Day 11 - Ben Nevis

My legs are aching, my feet are blistered, my arms are covered with midge bites, my ears are peeling from sunburn and wherever we go it just wont stop raining. But despite all that I'm happy. Just last wednesday Catherine and I set off from Bangor on bikes in a foolhardy attempt to climb the highest peaks in England, Wales and Scotland. And eleven days later we succeeded.

10am said my watch when i finally decided to get up. But even after 10 hours sleep, i hardly felt rested. Ten days of pure exercise takes its toll, and my body knew I was about to give it one more day of punishment. After breakfast (more granola) we gathered our stuff together and set off to climb the mountain on the other side of the valley - Ben Nevis.

Crossing the Nevis river, we took the youth hostel path and, after a couple of kilometers, joined the tourist trail. Already people were descending past us. Many looked like they might be starting the 24 hour three peak challenge and soon be driving south towards Scafell Pike, reaching where we had been 4 days ago in only 5 hours. Others we passed were not so prepared - many were in jeans and trainers, some had no water, no waterproofs and no map. And all these people were complaining bitterly, as if they had not expected the highest mountain in the country to be so far uphill.

After 40 minutes of climbing we had become bored of whinging tourists and mediocre views. Thanks to Catherine's mountaineering knowledge, however, we soon turned off onto an empty path to circle the mountain and ascend along a steep arete from the North East. This turned out to be an amazing route filled with stunning views, steep climbs, strong winds and dangerous scrambles.

At first we swung round one shoulder of Ben Nevis and crossed the deep valley on its northern side. This revealed the Ben's amazing north face, a wide vertical lump of granite dropping at least 500m vertically down from the summit. We, however, were climbing a rather more gentle slope on the opposite side. 'More gentle' is hardly doing the route justice - we must have gained around 500m of altitude along 45-degree slopes covered with loose scree and damp, boot-consuming bogs. Although the sun had been trying its best to come out at this point, by the time we reached the top of the ridge the wind was blowing a gale and dense white cloud was periodically being blown over the whole valley.

After lunch in a sheltered hollow we climbed up towards the top of the ridge - a Munro (3000-foot tall scottish mointain) called Carn Mor Dearg, or CMD to those in the know. Up on top the wind had picked up to extraordinary levels, like sticking your head out of a car window on the motorway. We began to reconsider our route. Ben Nevis, which loomed a mile across the valley, was only reachable along a narrow arete, a dangerous feature to cross in such conditions. On each side of the exposed arete were nearly-vertical 400m drops.

But, after a local dog-walker reassured us the path would not be dangerous if we were careful, we decided to take the risk and scramble across the arete. Climbing down from CMD the wind dropped and we found the loose path along the precipice. At first the drops on each side lodged an anxious sense of vertigo in my mind - one wrong foothold and it could be my last. Occasionally the clouds would draw in below us, obscuring the valleys on either side. This gave the impression of an infinite drop into clouds- an even scarier ordeal. However, as the rocky scramble across the arete went on, the anxiety passed and soon I was able to revel in the sheer thrill of it all. It truly was an awesome sight, with Ben Nevis rearing its bulky granitic head to the South West and the occasional view down into deserted mountain valleys on either side. The strong winds and swirling clouds also gave a surreal atmosphere to the place.

Having regretfully finished the arete and had a brief play in the snow still present in Ben Nevis's shadow, we climbed the final 300m to the summit. It was a contrast from the lonely route we had just taken, with dozens of unprepared tourists and the unavoidable mess left behind from such swarms of people. At least the summit was not clouded over, as was the case for every other mountain in the area. Rather than seeing a vista of steep mountains, we saw a rolling layer of clouds, each following the terrain below.

Our 19km hike to the summit of Ben Nevis via the CMD arete

After taking a few pictures and munching a handful of chocolate digestives we found the tourist trail again and started the descent. After only a few hundred metres the clouds descended and the rain began, making the next hour of steady tramping a tedious, view-less affair.

It is four hours later and the rain has not stopped. We ate take-away Haggis & chips sheltered in our tiny 2-man tent and found the nearest pub, more for a proper sit down in a dry room than for anything else. Scotland certainly doesnt do things by halves; mountains and rain included.

And so, with the 1344m of Ben Nevis done and added to the 1048m of Snowdon and 978m of Scafell Pike, we have succeeded in climbing the national three peaks by unassisted human power. As far as I know (and trust me, I haven't checked) the 9 days and 23 hours from the summit of Snowdon to the summit of Ben Nevis is a New Record. Not bad for a two-week holiday.

