ridden Grisedale a few times before and knew what was ahead, so we took it
easy. Good teamwork got us down the technical rocky descent in one piece,
with Mark illuminating my way while I shouted back warnings.
Dripping wet, we arrived at the White Lion to be greeted by worried staff. It was
10 past 8 and I’d told them to expect us by late afternoon. I can’t thank them
enough for how they looked after us. In no time we were sat, stuffing down
food and drinking beer, toasting our achievement and reflecting on a brutal
first day. It had taken 10 hours to complete 38 miles. The route guide warned it
could take up to 12 hours. If we’d read it more closely we would have set off
earlier (10hrs, 38miles, 7490ft.).
easy. Good teamwork got us down the technical rocky descent in one piece,
with Mark illuminating my way while I shouted back warnings.
Dripping wet, we arrived at the White Lion to be greeted by worried staff. It was
10 past 8 and I’d told them to expect us by late afternoon. I can’t thank them
enough for how they looked after us. In no time we were sat, stuffing down
food and drinking beer, toasting our achievement and reflecting on a brutal
first day. It had taken 10 hours to complete 38 miles. The route guide warned it
could take up to 12 hours. If we’d read it more closely we would have set off
earlier (10hrs, 38miles, 7490ft.).
Me and my mate Mark sat out the fantastic summer of 2006, each with a broken wrist. After crawling the
walls a big ride was needed. A ride to define our year rather than it being our injuries. It had to be multi-
day and the classic Coast to Coast from St Bees to Robin Hood’s Bay seemed the obvious choice. Sat
comfortably at home the five-day crossing looked too easy, so we planned for four. With the
accommodation booked all that was left was to pare the kit down to fit in our backpacks.
walls a big ride was needed. A ride to define our year rather than it being our injuries. It had to be multi-
day and the classic Coast to Coast from St Bees to Robin Hood’s Bay seemed the obvious choice. Sat
comfortably at home the five-day crossing looked too easy, so we planned for four. With the
accommodation booked all that was left was to pare the kit down to fit in our backpacks.
Chester via Carlisle to St Bees (02-10-06)
Despite chaos caused by a signal failure and train services that didn’t want to
carry bikes we arrived in Carlisle at 4pm. Only an hour late, we had enough
time for a warm-up ride to St Bees. On the outskirts of Carlisle a heavy shower
soaked us to the skin and there was a headwind the whole way. We never did
get that warm. The road was also the main route for wagons heading for the
ferry. We got a tow off each one, which was more then welcome, until a sign
informed us 1260 people had died on the road in the last five years. It was a
sobering thought. An ominous view of the Northern Lakes, with rain clouds
obscuring the peaks, didn’t help. We arrived in St Bees just after sunset, ready
for some food and beer to celebrate our safe arrival and my Birthday, before
getting our heads down (3hrs 15min; 42miles; 2855ft).
St Bees – Patterdale (03-10-06)
There were 38 miles and four passes to cover on our way to Patterdale. Thankfully a tail wind and blue
skies helped us along the cyclepath to the mountains. A group of roadies starting their own Coast to
Coast, enquired about our route. With raised eyebrows they wished us luck.
Our legs were soon burning on the first,
wet grassy climb. But the mountain views
were stunning and it felt great to have four
days of riding ahead of us. This was all
forgotten on the descent when a wrong
turn put us into a marsh. After wading
through ankle deep water and jumping a
few deep streams we rejoined the
bridleway, only to find it disappeared. In
the end a footpath had to be blagged.
Thinking our initial trails were over I heard a shout from behind. 80mm SIDs and
a heavy pack had sent Mark over the bars for the second or third time. He’d
landed heavily on his still healing wrist and, even though he escaped injury, the
crash shook us both up. Our adventure could have been over before it started,
best be more careful.
a heavy pack had sent Mark over the bars for the second or third time. He’d
landed heavily on his still healing wrist and, even though he escaped injury, the
crash shook us both up. Our adventure could have been over before it started,
best be more careful.
Now behind time we headed
straight up the Honnister Pass.
The final part of the climb was evil,
I could see cars crawling down not
daring to gain any speed. To my
eyes it seemed impossible but I
kept pushing the peddles. I barely
made it up without stopping to find
Mark with his camera out, smiling,
ready to record my state of
distress.
straight up the Honnister Pass.
