Day 12 Windermere to Scorton

After a relaxing rest day, and some much needed bike maintenance, I was away by 8am, taking a cycle path out of Windermere, then backroads through Stavely and Bowston to Kendal, which was very bike friendly. Then heavy rain started, and the headwind picked up. The NCN6 through Natland to Milnthorpe, then Silverdale. The wind was now blowing uninterrupted across the sea and it was hard going. I stopped in Carnforth for a coffee, and couldn't help noticing a half smile on the lips of the girl that served me. The source of her mirth became apparent when I caught my reflection in a window. I was wearing a yellow rain cover over my helmet, and it looked as though a lemon and meringue pie was sitting on my head. I hastily stuffed it in a pocket.

Carnforth to Lancaster

From Carnforth I followed the Lancaster Canal south, on a brilliant tarmac towpath that would have had the South Lanarkshire road repair department looking at the floor in shame.I passed a pike angler about to cast out a deadbait.Anything doing? No mate, I’m the world’s worst fisherman.I never catch anything.A piscatorial version of Marvin the

Lune Aqueduct

Paranoid Android. The route then went over the impressive Lune Aqueduct, which was apparently painted by Turner. He must have had a bloody big tin of paint. Things took an odd near Lancaster, where I passed a drunk tacking his way to windward and slugging beer from a bottle, then there was a totally unselfconscious teenager wearing a leopard suit, padding along the tow path as if this was all perfectly normal behaviour. I briefly considered donning my yellow helmet raincover on the grounds that it would help me blend in with the locals. From Lancaster I'd planned to continue along the canal, but in an absolute deluge I was accosted by four road bikers who led me through the university grounds and onto the backroads to Scorton. It was my first deviation from The Plan, and I was disappointed that I hadn't continued, as I'm sure it would have been a struggle but still doable. However it did mean I got to spend a wonderful night in The Priory at Scorton, where £45 got me a huge room and a bathroom with a bath the size of a small swimming pool. It had great food, good beer and really friendly service. Best accommodation of the trip! 

Day stats 79km 593 Metres of ascent

Off road 24km 
A road 4km 
B road 2km  

Unclassified road 49km

Day 11 Carlisle to Windermere

Calder Cycleway

 I was away by 8.30 and almost immediately missed a sign and ended up lost in Carlisle. A bike shop opened their doors specially to help me (thanks!) and I was soon on the Calder Cycleway, part of NCN7. What a lovely change from the noisy hell of yesterday!

Off road at Bridgend

At Bridgend I followed an off road trail that was just about rideable on the road tourer. A brown cycle sign must mean 'bring a mountain bike!' There were some very confusing signs further on, and I followed another "Off Road" sign over a hill, only to find myself at a farm with no indication of where to go. I went back to the main road, through Raughton Head, where another wild goose chase following an "off road" sign saw me adding an extra kilometre and a bonus climb of 80 metres I could have done without.Confusion reigns! Near Raughton Head The countryside started to have that Lake District look about it, and the distant hills were a grey smudge. Undulations were in fashion, and the headwind became ominously strong. Progress slowed to a 6kph crawl through Greystoke Forest, and by the time I reached the back road to Matterdale it was raining in earnest. At Thornythwaite I turned onto the A road which I'd follow all the way to Windermere. It was downhill to Ullswater, then surprisingly undulating along the lakeside to Glenridding where I stopped

Confusion reigns, Raughton Head

under a large yew tree, adjusted the brakes, and switched on all the lights. It was murky enough in Glenridding; Kirkstone Pass would be grim. In a perverse sort of way I’d been looking forward to this climb, but with the weather now completely dire I was no longer relishing the prospect of toiling through rain and thick cloud on a narrow road. After nearly 900 kilometres of laden cycling and an Everest of climbing under the belt, surely this would be a doddle and I’d do it in one hit?I started off quite well, but fortitude was inversely related to altitude, and as the rain increased in intensity and I entered the grey maw of the cloud, rests became more and more frequent,

Lock up your trikes!

