"You know that C2C ride that folk talk about, well I've done that." Quote from Martin Clarke
Day 1 starts the day before, Friday night to be precise the 18th August 2000. Having met up at my house three of the riders, yet to be named, set off along with Julie and Jenny for support towards the northwesterly coast of England. B&B booked in St Bees, a quaint little town that is the westerly start of the aforementioned ride (which I have done, did I mention that?).
B&B was at a place called Kandella, meaning place of peace and plenty. The three and their support made the journey there without incident and quickly met up with the fourth rider and his support Rachel, Tom and Sam. All were greeted by the proprietors of the B&B who apologised for their grubby state, explaining that they had been plumb picking. The chap was well oiled so he had obviously been tasting last years crop as he picked. Anyway he stumbled to our rooms and made us all comfortable. All had lovely views of the sea and were well appointed.
Some slopped off to the pub for a drink and some settled down to watch bloody 'Big Brother'. I can't really say who was more reprehensible but I was to be found in The Queens.
Weather report - Saturday broke with clear skies
Breakfast was to die for, cereal, eggs, bacon, sausage, toast, beans, tomatoes, tea, toast and orange juice, though not all on the same plate. The riders who will still remain nameless for a little longer, tucked in with gusto, all believing that they had a dammed good excuse for stuffing themselves with pounds of grease. Julie looked on with distain and though of launching into a lecture about GI index but correctly thought that she would only be wasting her breath.
The bikes were retrieved from the plumb store and the lads loaded up with drink and chocolate and headed for the sea. At the beach the tide was about half way out so the trek across the wet sand started to sap my legs and we hadn't even started.
Now with our wheels dipped in the sea it is time to name the riders. There was: -
Rob (Big Mig) Townson, organiser and brainchild of this particular trip, sometimes known (some what unfairly) as 'The Cockup Kid' Ian (King of the Mountains) Leedam, an unknown quantity since he was unknown to some of the others, also known as 'The Grouch' Martin ('You know that Coast to Coast ride?'), Clarke, friend of King of the Mountains, and sometimes known as 'Bad Guts' Mark (Can I just have one more photograph of that) Alker, also known as 'Baby Face' and the 'Drop Out Kid'
From now on since most of you don't know the chaps I will only refer to them with one of their pseudonyms.
Weather report - overcast cool but clear.
So we all left the beach having satisfied Baby Face's photographic needs. We all collected a stone to carry across the country and to deposit in the North Sea, though Baby Face didn't that turned out to be prophetic.
Leaving St Bees we picked up the C2C route along the old St Bees railway and made good time including stopping to chat to other folk doing the ride to the Eastern coast too. We left them however when we turned right off the C2C route to the bottom of Ennerdale. We took the route due east which passes between Banna fell and Great Borne towards Buttermere. It was a good climb, we all had fresh legs and we all managed to ride it up. This was the first time that King of the Mountains started to show his colours. He stormed up the climb, though he did have Bad Guts close on his tail. Big Mig found that climb demanding but not as much as Baby Face who was later to be renamed.
Anyway there were good grassy downhillls to be had once the top was achieved. Big Mig had a little off but it was very steep, Bad guts went over the front but landed on his feet leaving his bike standing in a bog, the rest managed without incident. The slog through a bog (poetry as well) lead to a very rocky single track. We all tried to ride it but it was too hard for us mere mortals. Andy Westwell would have loved it, but he is a god in the local cycling world. Having achieved Buttermere we were a little behind schedule and Baby Face attempted to make contact with "The other side", our support team. Contact and messages telling them we were running, or riding, late we then set off up the grind of the B N, where N is a very large number, towards Keswick. It was a hell of a climb and yet again King of the Mountains blew us all away with the rest in the same order as before.
Weather report - cloudy filling in from the west, cool.
The road downhill and following ride to Keswick was bloody fast Big Mig got 48.5 mph at one point. Lunch was a sordid affair in a carpark in Keswick but all the riders were ready for it and the support team met them with precision, all was going to Big Mig's plan perfectly.
We all fell into the Bikers Cafe just off the square in time to witness a downpour of monumental proportions.
