Day 06 to Day 07

Day 06 – Strathaven via Broughton and weeeeee to Moffat and Ecclefechan (by Stuart)

Thankfully last night we had an opportunity to have a decent nights sleep in a proper bed at Risson's B&B in Strathaven south east of Glasgow. We slept well and it made a welcome change to sleeping in a tent (that and the decent en suite shower). Mum and Dad had also managed to get hold of some plasters and surgical tape the previous day so I had the chance to patch up my sore heel. After the previous nights epic sticky toffee pudding, we fed on a full Scottish breakfast to fuel ourselves up for the 78 mile ride today.

Off we go again!

After bidding farewell to the owners (also keen cyclists) we rode out of Strathaven, instantly going wrong at the second route instruction. Half a mile later we were back on track and heading out of town. Alas, we didn't have the same wall to wall sunshine as the day previously. It had rained earlier on in the morning so the ground was wet, and there were plenty of black clouds looming with intent to dampen our fun.

Hang on a minute... fun? It wasn't really. Despite the fact that the wind was coming from the north east (you would have thought tail wind) but for the first 30 miles we had to ride east meaning head winds and cross winds. Oh and most of the route was described as undulating. Alex and I unanimously agreed that the word should be stricken from the English Dictionary and replaced with the word updulating! We seemed to updulate most of the way, and some of the hills could only be described as (sorry I hate to use expletives in my blog but...) bastards.

It didn't help that my heel was still tender, but my left calf was also starting to hurt. Yes I suppose we have already ridden over 300 miles by this point. The miles will start to take their toll eventually. Still we soldiered on. The first café we were planning on stopping at was closed (seems to be a recurring theme for Alex and I). Mum and Dad passed us after 30 miles, and as we were only a few miles from Broughton, we agreed to stop at the café there.

Break stop.... and looking special!

At this point we join the main road heading south. Yes south. That means that the cross winds turn in to the best kind of wind. A tail wind. The ride up the valley alongside the River Tweed was quick indeed. In about four miles time we would hit an eight mile ascent up to the roads summit near the source of the Tweed, where it then descends for eight miles into Moffat.

Two miles to go to the start of the ascent Alex's phone goes. It's Mum and Dad warning us of some of the big potholes on the descent. While we were stopped Alex and I were somewhat mortified to see a huge bank of rain chasing up the valley towards us. So naturally Alex and I think we can out-ride it!

We both hit the ascent and hit the big ring. Yes the big ring. For those who don't know what that means its the big gear on the front. The big one is for going fast, the middle ring for most of the time, and the small one (I liken to the granny ring) for spinning the pedals up a steep hill. We were riding up the climb at 20 to 25mph... in the big ring! Uphill!!

We powered up the climb with the strong winds assistance and were largely successful at staying ahead of the rain. Still it was going faster than us, and shelter (the van) was the other side of Moffat. The first few spits of rain started to fall within a mile of the top, but not heavy enough to worry us yet. Mercilessly the road went into a forest near the top which (normally a blessing) sheltered us from the wind so we really had to push hard up to the top.

At the top the road turned sideways into the wind and the hail hit hard. We've been caught. Still in a hundred yards the road rounded the saddle, turning away from the wind and down into the next valley. Now we have wind and gravity on our side. We raced down the descent at 40mph plus and in less than half a mile we had rode ahead of the rain. We kept this up all the way to the bottom, using each others slip stream to 'sling shot' ahead increasing our downward speed all the way to Moffat. By the time we were in Moffat we were in sun, and as we rode through town I was in fits of giggles. Thankfully the road out of town turned away from the path of the rain storm and we met up with the van for a break.

In fact we were so quick from Broughton that Mum and Dad were completely taken by surprise and the eggs that they were planning on making rolls out of for lunch hadn't even finished cooking! With 20 miles left and the same strong tail wind it wouldn't be long before we were at the campsite at Ecclefechan either.

The other two hero's in this adventure

With a day of forecast showers I'm pleased to say that we completed the ride without really getting rained on at all. Both calf muscles now ache, but thankfully the heel doesn't seem as bad as it was. We are close to Carlisle and England, so this will be the last day in Scotland. We have ridden a heck of a long way and I'm pleased to say near the half way mark in terms of mileage (449 miles now behind us).

Bring on the last 600!

P.S. Our travelling companions Jess and Cath, and their bike The Violet Beast (and the bear Sedge), were hoping to get to Ecclefechan too, but their bike was booked into a cycle specialist in Glasgow this morning. They managed to get a new pair of wheels built, yet due to the set-back they will not have the time to catch us up tonight. Hopefully they will be able to make some good progress tomorrow!

