Audax rides come in three flavours, Calendar, Permanent and DIY. The first is scheduled, the last self-defined and the middle one is misleadingly named. I think that the mission statement of the unscheduled ride should be ‘Diminishing uncertainty through flexibility’.
The last few years have been wet or cold or both, so riding up to 1,400 kilometres through intermittent sheeting rain has taken the shine off my riding. It’s become something of a tradition to scan the weather charts for the big dose of depression which will cross my path. So last week I was looking to ride through a weather window to secure my SR series for the year. I’d decided to do the 400 from Southport to Carlisle and back through the Lake District. I can start from home as I’m close to the route. It’s a super-functional ride, which follows the main roads North and the main roads South, apart from the Lyth Valley between Bowness on Windermere and the A6 at Levens.
When it was run as a calendar event it started at 10am on a Saturday, I’ve done it previously in late May as a Perm, starting at 4am. But at the Equinox I would be out for a fairly long night. I’ve also done a 600 on a similar route which starts at 10pm, so I knew that going over the 1,400 foot high Shap Fell at night was not as intimidating as it might seem.
The second to last week in September started warmly, with a South Westerly airstream, with the wind falling at night, but with a chance of showers over higher ground. I pictured myself wet and miserable over Shap and dithered. As the week went on it got colder with a Northerly airsteam, but no rain forecast. So I got up at 5am on Friday the 24th and readied myself, but it was blowing hard from the North, so I went back to bed. By about 5pm the wind had slackened, and it was supposed to be calm until dawn, when the Northerly wind would return. So I set off with four meusli bars, a packet of Jaffa cakes and lots of clothes for the forecast 4 degrees C.
There was a lot of deja-vu about the ride, I’d seen it all before, but in a different light, I’d managed to pick a superbly clear, calm night with an almost full moon. I had no wheels to follow, so I could look around at a familiar landscape painted silver. The light was sufficient to cast strong shadows, so I could save battery power on my main light as I sweated and steamed my way over Shap, The A6 takes the highest of the routes over Shap, so you can look down on the railway and the M6 to one side and over to the Lake District on the other.
The clarity and stillness of the air carried the sounds of the trains and the trucks, and took the edge off the loneliness of the long distance cycle. This narrow corridor is the main artery connecting the South of Britain with the North and I felt part of a community of travel, another corpuscle passing through the heart of the nation. I also felt very cold, so I put everything on and headed to Penrith. There was the usual clutch of revellers in the market square at midnight, I could have had a pizza or a kebab, but the huge helping of cottage pie I’d had in the Carnforth truck stop was still sustaining me.
There are two ways from Penrith to Carlisle, the A6 climbs up the side of the Valley a bit, probably to avoid wet ground when it was built. The alternative follows the track of the railway and the M6 in the valley floor. You follow the signs to Calthwaite, then Southwaite, where there is a motorway service station which can be reached from the road you are already on. The route to Carlisle is obvious apart from this turn to Upperby
Google MapsCarlisle at 2am on Saturday morning is lively, in the contemporary style, cries of ‘look there’s a man on a bike’ are the accepted norm. There are loads of fast food places if you need them, I had my Jaffa cakes.
The plan had been to reach the turn at Carlisle before the headwind returned. The plan had worked and the first hint of a rising tailwind was gratifying. The A595 to Cockermouth has the feel of a Roman Road, straight, rolling and open to the elements. It climbs to a ridge marked by a new windfarm, whose stately turbines, lazily rotating in the rising Northerly, cheered me enormously. Just before Cockermouth is the abandoned Motel at Moota, victim of the misguided ambition of an over-optimistic Italian businessman. I was feeling a bit dozy, so I stopped and found a piece of plywood under a canopy to lie down on for a bit. I closed my eyes and woke shivering but refreshed a bit later.
At 5.21 the Lloyds cashpoint in Cockermouth told me my available balance for the 4th time that night. Somewhere a computer system must have mused at the behaviour of a fairly slow-moving itinerant obsessed with his current account. There were a number of marquees along the main street, and a young security guard, wide eyed from too much Red Bull, emerged to check me out. His eyes widened further when I explained what I was up to, he was most amazed that I could find my way without a GPS, let alone a map.
The A66 takes you into Keswick past Bassenthwaite Lake, with Skiddaw behind, illuminated by the competing lights of the Moon and the impinging dawn. The crystal clarity of the sky only hinted at sunrise behind the Helvellyn massif as I approached the turn for the A591 to Bowness, the descents towards Thirlmere and Grasmere were the coldest parts of a cold night, but it was shaping up to be a superb day, an opinion I shared with a shepherd tending his flock at the top of Dunmail Raise.
I’d not taken my camera, as it can make me lazily unappreciative of the actual experience of being in the landscape, in the sense that the journey can become a visual artefact to be presented to others, rather than of personal value. As I passed Rydal water I realised my error, the quality of the light was indescribable, as beautiful as I’d ever seen it. So I took a few snaps on my phone camera, I’ll download them when I can find a way of getting them off the phone.
From Ambleside to Bowness was the usual nice ride spoiled by bad traffic. A £2 Meal deal and a discounted all day breakfast sandwich from Tesco Express were eaten beside the lake in the warming rays of the Sun, while I marvelled at the trust of the tourists in the forbearance of the tame Swans.
The Lyth Valley is the route of choice between Bowness and the A6 at Levens, the A591 is horrible, so don’t do it. I took the variation via Crosthwaite and Brigsteer, which is more undulating but varied in character. It affords the chance to see Spurge Laurel in a typical habitat
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Daphne_laureola From Levens onwards the route becomes less beautiful and increasingly dutiful, there are a few good views of Morecambe Bay, but the emphasis is on getting in the miles on fast A roads. On the way out I’d controlled at Forton services on the M6, on the return I stopped at the Priory café in Scorton, so much a cyclists haunt that it has locks for loan and a Campag crank as a doorhandle. The meal deal of soup, sandwich and tea for £4.95 was a better bargain than Forton services would dream of offering.
The permanent starts at Southport, so I had to nearly pass my home to get the last 30 or so miles in. That really was a dutiful experience. I was dragged home into the headwind by the thought of a bath and a beer and then bed.
I’d seen it all before, been there, done it, but it was still worth doing, I’m not sure I would feel the same if I’d not had the stunning night views of fields, fells, owls, mountains and windmills, so I’ll have to pick my time as carefully next time. The route is especially suitable for a small group of similar ability, maybe that would be fun.
