I planned to ride out to Tan Hill back when I lived in Toytown. I always thought newtoncap and I could do it together as a challenging century. I was fit then. I live in Darlington now, which takes a big chunk off the distance but hardly anything off the climbing. Time to tick this one off, I thought. Challenge yourself, I thought.
I got on the scales this morning. 13 stone 13
3/
4. How the hell did that happen? Oh, yeah, pies. This is going to be an interesting day. Four stone extra to lug round with me.
I faffed for two. Hours. And left the house just after 9am. But my nails were cut and my eyeliner was immaculate. I didn't try and break any records, I wanted to keep plenty in the tank for when it got hard.
The headwind kicked in fairly early on, and got stronger and stronger. I arrived in Richmond, convinced I'd worked out how to negotiate the one-way system the last time I was here, convinced I knew where I was going, convinced I wasn't going to get lost again.
I stopped at the Station. It isn't a station. There haven't been trains here for decades. Once I'd stopped being confused about that I found that there was a decent cafe (massive cheesy scone, butter, proper pot of decent tea, £4), a cinema, a shop, and a beautifully restored light open space with the original station architecture well preserved. It's a good place.
Of course I went the wrong way. When a bunch of squaddies overtook me running on the path (yeah, I know) I realised I was heading for Catterick. I did a u-ey and nipped on to the cycle path, which as it turned out was really lovely and peaceful. You can follow it to Easby (a wonderful ruined abbey) but I turned left for Richmond. It was a packed earth path, a bit skoggy where it was still wet, but very usable and magnitudes more pleasant than the road. Back on my route, I paused for a look at the Swale.
Failed Tan Hill ride 3 5 16 004 by
Ruth Irving, on Flickr
My route took me beside the River for a couple of hundred yards. There was nobody else around, the castle walls looming up hundreds of feet on my right, and the burbling river on my left - paid for by a climb immediately I got on the road, of course.
At this point I went off-route again. I thought I was going the right way. A Garmin and a paper map, useless in my hands. The road went up, and up, and there were warning signs - Here there be tanks. I had a feeling I was going to end up in the right place if I just kept going, and the sun was shining, and it was that wonderful moorland landscape, just brown grass blowing, silent but for the wind.
Nope, no clue whatsoever. by
Ruth Irving, on Flickr
Eventually the top of the hill came, as it always must, and the green of the valley started open out in front of me. I recognised the hills from previous rides out here though I'd taken a different route all those other times.
Every old sock meets an old shoe by
Ruth Irving, on Flickr
I didn't realise it at the time, but those hills in the distance would be my route home.
There were more squaddies as I came to the bottom of the fantastic descent. They were fully dressed in combat gear, with what looked like rifles. So young. I took the road for Downholme and my junction.
Failed Tan Hill ride 3 5 16 016 by
Ruth Irving, on Flickr
I could see Reeth! I stopped at the Dales Bike Centre for lunch (Leek and potato soup, bread, chocolate brownie, tea, £6) and a wee, then rode through Reeth. The facewind was beginning to get boring. Grabbing the bull by the horns I started up the Arkengarthdale road. After a mile or so it really wasn't fun any more. I turned round, and resolved to take the road along the other side of the valley. I'd been warned it was hilly - this seemed like suitable penance for wimping out of Tan Hill.
Hilly?! That road is preposterous. But stunningly beautiful, and with a fabulous surface. If it hadn't been for the fact that I was carrying the extra weight of a six year old child, I might have ridden it. As it was? No chance. But I didn't mind really, because the views of the Valley, and the tiny road I'd come along in the morning, were stunning. Also, tailwind.
Hill of Penance by
Ruth Irving, on Flickr
By the time I was back in Richmond I was knackered, and starting an optical migraine (oops, hadn't drunk enough). I took a chance on the road to Scotch Corner. Richmond is Roadworks Central at the moment, which worked in my favour - when there are temporary traffic lights, you get a long respite between going-home traffic echelons. I negotiated the roadworks at Scotch Corner and toiled very very slowly home via Barton and Middleton Tyas. I swear there's lava at the bottom of some of those potholes.
A very long day, and a tired body at the end of it. I failed to reach my goal so I'll have to go and do it again now.