Mountain bike ride over Salter Fell, Forest of Bowland, Lancashire, England

The long and winding road over Salter Fell

I wrestled the OS map to the floor and fully spread it over the carpet. It covered Lancashire’s Forest of Bowland region, and I was skimming over it seeking out potential rides for a sunnier day in the future.  The wind and rain were doing their worst that August Bank Holiday afternoon. On finding the Hornby Road (Track) marked on the map I immediately thought that, on a bluebird-day, this would make for a fantastic day out on a suitable bicycle.

After a little research it turned out that I had “discovered” an old drovers trail from Hornby to Slaidburn and that it followed the route of the old Roman road from Ribchester for much of the way. It also turned out to be a well-known route in mountain-biking circles known as The Salter Fell Track.

Roll on five or six years and in early June of this year (2020), on the last day of a warm and sunny settled period of weather, I set out from Lancaster to ride over Salter Fell to Slaidburn with the return leg of the journey via the Trough of Bowland.

I was not sure if I had the fitness to complete the trip that early in the year, but I was determined to make the most of  what could be the last sunshiny day for a while, following a diet of  shorter and much colder lockdown rides over the previous two months. I had a mild bout of “the virus” in March and experienced some after-effects that limited how much time I could spend a-wheel, but I had been building mileage and getting much stronger more recently. I could really have done with a few more weeks preparation could I not? It was a glorious day, so I decided to go for it.

A few days earlier I had ridden up into Roeburndale to recce the start of the ride and to make sure that me, my lungs and my bicycle were up to the hefty climb on to High Salter. My lungs were fine that very hot day, but my gears were slipping a few cogs on the very steepest sections of road. In the ensuing days a drivetrain inspection revealed no serious wear and tear so I gave it a thorough  clean and tightened the tension on my gear cable to hopefully keep the low gear in place when it was needed most.

The first part of the outward journey was warm-up-pleasingly flat, following the Lune Valley cycle path from Lancaster to Bull Beck. After a short stretch on the A683 Kirkby Lonsdale road I made the right-turn towards Wray/Bentham. The road remained flattish here as it twisted its way towards the outskirts of Hornby and the right-turn up Roeburndale Road. Here the road immediately kicked up steeply and a series of seemingly ever steeper and longer climbs took me all the way up to High Salter Farm. Luckily, in this direction, the steepest double-chevron-worthy section is downhill, so that was my brakes well tested too. My gears were behaving themselves now, so all was well. During this ascent I stopped several times for the spectacular vistas across Roeburndale to the Dales; the three peaks of Ingleborough, Whernside and Pen-y-ghent erupting with Yorkshire pride in the spring sunshine.

The Dales erupt with Yorkshire pride

On passing through the farmyard at High Salter the tarmac ran out and the off-road adventure began. Here the path was gravel in nature and made for easy riding on chunky all-round tyres. At the farm I had noticed a stack of white gravel bales, so it was clear that the track, at least this part of it, was routinely looked after. Soon a young farmer appeared driving his quad bike along the track in the opposite direction with a woolly-looking hitchhiker in the back. I smiled and waved at him. He returned in kind, the farmer that is. The track was flat at first but stretched out winding up over the fell in the distance. The long and winding road over Salter Fell. The track also passes over Croasdale and Catlow fells.

Looking back to the farm at High Salter 

I knew I had a majestic day ahead of me with inspirational views across to the White Rose county in the East and the menacing Bowland ridge to the West with Ward’s Stone, the highest point in the Bowland fells, standing guard over the whole scene.  A mountain rescue helicopter showed over the western ridge quartering Wolfhole Crag and Ward’s Stone before slipping away stealthily over Blanch Fell (after realizing that I was appropriately dressed and that my bike was up to the task in hand). My expectation chalice was overflowing as I recalled that soggy August afternoon a few years back spent scouring the map on my hands and knees, mesmerized by the concept and shear adventure of being able to ride a humble bicycle along such a fantastic route. Reality was exceeding the anticipation I had felt then and lived with all the time since. I was incredibly happy about that indeed.

As the route approached the summit of Salter Fell, I stopped off at Grinding Stone Rocks to rest up, eat a sandwich or two and take some time to completely max-out on the surroundings. The course of the Roman Road feeds into the track near here, veering off down the valley towards Wray in the North. My imagination was running away with me but there was no sign of any  Centurions or of their eponymous road either for that matter. I could make out some cobblestones under the gravel, but they looked like the Victorian type I have seen in nearby towns, but I am not an archaeologist. The rocks provided welcome shelter from the cooling breeze while I was stationary, but I couldn't resist climbing up on top to take it all in…breath-taking. Views to stay alive for.

At Grinding Stone Rocks

The lumpy, dusty, easy-riding path continued for a few kilometres. There was one short section where I could get no traction on the steep and deep almost-liquid-like loose scree. Eventually, I came to a gate that signified change.

