Day 2 Wednesday – Bike shops, lakes and stupidity.
The nearest we had to a plan today was to go to Wheelbase bike shop (warehouse more like) at Staveley as I wanted a handle bar mounted map holder and Mrs. TKP fancied a new pair of shorts. Looking at my 32 year old Ordnance Survey map (I decided a new one of these might be on the shopping list too) it seemed like Milnthorpe, Kendal, Staveley, Windermere would work and then a return via a slightly different route, about forty odd miles with a few small hills. (Remember this.)
After a fine example of the Full English Breakfast we got ourselves ready. I was determined to lighten my rack pack and so I emptied it out to find out why it was so heavy. I decided the front light, along with spare batteries for all four of our lights were the main culprits so they were discarded along with a few minor bits and pieces. After all, we were only planning to be out until mid or late afternoon. The day had dawned bright enough but there was a little more cloud about than before breakfast, and the same nip in the air as yesterday, called for another start in longs and arm warmers. It was ten o’clock by the time left but we had plenty of time and we were in no hurry.
What a delight the first few miles were along the estuary, with views across to the South Lakeland fells and easy cycling on almost flat and quiet roads.
Looking west
Looking north eastSadly, at one point along this fabulous route the stunningly beautiful views to the north were contrasted by the most hideous developments on the south side of the road. It is hard to imagine how any architect working in such a location could dream up such ugly constructions. I couldn’t bring myself to photograph them so you will just have to take my word for it. Just think inner city low rise, concrete apartment blocks and you will get the right idea.
We were travelling inland in an easterly direction and I couldn’t help noticing that the lovely blue skies around the coast gave way to rather gloomy grey ones inland. The east breeze was stiffening slightly and we joked about the fact that neither of us had even considered packing a waterproof. Still, look on the bright side we thought, we will just have to take shelter in a friendly hostelry if the need arises. We stopped in Milnthorpe for the loos and to find a new map. I was lucky to spot an excellent OS touring map covering the whole of the lakes at 1:110,000 scale which is perfect for cycling and has all the national and local cycle routes identified. A chap in the town made my day by commenting, “nice machine” as I wheeled my pride and joy away from the newsagents. It is usually Mrs. TKP’s Longstaff that gets all the attention.
We picked up national route 6 from Milnthorpe which was a typical Sustrans route, a quiet narrow lane that took no prisoners when it came to contours and was evidently popular with the local dog walkers. We were lulled into a sense of complete relaxation by the part tarmac, part meadow like nature of the road when we came face to face with a very large lorry which was literally brushing the hedgerows either side of the track and heading very definitely in our direction.
We had little choice but to turn tail and make a humiliating retreat to the nearest farm gate and as the lorry passed the highly amusing passenger leaned from his window and shouted, “there you go, a bit more exercise for you”. Well we fell about laughing as you can imagine – smug git.
The tiny but decidedly undulating lanes took us towards Kendal and through a lovely village called Natland, sporting the fine church of St. Marks.
There were rain clouds on the horizon and indeed rain itself in the distance but if we rode slowly enough we might never catch it up, well that was my theory. The Virgin Pendalino bound for Glasgow sped through the valley below us, contrasting markedly with our somewhat pedestrian progress but I knew where I would rather be. Route 6 takes a lovely wooded path into the centre of Kendal which only serves to emphasise how busy the town is as you emerge into its chaotic traffic congestion. We were in search of a café for tea but were distracted by Bruce’s bike shop. Bruce was very helpful but didn’t have map holders in stock. He did however have a very pretty, powder blue, Claude Butler, lady’s road bike which instantly seduced Mrs. TKP. I’m telling you we were lucky to get out of there with our plastic still in tact. I was very impressed that Bruce had no hesitation in recommending Wheelbase as a possible source of what I wanted as well as pointing out that there is a great café right next door to the megastore. Nice chap, Bruce. So off to Staveley we went, but not without first negotiating traffic mayhem which rivalled some of our experiences in London the previous weekend.
Wilf’s café at Staveley was excellent, the cake was so good that it had been consumed before I could even think of taking a photograph, so the best I can offer is a post cake picture.
After tea and cake we were ready to face ‘the biggest bike shop in Britain’, strangely, and illogically, this would be the second one we have been in. It was indeed a very, very big bike shop with a huge range of products but sadly, as is so often the case Mrs. TKP found the selection of women’s clothing rather disappointing. I was happy though, I got my map holder and plenty of time to drool and wander round the shop imagining what I would buy if money were no object.
This retail development in the small village of Staveley is also home, rather incongruously, to the Hawkshead brewery. Sadly, they only do tours on Sundays and as their bottled beers were £2.50 each, we didn’t even enquire as to the price on the hand pumps. Besides, we really hadn’t earned a beer yet, the day was still young. We had stayed in Staveley much longer than intended but at least, as we left, the skies were clearing and the day was taking a very promising turn for the better.
I know the road to Windermere well as a motorist and I was therefore relieved to find that a good cycle path has been created alongside of it. It’s a very fast and meandering road so I had no desire to share it with the thundering trucks and speeding tourist buses. I had been wondering how a Sustran’s route, as marked on the map, could be shared with this main artery into the Lakes, the shared use path explained it. I have always loved The Lakes as a walker and occasional climber but this was my first time entering as a cyclist and it was a real buzz. To see the mountains creeping closer, and then to get the first view of Windermere, whilst travelling at a speed that enabled us to really take in the scene was thrilling.