Until tuesday we are in the highlands doing more hiking and possibly some mountain biking/canoeing. However this will probably be the final blog post from me - I have wasted enough phone battery so far this trip on the things. What will happen, though, is that I will go back through these blogs and edit them with route maps and more pictures and anecdotes, simply for my own pleasure. I may also add a post on the do's and dont's of cycle touring. So stay tuned for that and in the mean time- go break a record, even if you only just made it up.

Stats:
Distance walked: 19km

Day 10. North Loch Lomond - Ben Nevis

The final day's route with 5 categorised climbs!

It's Day 10 and sat a mile in front of me is one monumental shoulder of Ben Nevis, the highest mountain in the UK. So I guess we made it!

The day began at 8am as usual. The midges, which normally die down by morning, were still frantically clawing at my skin. Throughout the night I had woken and convinced myself it was drizzling before realising the pitter-patter on the fly-sheet was just a rain of randomly-moving insects.

Pannier Rack Damage #2

Once up I checked the rope holding my bust pannier rack together. Gladly it was still holding. Unbelievably I also noticed a second fracture even more impressive than the first! The metal strut on the opposite side of the pannier rack was also cleaved in two. I must have hit one hell of a pothole! With this development I became even more worried that my bike would not last the day. One more break like that, and no amount of rope would hold the panniers onto my bike. And if that happened in the middle of Rannock Moor, a vast boggy terrain we would spend almost an entire day crossing, I would be in serious trouble.

With gear loaded up we tentatively set off to the north under grey skies. The uphill began almost immediately, as the road rose up a steepening valley. After only 9km of climbing in 40 minutes we stopped for second breakfast and to buy lunch - we would not see another shop for 4 hours.

Numerous teams of road cyclists passed us on the way up to the pass. We looked at their slick, pannier-less bikes in envy. Finally we reached the last junction in 35 miles and ominously entered through (thankfully) open gates labelled 'Road closed due to snow'. After only a brief uphill we had left the valley behind us and entered another vast open mountainous valley with not a building in sight. With a fast downhill and gentle climb we crossed this and headed up along the Orchy valley.

The top of one of the first big climbs of the day.

After a slow set of steep switch-back turns we reached the start of Rannock Moor. At a viewpoint we stopped to take pictures and bumped into some fellow road cyclists also headed to Fort William. It turned out they were 2 days from John O'Groats, having started in Lands End only 8 days before. I cant deny that a twang of jealousy hit us both, but they were on the best bikes money could buy with two support vehicles following behind. All we had was our legs, our worn bikes and 20kg of stuff.


The moor itself was an odd place to cross. Despite the towering mountains on all sides, the sheer flat unbroken extent of it made it strangely underwhelming. The other side of the 350m col was another story though.

Whizzing downhill aided by a south easterly breeze we entered Glencoe - a stunning mountain valley surrounded on all sides by bulky green peaks, almost all of which were higher than any mountain England has to offer. As we stopped for lunch blue skies even appeared. Further and further we descended along smooth roads, as the steep valley closed in on us. The three sisters of Glencoe reared up on our left, each covered with sheer rock faces and forest-filled ravines. Finally the valley levelled out and we came to another finger of ocean stretching into the Highlands. The views and mountains were so appealing that we briefly decided we had to stay in Glencoe that day and explore the area more. But we realised we couldnt climb Ben Nevis from so far south so we pushed on around the fjord onto the home straight.

A panorama of the Three Sisters of Glencoe in all their splendour

And it was an absolutely horrible ride. The wind had swung round and for the final 20km was blowing directly at us. The road bounced up and down but the shear force of the wind meant that every section was punishing. Even with the nose of the bike pointing downwards, the sheer force of the wind meant stopping pedalling would still cause you to roll backwards. After seeing the sign for the entrance to Fort William I thought we were home and dry, but the road continued into the head wind for another 3km.

Finally though we made it into Fort William. This would be our final stop, our most northerly point and our base from which to climb Ben Nevis. But it didnt feel any different. Despite a long final days' cycle that, at any point could have been thrown into disarray, there was no relief. Just a feeling of 'So that's it?'. After a chat with some cyclists who had overtaken us (more LE-JO'Gs), a bite of afternoon tea and a quick supermarket shop we headed out of Fort William. As we turned the corner into Glen Nevis, the eponymous mountain revealed itself. We found our campsite and set up the tent on the opposite slope - thankfully there were no midges in sight. The strong wind and intermittant sunshine made for good drying conditions but forced our gas stove off numerous times, but we eventually got dinner cooked (more pasta). Even now, at 11pm, there is light in the sky. I imagine north scotland never sees true darkness at this time of year.

Arriving at our final campsite in Glen Nevis!

It is a strange feeling that we will not be moving on anywhere after tonight. The tent will remain pitched, our bikes untouched, our panniers unpacked. I guess this trip has turned us into drifters, where any form of settling down seems not just unusual but unnatural.

