Alison Smedley

In the hope of not spending the festive period cooped up, I have signed up for the Wildlife Trusts ’12 Days of Wild Christmas’. This project will mean different things for different people but principally a reminder to daily experience and assist wildlife around us. There will be hints and ideas to aid the imagination. I look forward to sharing my reflections here in January.

Click here to find out more

 

I am pretty good at choosing unusual ways to spend my wedding anniversary; waking up in York YHA is possibly the oddest yet! After the appropriate texting for the occasion and another splendid veggie breakfast, I was on my way by 8.45am. I was relieved that the undulations would be only moderate today and the line on the map was rarely due east; the easterly wind was still blowing and a full day of headwind wouldn’t be much fun. As cycling cities go, York is meant to be pretty good. I would argue that it helps to be in the know here. The signage wasn’t too great and I tried to enjoy the sights of the Minster and the Shambles as I wove about sniffing out  the Way!

A few miles outside of York, the route researchers must have had a bit of a laugh as they had selected a track across fields. It was nice and firm on this dry day and a good exercise in focusing where my front wheel was heading. I am not sure I would like to be met with this on a wet day. Headwinds were a theme for the first part of the day and I was very relieved to eventually arrive in Pocklington, where my guidebook suggested there would be a cafe in a Buddhist centre a little way on. The cafe exuded Peace; the kind which could have seen me sitting for hours and not riding to Bridlington! I clung onto my motivation and filed away a memory of another lovely place discovered.

I was aware that I was now in the foothills of the Yorkshire Wolds; tiny hills in relation to yesterday’s Dales but with a unique and very remote charm of their own. I understood why David Hockney was attracted here to paint, such was the light. However, I reckoned without the ‘invisible hills’ – roads which appear level or even to be descending, yet are a struggle to ride. I questioned my bike, my legs, at one point my sanity. Only later when I read this section of the guidebook did I understand that ‘the ascent can be surprisingly tiring for weary legs’. I

spent the next couple of hours riding on what felt like the top of the world and, indeed, I did sing!

Pocklington is an unpretentious, friendly town and it was bustling on market day. I found my first curd tart of the journey and that was probably one of the highlights of my trip; curd tart fans will understand this! The road sign announced 18 miles to Bridlington, nothing at all really for an afternoon and it didn’t disappoint. Winding along lanes, often close to the railway and over traffic free crossings, this was another new area to discover. Another muddy section took me down Woldgate and past Gypsey Race, the Wold’s main stream, to the outskirts of Bridlington and what seemed to be a comprehensive tour of the town before finally depositing me on the promenade. The light was just beginning to fade (incorrectly in my view, not being over the sea, where the sun is meant to set!) and a kind passerby took my photo by the sign

Coming out in empathy as she recalled riding the Way a couple of years ago.

I treated myself to a bed and breakfast in Bridlington and it was a really comfortable nignt. I would decide whether to ride to Cloughton in the morning to be reunited with the family and for a few days of relaxation

A full veggie breakfast – again! I could really get used to this. As a habitual camper, the luxury of no cooking on this trip felt very special and a hot and filling breakfast washed down with pints of tea really set me up a treat. It was Wednesday, day two of my adventure and I felt well rested after reverting to horizontal soon after dinner. I was on the road before 8.30am and there was a just a slight hint of rush hour on the road out of Malham. No sign of the frost which greeted the previous day and kept me alert for ice.

My mind was full of the long miles ahead and I had to remind myself to enjoy the morning which would be tough, Dales miles but on beautiful lanes as yet undiscovered by my wheels. Then more level riding towards York. The early start was intended to allow for arrival by dusk with a relaxed pace. The helpful red and white rose signs successfully guided me along quiet, undulating minor roads. My legs were aware that I was asking them to work hard again after yesterday’s hills and stubbornly took  a while to get into a comfortable rhythm. The weather settled into mizzly with limited visibility so I wasn’t experiencing the Dales at their best. I passed through Burnsall and Appletreewick (if you don’t know it, your pronunciation will be incorrect!) then saw looming above me a vertiginous strip of tarmac leading to a larger road heading apparently across the top of the world. A couple of the steeper bits defeated me but the larger road wasn’t as daunting as it first appeared when I finally arrived at the junction. It was reminiscent of the iconic ‘Cat and Fiddle’ road between Macclesfield and Buxton but with fewer trucks. The descent into Pately Bridge can only be described as ridiculous and I steered into a petrol station forecourt a jibbering wreck! I must have been on autopilot; petrol stations are an Audax rider’s haven, usually at funny hours when all the cafes are closed and sensible folk have gone home. And lo, a couple of cyclists sipping coffee. It would have been rude not to join them.

I hadn’t read the Roses guidebook in depth before leaving home so what was to come came as one of the best surprises in my cycling life. The ride to Ripon via Brimham Rocks and Studley Royal deer park was breathtaking. Greggs hit the spot in Ripon; the view more romantic than the fare! The vale of York then beckoned, through well chosen lanes and initially fairly sheltered. The headwind became stronger as I came closer to York and to further cheer me, a very grumpy man was ‘manning’ the Aldwark toll bridge over the mighty river Ouse. He very tersely urged me on and refused any money – the opposite of Penmaenpool bridge near Dolgellau where skipping the toll would meet with similar disapproval. ‘Can’t do right for doing wrong’ sprang to mind.

