4th July 2010, York to Garsdale....

[CrinklyLion]

....or the day that the Very Lovely Valencia discovered what the granny ring was for!

As I might have mentioned, just once or twice, the elder cub and I are planning to ride to his Bedstemor's house in Barrow in Furness this summer.  It occurred to me a while back that I  probably ought to do a recce run on my own of at least some of it prior to the great adventure... and then last week I suddenly noticed that it's not very long at all until we set off on the 18th of next month, and that nearly all of my weekends have got something pencilled in already on at least one day.  Uh oh....

So on Sunday, I set off from York armed with a couple of spare tubes and my mini-toolkit, a bag full of snacks, a couple of pages from the road atlas, some scribbled down train times and a vague and wooly plan to ride to Bedale and see how I felt before deciding on my next step.  Bedale will be our halfway point on day 2 when I go with the cub, and I figured that from there I could either ride back to Northallerton and catch a train or, if I was feeling particulary brave, get the Wensleydale light railway to Redmire, and ride on to Hawes (which will be our second overnight stop) and then Garsdale to get a train back from there.  I will confess to being slightly nervous about the number of places with very tall-sounding names on the route....

I wanted to get to Bedale by around noon, in case I went for the train to Redmire option.  Various routes on googlemaps and bikely suggested 40 to 45 miles to Bedale via Ripon.  I tend to pootle along at 11 or so mph, so that's 4 hours more or less, plus a bit of stopping to look at maps/getting lost/the odd wrong turn, which means I should have left around 7.  But I'm rubbish at being on time for things and a dreadful faffer, so at 5 past 8 I stopped to get cash out of the hole in the wall in Acomb - about 3 miles from home.  Oops.  I have to say that riding round town at that time on a Sunday morning is remarkably pleasant, and Acomb in the morning sunshine managed to look convincingly leafy and suburban.

I took the B road out through Rufforth to Long Marston, stopping on the way to take a picture of Marston Moor monument, which commemorates a battle that took place 366 years and 2 days ago, apparently.

If I'd gone this way a week earlier it appears I would have found the sealed knot doing their thing, but not this week, alas.  

I did see rather a lot of people riding the other way, several groups of 10 or more riders and the odd lone wolf, many of whom gave me a nod, a grin or a cheerful good morning - I wondered if there was an audax or something happening.  I may have to think again about this route out of York - even at that time on a Sunday it was fairly busy, and a pretty quick road.  It would be nice to avoid the NSL fast stuff where I can, as they are a bit stressful to ride with an 8 year old.  

Turning off after Tockwith towards Cattal, however, revealed a beauty of a road.  Perfectly smooth blacktop, and hardly a car in sight.

Combined with a bit of sunshine and a refreshing breeze this was turning into a remarkably pleasant morning's amble out.  Over the very pretty bridge at Cattal

and I knew it was getting close to say goodbye to the flatlands....

I stopped at Cattal train station to take a quick snap in celebration of the location that saw the purchase of Cub's beloved islabike, last October, which is what started this whole meet strange men off the internet and go on Silly_Bike_Adventures shennanigans.  


Then over the A59 (not looking forward to that junction with the cub - he isn't quick off the blocks!) and up the hill to Whixley which surprised me by being atually much more manageable than it looked from the bottom.  I'd vaguely planned to wiggle round the villages to avoid the B6265 but was a bit aware of the time, and thought I'd see how good/bad it is.  The answer is that it was fine for me, but I'd like to check the alternatives.  I don't think it'll be a problem for the cub, but I think he'd enjoy it more on smaller, slower roads where I can. Ripon was very pretty

apart from a couple of gurt big roundabouts, and it was nice to get a big wave and a smile from the boaties.  This will be our first overnight stop, and since even I made it in under 2 1/2 hours I reckon that I can afford to lengthen the route for the sake of more benign roads if I need to.  

From Ripon I followed the A6108 as far as West Tanfield (where at least one house hasn't noticed that it might be time to take down the ing-gur-la-aaand flag) then headed up through Well and Snape (anyone for potions?).

Then, somehow rather sooner than I expected, I found myself on Bedale.  I somewhat gingerly navigated the road down to the station - avoiding suicidal pedestrians and pavement mounting 4x4s, and found the station.



I realised that I'd actually got there with plenty of time to spare.  In fact, from Acomb to Bedale was under 3 1/2 hours - which is going some for me, given that there were Hills involved.  Although the website said that it was an 'orange' timetable day the poster in the station proclaimed the 4th July to be a 'blue' day - which meant that the train would be quarter of an hour earlier than I'd expected, which made me extra glad of the early arrival.  So I, and the other waiting passengers who drifted in over the next 30 minutes, were getting a bit twitchy as no train arrived.  It turned up bang on time for the orange schedule, and the guard/ticket seller hopped down with a big step to help people up onto the train and just said 'oh, wherever in there', pointing vaguely at the guards van, when I asked where to put Valencia.  I stacked her as carefully as I could next to a rather pretty Marin, across the corridor from another Marin and a Specialized.