Tomorrow we will try to climb Ben Nevis, although 50mph gusts and low hill fog are forecast. The beauty is that we now have 3 days until our train home, so even bad weather tomorrow will not stop us eventually ascending britains highest mountain.


Stats:
Distance: 96km
Total Distance: 816km
Average Speed: 18.6kph

Day 9: Ayr to North Loch Lomond

A sunny start

This morning was a weird one - it was sunny. Maybe we wanted to make the most of the good weather, maybe dry equipment is easier to pack, but somehow the sunshine translated into the quickest packing/breakfast/tent-take-down sessions we have yet had, and we were on the road by 9:15 - a new record

We first headed into Ayr, the nearby seaside town, and found the main road north. It took us through many similar resorts, with pretty B&Bs, closed-up shops and more hand car washes than I could count. Passing Prestwick airport, still in sunshine, we stopped for second breakfast. Cyclists are very much like hobbits; unkempt beards, smelly feet and a multitude of meals (breakfast, second breakfast, elevenses, luncheon, afternoon tea, dinner and supper) being just some of the comparisons. We then found ourselves on a quiet ring road around Irvine, a large Scottish town apparently with nobody in it. Heading on north avoiding the main road we eventually emerged on the only road around the Strathclyde coast. In the hazy sunshine we could even see the mountainous Isle of Arran across the beginnings of the Firth of Clyde, a large finger of water that reaches 40 miles inland to Glasgow.

The Firth of Clyde narrows on our left

As we headed up what was a beautiful coast road, the Firth narrowed and steeped on either side. After a morning of pushing hard into a stiff northern breeze, we hit 80km.on the cycle computer and came to Gourock. Lying on the northern tip of Ayrshire, Gourock is a steep-sided town on the banks of the Clyde and the gateway to the highlands. It also holds some Osborn family importance, with my great-grandmother living in a little house high up on the hill. My dad, from whom both Catherine and I caught the bug of hiking and mountaineering, spent many a summer up in that house. Maybe, in some round-about way, that little town is the origin of this entire trip.

From Gourock we caught a tiny passenger ferry across the Firth of Clyde. Although the boat had been soaked by a sharp shower on the previous crossing, by the time we reached Kilgreggan it was sunny once more. On the boat, a worried local came up to us and enquired our route. "Yous should'ney go that way" he said. "The road to Arrochar is dangerous". Instead he pointed us to a ridiculously mountainous road, atleast 20km out of our way before leaving. We considered his warning and decided the reward of a direct route would be worth the risk.

Before reaching this 'Death Road', we had a beautiful ride along one of the many sea-lochs stretching from the Firth of Clyde. Across the bay was a shadowy docklands at the foot of a wooded hill that was apparently an MOD submarine base. After a huge 15% hill we finally met 'Death Road'. And what a road it was. Sure it was narrow, had sharp turns and a roller-coaster of blind summits, but the views were stunning. To our left through dense deciduos forest was a sharp drop to a sea loch, a fjord cut by rivers of ice 20 thousand years ago and flooded by the sea. Rather than being a deep blue, it was a dark green, reflecting the steep wooded slope only 800m away on the other side. Parked at the entry of the fjord, almost covering the entire inlet, was a huge megatanker transferring oil from some distant oil field to MOD depots. A lone kayaker, who was also making his way up the loch, was dwarfed billions-to-one by this titanic ship.

Sunbeams over Loch Long having ridden "Death Road" to its conclusion

And for mile after mile this road went, skipping up and down small hills like a cycling rollercoaster. And the views continued. By this point, breaks in the cloud were few and far between, but as we entered the village at the terminus of the fjord a beam of sunlight could be seen moving steadily across the centre of the loch. It truly was an amazing sight.

Next we crossed from this sea loch at the mercy of tides and mariners into a true loch - Loch Lomond. Once again the road wound around the West bank as we headed north. This route was busier, however, and the road surface was littered with potholes. Despite all this, the views made it an experience to savour.

However, after the longest and most beautiful day of our trip so far, something was always going to shatter our illusions of success. The thing to do the shattering on this particular day was the pannier rack that holds the stuff above my rear wheel. After one pothole too many and a load cracking noise, i looked back and saw the rack cleaved in two and sticking out at unnatural angles like a badly broken limb. After crawling away from the blind corner on which i was inadvertantly parked we found a lay-by to inspect the damage. Usually two spokes link the base of the rack to my bike frame, each welded to a central support. Almost an inch of welding had given way, and the rear spoke was scratching at my frame nearly 6 inches from where it should be. Although i had no welding torch to hand, i did have a good long piece of rope. This, for now, is all that supports a quarter of the 20kg carried by my panniers. But, by avoiding the biggest pot holes, my bodge job somehow made it the 10km down the road to our campsite.