The final part of the climb was evil,
I could see cars crawling down not
daring to gain any speed. To my
eyes it seemed impossible but I
kept pushing the peddles. I barely
made it up without stopping to find
Mark with his camera out, smiling,
ready to record my state of
distress.
way to long sections of pushing and carrying. Trudging our way up the rocky
trail we spotted a fox flying down the fell, a pack of dogs on its tail. It streaked
past close by on its way to the next ridge. Although I wished the fox well I didn’
t want the dogs to loose the scent and turn their attention to easier prey. We
were starting to tire and wouldn’t be able to put up much of a fight.
trail we spotted a fox flying down the fell, a pack of dogs on its tail. It streaked
past close by on its way to the next ridge. Although I wished the fox well I didn’
t want the dogs to loose the scent and turn their attention to easier prey. We
were starting to tire and wouldn’t be able to put up much of a fight.
Climbing from false crest to false crest,
the trail got steeper the higher we went.
Staring in disbelief at the final section, a
vertical looking scree slope, a couple of
walkers assured us there was a trail.
Switching to autopilot we hauled our bikes
up the slope one step at a time and finally
made the top. After an hour and a half of
the trail got steeper the higher we went.
Staring in disbelief at the final section, a
vertical looking scree slope, a couple of
walkers assured us there was a trail.
Switching to autopilot we hauled our bikes
up the slope one step at a time and finally
made the top. After an hour and a half of
climbing we stopped and took 5 minutes to survey what we’d just conquered.
The descent started out steep and Mark walked the trickiest parts. He’d lost
some confidence and couldn’t risk hurting his wrist. It was disheartening to hit
bogs when the trail levelled off as we weren’t making the progress we’d
expected. On the point of despair the trail dried up. At last we felt the wind
rush past and, blasting down through rocks, we left the slog behind.
The descent started out steep and Mark walked the trickiest parts. He’d lost
some confidence and couldn’t risk hurting his wrist. It was disheartening to hit
bogs when the trail levelled off as we weren’t making the progress we’d
expected. On the point of despair the trail dried up. At last we felt the wind
rush past and, blasting down through rocks, we left the slog behind.
Arriving in Grasmere a little after 5pm we had completely run out of water and
energy. Fizzy drinks and chocolate were inhaled after a raid on the local shop.
On the wave of a sugar rush we weighed up our options. There were less than
two hours of sunlight and one more big pass to climb. Staying in Grasmere
would disrupt our plans too much. There was nothing for it but to press on.
The torture was dialled up to 11 when the rocky climb gave way to a steep
grassy push. The spongy ground sapped any remaining energy and I had to
stop every twenty paces to find the strength to carry on. Mark helped how he
could and gave me his much lighter bike, but I still hurt, mentally and
physically. Halfway up the rocks returned and I found I could cope again. Even
turning a corner to find another big climb, I didn’t whimper too much.
energy. Fizzy drinks and chocolate were inhaled after a raid on the local shop.
On the wave of a sugar rush we weighed up our options. There were less than
two hours of sunlight and one more big pass to climb. Staying in Grasmere
would disrupt our plans too much. There was nothing for it but to press on.
The torture was dialled up to 11 when the rocky climb gave way to a steep
grassy push. The spongy ground sapped any remaining energy and I had to
stop every twenty paces to find the strength to carry on. Mark helped how he
could and gave me his much lighter bike, but I still hurt, mentally and
physically. Halfway up the rocks returned and I found I could cope again. Even
turning a corner to find another big climb, I didn’t whimper too much.
| Waiting for the train at Chester station |
Getting ready to set of into the unknown
| Mark heading towards the mountains on Cycle Route 71 |
| Me climbing Banna Fell |
| Dropping to Ennerdale Water |
| Me at the start of the Flouton Tarn descent, the first of the crossing |
| Mark and Me negotiating the bog (swamp??) after a wrong turn |
| Mark riding beside Buttermere |
| I made it up but it wasn't pretty |
| Mark at the top of the Honnister Pass |
Greenup Edge was next and the riding gave
| The start of Greenup Edge |
| Mark begins the assent |
Fighting my way up the climb
| The final carry up the scree |
| The fantastic view after 1hr30mins of climbing |
| Mark standing behind the results of my feeding frenzy |
On reaching the summit the sun had set and it
started raining. As Mark rigged our only light to his
helmet we had to laugh, this was madness. I had
| The face of pain |
| www.flattyresmtbroutes.com |