Distance : 20.72 Miles / 33.35 Kms
Elevation : 570 ft / 174 m
Terrain : Trail = 13.22 miles / 21.24 kms ; Tarmac = 7.5 miles / 12.11 kms
Bike : MTB
Difficulty : Easy / Moderate
https://connect.garmin.com/modern/course/72742873
I like rolling the urban fringes. You often see places from a new angle or you simply discover new places, and there is always plenty of variety. In many ways any fringe is the same…If you stand in the middle of a desert, all you see is sand, and if you stand in the middle of a forest, all you see is trees. But so much of life occurs on the fringes where one environment meets another. If you sit quietly at dusk on the edge of a forest, after a while you will see much more activity than if you were further into the biome on either side. It is the same on the urban-rural fringes…so I drew a route which would venture through this interesting area and followed it as the light was fading in the day.
A good friend, JC, joined me. He has accompanied me on many of my two-wheeled exploits and put up with many of the unplanned adventures and occurrences that often result. I wasn’t surprised when he texted beforehand to say he was expecting another journey into the unknown. But that’s part of the fun too. Proper exploring.
I set the start/finish point at a parking spot by a church in the small village on Blucher, to the West of Newcastle. This former pit village, with it’s terraces of miners houses, is very close to the A69, and approximately a mile from the A1 too, so it is easy to reach by road. It’s name is taken from the Prussian Field Marshal von Blucher, an ally of the Duke of Wellington in his victory over Napoleon at the Battle of Waterloo. I had wondered why a place would have such a name, but now I know!
We set off heading West on dirt tracks that dropped us past the entrance to Walbottle Hall and into the village of the same name. Lads on dirt bikes ragged around the edge of a nearby field, which looked like fun, but I was happy generating my own power and enjoying the freedom of trails that motorbikes (usually) don’t get the privilege of riding. In Walbottle, I attempted to get JC run over, by giving ambiguous instructions in the face of oncoming traffic. It wasn’t the first time that I had given indication to my friend that the road was clear to cross, when in fact, a car was approaching. I should know better after a previous close call with an Audi that magically appeared over a sharp brow a little while ago. “It’s really not intentional!” Your Honour.
The modern Walbottle Academy flanked us as we rode North to the A69 on our way towards Bewley Underpass. I mentioned to JC that my father had gone to school at Walbottle High, and I couldn’t imagine how different it must look now from the school in the 1960’s. As the faces of the pupils, teachers and buildings all change over the sands of time, I wonder how things will look in 60 years from now.
Our route by-passed the entrance to Bewley Underpass and followed a rough track alongside paddocks and trading estates, before crossing a main road and disappearing around the perimeter of Ibstock Brickworks. This largely hidden site has “cemented” itself as the largest producer of fireclay-based bricks in the UK, but there “lay a course” ahead of us, “pointing” West, and with no “mortar” see, we rolled on towards the country lanes that would take us up to Heddon-on-the-Wall. It’s a shame the factory wasn’t here for the Romans!
Good singletrack trails running parallel to the dual carriageway took us directly towards the building weather. Traffic sped by on the embankment above us. Life is observed from a different perspective, out of touch with the immediate natural environment, when you’re travelling at high speed on the nation’s highways. Nature is observed fleetingly and from a distance. Nearby flora is merely seen as blurred tones, and fauna hides from the threatening sounds of engines and tires. Cycling gives you the freedom to travel great distances silently, and at a pace more conducive for observation. I have ridden the breeze alongside barn owls, darted through ferns with roe deer, rolled down lanes with running foxes, and shared the forest floor with scurrying squirrels, all from my own two-wheeled perch.
Up the lane, Halls of Heddon presented itself, with circular flower beds and ornamental trees punctuating the lush green lawns. Beyond ran uniform beds of tidy greens overlooked by the silver frames of the nursery glasshouses…the breeding grounds for nature’s next batch of blossoming seedlings.
It was a calm and humid evening, and the clouds were deepening from the North and West. I really couldn’t tell whether we would make it round without a shower…we were in the lap of the gods on that one, but for now the going was dry.
The further we ventured West, the further we were from the urban sprawl and the busy roads, which stretch out like long fingers towards the countryside, clawing to draw in the surrounding conurbations. We were now riding between the hedgerows of old farm lanes and along the edges of open wheat fields. Many fields were in full crop, and some had been cropped short by recent harvesting.
A herd of alpaca caught our eye, and we obviously caught theirs. Numerous fluffy heads rotated on stretched necks…ears pointing sharply for the sky…like a fleet of periscopes locating foreign invaders across the waves. They are becoming quite a common site these days, and people love seeing them. Barnacre Alpacas breed award-winning Alpaca, so if you don’t fancy the idea of a dog or a cat, maybe an alpaca could fit the bill. Joking, of course, unless you have the space and time required! I think I’d rather visit for an alpaca “walk and talk” around their farm.
The tiny hamlet of Whitchester was our furthest foray West, and as we passed through a gate, the track led from arable farmland to pastureland and sheep.
The rolling landscape out West was tempting, but like children obeying the rules of a parent imposed threshold, we turned East towards Loudside. A more inappropriately named place I couldn’t imagine. A quiet track, running beneath the branches of tall sycamore trees, took us past this rustic farm with it’s crumbling barns. We heard neither hide nor hair from man, beast or machine. It was a little on the quiet side…the rumbling of our tires on the tarmac drive was the only sound to be heard as we left.