The campsite, thanks to its location by Loch Lomond and half way along the West Highland Way, has everything someone miles from civilisation would want - a shop, restaurant, bar, showers, etc. Another thing it has in abundance is midges. The little things seem to have saturated the air around me and, even with lavishly applied bug spray, continue to be a nuisance. It is refreshing that today, rather than constantly worrying about how to get dry and keep our gear from getting wet, our only real worries have been sunburn and midges ('First world problems', i guess). At last though, after 5 days of rain and questioning the motives behind this trip, today has reminded me why we are here: To cycle through some of the fairest parts of these isles using only our own two legs.

Helped by flat coastal roads we did our longest ever day: 146km

Tomorrow, with my rope-strapped bike, we will cross Rannoch moor, ths largest uninhabited area in the uk. It is 100km to Fort William, our base for climbing Ben Nevis and our end point. I can only hope that my bodge-job holds...

Stats:
Distance: 125km
Total Distance: 720km
Average Speed: 19.3kph

Rainy-ness: 2/10
Midges: 9/10
Scottishness: 8/10

Day 8 - Lochmaben to Ayr

It's not ideal, but on this trip we have three types of gear: cycling stuff for each days ride, camping gear for the evenings to cook, sleep and shelter, and hiking gear to take us up each of the three peaks. Every morning, without fail, we have to pack each bit of kit back into three tiny bags and fit these back onto the bike. And usually this occurs in the rain with no tent for protection (it needs packing too). Its a long and tedious process and this morning was no exception. For two and a half hours we packed up, piled everything onto the bikes and left our loch-side campsite, all under grey scottish drizzle.

Today's route with a long steady climb lasting nearly 60km!

The hills began almost immediately as we cut across on back roads from Lochmabin to the main Dumfries to Kilmarnock route which cut through the southern lowlands. Although this route started busily enough in boring agricultural surroundings, it soon turned into a beautiful (and quiet) alpine pass. To our left was a steep ravine cut by a deep, fast flowing river. On our right were steep forested slopes bounded at the top by a train line. The gentle gradient was also almost enough for us to forget that we were climbing into the mountains.



After lunch by the ravine the road levelled off into a more open valley. Wild sheep pastures slowly transformed into narrow fields and we seemed to re-enter civilisation. The shallow gradient was gone, however, replaced by steep rolling hills. The solitude of the mountains had also been replaced by a multitude of impatient car, lorry and tractor drivers. Reluctantly we followed this route for the rest of the day. 

Smooth private roads

In a car, the state of the road surface probably has absolutely no effect on the smoothness of the ride. On two-inch-wide, suspension-less road bike wheels however, a bad road surface is as noticable as the light of day and Scotland seems to have more than its fair share of dodgy road surfaces. Most look like a patchwork quilt of quick-fixes, with each layer of pothole-covering asphalt simply creating a more uneven surface. After an afternoon of continuous ups and downs, as well as a thin drizzle that stopped and started at will, we found a touristy cafe in the grounds of a castle. Remarkably the private road from the castle gate house to the cafe was one of the best road surfaces we'd seen all week. There we researched campsites and found a welcoming caravan park 10km away on the outskirts of Ayr.

A sunny evening for once!

The site was nice enough except for the rabble of kids who, despite apparent free roam of the site, emitted their high pitch shreiks only in the area around our tent (Oh no, ive turned into one of those people). Amazingly the dense white cloud that had hung over our heads all day seemed to melt away and a dim evening sun appeared. With weather warnings in force for tomorrow, however, it is when rather than if the next drenching will occur.

Tomorrow we follow the Ayrshire coast to Gourock and cross the Firth of Clyde by ferry. That means that this time tomorrow we will be in the Highlands! I can smell the whiskey already. Or is that just the rain?

Stats:
Distance: 101km
Total Distance: 595km
Average Speed: 20.0kph

Day 7 - Keswick to Lochmaben

Waking up after a 'rest day' is horrible. Our legs seemed to have realised what we're putting them through and refuse to move. Eventually we forced ourselves up and ate the usual granola breakfast. After putting on freshly-washed clothes i once again had the amazing pleasure of placing warm, clean-smelling socks and feet into horribly damp shoes for the third day running. At least the sky was refusing to comply with expectations and was remaining dry for the time being.

We're not out of the lakes yet - a hilly start to our 120km day

There is always a conflict while deciding which route to cycle. While the back roads are usually quiet and make for a more enjoyable ride they can be almost continually up and down, especially in the mountains. A-roads on the other hand tend to be on average much flatter and more direct. Constantly being overtaken by inconsiderate drivers isnt exactly fun though.