Weather report - pissing it down.
However it only lasted about 20 mins, just long enough for Big Mig, King of the mountains and Bad Guts to sup a pot of tea and get ready for the afternoon.
This was about the time that Baby Face decided that he wasn't happy with his state of health and decided to forego the pleasantries of the afternoon ride and drive to meet us in Pooley Bridge. He will now be know and the 'Drop Out Kid'. Yes you've guessed it he dropped out. The rest of the real C2C'ers rode off towards the Castle Rigg Stone Circle deriding him a plenty. Having climbed up to the Circle we stopped off to absorb the Chee coming out of the stones. It was great, all Chee'ed up we set off for the coach road towards Dockray. Oh by the way we had ridden the full width of an Ordinance Survey map by this time. Good that.
The climb was a pig, rideable but steep and long. Good flattish downhill though and then road into Pooley Bridge. This was the time that things went a little awry in the planning department and Big Mig almost got the new name The cockup Kid. Turns out I had booked accommodation in Glenridding not Pooley Bridge. Whoops! We loaded up the bikes and drove to Glenridding. That's when we found that I had booked some accommodation but for the wrong night. I was not getting popular at this point. Anyway with a little battering we got into The Glenridding Hotel, 4 stars don't you know, and thankfully to a room.
The hotel had a pool, of which we all availed ourselves, and hot baths, which we all used too. Big Mig managed to flash the chambermaid but that's a tale you will have to ask him about.
Most of us had a good ride, 52 miles covered, all mistakes corrected and all legs and bums in a good enough state to start again tomorrow.
Meals were taken, in various places and we all managed to pat each other on the back.
Weather report - lovely red sunset, warm & clear.
The Chee still flowed well into the night, for those who had been to the Chee fill up station that is!
Weather report - GREAT, sun warm the whole nine yards. (What ever that means)
We drove from our hotel to the start point, it felt like we were in the Tour De France. Pooley Bridge was only 10 miles so it only took a few mins.
With the drive and messing around we didn't hit the road till 9.45 and the day started with a steep climb up the northern shoulder of high street. All the team was back in the saddle. The views were spectacular in all directions though there was a build up of cloud to the west that looked like it may cause problems later. The top of the climb gave us a choice of routes and we thought that we had taken the Roman Road which lead all the way into Askham. In the event we took a track slightly more Northerly which lead to a great downhill across fields, to a road, which lead into Askham.
Picking up Anrnie Saknusans route again (Journey to the Centre of the Earth) we headed for one of our memorable landmarks, Now what was it ? Oh yes crossing the M6. All these little busy bees where blasting up and down the motorway and we continued to wend our way towards Sunderland. Oh Joy.
We went past a farm called Julian Bower, obviously a local pig farmer looking at his fields, to what we hoped would be a ford across a river. Well the river was about 40 feet across and looked to be about 10 feet deep. We decided that it would be best to back track and become intimate with the pigs. They live in little houses you know, it was like looking at a field of little Nissan huts. The track disappeared again but Big Mig's map reading got us back on track and we whistled though Culgaith and onto Skirwith where the lovely Julie and Jenny were jus making up our butties for lunch.
Lunch was a very civilised affair though we did have to share it with a swarm of wasps, all of whom were happy to eat out food and not sting us. Jenny did throw a bit of a wobbler at one stage but none of the wasps took offence even when she locked herself in the car and shouted at them.
Weather report. Sunny and hot but cloud building from the west. Still were not going west so who cares.
After lunch the ride took on a sombre tone. All the boys had pared their packs down, which we no had to carry since support was to decamp now back to school. Also the prospect of Cross Fell, which we had been able to see for about 2 hours looming in front of us, was starting take it's toll.
As we hit Cross Fell, King of the Mountains and Bad Guts blasted off and Big Mig and Drop out Kid trailed along behind. I had to walk for about 4 miles though I am only guessing the distance because my wheel was going round so slowly it said I was doing 0 mph. Still in the space of an hour or so we were on the top. The cloud that had been threatening for an hour or more caught us up.
Weather report - rain started within 30 seconds of us getting to the top of Cross Fell.
