Grand Depart: The highs and lows of the Great British Summer

June has come around far more quickly than I could have imagined. I was beginning to plot this trip so many months ago and before I realised, the final week of May had arrived and it was time to be off.

The day of the Grand Depart came, and if I'm totally honest, I didn't have that same rush of excitement that comes on the cusp of a fresh adventure. I've been looking forward to this trip for a long time, but that morning I was a bit grumpy from a poor night's sleep, and I was feeling a little underwhelmed. It didn't feel like I had a tough challenge ahead of me, more just a jolly jaunt north to see some beautiful scenery...oh how wrong I was...

Bella and the Tardis raring to go!

A brew and company for the first thirty miles perked me up. The sun was out in force, and I did the relish the sweet simplicity of departing from my door, no flights, no faff, just loading up Bella and rolling out of the drive to head north.

Just about ready...

Time for the off!

Dad and his cycling chums took me as far as Haslington on the outskirts of Crewe. It was wonderful to be able to relax into the ride, not have to worry about navigating my way out of Shropshire (one of my genuine concerns for this trip was trying to successfully navigate out of my home county - when I normally go cycling locally, it's with a group and I rarely have to navigate. As a consequence, I actually don't know my local roads all that well - they all look the same!!) and enjoy some jolly chat about the road ahead.

Once alone, that thrill of adventure hit me full force and positively tickled my senses, sending my stomach writhing with anticipation. The opportunity to see new places, get lost if I like, and the potential of yet to be sampled baked goods just over the horizon...

I held a gentler pace now, enjoying the warmth of the sun on my limbs. Congleton came and went quickly, I was eager to get cracking and make some more headway. To keep navigation simple on that first day, I went for the A54 towards Buxton, my reasoning was that it was going to be hilly whatever route I chose, so I may as well take thinking out of the equation so I could focus my energy into my legs. This proved to be a wise decision - it wasn't all that busy, but wow those inclines were a shock to the system. Every slow turn of the cranks had me cursing my lack of cycling-specific training. It turns out that commuting a 20 mile round trip on relatively flat roads does not prepare you for trying to haul a fully loaded touring bike up and over multiple 10% hills. Muscle memory clearly doesn't quite reach back to two years ago...

Between Congleton and Buxton

Catching the trail race at Wincle village fete

The climbs continued for most of the day, interspersed with equally steep descents, so it was a relief to finally reach Bradwell, my destination for the first evening.

Buxton

Tideswell

Final stretch to Bradwell

Now most would question my sanity for heading this way for a northbound journey. The hills are brutal and it is clearly not 'on route'. My primary reason for choosing to go through the Peak District is that my mum's family hale from Hope Valley, and I feel that I have not had much of a chance to see it as an adult (sadly my most recent visit was for the funeral of my great uncle) so I wanted to get to know a little of the places that we've heard so much about as children.

So I stopped over in Bradwell with Auntie Josie, and enjoyed a beautiful summer evening wandering around, the sun slowly sinking behind the hills, casting the village into shadow but Bradwell Edge still full of colour.

Bradwell church and the Edge

Back routes through Bradwell

Tent up for the night

I pedalled on through Hathersage to go for a walk along Stannage Edge. The wind was picking up as I half walked, half ran along the great ridge, hopping between boulders, gazing out over towns nestled between hills, hazy mountains just visible in the distance.

Of course, a trip to Hathersage would not be complete without a tour of its various outdoor shops - the bloke at Alpkit brought me a brew and sat with me to chat about my trip, discussing routes for my journey north.


The ride up and over Snake Pass should have been a treat. It was just my sort of climb, nothing too steep, just a long and continuous graft, slight kick at the end but nothing too strenuous. However, just as I passed the sign for the start of the Pass, I felt the first rain drops trickle down my cheek. And at first, the rain was the sort that doesn't warrant stopping to put on a jacket; I was just in a nice rhythm, why ruin that flow? I gave in when the rain became a torrent about halfway up the hill, and reluctantly pulled in at the side of the road to tog up, gulping down mouthfuls of maltloaf.

The bottom of the Pass

So close to the top!