Today we experienced both as we left the Lake District from Keswick towards Carlisle. Initially we had found that rare balance- a smooth and direct road without much traffic. Then we hit traffic hell for 20km - the busy A595. Despite the road being no wider than previous routes, drivers felt it neccessary to overtake on blind corners, at uncomfortable distances, and even roll down their windows and hurl abuse at one point. We managed to escape onto a back road and rolled into Carlisle for lunch.

And what a lunch it was. We found that students paradise, a Wetherspoons, and gorged ourselves on Steak (it being a,Tuesday) for almost an hour. Bloated with all the meat, we found a minor road alongside the M6 and headed towards the Scottish border where, remarkably, the sun was beginning to break through the thick white clouds that had loomed over us all morning.

We entered Scotland in the town of Gretna, famous as the marriage destination for eloping couples since 1830. We felt no distinct change in atmosphere across the border, but it certainly felt like a milestone for us as we enter the final section of the trip. There are still 4 days cycling to reach Fort William though, so were not becoming nostalgic just yet.

Into Scotland!

After a long stretch westwards from Gretna along a boring agricultural stretch we turned inland. Our route steadily became more undulating and we occasionally passed forests and estates. This was beginning, superficially at least, to look like the scotland i know from books, tv and film.

The campsite we found also conforms strictly to stereotypes, with a view over a Loch and a golf course. I can only hope the highlands reach my lofty expectations of stunning vistas and deep blue lochs.

Stats:
Distance: 105km
Average Speed: 20.1kph
Total distance: 494km
Midge count: 5/10

Rainy-ness: 2/10
Roadkill seen: 3 Hedgehogs, 2 Rabbits, 1 Badger :(

Day 6 - Great Langdale to Keswick

There really is no such thing as a rest day in the Lake District. We badly needed a break for our aching legs and blistered feet but still forced ourselves to cycle for two hours in the pouring rain to try to escape the mountain weather. Unsuccessfully, I might add.

Seathwaite, in the next valley over from our campsite, is apparently the rainiest village in the UK, with over 3 metres of rainfall every year. Thats about 10mm a day, or 5 times more than i'm used to in london and norwich. The mountains create their own micro weather system of wind and rain, and we were stuck in the middle of it. If we didnt get out, we would continue to be soaked each and every day.

So after a lie in (until 10am!) and a lazy morning, we assembled our things in the handy campsite Dry Room and got back in the saddle. It definitely felt like we were heading down river as we left the Langdale valley, still shrouded in cloud behind us. But after late lunch in Ambleside it was more up-hills over Cols and across hills. Wearing waterproofs, although great for keeping out water, is not ideal when cycling. The combination of sweat and rain means you quickly become soaked inside and out. Even the fast downhills offer no relief, as your sheer speed hurls raindrops at you like the strongest of showers. Not only is this wettening, it can also be dangerously blinding. We headed on in this fashion past Wordsworth's Grasmere and up to the distinctly Scottish-looking Therlmere (pictured in the rain, right)

The rain increased in heaviness and, dejected once again, we found the nearest campsite and set up our still-wet 2-man tent. We had the luxurious choice of two campsites. The first had a quaint hikers shop, quiet avenues of pitches and spotless facilities. The second was 3 pounds cheaper. Obvious, right? The water was a questionable colour, a 3-minute shower cost 50p and a pair of strange old woman appeared to be living under tarpaulines in the middle of the campsite. That 3 pounds goes a long way...

I am probably being harsh though. Unlike some campsites we have visited this site has warm showers, other people, relatively few midges, lovely views, washing & drying facilities which we gladly used, and a pub nearby, in which I sneakily charged my phone.

If the weather remains as forecast we may be able to escape the hellish Lake District tomorrow and enter Scotland. I honestly do not know how people can live in such rain-sodden mountains permanently and not become clinically depressed. I guess having large waterproof houses, and shiny metal cars with dry interiors must help. Lucky bastards.

Eerie red skies before the next long rain shower

Stats:
Distance: 36km
Total Distance: 389km

Hilliness: 6/10 (It was tough work for a short stage)
Raininess: 6/10 (Almost all day)
Optimism: 4/10

Day 5 - Scafell Pike

Memories are strange things. They can become distorted with time. For example, I remember trips to the lake district as great adventures under cloud-free blue skies and amazing views. Im sure there were horrible rainy days on that trip, but I cannot recall them. Today, however, is one horrible rainy day in the Lake District I will always remember.

The rain eases and we head towards Great Langdale

We checked the weather forecast the night before and found that a cloudy but dry day would await us in the morning. This optimism didnt last long though as we woke up at 7 to persistent drizzle. No matter, we thought, we only have a couple of hours of cycling to the next campsite and it's beginning to stop. It didnt. The next hour was spent climbing hill after hill in heavy rain. We were soaked again, but this time there seemed to be no end to the shower in sight.


