would walk to Wasdale Head where Lizzie, Anna and Christine were staying. Hoping as I went that they had picked up my phone message begging a lift. An hour or so later having enjoyed the 4 mile walk, I joined the girls who by all accounts had been irrepressible all afternoon; looking out of the window for a heavily laden red bike to appear around the corner of the road beneath their window. Sorry girls.
Anyway, I stopped for a welcome supper of pasta carbonara, the girls favourite meal and the best energy filler for me and then scrounged a lift back to the youth hostel with a promise to be with them ready to climb Scafell in the morning. Easily visible above the la
ke, with clear skies promised for the following day, I was excited to tick off the second of the three mountains I had set myself to conquer.This picture is actually of Great Gable, that the girls had climbed the day before. Another Lake District classic. Well done them.
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!
Sunday, 2 May 2010
In the footsteps of our ancestors
Today's cycle was planned to be the longest of the expedition. At 90 plus miles, with 3500 of decent and 2500 feet of ascent, it had the added spice of including the crossing of the Mersey by ferry.
Before getting that far, however, I planned my departure so that Laura and George could meet up with me again in Betwys y coed (sp) before I headed NW and Laura to the SE and home.
Not surprisingly the majority of the first 10 miles or so were downhill and equally predictable was the clearing of the skies to reveal that most elusive of summits, just as I was leaving her behind. Talk about playing hard to get! 
Snowdon is the pinnacle in the centre, the left of the three together. This is probably the best view of Snowdon that I have had in 5 visits.
George helped me out with a fruit pastry before we finally said our goodbyes. I think that he woudl happily have completed the journey with me. I shall certainly be getting a seat for him on my return so that we can get out together.
The cycle across the fells toward Denbigh and then the Wirral were in places lonely and barren but no less beautiful in their own way. Denbigh castle as with many in North Wales sat large and imposing above the town; its walls sowing evidence of its demise, though still impressive in extent and complexity.
Thanks to Sustrans I was able to navigate my way through Queensferry and the industrial areas north of Chester, the city of my University education. I was sorry not to have had the time to call in. If you get the chance though, then do. The Romand history of this city, is very much in evidence, along with the famous two tierd shops that encircle the centre. I'm sorry not to be able to give more information as to the dates and history of this great city, indeed am ashamed not to be able to remember it, being a one time history student, but look it up anyway. you won't be disappointed aby a visit there.
Eventually, after overshooting the first ferry terminal, I arrived at the northern terminal just in time to catch the last crossing at 18:30. I'm not sure why, but I found myself getting sucked into the nostalgia associated with arriving in Liverpool across the Mersey, but there you are.
More significantly, this fine city was the home of my father-in-laws father, before he left these shores for a new life in America. Now living in Detroit, Laura's parents and their families have a history and a tale worth telling on its own, being not untypical of many early migrants from these shores. Interestingly I shall be passing through the home of his mother's family later today. Carlisles from near Dumfries, we have found gravestones in the local churchyard that were possibly of the same family. It's a small world.
My anxieties about cycling through Liverpool, a city that I knew nothing of, were simplified by the discovery that the Leeds Liverpool canal traversed the city from it's centre, heading NW. If I followed the tow path, (the beginning of which is shown here,) I would pop out near to the town of Ormskirk. Not far from there I succesfully found Abbey Farm Campsite, but not before getting thoroughly rained on and completing the last hour of the day in the dark. A long day indeed, but I was till on the pace.....just.
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