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 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!