The guard sold me a single to Redmire for 7 quid and told me to sit anywhere I liked even though the front carriage had a sign up saying it was reserved.  And it really is the front - you can go and peer through a glass window over the driver's shoulder if you want!  This is the (very shaky!) view towards the front of the train....

It's a leisurely amble (taking the best part of an hour to cover less than 15 miles) across Wensleydale through tree lined cuttings where the branches rattle against the train windows then suddenly the views open out to  reveal the most spectacular vista (including a worrying amount of Very_Big_Hills).  One minute you can see this

then the next moment you get views like this


It's rather charming, slightly eccentric and, as several posters and banners in Bedale were very keen to inform me, if you pick your day and your time right in August it'll even be steam-hauled!

At Leyburn there was a bit of bicycle jenga as the other cyclists got off and Valencia said goodbye to her shiny new friends.  At the stop beginning with F the guard went through the train 5 minutes before double-checking that nobody wanted to get off there - nobody did, so they didn't bother to stop.  I wonder if you want to board there, do you have to stand on the platform edge and stick a hand out like hailing a bus?  There's one lovely moment on the ride when the train slows to a halt just before a gated level crossing, and waits while the on-board guard hops off (having donned his hi-vis), goes and checks the road's clear, puts the barriers across and waves the train through and then opens the barriers before jumping back on.


On the approach to Redmire the guard came and chatted for a bit - and warned me that the weather wasn't looking so good.  I said that I'd noticed it wa getting a bit grey, but I don't tend to mind rain too much, and that was what was forecast so I was pretty much expecting to get damp.  "Ah, it's not just the rain though.  There's a fair old wind now, and it's not going your way!"  I had noticed that it was looking a bit blustery....

Off the train at Redmire, where the majority of the passengers seemned to be taking the vintage bus to Aysgarth but were determinedly milling around like bemused sheep as I walked off down the lane

(NSTN rating on WTF?!?!?!?!?!?) in search of a road that I was prepared to inflict on Valencia.  I also fielded a call at this point from a London-based friend, looking for advice about what bike to buy her son.  Easy question, easy answer - Islabike

The guard was not wrong about the wind.  I set off, following the signs for Askrigg.  It's a bit worrying when you find that you come to a halt if you stop pedalling on the slopy-down bits...  and there were a couple of alarming moments when the front wheel caught a blustery bit from the side, and the bike started to slip.  Then it started to rain.  Then it started to rain quite a lot.  Since my waterproof isn't very, and I was already fairly warm, I decided not to bother with is although I did actually zip my fleece up, which is fairly unusual for me (and had a slightly nervous moment that the zip was bust when I tried - but it was just some gravel stuck in the doo-berry at the bottom of the zip, lord alone knows how).  

By Carperby I was experiencing the joys of horizontal (and very sharp!) rain.  A cyclist coming down the hill said a very chipper hello

- well he would, wouldn't he. He was going downhill, with the wind at his back, and a decent looking waterproof!  Did I mention that it was really rather damp, by th eway?


Shortly after Askrigg there is an option to go down a hill, following a sign to Hawes.  But I'd sort of planned to the back roads, so I went up instead.  I wish I could say something eloquent and moving about the scenery and the views, as so many do on here when describing rides, but to be honest I was just concentrating on keeping the pedals going round, my head down, and avoiding the larger of the lakes on the road.  My thought process was less 'look at the beautiful view' than 'Up again... OK, down again.... Ow! Ow! Stinging rain!  Up again.... bit more up...." although there is something rather nice about looking around and realising that the very big hills a long way away that you saw earlier are now very much closer, and look a lot smaller, because you're rather closer to the top of 'em.  Eventually I saw a sign pointing down a hill, telling me that Hawes (home of many fine tea and coffee emporiums) was 3/4 of a mile that-a-way.  

Hooray!  

[CrinklyLion]

I arrived in Hawes, which even on a grim grey soggy Sunday was full of tourists and bikers, at about 3.  This meant that it taken about 1 3/4 hours to cover the less than 15 miles from Redmire.  3pm was also the time that my first possible train was leaving Garsdale.  Good job there was another one at 17:47!  Acording to the nationalrail website Garsdale has very limited facilities, so I decided to spend some time dripping all over Hawes rather than heading straight off.  I parked up Valencia and rang as much water as I could out of my fleece before entering the cafe that I chose on the basis that it had huge numbers of motorbikes parked up outside, and was therefore reasonably likely to not be so genteel as to refuse service to an entirely soaked to the skin cyclist.  And I was right - they didn't even get cross about the large puddles of rainwater I left behind, and served up a most tasty toastie and hot coffee in short order.

Not particularly cheap, but then I doubt anything in Hawes is cheap!  The lady also pointed out that they had loads of blue paper towel in the loos if I wanted to try to dry off a bit - I did actually wring out most of my clothes into the sink in the loo before putting them back on and going out to drink my coffee!