Pulling in to a pub for a hot drink and some sneaky breakfast we checked the new forecast: Today: rain. Tomorrow: rain. Tuesday: rain. Sitting there, dejected, we seriously considered throwing in the towel. We could not cycle another mile in that downpour let alone another 450km. Had we really expected anything different from the UK?

But, as we planned for the worst the weather improved. Maybe, just maybe we would make it to our campsite and climb Englands highest mountain today as planned. Despite more drizzle the route to our campsite was a beautiful one and our spirits began to lift. And by the time we had arrived, put the tent up and had some lunch we had decided to go for it.

Setting off for Scafell Pike

The highest peaks of the Lake District were shrouded in cloud as we set off and we knew not to expect good weather on top. The 9km hike to the summit was split into two. The first section steeply climbed out of the Langdale valley up to a more gentle plateau. In the latter section we rose up inside the cloud over a labyrinth of razor-sharp rocks and false-summits. Up there all we saw beyond 10m away was a white wall of cloud. Other hikers occasionally emerged from the mist, but it really felt.like.we we were alone. Even with a detailed OS map and compass we were lucky to find the summit.

Unlike on Snowdon, there was no nice view from the top and the strong winds and frequent rain meant taking pictures was dangerous. It was also already 5pm by the time we reached the summit, and we needed to be down by 7.45 to watch the football.

The whited-out view from the top

Fuelled by chocoloate digestives and Sainsbury's midget gems we headed back down the scree slopes. After 6 hours of hiking we reached our bikes and, with shaking legs and tired heads, found the Dungeon Ghyll pub. After such a long day we definitely felt we deserved a hot meal, cold pint and proper sit down!

The forecast for tomorrow and our aching legs mean we will probably be taking an unscheduled rest day tomorrow and will attempt to reach the Scottish border by Tuesday evening. Weather permitting we will make Fort William (and Ben Nevis) by Saturday.

Stats:
Distance: 35km cycled, 21km walked.
Total distance: 353km
Average Speed: 16kph

Day 4 - Preston to the Lake District

# Lack of Orange 3G signal means this wasnt published until Sunday night. Apologies. #

The days route complete with an uber-hilly last 25km 

Some touring cyclists might say that taking a train to avoid a 25km round-trip is cheating. We, however, see it as just... opportunistic.

The morning was spent dodging rain showers as we moved up through Preston and followed the M6. A similar route is taken by Lands End to John O'Groats cyclists, a few of which we passed and met on Lancashire's back-streets. Im not saying theres such a thing as tour-envy, but LE-JOG is certainly more impressive than our route.

The incriminating train journey took place just north of Lancaster, where we had stopped for a late lunch and met up with Vicky, probably the only person we know living on our long route to Scotland. Having set off along back roads northwards we noticed that the route to the southern tip of the lake district needed a huge detour inland around a wide estuary. The local train, however, took a serious short-cut and hopped across the river in 10 minutes. Without much deliberation we decided to pay the £1.20 and enter Cumbria in style.

The sunny view from Arnside Station towards the 23km round trip we avoided.

Sometimes opinions of things can change extremely rapidly. Take my thoughts on Cumbria today, for example. We had just arrived in Grange-by-Sands, a busy and picturesque sort of place stuck between a steep hillside and the sea. Maybe it was the sun on the well-kept trees and bushes, maybe it was the bustling streets, but whatever it was - I liked the feeling of the place. Cumbria, I decided, was my kind of county. Fifteen minutes of jelly-legged, 15-percent-gradient hill-climbing later the honeymoon period was over and I was hurling abuse at the place. Steep hills definitely aren't a cyclists best friend.

The final hour of cycling was spent getting lost in Cumbrias rolling hills. The great thing about getting lost while cycling in england is that all it takes in a 20 second glance at google maps and you're back on your way again. We finally struggled up a long dirt track to our campsite of choice and, having paid, found a slug-filled empty field with a metal shipping container for a toilet block. Exchanging nervous glances we explored the loo block and found the nicest (and free-est) hot showers we have encountered thus far. I guess, with toilets and counties alike, first impressions arent always insightful.

Tomorrow we cycle 30km to our campsite in the langdale valley and spend the next 6 hours climbing England's highest point - Scafell Pike.

Stats:
Distance: 104km
Total Distance: 320km
Average speed: 18.5kph

Rain score: 2/10.
Cumbrian slugs squished: 23.

Day 3 - Chester to Southport

Day 3 of 'Hugh's Attempt To Grow A Beard', er, i mean 'Hugh and Catherine's Three Peaks Cycle'. And both are coming along nicely!