York was only an hour or so away by the time I passed through the grounds of Beninborough Hall so I took advantage of the very respectable looking cafe. Fortunately they didn’t notice my scruffy torn bike trousers (there will never be a comfier pair!) or were too polite/horrified to say. Afternoon tea, what

a treat.

The surreal experience of crossing the east coast mainline led to the last few miles of the day along a riverside cycle path of dubious condition. I was relieved that some other cyclists were a short distance ahead as the path was flooded for large stretches and they seemed to confidently trust the depths. Alone I may have chickened out and had wet feet. A warm welcome and good facilities at York hostel were a fitting end to a challenging but fantastic day out on the bike. I felt fresher than the previous evening and pleased that I had ridden well over 100km for the first time in quite a while without ill effect. Tomorrow would take me further into unfamiliar country and, who knew, maybe even to the east coast?!

The large sign on Morecambe promenade caught my eye some time ago and lodged itself somewhere easily accessible in my brain. It resurfaced when I was looking at holiday options for late October into November. Long distance cycling isn’t new to me but my love of touring alone has been revived only recently. ‘The Way’ looked to be the perfect ride for 3 days; just fitting into the shortening daylight. I found the website and read eagerly, then the wonderful Carnforth Bookshop furnished me with the Cicerone guidebook for more detailed planning.

Like with most activities, preparation is key; a good look at my bike, equipment and fitness ensued. I was reluctant to use full panniers and have the increased difficulty of towing heavy weights across the pennines (carrying myself would be enough!) With this in mind, and with increased ‘local errands’ usage since moving to Yealand, I invested in a ‘rackbag’ – a cuboid vessel with expanding sides; just enough space to shoehorn a few essentials (and in future for library books and small bits of shopping) My bike was working well with only a few bothersome punctures to

Fitness was building over the weeks running up to October 29th and I began to believe this expedition was possible. My relationship with the weather app became obsessive and as the date drew closer it became apparent that I could expect mostly dry weather but with an easterly wind every day. Oh well, it wasn’t gale force and I think I would choose wind over rain; fortunately it wasn’t to be both!

October 29th turned out to be a cold and frosty morning with a brisk (yes, easterly) wind. I

planned a slightly shorter day one than the guidebook suggested as I would ride to Morecambe for a hearty veggie breakfas adding 9 miles. The pootle along the canal was pleasant and the oystercatchers on the promenade once I reached Bare were bleeping away enthusiastically. My expected solitary breakfast turned out to be very sociable with two people homing in on my cycling garb and chatting prolifically and Paul, a Friend Yealand Meeting, joining the party soon after. Outside, a street performer was setting up his act for the day as a green statue and all was suitably eccentric!

I departed at about 11am, with Friend Paul for company. Green statue selfies were taken instead of Eric Morecambe ones and we headed off down the Greenway; a well surfaced bit of former railway which connects Morecambe to Lancaster. T

his trail is wonderfully practical and well used and the line down the middle dividing cyclists and pedestrians is really effective at avoiding mishaps.

After Lancaster, I was riding alone, along the side of the mighty Lune; another well maintained traffic free cycle route. On leaving the path and moving onto the road at Halton, I was abruptly introduced to steep hills, up, up and over and… back down to the Lune at Hornby! These lovely lanes had become familiar in recent months as my rides expanded and I was on familiar terrain until the route 90, Lancashire cycle way, headed off into the Bowland hills to the south and I continued east. The road ran almost parallel to the busy A65, but was nearly empty of traffic and significantly more undulating. I had just about used up the cooked breakfast energy when I arrived at Clapham and an inviting shop, complete

with hot drinks machine; perfect lunch stop. There was even a well placed bench outside for weary pedallers.

The theme for the majority of the next section was UP! Gradually the route climbed up and over to Stainforth then really steeply up to Malham tarn (I chose the Malham diversion over Settle to allow for a night here) I regularly needed to pause for breath, photos and, yes occasionally to walk. The day was cooling down considerably by the time I reached the tarn so I didn’t linger up here on what felt like the top of the world. The descent testified to this; it was at least as steep and continual as the ascent and must have shaved a good chunk from my brake pads. Malham was nestling and welcoming with a cafe which doesn’t close at 4pm and serves excellent cheese scones! This was welcome time to recover and reflect on a successful first day before checking in to the hostel for a shower, hot food and the usual array of meaningful yet inevitably brief associations.

Reflecting on six months of living in Yealand and the realisation that September simply came and went! Well it isn’t winter yet; we have the glories of autumn to enjoy first. An east coast holiday in early November got me thinking ‘could I cycle there?’ Well, lo and behold the ‘Way of the Roses’ takes you from west to east coast, Morecambe to Bridlington to be precise with helpful waymarking. So begins much preparation; perusing maps, booking hostels and checking that my cooler and wetter weather garments are still acceptable. Oh and the fitness thing!

Building up over the last couple of weeks’ regular riding locally brought me to today’s challenge; Dent and Ingleton and all hills between here and those lovely places.  What a treat to be able to ride from the front door to the Yorkshire Dales and back again in a day.  Similarly, the Lakeland fells beckon temptingly; next weeks challenge? Cycle route 6 to Kendal should do for starters…