and the handlebars became a temporary pillow. The wind markedly increased at one point, and with mistaken hope I assumed this was the Venturi effect of the wind speed increasing as it funnelled over the pass summit, which must now be surely just around the corner. In fact there was a far less complicated explanation: it was just getting windier, and I was nowhere near the summit. way up in the gloom I saw the faint dots of distant headlights appear, and I sobbed quietly. But all bad things come to an end and after 45 minutes of purgatory the road started to level out, I managed to get out of ‘granny gear’ and was soon in the Kirkstone Pass Inn having a welcome pint. The descent to Windermere was a joy, apart from a couple of unexpected uphills, and a persistent chirping from the back wheel that suggested a budgie had taken up residence. I was soon at friends Pete and Dawn's place in Windermere, for  R & R, and generally being spoilt rotten with food, wine, kit washing and blobbing out.

 Day stats 82km 1206 Metres of ascent
Off road 10km
A road 31km
B road 4km
Unclassified road 37km

Day 10 Glespin to Carlisle

I was awake before six, porridged, read, packed and re-buttered by 7am, and soon on the backroad to Crawfordjohn.Mornings were still a struggle to get going though, with generally a short-lived knee twinge and an overwhelming feeling of terminal lassitude. At Crawfordjohn I took a wee backroad loop to join the B road near Abington, and it was a car-free delight. A final hill led to the NCN74 and the blue sign had the single word 'SOUTH'. At last.There was a cycle path next to the road, very gravelly and rubbish-strewn, and after a confusing roundabout I had no option but to join the A 702 to Abington where a large brown sign proclaimed SCOTLAND'S HIGHEST VILLAGE. Many people arrive in Abington and think they've reached the highest village. I know I did. I even wrote it in my journal. It wasn't until later that I realised that the crown goes to Wanlockhead, another 15 miles away at around 1500 metres above sea level.The truth is that Abington is only three hundred feet higher than the West Bromwich Albion stadium in Birmingham. Poor Wanlockhead; Abington's taking all your custom! Meanwhile I went to the cafe in Abington, ordered a coffee ("Are you setting in?" "I certainly

Abington....or is it?

am!") and wrote "Just arrived in Scotland's highest village!" in my journal. Muppet. The NCN74 south was a mixed bag of off road path and on road cycle lane, initially along the A702, then onto the B7076. The B road was busier than I'd expected, and not particularly pleasant. The cycle lanes were sometimes ridiculously narrow, or unrepaired. The trafficlanes would be glass-smooth, while the cycle lane could have been used as a testing ground for those Mars Rover machines. I pulled off at Beattock and found the shop located in the camping site, and bought sandwiches. The proprietor let me eat sitting on the settee in the reception area. It was a haven of peace after the road and the continual roar of 
the M74. Near Lockerbie it got even worse; there were a lot of large trucks on the B road, and one Marks and Spencer lorry had me wobbling. I couldn't work out why until I saw a busy truck stop south of the village.With its wind factories, plantations and pylons the countryside heavily bore the mark of man. Coupled with the incessant noise of the motorway and the dangerous driving it put me in a bad mood. It was a place I just didn’t want to be, and completely at odds with my traffic-free plans. I might have been better off crossing over to the valley and following the unclassified roads on the east bank of the River Annan. The only good thing I can say about this section was that it just made me put my head down, and pedal like fury to get it over with. Then just when things looked as though things couldn’t get any worse it started to drizzle, and the clouds descended to shroud the valley sides.In my mad go-for-it mood I soon passed Ecclefechan, and just through Kirtlebridge some 6k’s later the B road followed the motorway so close it was like another lane. It was truly horrible, and you couldn’t hear yourself scream.  
Then joy of joys the NCN74 turned onto a wee rural lane. It was instant bliss, like when the dentist finally stops using the drill and tells you to rinse your mouth out. The motorway roar diminished to an insect hum, verdant fields beckoned, sunbeams filtered through the breaking clouds and I could hear a chorus of angels singing. I was soon through Gretna, and over the border, and the drizzle turned to a downpour. I arrived in Carlisle drenched, and without hesitation pulled into the first hotel I saw. It was almost dark; stuff camping for the night.