Apparently the views are lovely at the top of the Pass. The clouds parted briefly, giving me small glimpses of rolling moors, but they rapidly disappeared into the mist.

The descent had me clawing at the brake levers, my fingers instantly chilled by the increase in pace, which I tried to keep modest, I didn't fancy adding to the motorbike wreckage I glimpsed on one of the tight corners...



Now, the joys of living and travelling in Britain can be unending, given a nice long spell of glorious weather. I've often heard it said on a warm sunny day, that we'd have no need to go abroad if the weather were like this all summer. Bus alas, we live in a turbulent climate, plenty of variability, and more often than not we simply shrug off the worst of the weather with a quality anorak.

Full waterproofs being put to the test

This was my attitude for tackling this week. Now that British summertime is apparently done with for the year, I tried not to shudder too much at the thought of tackling Monday morning rush hour in Manchester in the pouring rain. On went the full waterproof gear, and I spent a couple of hours negotiating traffic around Oldham, Shaw and Rochdale, before eventually finding a relatively quiet road heading north towards Burnley. I feel privileged to have cycled through what felt like the entire spectrum of rain, right from drizzle to downpour, through showers and torrents, dredging up that geography lesson where we discussed the many and varied terminology for that ever present form of weather.

Checking my route over a final brew

Finally beyond Manchester

This kept me mostly entertained until I hit several downhills and discovered that, my brakes were rapidly disintegrating. No matter how much pressure I applied to the brake levers, my stopping distance was growing with every application, so much so I genuinely began to fear for my life. With the rain now pelting at my face, I pulled into a caravan park between Blacko and Gisburn, thankful for the uphill to reception that slowed me down. The lovely people on reception took me into a large workshop where I could adjust my brakes out of the weather, and they even brought me a brew which helped to thaw my fingers.

Functioning brakes make for much merrier cycling it seems, and I covered the distance to Settle with much more confidence, happy in my ability to stop at junctions. I managed to organise a last minute WarmShowers stop in Settle so I could avoid the worst of the rain, and they shared plenty of stories of their various travels and two wheeled tandem adventures.

There is nothing quite like the feeling of pulling on still soggy socks, gloves and shoes the next morning, yet I was fortunate: the rain held off for a whole eight miles this morning! It had just started to shower as I reached Horton in Ribblesdale, where I passed a group of walkers. Two of them were walking the Pennine Way, and the third was trekking from Lands End to John O Groats, putting the rest of us to shame with our shorter endeavours.

Four miles from the halfway point for the LEJOG walker!

The climb up to the Ribblehead viaduct was quiet, no cars or cyclists were out, just mazes of crumbling dry stone walls, and plenty of sheep to chat to as I crawled past. The route was well worth it though, I came down through Dent Dale, following a narrow country road tunnelled by lush young trees with a raging river to my left to keep me company, passing a few bemused and bedraggled walkers.

Ribblehead Viaduct

Taking shelter in Dent

The joy was shortlived though. I reached Sedbergh and decided that, maybe, today would not be my day. I was soaked through to the skin, my fingers and toes clunky and locked in place like a pack of icecubes. And as much as I wanted to be in the Lake District by the end of today, I reminded myself that, when I planned this trip, I gave myself some time flexibility in case of bad weather. Of course, it would be nice to have that time in hand further down the line, but 40mph winds and rain are not all that agreeable on a bicycle. I can handle one without the other, but a double whammy is pretty unpleasant.

So I've accepted that it's been a mixed bag of a start, but this afternoon has allowed me a) tell you all about it and b) prepare for the next few days ahead...a.k.a eaten my bodyweight in Indian food for the evening...carb loading is just as important as route planning of course!

Bring back the sun please!!

NEW TRIP NEW TRIP NEW TRIP!!!!!!

Perhaps you can tell my excitement from the overuse of capitals in the title?!


It's been one heck of a weekend - glorious sunshine had me and my friend Anneka heading west once more, to tackle my very first mountain, the one and only Tryfan in Snowdonia. We initially planned to do the south ridge to the summit, but the conditions were so close to perfect we decided to go all guns blazing and succeeded in tackling the north ridge...maybe not the most sensible of choices for my first one, but it has most definitely awoken a thirst for mountain climbing that I fully intend to quench...

