Travels with my teapot: Forging North of the Border

Derbyshire and the Yorkshire Dales were a fair shock to my system. The roads had been a challenge without some delightful British weather to contend with.

The original plan was to head west from Sedburgh and make for the Lake District. however, the weather, in particular the prevailing wind, was such that it would have been a constant slog without even considering the hills I'd have to contend with. I had wanted to hike up a fell or two on route, but again, the forecast did not look promising, and it seemed foolish to cycle miles into a headwind to then not be able to hike the next day.

So I consulted the map, and changed course. The day had dawned bright and dry, so I took a brief walk/run up and over local Winder Fell. It was hard going, but the wind was so strong that after the initial steep section, it surprisingly easy to jog up the hillside!

The views at the top were magnificent, great green rolling hills that almost felt within touching distance, and the town of Sedburgh down in the valley below, wind was blowing with such force I could barely stand upright at the trig point. Not another person in sight, even the sheep had not bothered to climb this high.

I ran back down the fell, slipping and sliding back to town, where I collected my bicycle and began to make my way north. And I have to say it was a brilliant day of cycling. Whether my legs have finally got used to pedalling at last, or that cycling in dry weather is that much simpler, but I relished that day, my legs feeling strong with every turn of the cranks.

My route took me through Orton, prime red squirrel territory, though they proved highly elusive. I then found a quality route through small sleepy villages along quiet back roads, through the likes of Crosby Ravenscroft and Kings Meaburn. It's a route I would thoroughly recommend, with the buildings and walls transitioning from limestone grey to sandstone red as you wend your way north. You also get to pass one of my favourite villages to date - Plumpton. As yet it is unknown whether the village is named for the local plum propensity, or the general merry roundness of its occupants due to a high abundance of cake...I shall have to return to investigate further...

I was in such good cycling mode that I covered the distance to Brampton with relative ease, and bunked down at the wee campsite on the outskirts of town.

The beauty of touring in the rain, is that you have even more cause to take breaks in almost every town you pass through. I had barely pedalled ten gentle miles along the border when the rain 'forced' me to take a tea and cake break in Longtown. Here, the Gretna Bakery and Cafe took me in for a quality hour and a half where I drank many mugs of tea and ate my way through various slices of quiche and millionaires shortbread, all whilst chatting to the locals who popped in for their bread or all day breakfasts.

Taking a detour north, I passed the border for Scotland - a great landmark in my journey! - and continued north through Ecclefechan (another quality town name) to Lockerbie, where I got to meet my dad briefly for lunch. He was on route to Glasgow, and kindly brought me my overshoes, which were fatal to leave behind when cycling in the UK. I donned them immediately, and my feet felt so much warmer, despite already being soaked through.

I finished the day riding through and beyond Dumfries on the back roads to Castle Douglas. following directions obscured by hedges to a local campsite that the majority of locals didn't know existed...it was beautifully secluded and peaceful, with a wee family of geese and goslings in residence on the mill pond.

The following day was fantastic for cycling. I rode through the back roads down to Castle Douglas, then took the road through the Galloway Forest to Newton Stewart. The scenery was spectacular, and the roads quiet all day. The route wound through the forests, passing streams and small waterfalls rushing under the road to reach the loch.

I paused in New Galloway to sample some cake and chat to some fellow tourers, the first I'd seen to chat to since departing from Shropshire: a group of Sheffield blokes enjoying a long weekend of pedalling around Dumfries and Galloway. I passed them again on route to Newton Stewart, and continued on to Glentrool, following the sublime NCN route 7. I normally don't fall in for these routes, as I've often found them to be on roads that are near vertical or in poor condition, or such an indirect route as to drive me mad, but this one was spot on. It cut through the Cree Woods along a gently undulating single track road, passed by noone, and passing nothing but mossy walls, endless trees, and the odd whitewashed house with ponies grazing in adjoining paddocks.

Cycling and camping in Scotland has a catch. You hope for days of endless sunshine and a gentle tailwind to send you merrily on your way and afford you glorious views which you've heard so much about. But there's a catch. On pausing to whip out your camera to snap said glorious views, you hope that a strong breeze whips up to prevent the inevitable onslaught of midges attacking every inch of available skin. I have not had to deal with these little blighters much as yet - the poor weather has its advantages in this sense.

Quality read

Glentrool

However I experienced a very real midge attack at the Glentrool campsite. The evening was balmy, the sun still out, and the breeze minimal. Combined with multiple water features and tree shelter, this was prime midge territory, prompting me to smother myself in Skin So Soft, that well known brand of midge repellent.

My first attack was not too terrible, though I spent several minutes once ensconced in my tent destroying every one of the wee bugs that had dared enter with me. The walls of my tent now resembling something akin to leopard print, I abstained from drinking anymore fluids to try and prevent the need to leave my sanctuary in search of a loo.

I knew I still had a decent ride ahead of me to reach the ferry to Arran, so I set an alarm to get me up and moving earlier than usual - so far I have slipped into a wonderfully lazy rhythm of life, packing up far more slowly than my fellow campers, enjoying the flexibility of these long summer days.

There was no need for the alarm. The howling wind and rain had me awake since 4am, worrying that my fly sheet would rip off and tear away in the gales. It was weather that did not induce me to get out of my sleeping bag and hop on my bicycle, but clamber out I did anyway, convincing myself that it always sounds worse than it is.

It turns out that it was as terrible as it sounded, but with one redeeming factor - there was a strong tailwind. So strong that at some points I had to lean my full weight into it to prevent myself from tumbling into the ditch at the roadside.

Fully togged, this time with overshoes which helped create a full leg seal (a strong look if ever I saw one) I pedalled up and over the hills to Straiton. Alas, I have no photos of this section, the rain was pretty severe and I didn't want to keep my camera out and exposed to the elements. But what I did see was stunning: a wide open valley with a river storming through the middle, further hills smothered in pine tree forests in the distance, my immediate surroundings consisting of rolling moors.

Pausing in Kirkmichael for cake and warmth!

I made great progress, flying through Alloway towards Ayr, glimpsing the famed Robert Burns' birthplace that was already swarming with tourists. The sun had now come out, but I didn't stop to whip off the waterproofs on route to Ardrossan, instead I floored it all the way to the ferry terminal along the number 7 route. In hindsight, there was no need to rush - I reached the earlier ferry with a healthy twenty minutes to spare, but I wasn't entirely sure when the last ferry was sailing so wanted to be safe than sorry. I basked in the now glorious sunshine and enjoyed some quiche and squashed ham roll courtesy of Jocks Cafe back in Kirkmichael.

Following the cycle route 7 to the ferry

Views of the mainland and Horse Isle from the ferry

All that was left was a short crossing to my first island of the trip: Arran. As soon as I was off the boat, I pedalled straight down the main street to the beach, whipped off my shoes and socks, and stood with my feet in the sea, enjoying the cool of the water rushing above my ankles. Perfect timing for a rest day, relax in the lack of phone signal, limited wifi, and plenty of good food to be sought out. Laptop time is getting a little limited now, so apologies in advance if I don't manage to blog as frequently!!