Ride 020.

Date:   18th May 2004                Distance: 28.5 miles

So this was it – the first ‘big one’ of the year. We’d spent all winter slogging through the North Yorkshire mud, wind, snow and rain, teeth gritted repeating our mantra:

“At least we’ll be fit for the summer” 

And are we? Today we’d find out. But not before Simon made his attempt on the world sausage eating record - a whole packet between two slices of bread. At least they were tomato sausages, as close as Simon ever comes to healthy eating. Outdoors, the surrounding fell tops were clear of their habitual cloud cover and the sky was a peculiar colour not often seen in the lakes – blue. 

We retraced yesterdays tyre tracks back to the disused railway cycle path linking Threlkeld to Keswick and warmed up with a pleasant four miles of easy pedalling. Simon’s knowledge of British fauna coming to the fore once again as we spotted a long billed water bird, probably a grebe, floating on the river.

“Did anybody see that stork?”  It was going to be a long day.  

In Keswick we made our way through the town before beginning the arduous push up to Walla Crag. The views from the top were worth it, one of those clear days with excellent visibility. The descent to Ashness Bridge wasn’t exactly the cruise we had anticipated, we soon leaned rocks have a tendency to be bigger in the Lakes. Simon waited until he was level with some people enjoying their lunch before demonstrating the stopping power of a chunk of Lakeland granite. His graceful, almost slow-motion, arc over the handlebars, was reproduced by the bike, which then landed on top of him. The spectators were at least kind enough to save the sniggering until we’d passed. 

We crossed Ashness Bridge, today looking like its blue sky, green grass postcard version and started up the road to Watendlath. Or at least Oz and myself did, Simon muttering something about his chain. At the top of the first incline we waited for him to catch up – he did but not riding his bike. It turned out his chain trouble was actually four snapped spokes, a buckled wheel and possibly a bent gear hanger. Ride over for him. He sportingly suggested we continue without him, while he made his way back to Keswick to see if the bike shop could help him out.  

Down to two, we pedalled up the narrow road to Watendlath and the welcome café to refuel before our next objective – the alleged classic bridleway between Watendlath and Rosthwaite. Needless to say it was a steep and rocky push up to it’s summit and again, a slightly disappointing descent – not exactly swooping singletrack, more a stuttering, bouncing, rock slide, arms aching from pulling on the brake levers. At one point we passed an elderly couple walking up, who seemed most concerned for our welfare:

“Are you going to ride all the way down?”

“I hope we will.”

“Oh goodness me. Do you know the nearest casualty department is at Kendal?” 

Obviously they’d seen us riding before. Eventually we did reach the bottom unscathed, although quite possibly with a radical rearrangement of some internal organs. Somehow the turn to Rosthwaite was missed so we continued along a pleasant riverside bridleway to Stonethwaite, before rejoining the main Borrowdale road and following it to Seatoller and the foot of Honister Pass. 

From Seatoller a permitted cyclepath joins the ‘Borrowdale Bash’ a bridleway leading from Honister Pass to Grange. It looks easy on the map, up the hill until you meet the bridleway and turn right, we reached a wide track, turned right and looked forward to the cruise down Borrowdale. Soon we were wandering up a track so vague an Apache tracker would digging out the GPS. Cresting yet another summit we spotted the bridleway we ought to have been riding, on the other side of a shallow valley, so it was headlong plunge down then up again to some steps over a wall. At the bottom we were gratified to see some tyre tracks in the mud – we weren’t the only ones to make this mistake. Safely on the Borrowdale Bash we aimed for the hump of Castle Crag, which arrived all too soon, the section past here being roughly paved in a Fred Flintstone fashion, even full suspension couldn’t entirely smooth our passage but we were gaining confidence now and letting the bikes roll us through stuff we would have thought unfeasible a few hours previously. Through the woods and into Grange, passing, yes passing, the café, we hit the tarmac for a little while before Cat Bells bridleway beckoned, tiring now, the slightest inclines had us clicking through the gears. A superb blast along the road into Portinscale, possibly exceeding the speed limit at times and on into Keswick for a visit to the cake shop.  

Simon rejoined us at The Moot Hall in the centre of town, an ideal meeting point for him because it is at the apex of a triangle with the bookies and the fish and chip shop occupying the other two corners. He’d had no luck with his wheel, pushing his bike the four miles back to the flat then driving to town in his car, prior to returning to Darlington to indulge a few games of what he classes, “the hardest sport in the world” – snooker. At least he can’t damage anything playing snooker. 

Oz and I retraced our outgoing route back along the rail track to Threlkeld – the stork had flown off to deliver a baby somewhere – and a welcome bottle of Cumberland Ale. 

Despite being popular with local riders, it turns out the track over Walla Crag to Ashness Bridge may actually be a footpath. If it is, slap the cuffs on me, I’ve done the crime: I can do the time - and I’ll go smiling.

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