Travel Biography - Week 44.

The End-to-End Ride - Coping with the Weather.

The 1990 End-to-End cycle ride southward from John O'Groats to Land's End was the less frequent direction taken among cyclists, as the most prominent wind direction in the UK has always been the southwesterly, a mild wind from the Atlantic Ocean that prevents our winters from getting too cold and keeps the summers cool and wet. Hence, here in the UK, a centimetre of snow in the winter is enough to close all the schools, halt all the trains, and clog up the traffic on the roads. And one warm, sunny day in the summer will bring on a drought alert.

The Geo of Sclaites, Scotland.

What a Contrast! Blackpool Beach at low tide.

However, the weather throughout August of 1990 wasn't too bad. Probably, it may not have done us any good to cycle long distances under scorching sunshine and risk hyperthermia. Or, for that matter, pedalling in continuous rain would have caused us to shiver in the wet. But riding into the headwind was at times a problem, and we had experienced the worst of that on the 88-mile Bristol-Exeter leg of the journey. Here, the A39 ride was up a long but gentle uphill slope banked by flat fields on both sides. The strong headwind and the boring and featureless scenery had brought me to the point of giving up altogether, and I was that close to throwing in the towel.

That is until we arrived at a roadside cafe, and there was no hesitating on a rest stop for refreshments. A lunch with coffee made all the difference. When I was at the point of quitting, with a hungry hole in my stomach at last plugged, the feeling of encouragement and the determination to press on returned. By the time we passed through the town of Honiton, I was already feeling elated, as we knew that Exeter with its district of Topsham and a promise of a bed not far away, and by then, the wind had died down.

How did we set about on the whole ride? Basically, we alternated on leading. For example, I led from John O'Groats to Carbisdale Castle. Then, on the next day, Gareth led from Carbisdale Castle to Aviemore, and I then led from there to Perth. And so it went, on each alternate day, taking turns to lead. The only exception was in the Warrington area, between Blackpool and Chester. Since we were passing through a series of conurbations between Liverpool and Manchester, Gareth wanted to lead for that day also. I was happy with that. Give me a straight, fast road and I'm happy. He felt just as much at home among road junctions and traffic lights.

At each hostel (and one hotel in Blackpool) we spent just one night. However, other than at John O' Groats where we spent two nights before the start of the Ride, we spent two nights at Windermere Hostel in the Lake District. Rather than skirt the National Park by staying on the traditional route (which was the A6 through Penrith and Kendal) - we diverted into the Lake District to see the dramatic beauty of England's mountains and lakes. It's in this area where "the Throne of England" sits, Scafell Pike, at 978 metres, making England's highest mountain.

How the Ride was Nearly Abandoned.

However, the hostel we stayed at soon after entering the Park boundary from the North was Carrock Fell Hostel, the all-time smallest hostel I ever stayed at, with just 18 beds. A tiny, isolated building, yet the Ministry of Transport didn't reckon it was worthy of a sign pointing to it when we arrived at a turning leading directly to it. Instead, we carried straight on, only to get lost and end up cycling around in circles.

After adding around two miles to our ride, a truck arrived and stopped where we were, and the driver asked us where we were going. I explained that we were heading for Carrock Fell Hostel and we went wrong somewhere in our attempt to find it. Fortunately, he knew where it was, and offered to take us there. Already crestfallen, we accepted his offer. About a mile down the road and we were there.

Whilst cooking supper, I felt my spirit fall to its lowest point. Gareth noticed. I was so adamant about not going near a motorised vehicle until we had reached Lands End that I felt that the challenge was compromised, or in effect, ruined. My companion then said,

Tomorrow, we'll ride up to the junction where we should have turned and redo that part of the ride. Then we can say that we did it.

I accepted his proposal. After all, this was a very different situation from the boat ride taken by the group of cyclists we met at John O'Groats. Their sailing across the Mersey was planned and deliberate. By contrast, we fell victim to poor navigation worsened by a lack of direction.

The next day, we fulfilled Gareth's proposal. We made our way to the road junction where we should have originally turned, and having proceeded further back, we approached the junction and turned into it, then rode until we arrived at the hostel. We then locked up our bikes outside the hostel and started a dayhike up the slopes of Carrock Fell itself, a 661-metre high mountain on the northern edge of the Park. We made it to the summit for some splendid views. Then, after we made our way back down, we collected our bikes to commence the 25-mile ride to Windermere Hostel, the shortest leg of the entire Ride.

Crossing the Boundary. Leaving Scotland for...

England. And I should have posed better.

From Carrock Fell to Windermere.

The journey from Carrock Fell to Windermere might have been a short ride, but it was very dramatic. It took in two of the largest lakes in the District, Lake Ullswater and Lake Windermere, the latter being the largest natural lake in England. Of the two, Lake Ullswater is more dramatic by the higher mountains that surround it. On the other hand, Lake Windermere is more commercialised, with cruises laid on from the southern end of the 11-mile ribbon lake to the northern end, on which Ambleside Hostel is located, the largest provincial hostel in the UK, or the second largest after London's Rotherhithe.