More rugged on the Ribble watershed side of the trail

"Things are different the other side of this gate” I thought. Gone was the maintained off-white gravel and in its place a more rugged, earthier, rockier, boulder-strewn affair. There were some areas that still had significant flooding despite the lack of rain and sustained hot early Spring weather. The flooded sections were short and easily bypassed. The track here had deep tractor-tyre-gouged craters with festering muddy-black water nestled in the bottom, shell-hole like. “If I was an Atherton on a full suspension mountain bike, I’d make mincemeat of that” I thought (Rachel or Gee that is, not Michael although I’m sure he can ride a bike just fine too). As it was me on a well-serviced second-hand all-steel off-road-effort, I decide to walk this section. I had bought the bike from a dealer for under £100 a few months before. An expensive mountain bike is not necessary for this type of ride. A well maintained and serviced bike is all that is needed together with some suitably sturdy off-road capable tyres.

A series of gates are spaced along the track

Another difference I noticed was the surrounding hillside: far fewer sheep and an abundance of heather. The other side of the gate was clearly sheep-farming country but here the land looked like it was set up for grouse shooting. I realised that in going through that gate I had crossed a great divide. That is, the becks were now feeding into the River Ribble whereas previously they headed for the River Lune.

The path more rugged

I made my way carefully along this trickier part of the route, riding when I considered it safe to do so but quite often getting off to walk through a minefield of ruts, mud and boulders. I was mostly walking this section. Eventually I came to a point where another track led off to the west in the direction of Baxton Hill up to a smart-looking brick-building. I assumed this to be the hunting lodge used for the grouse shoots. The track improved after this point and I graduated to more bike riding than walking. Then, after some deceptively false flats, the track swept round and down, the Upper Ribble Valley coming into full view with the distinctive features of Pendle Hill in the distance on the far side of the delightfully luxuriant green pastureland. A squadron of RAF Hawk jets roared over the eastern flank, diverting my focus for a moment as they made a couple of all-too-short terrain-hugging, camera-defying passes of the valley. Mission accomplished.

The riding was getting easier now and became really inviting when the harsh stones and rugged channels were swapped for neat, ochre-tinged, earth-grey gravel that looked as if it were formed from one hundred thousand smashed up plant pots all laid down neatly, then steamrollered down especially for me and my bike. At the top of this terra-cotta section a dutiful RSPB warden was parked up in his wagon surveying the moorland, keeping a protective eye on the hen harriers, lapwing, grouse and such-like. I felt I should stop and chat to him, but he was obviously fully engrossed, tranquil and at peace with the surroundings, so I let him be. On reflection I realize he would have almost certainly welcomed genuine interest in his work. Next time.

On the trail of witches!

I could relax a lot more from here and just enjoy the descent down to Slaidburn, passing marker posts for the Witches 400 trail confirmed I was on-track and before long I came across an unfamiliar sight…tarmac. It had taken two hours twenty minutes to complete the off-road crossing of the Bowland Fells. In truth the road that leads down Woodhouse Lane was also pretty-rugged; mountain-bike-worthy in itself, with much loose dirt-gravel covering the surface.

When I reached the road junction I stopped to rest, get my bearings and take on some vitals. Of course, what I really fancied was a well-earned pint of best, but it was lockdown! I also took the opportunity to pump some air into my tyres for the all-road journey home. Navigating was easy from here, I just had to follow the sun! “Now it’s the warm down ride through the Trough of Bowland” I kidded myself.

I cruised the sublime, virtually car-free, lanes to Dunsop Bridge and then began snaking up through The Trough itself. All was well for a while after a series of short-sharp steeps and I stopped beside Langden Brook to snap photographs of the exquisitely-picturesque-countryside. I had recently watched an episode of Poirot (essential lockdown viewing!) in which I was sure the Trough of Bowland delivered a BAFTA worthy performance, expertly doubling up for The Lake District. Luckily, my memory bank had deselected the lengthy and steep Grey Stone climb that marks the geographical boundary from the Ribble watershed over into Wyresdale.

 I struggled on that hill. My legs were fine, but my cardiovascular system was not. I could not generate enough power, at least not sufficient to maintain anything that may remotely be disguised as speed. My right lung, still slightly immune-system-damaged after a suspected bout of Covid-19* in March 2020, was straining to function on all cylinders, a problem I had experienced more severely on less demanding rides a few weeks previously. I climbed off and walked up to the top of Grey Stone, checking out commemorative plaques to former cycling champion Bill Bradley (Tour of Britain winner ’59 and ’60) and “the legendary Jack Thompson”. Did they ride this on a 42/25 gear ratio? I had done it from the other direction on 34/25 a few years before in a sportive event (Forest of Bowland Sportive, April 2017). On this day I was struggling on 28/30.

Happily, I then had the sweeping, wide-grin-inducing descent into Wyresdale that gleefully ate up the road, locating me a few miles from home with Tardis-like efficiency. There were still a few hills to contend with, including Jubilee Tower and Quernmore, so I made the pragmatic decision to walk all the up-hills from here in. I was sure in doing that I would still be able to make it back in daylight, all-be-it of the fading kind!

After over eight hours on the ride and with half an hour of daylight to spare, I made it back home; exhausted, exhilarated, slaked.

Hope it rains next August Bank Holiday!

Route

 

*(Okay I was never tested; it was most definitely a nasty deep lung

   affecting virus with long lasting side effects…any offers?)