Dales and Lakes Bicycle Tour 2020: Day 2

 

Up on the Coal Road

The Coal Road beckoned and it was an early start with lots to do before breaking camp. Brew and breakfast sorted I went over to investigate the shower block, a shed-like brick building next to the farmhouse. Facilities are very basic at Ewegale's Farm. The shower needed coins which I didn’t have. I just used the cold water and soap from the sink to wash down. The water was coming direct from the beck running down the hill and was very peaty. A sign warned to boil it before drinking. I collected a bottle of it from the stand pipe outside and returned.

The three hikers had stirred and they kindly offered to give me some coins for the shower. I said I was fine. They were walking the Dales Way and were not hanging around too long either. At camp I filtered the water with a funnel and carbon paper and boiled up for another cuppa. What I did not do was go back for more water! Always get more water no matter how big and steep the hills are.

Another fine view from the Coal Road

I got away around 10am and made the short distance to the turn up the Old Coal Road to Garsdale Head. At first the gradient was not too severe and I could keep going in my lowest gear, but the hill kept rising, the steep gradient sustained. I was not that used to hauling camping gear on the back of a bike. The previous day had not been particularly hilly and very little out of saddle riding was required. Eventually I had to stand up on the pedals but even so I ran out of momentum.

By Dent Station

I struggled to balance the bike with it being loaded mostly at the back.  I pushed the rest of the way until reaching Dent Station. I thought I might get a bottle of water but there was no shop and no obvious sign of staff about. The Sun was coming up nicely and it was getting warm. Walking up the hill was hard work too and I had already used up much of my water. 

Looking back across Dentdale

That was far from the end of the climbing, nowhere near the top in fact, but it was more rolling past the station. The occasional pitch was still very steep and I was getting the knack at dancing on the pedals with the loaded bike, improving my balance with each short climb. I didn't need to push anymore. As the summit approached, I was right there in the thick of the Pennines. Mostly alone with just a few passing cars. There is something very spiritual about these hills. You know they carry a lot of history: Celts, Romans, Navvies, Miners. Magnificent.

Of course, after such a long uphill climb the long descent down to the Sedbergh-Hawes road was never going to be less than spectacular. However, my water bottle was getting lower still and the heat of the day was rising to scorching level as mid-day loomed.

The A684 was not too busy and gave a great view of Garsdale Head viaduct. My plan was to turn off up the B6259 to Kirkby Stephen and stay at the Pennine View camp ground for the night. For lunch I could stop at The Moorcock Inn on the corner. On arriving there it took me a while to see the “Closed Tuesdays” sign. I hope I didn’t offend the couple parked nearby with my utterances.

As I stood pondering what to do, another car pulled over and a guy got out to look around. In his distinctive Aussie drawl, he asked me if the pub was open. I said it wasn’t and that I had just been swearing out loud profusely because of that. His lady companion sat in the car found this highly amusing. Business idea: operate catering van in remote parts of The Yorkshire Dales on Mondays and Tuesdays.

The sign at the junction indicated eleven miles to Kirkby Stephen up a steep hill. It was only five miles to Hawes along more rolling terrain. Hawes it was. My route was being dictated by my water supply (or lack of it). The route to Hawes was now quite busy and not all that rolling in places as it turned out! When I got there, the place was choc-a-bloc. Heaving. The honey-pot overflowing.

I found The Crown Inn on the main street and shared an outside table with some bikers as I tucked into a massive veggie burger and chunky wedges (with salad too of course). This brought some shakes of the head from the friendly bikers who thought my afternoon ride a tad optimistic after that lot. I also imbibed a couple of pints of beer while I was at it and they went down oh so very smoothly.

After consulting maps and mobile I came up with a revised plan for the afternoon. Shap was to be my new target or Croft House Campsite at Rosgill to be precise. I contacted the proprietors and gave them an eta of six o’clock that evening. Having driven past it many times before I was looking forward to my stay. Back-tracking to the Aisgill junction by the closed pub (Moorcock Inn) I would then head towards Kirkby Stephen on the Mallerstang Road (B6295) over Aisgill Moor, turning off at Outghill. I studied the route while savouring my second pint.