Atop the summit of Tryfan

But anyhow, let's get on to the important news: the next adventure!


Last year had me cantering around my home county of Shropshire, enjoying the highs and lows of training and completing my first ultra. It was an incredible experience, and one that taught me a great deal about myself.

Top of Titterstone Clee

Diva time outside Haughmond Abbey

But for this trip, I am bringing my trusty steed back to the forefront. It will not be a purest pedal; rather, I intend to bring together my experiences of trail running and incorporate it into a more rounded tour, reducing the daily mileage slightly, and allowing myself to do some local exploring off-road as I travel.

Out a-pedalling once more!

But where to, I hear you cry?


Well, I have a month to play with. And as it is so soon, I have decided to resurrect an old trip idea that I banked a while ago...


And as the stay-cation is the current de-rigeur of adventure travelling, I am pleased to introduce.....


Home to the Hebrides!

Hurrayyyyy!! Adventure time!

I plan to spend time pedalling from my door in Shropshire, wending my way through the Peak District, Yorkshire Dales, Lakes, into Scotland and island-hopping my way through the Western Isles.


I have wanted to explore the Hebrides ever since I went to university - my Scottish friends still wax lyrical about the wild and raw beauty of the Hebrides, alongside Mull, Ardnamurchan and Skye. Yet the furthest west I've been in that part of the world is Oban, which is beautiful in its own right, but I would love to head out with my bicycle and spend some time exploring.

Enjoy this map of Scotland so you have an idea of where I'll be heading...
www.freeworldmaps.net

But I also wanted to enjoy the journey to get to the Isles so rather than simply hopping on a train, I'm excited to get out and explore a little more of what England has to offer.


And now, it feels like the right time to do it.


So there we go. The seeds of adventure have started sprouting roots, and the shoots are beginning to emerge through the soil. I'm excited to have a goal to work towards, something that will keep me motivated through these next few months. I'm looking forward to sharing some of the planning and training elements of the trip with you along the way, as well as keeping you up to date with the actual trip.


If anyone has any suggestions for places to explore, they are always appreciated!!

Enjoying the wilds of Snowdonia

I had been looking forward to this weekend away for a long time now. Originally I had hoped to take part in the Run Snowdonia training weekend in November, but after being unwell for a fair while, I had to cancel: my training simply hadn't been up to scratch, and I knew I wouldn't enjoy it.


So I rebooked for February, something to look forward to after a challenging few months. My fitness wasn't fantastic, but it was substantially better than in November, so I looked forward to enjoying a weekend of navigation and fell running training in the heart of Snowdonia.

Despite Storm Doris raging it's way around the UK, and some pretty miserable weather forecast for the best part of the weekend, Friday was utterly glorious. Blue skies and warm sun had me overheating as I pootled my way westward along the busy A5. It was very reminiscent of all the car journeys we took as a family to the Welsh coast: the weather increasingly brooding, the radio desperately trying to cling on to any station other than Radio 2, before eventually giving in and switching to the crackling long wave tones.


But this time, the sun continued to shine brightly and break through the growing clouds, the peaks of Snowdonia National Park drawing ever closer, snow sprinkled like icing sugar on the upper reaches.


After the turning at Capel Curig, I took the opportunity to stop and pause by Llynau Mymbyr. I have been out in this direction on a couple of occasions before, but each time the weather had been so bad I couldn't see beyond 100m. So it was a real privilege be out in such a beautiful landscape with complete mountainous vistas. I gulped deep lungfuls of the fresh mountain air, and enjoyed the complete lack of other people. No one encroaching on my view.

Taking a break on route

When I eventually made it to Llanberis, my mind was clear, and I couldn't wait to get started.

The weekend, organised by Sarah Ridgway, was a fantastic introduction to fell running and navigation. Although I have some background in both, I enjoyed having the navigation taken right back to basics, starting in the classroom, and gradually transitioning to walking and then running pace over the three days. I gained a lot of confidence in both my current and new knowledge.


And then, there was the running. You may have not guessed this about me, but I love going out in all weathers, and getting seriously muddy exploring new places.


This was a whole new level.