The day's 97km ride into Lancashire

After leaving our campsite at 10, we breakfasted by a roman amphitheatre in Chester and headed northwards towards the Mersey. Cheshire, depite being almost as far north as Sheffield, tries its hardest to seem like Hampshre with quaint villages covered in bunting and more badly-driven range rovers than the top gear car-park. Across the Mersey things felt distinctly more northern though, with unintelligible scouse accents and big, grey council estates the norm.

That's not to say that crossing the Mersey was an easy thing to do. The whole region was criss-crossed by motorways, train tracks, industrial estates and rivers - all of which are barriers to bikes. We eventually found a route onto the bridge, but quickly found ourselves in the middle of four lanes of traffic chaos, no bike lane in sight. Thankfully we survived the ordeal and enteted Merseyside.

Once out of the chaos of Widnes we found some nice country lanes and headed north. We stopped for lunch after a bit of a climb and could still see the hills and mountains of north wales that we left behind the day before.

Every day a touring cyclist burns about 3000 calories in the saddle, which all need to be replaced somehow. In the afternoon we decided, in true english style, that this was a hole only tea and scones could fill. Luckily the nearest pub supplied us with an afternoon feast fit for a cycling king.

The last 20km were flat, cloudy and open; almost like we were back in boring Norfolk. We crossed the third motorway of the day and entered Lancashire. After some confusion we found a campsite for the night just west of Preston. The campsite was run by two of the nicest people in the world. They took us in, put the kettle on and showed us the way to the nearest shop. Despite the lack of a shower block and high number of midges, how could we really say no to this lovely old couple? I do hope all northern people are this lovely, and its just us folk in the south who are such callous, cold-hearted bastards.

Stats:
Todays distance: 91km.
Average speed: 19.1km.
Total distance ridden: 216km.

Sunburn score: 4/10.
Midge count: 5/10.
Rain level: 1/10 (One shower all day!)

Beard index: 4/10 (getting there).

Dinner in the sun.

Day 2 - Llanberis to Chester

Map of the day's 109km ride with two category 3 climbs!

After such a nice day yesterday, today was always going to be a disappointment. But we did not expect the biblical rainstorm that drenched us to the bone just as we started the days cycling.

We had set off, after a late start, at about 11, stopping for a pastry-filled breakfast in Llanberis at the bottom of the hill. After waiting for another shower to subside, we started off to the south east towards Pen-Y-Pas, a 300m col. Only a few minutes later though, the heavens opened again. The entire road surface was covered in an inch of water, itself being bombarded by millions of huge rain drops, almost deafening the sound of distant thunder. The barren gullies in the steep mountains on either side gushed with raging water. In some places these streams of water collided with the wall at the roadside, cascading onto the slope and turning into half-river, half-road. Such an awesome sight almost made up for such a thorough soaking.

Escaping the rain...

After gratefully finding a bus stop for shelter, we waited out the rest of the downpour to ease off and continued slowly (or, for the welsh speakers among you, 'araf-ly') up the hill. We then descended through a cloud-filled valley and almost 5km of lush forest into Betws-y-Coed.

Cyclists more than anyone (except frequent Little Chef visitors) know that what goes down must come back up. We rose up from 'Betsy' for almost 20km through rolling moorland before, joy of joys, another long and pedal-free downhill. By this stage we had left the rainclouds behind us and were racing into glorious sunshine. This helped to dry us out no end, but rain penetrates deeper than rays, and by the time we found a campsite just south of Chester, we found most of the stuff in both panniers was soaked.

At the campsite we set the tent out, strung up a washing line to dry the wet gear and started on another pasta dinner. In search of something to wash down another bland meal, and somewhere to watch the Germany-Italy game, we headed to another village pub. In contrast to the night before this place was a posh affair, with wooden beams, pretentious artwork and expensive pints (This is England, after all!). And after a day of cycling, a good pint seems to go straight to your head, I can tell you.

Calorie-filled dinner at the campsite

All in all, it was an epic days cycle. Despite the hills (a full 1400m of uphill) we managed 105km in about 6 hours. With breaks discounted thats an average of 19kph - not bad for the first true day of cycling. If we keep this up, we will be in sight of Scafell Pike by Saturday! Tomorrow should be a much flatter day as we head up beyond Liverpool to just south of Preston.

Stats:
Distance: 109km
Total Distance: 129km

Day 1: London to Bangor to Llanberis to Snowdon

One day done, one peak climbed. All is going nicely to plan so far!

The short 17km cycle to Llanberis (^)
and the 15km walk to Snowdon (v)

It started at the eye-watering time of 6am, an hour few students ever see. After a few nervy moments in euston at 7.30 where my bikes presence on the platform could be questioned at any minute, I boarded a train bound for Bangor (via Crewe), meeting Catherine at Watford.