It was a sound we had to get used to, as the next 3 miles involved tarmac lanes, weaving through the fields on our way to Medburn, where we picked up the next section of bridleway to Ponteland. It gave us a chance, however, to admire the pretty little village of Eachwick and, across the estate, the neighbouring Georgian mansion of Dissington Hall. The Hall was built in 1797 by Edward Collingwood, the cousin of Admiral Lord Collingwood (partner of Lord Nelson at the Battle of Trafalgar). At various times since, it has housed the notable Collingwood, Bainbridge and Deuchar families. More eventfully, during World War 2 the mansion was a storage facility for TNT, a hospital, and accommodation for 50 ladies in the WAAF (Women’s Auxiliary Air Force).
I was lucky enough to see Dissington Hall and grounds at close quarters for the wedding of our friends a little while ago, as it was used as a wedding venue until 2016. The venue now focuses on providing prestigious office and event space. Not a bad place to work I would imagine!
Before long we were back on track, and rolling nicely along the dirt and gravel towards the Millionaires playground of Darras Hall. The name, Darras Hall, probably derived from D’Arreynes, thought to be from the name of a Norman family who held land here in the 12th century. “Hall” is commonly used in Northumberland to mean “Farm”, and often not a mansion at all.
In the first decade of the nineteenth century, the land comprising 3 farms and totalling 1025 acres were bought by the many members of the Northern Allotment Society (NAS), with a view to developing a “garden city” – a planned self-contained community surrounded by green belts. The garden city gave people the opportunity to live away from cities and their associated terraced housing. Plots were sold on the land, all supplied by newly built roads and community facilities. Land through the estate was offered for no charge to the North Eastern Railway Company in return for building a branch line to a terminus located within the centre of the estate. Unfortunately, the line closed to passenger traffic, along with the Ponteland line, in 1929, and the station building was demolished in 1993, to allow for the construction of 20 retirement bungalows on what is now called Old Station Court, near the Broadway shops. The old line now serves as a bridleway, and it was on this smooth path that JC and I span rapidly along on a gentle downwards trajectory towards the centre of Ponteland itself.
It is worth noting that the first “Darras mansion” wasn’t built until 1981, by a nightclub owner, but this was soon followed by further similar developments, until it had gradually become the preserve of the rich and famous, as we see it today.
We were certainly well into the evening now, and the light was just beginning to fade slightly, but we knew it would draw in rapidly once the sun passed over the horizon. We swept along between the back fences of the grand dwellings of the estate, slowing to show courtesy to walkers, runners and other cyclists…this is quite a well used path!
Before we reached the centre of Ponteland, we turned towards the new multi-million pound development that is Ponteland High School and Ponteland leisure centre. The buildings are impressive and provide state of the art facilities, with the leisure centre offering a 6-lane swimming pool, 100 station gym, clip ‘n climb, spa and cafe. Another well used pathway follows the old Ponteland railway, running gently uphill towards Newcastle International Airport, and as we made our way I was quietly hoping we would see some air traffic.
Our route passed over the ridge of a field, which sits nicely overlooking the end of the airport runway. Any planes taking off would do so flying directly towards and over the top of us. We sat between the landing lights, looking eagerly towards the skies. As we waited, the runway lights came on, causing concern that the landing lights closest to us might bleach our retinas, should they suddenly illuminate. In fact, they didn’t, and just as we were about to leave I noticed a light in the sky beyond the runway…an approaching flight! We watched the plane land and taxi slowly away, then noticed a British Airways flight positioning for take-off. The general background hum of the nearby road was broken by a distant roar, as the plane throttled up on it’s quest to be airborne. I don’t know quite what I was expecting, but the plane rose sharply when it was still only halfway down the runway, climbing steeply so that it was probably a good few thousand feet in the air as it passed overhead. Safe to say I felt no rush of wind, and there was no need to put my hands over my ears, but it was good to see all the same.
As we skirted round the vast confines of the airport, the sky deepened further and finally the rain came. This wasn’t a light temporary shower, so we pulled up to allow JC to put on a waterproof. I was happy to get wet…I was damp already through the efforts of pedalling, and it wasn’t a cold evening.
We had decided to check out a few housing estate trails in the region of Kingston Park, Newbiggin Hall and Westerhope. For the sake of the attached route, however, I felt it better to drop into Woolsington, before joining Green Lane bridleway, back across the metro tracks and dual carriageway, and then to follow the Ouseburn towards Callerton. The off-road route then drops through Chapel Park and Chapel House on the way back to Blucher and the finish. I have ridden these trails on a few occasions, and they are infinitely preferable to the exploratory finish that we embarked upon on this ride.
Having said that, we were lucky to be heading back through the housing estates on this occasion. Neither of us had lights and the light was fading fast. Streetlights became the saviour of two cyclists with failing eyesight!
From tranquil countryside to urban bustle…the atmosphere was very different as we wound our way through the maze of passageways and underpasses. Between the black tarmac, red brick and grey concrete were pockets of greenery, which still provided a little off-road adventure, but it wasn’t mountain bike country. As we dropped down through Chapel Park, I reminisced about visiting my grandparents here in my youth, in what was considered a relatively new estate at the time. Passing through the A69 underpass into Blucher, I realised I was only half a mile from their final resting place at Lemington Cemetery.
It had been a ride with plenty to see and think about. We had experienced wildlife, farm life, working life and home life…and perhaps quite fittingly, towards the finish by a church…the afterlife. Who ever could suggest that cycling in the urban hinterland is boring!?!