We all put our waterproofs on and headed down. The downhill was about 6 miles in length and started with rather large rocks. King of the mountains went into Grouch mode on the decent. He wasn't happy with the fact that his bike kept smacking him in the crutch and he took it rather slowly whilst the rest who all had full suspension blasted it.
Towards the bottom of the downhill the track smoothed a little, and straightend a lot and steepened a bit so it became very fast. Bad Guts closely followed the Drop out Kid and Big Mig as the fast part came and despite all opportunities for the order to change that's how it came out at the bottom. Big Mig who was the only one with a Speedo recorded 32mph on the decent and given that he was jumping drains and whooping and hollering all the way down this was a pretty good speed.
As we got to the bottom we found the rain had stopped and that Bad Guts and The Grouch had been dropped from the loony tunes in front so we waited. And we waited, and we waited. Big Mig was just about to go back up when a sorry looking pair came around the bend. The Grouch, now in full grouch mode was limping, and Bad Guts was carrying The Grouch's bike back wheel first.
The drop out kid instantly took out his camera and started photographing the bloody stump of and elbow that The Grouch was displaying as we got out pitiful first aid kit.
Fortunately just as we were trying to decide whether to put our single band-aid or our single whole body bandage onto the wound, we didn't have anything in-between, an angel appeared. She dressed and cared for the wound, from her considerable first aid kit and set out wounded comrade on his way. The angel by the way was a nurse from Birmingham doing the Pennine way.
Bad guts had slopped off with the damaged bike, for those who are interested he bent the derailleur hanger, whatever that is. Bad guts got it fixed, what a hero.
Given that King of the mountains was in a bad way we decided to stop in the town that he had fallen into. We scoured Garrigill for accommodation. First it was the Llama farm. Don't laugh, the Llama farm do B&B in Garrigill. But there was no room there; the angel of Birmingham had taken the last room. Then it was the post office, yes they had two twin rooms, we were sorted.
The stairs to the rooms needed crampons, but we managed to find the lounge and after showering all the Cross Fell crap off us we slobbed around trying to get all our gear dry.
Now the more observant of my readers will notice that all but Bad Guts have had reasons for their names. Well as we waited for the pub to open our rider of the name Bad Guts started to earn his name. The smells emanating from his quarter of the room became unbearable. It was at this point that all but Bad Guts went to ring home and talk to their loved ones.
Weather report - lovely evening, broken cloud, cool.
We decamped into the pub at 7.00, around 30 seconds after it opened. The George and Dragon offered many good-looking meals and we all ordered. The funny thing was that Bad Guts left the pub just before the meal came and wasn't seen again for about 90 mins. The rest of the team were getting a little concerned and had sent out search parties to try and find him. The drop out kid suggested that he had gone to find a wide open space, and as it turned out was spot on.
When Bad Guts did return he was still producing smells but informed us that for the first time in his life he had shit six times in an hour and he still didn't feel any better. Poor lad. He went off to bed and 9pm, to be closely followed by us all.
Weather report - smashing red sunset.
By the way we had done a paltry 38 miles on the second day but had ridden the width of two and a half maps by now.
Weather report - clear and sunny again, to good to be true really.
Since Garrigill is in the bottom of a valley we were faced with a steep climb to start the day. In order to try and get us going Big Mig suggested that we all ride round the village green three times before we set off and to his amazement the other riders all did. There was no sign of the angel of Birmingham so we had no-one to wave us off, though the old biddy from the PO was there as we left. With no more to do we set off up a 3/4 mile slog to the road East.
The sea beckoned us all day today, sometime it was to urge us on sometime to goad us into submission but it was always there in our minds, the goal for the day, get to the sea.
Having stopped early yesterday we had some catching up to do so by the time we had covered the first 10 miles it was only 9.30. It was about now that the fog came down.
Weather report - FOG
We had to cycle south east on the B6277, heading for our last proper off road section. The road climb was a killer and as we passed the ski tows, yes ski tows we knew that we couldn't have too far to go. We turned left onto a little rise called Coldberry End, which opened up into another great downhill. The drop out kid who has equipped himself well enough to go back to his old name of Baby Face decided that he wanted to go ahead to get another photo of us going past, left the track clear for Big Mig to have a real go at it. Bad guts and King of the mountains both gave their excuses for picking their way down slowly and Big Mig went for it.