I filled another half hour by looking in all the hardy-outdoor-type shops looking to see which one looked cheapest, and then went in and bought a pair of socks and the cheapest t-shirt and shorts that they had that I thought might fit.  Three Peaks, by the way - and excellent service they offered too, despite the fact that they were starting to pack up and close the shop when I appeared to drip all over the place.  They even offered to let me try things on - although I pointed out that they REALLY didn't want me to try on their stock, given how damp I was!  

With my new dry clothes safely stashed in my amazing expandable Topeak rack pack, I had to admit that I had no further reason to delay and headed off to Garsdale.  Less than 7 miles away, but they are 7 lumpy miles and the weather was, if anything, getting worse.  When it blows up there it REALLY blows!  I left Hawes just after 4, allowing myself a generous hour and a half to cover the remaining distance.  This was the first bit of the ride that felt like really proper stoopidly hard work.  The first mile was fine, and passed very quickly, but then the climbing started and it just doesn't seem to stop very often.  I really didn't want to miss the train - I had a contingency contingency one, but it would have involved waiting for ages at Garsdale, changing twice, taken 4 hours and meant I didn't get home til the wee small hours. If I'd suffered a mechanical at this point I think I probably would have sat by the roadside and cried, but fortunately the Very Lovely Valencia continued to behave impeccably and I trudged onwards and upwards.  The ups and downs up to Hawes had been occasionally challenging, but never felt too hard even with the inconvenient weather.  However, when faced with a vista like this

I think the only appropriate response is to remind yourself that there's no hills to see at all.  They're just a figment of your imagination, or an optical illusion or something, now just get on with it!

Actually this last stretch defeated me on a number of occasions, and I barely got off the Granny ring even on the flat bits.  There were at least 3 or 4 ups that I just had to get off and walk, and several downhills where I considered it because the crosswinds and wet roads meant that that they felt a bit precarious.  At one point I saw a sign back to Hawes, which informed me that I'd only covered 5 miles in what felt like a lifetime which was mildly depressing.  But then I started to see glimpses of what looked tantalisingly like a railway line on my left.  Then I spotted a train!  OK, it was still a fair way up from me, but I must be near.  I was, in fact, nearer than I realised as a few minutes later I inadvertently completely missed the unsignposted left turn to the station.  However, I noticed over the next 10 minutes that the railway line definitely appeared to be getting further away, which just seemed wrong.  A quick stop, study of the map and a bit of head-scratching revealed the likelihood of my mistake, so I turned tail and went back up the hill, paying slightly more attention this time.  At about this point the rain stopped at last, and I didn't mind the wind anymore, as it was a good drying wind and (finally, since I was going the opposite way) behind me!  And, just before 5 (having taken very nearly an hour to cover probably less than 8 miles, even if you count the extra bit from my accidental detour) I eventually found Garsdale Station.
I followed the sign for access to the station

up to the platform where I discovered that this was the wrong platform...

So near, and yet so far!

So it was back down the path - another NSTN special, I feel

and a little bit further up the hill (I'm so glad I didn't have to go any further up that hill!) to find the right platform.


Garsdale Station may not have many facilities, but it does have a large, warm and fairly sanitary disabled loo with that amazing invention - the hot air hand drier.  10 minutes of contorting resulted in a somewhat less soggy CrinklyLion, and I even managed to wring out the worst of the rain from my shorts and fleece and hand-dry them enough to get them to be merely damp.  

Add a clean dry £6.50 t-shirt and life is good.  I sat on the platform, getting some air to my feet and re-packed the rack pack with the squelchy socks and t-shirt (which was absolutely soaked on the front, but more-or-less dry on the back - I think that confirms my impression that it had been a head wind all the way!).  The fleece got draped over the bike to dry off as much as possible, and I scoffed most of the rest of my emergency snack rations.  After about half an hour I broke out the secret ultimate-happiness-weapon - my new clean, dry and warm (if deeply unstylish) socks.

Bliss.  Then I reluctantly put the soggy trainers back on, collected up my gubbins and generally got ready for the train.

The journey home was uneventful, featuring quiet trains and helpful guards (even when there were already 4 bikes in the 2 bike spaces when I got on the train at Leeds station) and I made an earlier than expected connection in Leeds on a train that went on to arrive earlier than it was timetable to in York.  As I was standing, yawning, waiting for the doors to open in York, a group of blokes wandered down the aisle towards me.  

"Yawning already love?  You've got to go ride your bike yet!"

"Actually, I set off from here this morning around 8, and rode to Garsdale - I'm on my way home now".

"Bloody Hell!  How far is that?"

"Home?  A couple of miles... Oh, you mean Garsdale?  About 80, I think"
(well, they didn't need to know that I'd cheated a bit between Bedale and Redmire, did they?)

"Bloody Hell!  That's impressive!"

And I know for a lot of people on here it's not all that far, or all that hilly, and they've ridden it in far worse conditions.  But for me, I think he was right