Pausing to admire the stunning view we considered the rest of the day and the possibility of changing our plans. Maybe we were intoxicated by our surroundings but for some reason we both felt like extending the day. My new map suggested that Ambleside might be a good point at which to turn back south and we could then make our way down Coniston Water to return to Arnside by a rather more circuitous route than originally anticipated. We swooped down to Windermere and then were forced onto the main road for Ambleside. Fortunately the gradient for the first part of this road is such that we could easily keep up with the flow of traffic and as the road flattened the shared use path provided escape from the busy road. We glimpsed the rugged outline of the Langdales through the trees, a classic Lakeland view and one which has always given me a tingle of excitement on past climbing and walking trips in this area. Real mountains at last.
We were thinking in terms of a pub stop when I suddenly remembered a favourite old haunt, the Drunken Duck Inn at Outgate. Of course, what I had forgotten was the climb from Ambleside to get to it. It was worth every pounding heartbeat and gasping breath for the view alone, not to mention the beer.
The pub had changed beyond all recognition since I was last there, it is now a gastro pub, Cumbria restaurant of the year 2007/8 no less. There was a bewildering choice of beer but all from the same source. I didn’t recognise the brewery name; Barngates was new to me and I speculated as to which part of the country it might be in. It was only when I read some of the certificates on the walls of the pub, acknowledging the beers, that it became clear that the brewery was in fact very close indeed. That is, in the yard at the back of the inn! We took our drinks outside and sat looking at the stunning view of the Fairfield Horseshoe above Ambleside whilst the couple on the next table concentrated on their game of scrabble, apparently immune to the vista all around them.
The RAF played tag in the valleys below us, only serving to put the grandeur of the mountains into even sharper perspective. The planes resembled tiny children’s toys as they were swallowed up by the scale of the peaks above them.
Well, what goes up must come down and down it was for us. After a few false starts we finally began the descent to Coniston Water, and what a descent it was. The thrill of the freewheeling drop was only rivalled by the panorama opening up before us as first the Old Man of Coniston and then the lake itself came into view.
As we pedalled along the minor road that skirts the edge of Coniston it was impossible not to think about Donald Campbell reaching 300mph on that stretch of water before Bluebird broke up as he radioed “she’s going, she’s going”. There was no danger of us breaking any records, we were obviously still recovering from the climb out of Ambleside and the small undulations were proving a challenge. It is a long way down this lake, it certainly looks impressive on the map but to actually cycle down the whole length really makes you aware of just how big it is.
We passed by Brantwood, the former home of John Ruskin and we revealed our ignorance as we debated whether he was a poet or an artist. Of course we were both correct and you can add writer and influential social critic to the list of his many talents and occupations. Looking back occasionally, the view of the mountains was constantly changing through perspective and the shifting afternoon light.
We finally reached the southern extent of Coniston and this was where I foolishly made the first misjudgement of the day. The relief shading on the OS map becomes very subtle at the 600ft mark and it was easy to get the impression at a glance that the end of Coniston marked the end of the hilly terrain. Wrong. Sea level to 600ft can hide some serious small hills and estimates of how long we had to go to get back would be seriously challenged because of my oversight.
We made our way down to the horribly fast and busy A590 and due to a slight navigational error (I’m not looking good here am I?), we had to negotiate a couple of miles of this instead of a few hundred metres. Escape came in the form of the B road at Haverthwaite and that is where the atmosphere of the day began to change. We should have joined cycle route 72 here but frankly we were fading and this time I looked more carefully at the terrain. It was hilly. We both agreed that the B road might be an easier if slightly longer option and off we went. Mrs. TKP was setting a good pace and the slight undulations were of the variety that don’t sap momentum completely before the next descent. In fact, she was going so well that when I had a sudden and disabling mechanical she simply disappeared before I could even catch her attention. I had inadvertently tried, and succeeded, to engage the large front ring and rear granny gear simultaneously and the derailleur simply couldn’t cope. This had happened before but it had been relatively easy to free it. Not this time. Having wheeled the bike some way to get off the road I’m embarrassed to say that I faffed around for far too long before my brain engaged and I released the rear wheel to take the tension out of the chain. I was just about to get back on the bike when a rather agitated and very out of breath Mrs. TKP arrived having added a couple of more miles to her day’s tally.
At Cark, we checked the time and began to take stock of our situation. This was when I had one of those flashbacks as I recalled discarding the front lights and batteries this morning. It was one of those situations when the combination of facts gradually come together to create a less than favourable outcome. But hey, the sun was shining, the sky was now cloudless and we both agreed that we could make it back in the light if we legged it. Wrong! The reason there are no more photos is because we rapidly began to realise that we really should have picked up the train at Grange Over Sands and taken the single stop across the causeway to Arnside. Several times I looked at the views in the evening sun but there was no time to stop and capture them. We pedalled like never before but it was a futile race against the sinking sun. In any other circumstances it might have been one of the prettiest rides ever but as we momentarily lost the route in Levens, the real urgency of our situation began to sink in. We were now on the A6 with only rear lights, not good, but it just got worse. We picked up the pace, urged on now by the added possibility of missing dinner at the pub, but we still ended up racing at full pace in almost total darkness for the last five miles. Not clever, I know, and many motorists made their feelings clear with flashing headlights. I am ashamed of getting into such a situation but I have to admit, it was really rather exciting and we arrived back buzzing with adrenalin, totally knackered and horses of the scabby variety were in extreme danger.
The landlady of the pub was brilliant, insisting that we took our time showering and changing and assuring us that dinner would be no problem at all. (Or was she just thinking of the delicacy of the other diners?)
We sat in the dining room enjoying dinner and a bottle of wine and had to admit, despite the stupidity, it really had been one of the best cycling days ever. Seventy miles (72 for Mrs. TKP) of glorious scenery, a real taste of being in the Lake District and definitely a personal best for that last fifteen miles!
We considered a slightly shorter the ride the next day.