I have enjoyed some experience in exploring lower hills, but have never felt confident enough to take myself up to higher ground, particularly with the potential issues of changeable weather and heightened risk. And it was for these reasons that I was happy that the weather was, to be blunt, god awful. I wanted to get out in tough conditions to see how my body reacted, and to gain confidence in my ability to deal with bad weather.

The climbs were long as we headed up into the hills, and I quickly realised just how much of a non-specialist runner I am. And my relative lack of fitness. The others skipped merrily away into the growing mist like mountain goats, while I brought up the rear, dragging my feet along the path that was rapidly becoming a stream in its own right. However we maintained visual contact throughout the run, which was reassuring.

As we regrouped at the bwlch, I couldn't help but feel a little demoralised. In my mind, I was clearly struggling compared to the rest of the group, despite Sarah's encouragement. We made for the summit, which was painfully steep.


At the top, it was pretty bleak: we were in the cloud layer, the rain was horizontal and the wind was about 60mph, trying to force us back down the hill.

Here, we started descending. And this is where I came into my own. It was exhilarating: hurtling down the hillside, rapidly gaining speed, crashing through streams, zig-zagging across mossy, boggy ground, before slowly pulling on the brakes to regroup back at the main path. I'm fortunate to have enjoyed a lot of outdoor experiences in the past, but there's nothing quite as thrilling as feeling yourself cascading down a hillside, feet skimming the ground, the wind and rain howling but you simply switch off your brain and embrace the moment.

The Sunday run was longer and at lower levels, due to the worsening conditions. Our route took us through basins encased by mountains, up windswept valleys, through streams and forests, remnants of quarries and skirting the edges of lakes. The trail along the edge of Llyn Geirionydd was a real highlight, the path tangled with roots and rocks, following the very edge of the lake. The water was so high from the recent rainfall that at times the path appeared to merge with the water.

The final rolling descent back to café took us through a series of intertwining streams, thick slabs of slate forming bridges over the frothing water.

Each session over the weekend we finished drenched to the skin, and fairly well covered in mud. This was mingled with a prolonged endorphin rush, and that sweet satisfied feeling as you savour each mouthful of cake, slightly smug in the knowledge of finishing a challenging run, that was completely fulfilling. It satiated my immediate thirst for adventure - and helped me to feel more confident with taking myself on new routes and exploring fresh trails. I can't wait to head back out to Snowdonia to do some more exploring.

If you are passionate about running, and fancy trying some off-roading, I would thoroughly recommend checking out Sarah Ridgeway's website - www.runsnowdonia.co.uk. It really gave me confidence with my fell and navigation technique, you get guided runs in some stunning locations, and you can enjoy some excellent cake in great local cafes - what more could you possibly want from a weekend?!

Back to normality

I've not been all that well recently. I've been poorly for about six weeks now, all starting with a month-long period. And, to be honest, I've been a cranky sod (so my parents tell me), which has been pretty grim for everyone who has regular contact with me.


But this week, I've felt a glimmer of hope: slowly but surely, I've started to feel more like myself once more. My eyes feel wide open for the first time in weeks, and I finally feel like I have some energy...exercise has been almost completely absent from my life in these past few weeks, as I've been unable to recover properly so my endorphin levels have been incredibly lacking...no wonder I've been such a grumpy sod...Anyway! Basically, compared to my usual adventurous, energetic lifestyle, I've been tired just trying to exist.


So I hatched a plan - if I was still feeling well the next day, I'd bloody well go for it and get out for a run. Just a short one mind, but long enough to stretch my legs and get my heart pumping.


Saturday dawned. My heart and head felt strong, so I practically threw myself out of bed with all the excitement that Christmas brings (oh boy, I cannot wait for Christmas!!!) and layered up well.

The morning was truly glorious, full of that late autumn crispness that I've been craving - so many such mornings that I feel like I've missed out on of late, so I intended on enjoying this one as much as I could. I laced up my trail shoes, walked out to the back garden and hopped through the gap in the hedge.

The first few shuddering breaths made me gasp - the cold hitting my chest knocked any lingering grogginess from my body. The sun was so bright it glinted off the frosty crops, and it burst through the patchy fog that kept threatening to shroud the trees.