Day stats 120km 

815 Metres of ascent

Off road 10km

A Road 10km

B road 57km

Unclassified road 41km

Day 9 Brodick to Glespin

Ardrossan

Horse and I emerged from the iron womb of the ferry and into drizzle at 9.30am, leaving only 7 hours of reasonable daylight. The plan was to head mainly in an easterly direction and join up with the NCN74 heading south along the B7076. There were more direct routes to the border, but I'd read bad things about those busy roads, and at least one end-to-ender had been killed on them. A wide pedestrian/cycleway shared the promenade into Saltcoats, where a road closure prevented me from joining the coastal path, so I had to head into the town on a B road. The

NCN73

diversion was poorly signed and it was a Saltcoats mystery tour until I saw the next blue NCN73 pointing into some parkland. The cycle route was surprisingly enjoyable, generally avoiding built-up areas and following rivers and farmland to Kilmarnock, where I took a B road to Hurlford and onto the old railway leading to Galston. From Glaston I was in a navigational black hole. In an effort to save weight I'd thrown away the atlas map of the Isle of Arran without checking the other side, which of course was the section I now needed. Judicious use of two posties saw me into Sorn, where I stopped at a cafe for a couple of slabs of gooey stuff and a pot of tea.

Along the River Irvine

Chris Hoy Cycleway to Galston

"Are you setting in?" the lady asked. For a minute I was flummoxed. Was this the Ayrshire way of asking if I was setting out i.e. on a journey. I was about to give a swift resume when I thought she might be enquiring about the weather i.e. was the rain setting in. But it hadn't started yet. She must have spotted the blank look on my face and rephrased her question. "Would you like to eat in here or outside?" Ah, my light came on. "I'll be setting in thanks."

Back road to Sorn

From Sorn I took the B743 east for about 10km along the River Ayr, before joining the A70 with some trepidation. This was one of the longest sections of 'proper' A roads on the trip, though only the first one since leaving Ardrossan. The traffic was fairly light, though I still had a scary truck that overtook while there was a car coming from the opposite direction. It was far too close for comfort. I was relived to reach Glespin and turn off the A road. There was a great wee camping spot by the river, under some large beech trees, but with a sewerage farm just upstream, and lots of foam on the surface of Douglas Water, I biked back into Glespin to fill up the waterbag at the first house.
I brewed up and made a stir-fry, read a few chapters of my book and turned in early.

Day stats 85km 586 Metres of ascent
Off road 29km 
A road 17km 
B road 32km  single lane 
Unclassified road 7km

Day 8 Tarbert to Brodick

Tarbert

There was no great rush to get started, with the ferry not leaving until midday. I tried to have a lie-in, but the body clock seemed programmed for an early start, so I bought a paper and sandwiches, then had breakfast. There were no concessions for a healthy breakfast. It was a fry-up or nothing. Then I went back to the Cafe Ca'Dora for a coffee, where I was all but driven out by the loud piped heavy metal music, then read in a small shelter before getting on the ferry. It was almost 2pm by the time I left Lochranza on the Isle of Arran.

'The String', Isle of Arran

To avoid the A road I took the minor road around the western shore, which was initially easy until I rounded the corner and hit the headwind, which instantly knocked 5kph off my speed.A nearby buzzard launched from a telegraph pole and glided along the road in front of me before lifting itself up to settle on the next pole. As I came alongside it repeated the feat, flying effortlessly into the wind without a single wing beat while I flailed along behind. It landed on a pole and watched me approach, before repeating its performance for the third time. I began to think that this was some sort of avian piss take, and as I caught up to it I was fully expecting a repeat of its show. But it just eyed me intently as I approached, shat, then took off and disappeared over a hill.I crossed over to the east side of the island via the B880 or 'String Road'. The traffic was reasonably light but I still pulled over a couple of times to let trucks pass. There was descent, though the tarmac was so patched I held back the speed fearing a blowout. I was in Brodick a couple of hours after leaving Lochranza, much faster than expected. I stocked up on food and water and headed off into the dunes near the golf course and camped for the night.

Day stats 40km 589 Metres of ascent
Off road 2km 
A road 3km 
B road 9km  single lane 

Unclassified road 26km