Lake Ullswater is separated from Lake Windermere by Kirkstone Pass, a very steep hill climb. This was part of the End-to-End cycle ride where we had little choice but to dismount and walk up the slope. But to us, that was acceptable. The whole purpose of covering the whole of Great Britain was to use the energy our own bodies had created without any motorised aid.

After arriving at the summit of Kirkstone Pass, we mounted our bikes and allowed ourselves to roll downhill towards Lake Windermere, which had already come into view. We rode on, continuing southward, east of the lake until we arrived at Windermere Hostel as the evening approached.

We spent a whole of the next day off from cycling, a mid-holiday rest break. We spent that day on the lake itself. The nearest shoreline village from the hostel was Bowness-on-Windermere, and from here, a cruise boat sailed north to Ambleside, calling at a couple of other piers throughout its sailing. It was also in this vicinity that we found a leisure centre, and the two of us had a swim at the local indoor swimming pool. This goes to show that no matter what kind of holiday we may embark on, it's always wise to bring a pair of swimming trunks!

The next day, it was back on our bikes, and we left the Lake District behind with a promise that one day we would be back (which was fulfilled two years later in 1992.) After joining the main road at Kendal, we proceeded on with Gareth leading.

Blackpool.

We took a second detour from the traditional route to spend the next night at the Hotel Wilcot in Blackpool. This was the only non-YHA accommodation during the whole trip. Finding the hotel, which was on Lord Road, wasn't difficult, thanks to the large map of the town placed in front of one of the pier entrances.

The tide was out when we arrived at Blackpool Beach, leaving a wide expanse of exposed sand along the seven-mile-long strip. Whilst we were there, I couldn't help comparing this wide, sandy strip to the cliff face of Duncansby Head, with both the Geo of Sclaites and the nearby stacks. But that is the beauty of the natural side of Great Britain. The vivid contrast, whether it be the mountainous country of Highland Scotland or the flat plains of East Anglia, the coastal cliffs, or as here in Blackpool, a wide, featureless strip of sand. That was why I inserted two contrasting photos of the British coastline - the Geo of Sclaites and Blackpool Beach when the tide is out.

However, Blackpool offered something other than the quiet evenings spent at the hostel lounge. And that was fun - plenty of it. After all, this is a holiday. I'm referring to Blackpool Pleasure Beach, a seafront fun fair that has made Blackpool famous, and had made younger holidaymakers move to this popular resort after leaving behind the more quieter and sedate neighbour resort, Morecambe. 

One of the "gutsy" rollercoasters we rode on, the Revolution, involved looping a loop backwards, and I recall letting out a yell as my brain tried to figure out what was the ground and what was the sky. We also found ourselves standing in front of the Laughing Policeman enclosed in a glass cubicle. I cracked a joke, at other times not that funny, but the presence of the Laughing Policeman intensified the mirth, and the three of us were locked into uncontrollable laughter!

The next day, after breakfast, we were back on our bikes. Although it was meant to be my turn to lead, I agreed on Gareth's request to lead, as we were about to pass through one of the busiest stretches of the Ride, the suburban gap between Liverpool and Manchester, with a rather confusing road layout of Warrington. When we both studied our route on the map and concentrated on this city, I was able to see that the city centre was encircled by a ring road, from where other roads branched off in different directions. It was familiar. Bracknell, our home town, had the same road system.

As we were cycling towards Wigan, my bicycle chain began to make a noise as I pedalled, and I brought this to Gareth's attention. As the noise got gradually louder, I knew instinctively that the life of the chain is coming to an end, and I still have plenty of miles yet to cover.

We arrived at Wigan and I kept a lookout for a bicycle shop. Lo and behold! There was one on the High Street. I went in and bought a new derailleur gear chain. Then, with the chain breaker I carried in my toolbag, I removed the old chain and fitted the new one, making redundant a few links that weren't needed. However, was the new chain compatible with the present gear cassette? So I asked Gareth to remain where he was as I completed a test ride around the block. Had the chain kept on jumping the gear cog, then the whole gear cassette had to be replaced as well. This would have caused a delay, as I would have had to have taken the whole bike into the shop for a professional change, as I didn't have the appropriate tools for such a job.

But as I rode around the block, the new chain bedded in well and there were no more problems for the rest of the Ride. We carried on for Chester, where we would spend the coming night.

Chester.

We arrive at Chester, a city built on an ancient Roman fortress, hence it was full of Roman and Medieval history. I fell in love with the city as soon as we arrived. YHA Chester was a little out of town, a country house set in a well-to-do housing estate near the city park. Sadly, the hostel was closed and sold off by the YHA in 2010. After supper, a shower and a change of clothing, we walked to the city centre, and immediately I was impressed. There was even a Roman ruin, an echo of my 1982 visit to Siracusa in Sicily. The excavations included part of a Roman amphitheatre and the Temple of the Roman goddess Nemesium. The main precincts were lined with Medieval shops and the High Street was traffic-free. Part of the Roman wall enclosing the original fortress was still intact.

At the Roman Temple of Nemesium, Chester, 1990.

I could say that, just as Blackpool was the centre of holiday fun, Chester could be regarded as a city of learning. But unlike Oxford or Cambridge, Chester is a hands-on exhibit of an ancient civilisation excavated and left on-site.

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Next Week: The Ride Concludes.