Regretting my lack of sunglasses

I jogged slowly through the fields, inhaling deeply, enjoying trotting along faster than a walking pace for a change, relishing in my renewed energy.

Over styles, bridges crossing brooks, disturbing buzzards on fence posts, the route wound towards Grinshill. It's a run I've completed so many times before, yet this time it felt a little different, purely because it wasn't just a training run. It was me getting out and enjoying running for the joy and calmness that it instils.

It's always hard going, reaching the top. Today I trudged , puffed and spluttered my way up, rather than six months previously where I'd've skipped up with relative ease.  But the achievement of reaching the summit with never grow old. I've been climbing Grinshill since I was 5 years old, and yet the view never seems to lose its appeal - long stretches of field today were partially swathed in mist, whilst the south Shropshire Hills were just visible in the distance.

My eyes ran profusely as I tentatively made my way back down and past my old school, not wanting to overdo it and turn my ankle on a root or rock that's smothered in leaves.

I made it home shortly after, shoes and legs muddied, hands chilly, and mood lifted.

I'm back gang. I'm so glad to be back.

Embracing your inner child

Do you remember being young and excited about something new? Or being over-excited about Christmas? (This is always a good thing, even if, as an adult, the excitement has switched from mainly presents and food to being about seeing family and friends you haven't had the opportunity to spend time with all year...and still about the food: IT'S ALWAYS ABOUT THE FOOD) anyway...

Think right back to when you were in primary school, or even nursery. The long summer holidays, or even half term or Easter, when you'd go to play at a friend's house, and you'd your friend would turn to you and proclaim 'Let's go exploring!'

The young explorer!

And it was so exciting! To be in a new place together, with made up kingdoms and battles to be won, the thrill of discovering somewhere new and the adventures you'd conceive...all of it feels quite far away now, (I know I'm still young, but I'm waiting for Alzheimer's to bring it all flooding back in full vibrancy!) but I feel like this is the best way for me to relate the same feelings I get when I go on an adventure.

Because that's exactly what it is: an adventure! Why would you simply call it a trip abroad or a holiday? Why make it the mundane?! It's a fantastic exploratory journey that can take you back to that child-like state of continual wonderment of all things new to you.

And I feel that is key: it's NEW TO YOU. It doesn't have to be the most adventurous expedition anyone in the history of adventure-making has ever undertaken. Or the furthest, toughest, beyond brutally challenging journey you've ever undertaken. But it should be new, exciting and thrilling for you. So you can start to reclaim that refreshing child-like joy; the fun and simplicity of splashing in a puddle in the rain or bending down to look in a rock pool for the first time and discovering what can survive in that miniature world...okay, I'm probably taking it a bit far, but you get the idea...

I've just completed a most marvellous adventure which had me exploring places that I've never considered gong to, that are at best forty miles from where I live. And there are still places close by that need un-tapping...And, just as importantly, it was a challenge for me: one person recently compared my run to that of the awe-inspiring Ben Smith and his 401 marathons in as many days. Of course, when looked at side-by-side, my efforts at trail running quake in their muddy trainers, but then I stop and remind myself that this was a challenge for me, that pushed me beyond my comfort zone whilst allowing me the chance to explore my home county.

And it's finding joy and beauty in the seemingly insignificant. A field can be just a field to walk, run, cycle or even ride through, But in that field you may pass by beautifully delicate wild flowers that are dotted, almost hidden by frond-like grasses that are gently swaying in the breeze, sun beams glinting through thick grey clouds scurrying across the sky...imagine being utterly alone, no roads or houses in the near distance. You're enjoying the entirety of the scene; no one else has had the privilege of both observing, and being a part of that moment in time.

Or perhaps you're in the midst of a beautiful bustling square, totally alone in your anonymity. No one knows you, you know no one. Yet there are brief moments of eye contact with various strangers in the crowd, these split seconds of connection, instantaneously lost in a single blink or a turn of the head. Both observer and actor in the scene.

It's in these moments that I truly remember why I love exploring and travelling. You create incredibly tangible memories from what appear to be the most insignificant moments. And it's these seemingly mundane scenes that are the integral moments that become the true feel of each individual adventure.