I had a great time, the track was straight and not too rocky, this was not quite as good as the downhill off Cross Fell but it was still bloody great. I managed to clock 40.5 mph on this particular section. YEEEEEEEEEHHHHAAAAAAAAAA !
Weather report - fog clearing, cloud breaking.
Having all got to the bottom in one piece we hit Ireshopburn, if you know how to pronounce it then you are better than me. All feeling in reasonable nick, we got into the place we had planned to stop the night before by 10.30 and decided to chain gang it to Stanhope to try and share the work and up the pace a little. That worked well and we were into Stanhope for 11.30. Time for an early lunch before heading further east. We took advice from some old biddy who said we should go to the Stanhope Tea Shoppe opposite the PO. Bloody good advice, that was too.
I will get into trouble if Julie reads the next part.
In the cafe was cleavage, and serious cleavage too; this particular cleavage was connected to a pretty young Geordie lass who was to serve us all cups of tea, pies and Danish pastry. Bad guts, who was still earning his name though more from the rumblings than the smells, suggested that we were all fatigued and that the woman was probably fat and ugly in reality. I can't say if that was the case or not, all I can say is that she was a vision of loveliness and spurred several conversations later in the day. From this point on Stanhope was renamed Titsville, and will always be such in recounting tales of the trip.
At noon we set off from Titsville towards the east again.
Weather report - fine cloudy, no wind.
We picked up the track we needed easily, it was called the Waskerly Way. We thought it took the line of the old Waskerly Wailway, but we weren't sure. We did pass the Waskerly Wesevior, no really. And things were going well. The cinder track was flat and fast so we made good time. This was the time that Big Mig decided to fool around and really earn his name The Cock up Kid. We were blasting thought the Waskerly Woods in a track just wide enough for two bikes. Baby face thought it would be good to brush the trees and splash water behind but Big Mig didn't want to get wet so he pushed up and tried to force a way though to the front. Bag guts and Baby face thought this was a bad idea and the resultant tumble brought blood sweat and a profusion of expletives. Fortunately big Mig was the one to go down and will be know as the cock up kid for a while.
The others were not impressed.
We had been told that the trail to the sea would be downhill, a lie and that it would be easy, another lie. It was a real grind. There isn't much to say about the trip into Sunderland, we passed over rivers, under the A1 and the A19 though we didn't realise it at the time. We saw The Angel of the North and found that she didn't measure up to The angel of Birmingham or the cleavage in the cafe at Titsville.
The cock up kid did a long stretch on the front of the chain, but eventually even his legs gave out and King of the Mountains had to come to the front to keep the speed up. We ground into Sunderland by 4pm and took a detour past The Stadium of Light, Sunderland's football ground. The sight of the sea was kept from us until the very last moment. There had been much talk of riding up Roker Pier four abreast, and we didn't see the sea until we were right at the end of Roker Ave.
Weather report - sunny
Riding up Roker Pier was surreal, after all the miles we had done, to ride up the pier all together was great, the waves were crashing over the wall and despite all the Geordie fishermen trying to snag our wheels and coats as we rode past we made it to the end without further incident. We were all photographed throwing our stones that we had carried from St Bees into the sea. I was sad to see mine go, I felt like I had built a relationship with that rock. Anyway it was part of the ritual so Baby Face told me.
Bad guts kept saying "You know that C2C ride? Well I've done that!" He was really on one, he was buzzing.
To finish off we rode down to the beach and dipped our wheels in the North Sea. Some of us rode right in, just to say we had done it.
The whole trip had been a great experience, not one I would recommend to the faint hearted but something I can say I have done and that I did it with some really great friends. All in all things went pretty much according to plan, at then end of it we all said that we wouldn't do it or any long distance ride again, but... well a few days later it all seems like it was a little bit easier on the memory and perhaps I would.
Hope you enjoyed reading about the exploits of the four comancharos.
Words By Rob (Big Mig) Townson
Last Updated 25-10-2000
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