Cheers

Day 07 - Back in England - the pain piles up (by Alex)

Last night was not the best night for our goodbye to Scotland. The campsite was barely quarter of a mile from the A74(M) – most definitely a motorway at this point, so earplugs were a necessity. The other problem was the temperature. It was a wonderfully clear night (mercifully, the winds had dropped), so temperatures dropped below freezing.

Lying in a tent in the foetal position with a shirt over your head¹, trying to convince yourself that you cannot hear the motorway and do not need to pee is not conducive to getting a decent rest.

Around about seven, it was time to knock the ice off the tent, open up and stoke up the engine for the day. Breakfast was porridge and toast, along with the requisite cup of tea. Then it was time to don thermals² and head to England.

Whats this?

Within the first quarter mile, the speedometer on Stuarts bike stopped registering. This is not really an issue that requires instant fixing, but is annoying. It also set the trend for the day.

We knew within moments that it was going to be slow today. The frantic racing yesterday to stay ahead of the rain clouds, whilst extremely enjoyable, hadn't done much for the energy levels. The cold wasn't helping, and the wind seemed a combination of headwind and side wind which really saps the energy. To compound matters, the early blue skies were giving way to clouds.

Eleven miles later, though, we passed the first big milestone on our journey. We've arrived in England!

Since we are mostly using quiet minor roads, there were no signs, but we knew that the bridge over the River Sark marked the border. Perhaps more importantly, there was the campervan with mum and dad, cameras at the ready³!

Bye bye Scotland...

The first part of the day consisted of navigating around Carlisle – easily achieved with the help of some handy cycle paths⁴. Going was still slow, as the cold was not showing any signs of shifting. Meanwhile, as we gradually moved south through the Vale of Eden, the Pennines were looming.

Today was a seventy mile ride. Our plan was to stop at a café on around 25-30 miles and meet up with mum and dad at about 45 miles for lunch. Could we find a place to stop? Could we heck. To make a tough day even better, my speedometer gave out at about 38 miles. We limped home to the van for lunch, cursing the extremely appropriate word 'updulating'.

A much needed soup and roll was consumed with barely time for the food to touch the sides, along with a healthy wedge of fruit cake⁵. Dad had a look at my errant speedometer during the break. The damn thing worked without a problem.

The last thing to do was look at the route instructions. The fun news came. Updulating hills for the next fifteen miles. Then it gets harder.

We set off to meet the hills. 25 miles to go to Kirkby Stephen, where the goods news is that we don't have to pitch a tent. We are living in style in a B & B⁶!

My speedometer gives out four miles down the road.

It's still cold, only now Stuart and I are getting progressively more tired. When we reach Appleby-in-Westmorland, disaster strikes and I forget to turn right. We only go perhaps half a mile down the road before I realise my error, but that's half a mile up two hills at ~10-15%. Ouch.

And now we've hit the hard bit.

There follow ten torturous miles were Stuart and I slog away for each mile, cursing every hill⁷ – the tanks are truly running on fumes. I'm missing Scotland. Sure, some of the roads were rough, some of the hills were big, but it never bit at the legs like this. The gradients tended to be sane, and the roads seemed placed with care – they go around the hills, alongside the lakes and rivers (where possible). It was rarely this cold, either.

Eventually, without even a feeling of relief – we're too tired, and we had to go uphill to finish – we pull in to Kirkby Stephen and wearily navigate our way to the B & B⁸. We are plied with tea and cakes, which certainly helps the spirits. I'm so tired that it takes about half an hour before I can even speak properly.

Looking very lively...

I'm looking forward to a visit to the local drinking establishment⁹ and a curry. And, hopefully, a good nights sleep!

Thanks everyone for your messages of support¹⁰ – we've been overwhelmed by the level of interest and can only apologise for not being able to update this blog – we're dependent on wi-fi, which seems all to infrequent!

(Update on the Violet Beast – they've fixed the wheel and have left Glasgow. We don't know where they'll get to, but we wish them all the best!)

1 Trying to keep my head warm. I don't rate the soundproof qualities of cotton tee-shirts very highly.

2 Lots of thermals. I wore more this morning that I needed when training in January.

3 And for Stuart, the chance for dad to fix his errant speedometer.

4 Some of which were effectively dirt tracks – though ironically smoother to ride on than many of the roads we have ridden to this point – roads which have affectionately been nicknamed 'tenderisers'.

5 Supplied by the lovely Emma Crofts. Eaten gratefully.

6 Our last night of such, sadly. It's canvas from here to Lands End.

7 There are a lot of the bastards – each one steeper than the last, or at least it felt that way at the time.

8 White Gill House, run by the lovely Ken and Barbara.

9 One of the advantages of being back in England – it tends to be easier to get hold of real ale!

10 Special thanks to Louise Wilson – the inspirational messages are a high point (though I've lost my phone charger and am running low on battery power!)