After filling my water bottles in the pub and picking up supplies from the shop opposite I retraced my pedal strokes through the sizzling streets of Hawes. Connecting to the Sedbergh road (A684), I began the gradual climb up to the junction; the steeper sections would be downhill in this direction. It’s actually a really nice A-road to ride in terms of both the road surface and the scenery. The traffic was less busy that way too and I made good time in spite of lunch (wrong bikers!).

Back at the junction I began climbing up the long but not severely steep road over Aisgill Fell. At the top I got my first view of the extremely well named Upper Eden Valley. It was belting hot now, the Sun sitting right above the valley, blasting straight down it.

Three times during the ascent I had to stop and clear stones stuck on my front tyre that were catching on the mudguard, trapped in sun-melted tacky black tarmac. The official temperature was 23C but it was much hotter than that in direct sunlight and hot enough to soften the road surface obviously.

                                          

Another one of those awe-inspiring descents brought me to the remains of Pendragon Castle, shortly before my Outhgill turn. I had to take a closer look and was joined there by a retired couple who had just driven up to escape the hullabaloo in Hawes. They kindly took some photographs, including some of me pratting about in front of the castle Monty Python style. Maybe I should’ve been checking out the details of my route to Rosgill instead.

  

 

Pendragon Castle in the Upper Eden Valley

                                        

Back on the bike I made my turn and began another ascent up the ruggedly remote, beautifully bleak, stunningly serene mountain road crossing Wharton Fell, the narrow track twisting and turning like a mini alpine pass as it snaked away back up the Howgills.  Tiredness must have been creeping in after so much steep climbing but the inspiring nature of the landscape had an anaesthetising effect that masked any fatigue I may have felt.

Crossing Wharton Fell

At the top I reached a T-junction and I paused briefly to consider the choices. I wasn’t sure. I couldn’t remember the route I had planned earlier. I knew I had to go West so chose to use that great beacon in the sky as my guide. I turned left.

It was another quiet A-road (A683) with a quality road surface. I was captivated by it all and locked onto the Sun like a suicidal moth in the moonlight. I will soon pick-up a signpost for Shap I told myself. No really, just around the next corner. I will.

I did not. I did see signs for Flass, Stennerskeugh , Lattera and other small settlements with unpronounceable Celtic names, as if I had ventured into a foreign land or been transported to an ancient Lost Kingdom.  It was such an amazing road I didn’t care about being lost and was happy to keep riding until I came to some where I could recognise. Which I did eventually. Sedbergh! Oops! Idiot.  

I knew I had needed to make a turn through Ravenstonedale to get further North before turning West for Shap, but I’d forgotten, allowing myself to be carried away sundowning. Typical. I didn’t even find the Holy Grail.

Sedbergh had a street sign that indicated a camp ground that accepted tents and after a little scouting I made my way to the Pinfold Caravan Park. I spoke to the chilled-out warden at reception who was initially unsure when I asked for a pitch. He paused and thought a moment then asked,

 “Just you, one tent, one night?”.

 I confirmed and he said that it would be okay, charging me £10. He led me out to a small stretch of neatly manicured green grass, tucked beside rows of caravans one side, the River Rawthey t’other.

“You pitch it here” he said definitely.

“I am expecting a couple of others but they have not shown up yet”.

The pitch was just a few yards from a deluxe wash room block. Immaculately clean, warm showers, heaters and hair dryers. I was a tiny bit down after my wrong turn and at first considered ending my tour the next day. But at least I had landed on my feet.

The plush caravan site also had a decent phone signal so I was able to notify Croft House of my woes and check up on the weather. The forecast was blue skies and warm day-time temperatures for the rest of the week and into the next weekend. I decided to keep the tour rolling for as long as the weather held good. I could have an unrushed morning the next day, get some clothes washed and dried, then make for Rosgill in the afternoon.

The two other campers arrived before dusk and pitched up next to me. They were walking the Dales Way and had booked the trip weeks before. They were delighted to be not needing their rain jackets. I fired up my Kelly Kettle and cooked up some couscous topped up with the chorizo and veg I had bought in Hawes, washing it down with the usual green tea.

I tucked into my sleeping bag and began to drift away when I sensed a big fish lurking in the dark pool running a few yards behind me. I’m was sure it was the one…zzzzzzzzzz….

 

Day 2 Route

Day 3