Coast 2 Coasting with Arran

Enthusiasm for leaving the van was in short supply in Whitehaven, waves crashed on to the sea defences, the air was heavy with sea spray and in all directions; grey. A hundred shades of British maritime grey colouring the sea, the harbour, the houses and the hills. 

Instagrams snapped and we were off towards the town centre through the thick mizzle. Soon we were eastbound on narrow roads, impatient Saturday morning traffic backed up behind and pace pushed beyond sensible. The greenways toward Cleator Moor were a haven of tranquility by comparison and we were soon well on our way towards Whinlatter Forest. We enjoyed lunch at Whinlatter trail centre with a dessert of smooth road descent into Keswick. The old railway line to Threlkeld from Keswick had unfortunately been terminated by bridges washed out in the storms of 2016 so we retraced our tyre tracks back toward Keswick and climbed up to Castlerigg Stone Circle. From here we stuck to the road and became progressively wetter and colder until we were forced to find a cafe in Penrith, somewhere to coax dangerously cold digits back to mobility. Arran sat on my back wheel along gently meandering lanes for the last 15 miles to Kings Meaburn. Day 1 was done.

We both slept the sleep of the dead before rising for a cooked breakfast and a tail wind assisted spin to Kirby Stephen on quiet back lanes. The climb to the head of Swaledale tested Arran but was worth it for the miles of undulating tarmac that followed, threading down the valley towards Muker. An off road diversion had our G-One tyres fighting for grip as we climbing on saturated close cropped grass. From Muker we struck gravel bike gold, a limestone coloured ribbon of fast, winding trail following the River Swale to Reeth. Smiles all round.

Lunch at The Dales Bike Centre refuelled energy reserves for the road climb to Richmond and subsequent meander towards Northallerton. We followed the river Swale intermittently, skirting deep gravel pits, fighting our way across muddy fields with fully laden bikes. Komoot had come up with some great trails and lanes for this section (excepting the section after Northallerton where we were routed through a graveyard and in to an unrideable quagmire). Late afternoon sun lit up autumn leaves in a fiesta of red, orange and yellow as we cruised towards Osmotherley. Arran agreed, definitely a better day than yesterday. 

The Osmotherley Youth Hostel was quiet and had a drying room; result! We enjoyed dry boots and socks the following morning. Coupled with blue sky and quiet trails our final day was shaping up pretty well. We opted to avoid some of the lanes and head up over the moors instead, navigation app Komoot suggested a good trail but it never materialised. After a steep climb we threaded our way between thick tussocks of grass and heather under a canopy of contorted trees. A woody twig of heather caught in Arran’s rear mech and the mech was ripped round the cassette. The mech hanger snapped in half. I knew exactly where the spare hanger was; on my desk at work. DOH!!

We eventually persuaded the chain and cassette into working singlespeed but the gear wasn’t ideal for the steep sided valleys of the North York Moors so we swapped bikes and headed down to the Helmsley road to find lunch. From Helmsley I span my singlespeed along the back road to Thornton-le-Dale where we dropped in to Pace cycles to check out their 853 framed singlespeed frames. I begged some chain lube to ease the cacophony from the back end of the Slate and we were on our way to Dalby Forest. 


We climbed the blue trail from the car park at Dalby. Unsurprisingly we were the only gravel bikes with luggage on the climb and we soon diverted west to follow the ‘Moor to Sea’ route towards Scarborough. After several miles of forest track we dropped out of the forest to pick up the road into Scarborough where we headed straight down to the sea for photos before dusk. It was just after 5pm and somehow we had arrived ahead of schedule leaving us plenty of time to reflect on Arran’s first C2C whilst watching the sky turn from red and yellow to purple and eventually night. 

Crossduro Pennines #XDP17

The Pennines were in characteristically brusque mood on the 7th October, unwilling to give up  their finest views to the riders who’d travelled from far and wide to pit themselves against the rugged gritstone of the southern Pennines. Low cloud laden with fine Atlantic rain soaked all who were brave enough to take on the elements.  This was looking like a 'type 2 fun' kind of day, one to feel good about later in the pub, or reclined on the sofa in front of deadeye. 

    

It was good to see a bunch of riders including some familiar faces already assembled down at St Georges Square as I rolled in at 7.30am. Some sat astride gravel bikes but quite a few were on mountain bikes, these fat tyre riders were mainly locals who knew the terrain and had opted for comfort and puncture avoidance. As the hands of the station clock eased past 8 I thanked those assembled for turning out and offered some route advice.  A couple of photos later (thanks to Stephen Smith for these) and we free-wheeled off past the outdoor market, across the ringroad and onto the canal towpath. I led the riders westward out of town, occasionally glancing over my shoulder to see a string of riders stretched out along the canal path behind me.  

#XDP-1

Marsden was the start of the first Strava timed segment (#XDP-1). I pulled over and let the riders get on with the segment, I wanted to sit back and watch today as they climbed towards the cloud. Wessenden Head was cloaked in mist, moorland grass heavy with fat droplets of water and the dying bracken adding a melancholic shade of rust to the view up the valley. The old cart track down to Digley reservoir had many cursing the old stone slabs which were grooved deep from the thousands of iron shod cart wheels which had rolled this way in centuries past. The descent also claimed the day’s first victim, a rear mech terminally twisted out of shape. A trail-side singlespeed conversion got the bike mobile but that rider was homeward bound. 

another cobbled climb

The summit of Holme Moss was wild, heavy mist from the west soaked us whilst the wind grabbed wheels and pushed unwary riders toward the roadside ditches. This was no place to hang around and we soon dived down toward Longdendale playing a high stakes game of ‘who’s going to touch their brake first’, you can hit 60mph down here on a calm day.

I was now riding with a couple of local riders; Mick Collins and Pete Horne - both on mountain bikes and both well used to this terrain and weather. Pete will celebrate his 70th birthday next year and yet is not afraid of a a fast rocky descent or a slippery technical climb. An inspiration to all of us and a reminder that if age is your excuse, you need to find a better one. 

After the rocky and occasionally technical track of the Pennine Bridleway came Chew Valley Reservoir climb, a traffic free but tough and pointless climb to a dead end atop the Pennines. This was another wild summit and few hung around, most eager to return to the comparative calm of the valley bottom. We rode on towards Diggle on narrow roads and ancient tracks. In Delph Pete opted to carry on whilst Mick and I stopped for lunch and a coffee break in the back room of a cafe in Delph.

After making up time on the road from Delph we turned left to follow the now familiar Pennine bridleway signs. This time we were bound for Hollingworth Lake, once more on old packhorse trails. I was glad of some suspension on the descents, Mick and I flew past riders on gravel bikes, impervious to the drainage channels and rocks lining the trail, focused only on getting down as fast as we could without puncturing. A shove up a steep rubble strewn chute and we were on our bikes again, contorted in the search for rear wheel traction on the saturated grassy climb that followed. Mick’s relief at completing the climb was tempered by the realisation that his freewheel was going bad, only engaging every few turns of his cranks. He nursed his Van Nicholas down to Hollingworth Lake where we decided to see whether together we could get him back home to Sowerby Bridge 10 miles away. An occasional shove from me and some frantic spinning from Mick saw him home within an hour. I was now some way off route and it was late afternoon, I needed to get to the finish at the Magic Rock Brewery Tap.

I met up with a few finishers down at the Magic Rock who agreed; it had been tough but they'd enjoyed the challenges of the route. Some riders had retired around the 50 mile mark and a few had suffered mechanical problems but plenty had completed despite the challenging conditions. It had been a pleasure to share some local trails with riders from further afield, one which I hope to repeat next year.