Arriving in dreary Bangor we found the nearest supermarket and bought some ingredients for the classic touring cyclist meals: Lunch - baguette, ham and cheese. Dinner - pasta, tomato sauce and tuna. Oh and plenty of sugar for emergencies.

The 20km cycle from Bangor to Llanberis was a hilly affair, but the growing mountains on the horizon seemed to lure us in. Catherine's bike, only fully reassembled the previous evening, was changing gears like a morris minor. This slowed us up, but we were still able to get to our campsite at the foot of Wales highest mountain by 2.30.

The 144 megapixel panorama I created of the summit of Snowdon

3 o'clock was very late to contemplate climbing the 9km up to snowdons peak though, and with the summit covered in a thin layer of cloud, we debated putting the ascent off until tomorrow. But we decided to try for the climb today, and boy were we glad of our decision. Not long up the path the clouds lifted and bathed the valley (and only this one valley it seemed) in glorious sunshine. This good weather persisted for almost the entire route up- and I didnt even think of bringing my suncream! After a 2 and a half hour walk, we were rewarded with astounding views from the top, with 5 deep craggy valleys spread about the summit on all sides, bounded by rocky aretes partly hidden by cloud. Stopping by the trig point on top, we met a fellow hiker.  "Its great to be the highest point in England, isnt it?". We nodded and quietly laughed at his ignorance.

The descent along the funicular track was fast and boring and after a quick shower and meal we cycled down the hill to a pub to watch the football. Pub is a bit strong - the only place showing it was an unwelcoming sports bar filled with tight-eyed, welsh-speaking locals. It made me realise, you dont have to go far out of London to make the UK seem like an entirely different country. And thats exactly why we're here.

One down, two to go!

Last Minute Preparations

In less than 48 hours Catherine and I will be on a train to Bangor with enough camping gear to stall a minivan. With that in mind, you'd think I would have bought essential items, fixed my bike and planned the route by now; but you would be wrong. The list of things to do over the next two days is growing by the hour. It includes: buy helmet, repair spare inner tubes, cut hair, sew up the hole in my pannier, download audiobooks, do a 50 mile training ride, etc...

But at least some things have been ticked off the list. Finding campsites and planning routes is coming along well, and I am assembling them all into one google mega-map. On Saturday I managed a 92km training ride around London's northern green belt. I have even tested out updating this blog from my phone, although I still need to find a way of attaching the bottle dynamo that is supposed to charge it as we ride. Catherine has also obtained the OS maps we need to safely climb Snowdon, Scafell and Ben Nevis.


One important factor in this trip will be the weather. We are going to be travelling through some of the rainiest places in the UK at the end of one of the wettest months on record. However, the 14 day forecast for Cumbria (incredibly inaccurate as it is, especially coming from the shady metcheck.com) looks pretty good. We can only hope it stays this blue by the time we get to the lake district.

There is still so much more to do, so I shall get to it. The next time I post we may have climbed all 1085m Snowdon has to offer.

The Plan

Welcome to our (clichéd) travel blog!

Climbing the three highest peaks in England, Scotland and Wales has long been a classic British mountaineering challenge. Every year hundreds of people attempt to summit Snowden (1085m), Scafell Pike (978m) and Ben Nevis (1344m) in under 24 hours. But that challenge involves a single day cooped up inside a car driving away from some of the most beautiful regions in the UK, which frankly doesn't sound much fun at all. Instead myself and my sister Catherine will be cycling from Snowden in North Wales, up to Scafell Pike in the Lake District and further north to Ben Nevis in the heart of the Scottish Highlands.

I hear the obvious question being asked: Why? We are not doing this gruelling task for charity or out of necessity. Instead it is just a cheap, exciting holiday to the mountains which, being from pancake-flat Norfolk, we don't get to see a whole lot of. We both have done some cycle touring before: last year Catherine took her bike back from Budapest and I zigzagged down the French coast from Cherbourg to Bordeaux. So I hope that will stand us in good stead for what will be a very hilly (and almost certainly very wet) ride.

This trip starts early on the 27th of June 2012 when we will arrive Bangor and begin the challenge with the ascent of Snowdon. The plan is then to get to the Lake District in three days to climb Scafell Pike on the 1st of July before cycling the final 400km into the Scottish highlands to tackle Ben Nevis on the 6th of July. This is still an open event, and if anyone fancies a bit of hiking and cycling please feel free to join in!

The next couple of weeks will involve getting kit together, printing maps, planning routes, searching for campsites and doing a few practice rides!

I hope to post on most days during the ride, partly to keep friends and family updated, but mostly just as a record of this adventure for myself so in ten years time I can look back on it and say "Why the hell did I do that?".