I was looking for a nice flat ride for a change. No leg-breaking climbs, no mudfest and no getting lost. Just an easy spin on good trails with plenty to keep me interested. I knew exactly the ride for this one.
Distance : 22.75 Miles / 36.61 Kms
Elevation : 1682 ft / 513 m
I was back in the village of my youth, Wylam. JC and I had parked in the old station car park for an evening ride up the Tyne Valley on familiar trails. I know this area like the back of my hand, but I never tire of it. I was looking forward to the sandy riverside trails, rooty woodland paths, hardpack field tracks, and even the tarmac bridleways and lanes. The absence of any extended periods of rainfall meant the trails were firm and dry, which really helps your “flow” as you glide along, without the resistance of sticky mud or the lost traction from skidding over wet rocks.
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.
Loughrigg Fell isn’t on an island. It stands as one of the central Lakeland fells, approximately 17 miles from the nearest sea, so why would I call it “the Island Fell”? A clue may be found in the name “Loughrigg”, meaning lake (“lough”) ridge (“rigg”) in Old English. A quick look at an ordnance survey map shows water surrounds this popular hill on all sides. Windermere lies to the South, Loughrigg Tarn, Elterwater and the River Brathay lie to the West, Grasmere and Rydal Water to the North and the River Rothay to the East. The fell only just manages to attach itself to the High Raise ridge by virtue of a gap at Red Bank, like an arm reaching out, clinging to dry land. It appears to be a solitary hill amongst the surrounding high peaks. In many ways Loughrigg Fell is an island, cut off from its neighbours by lowland and water.
“St Cuthbert’s Cave’s Closed!” That was the post title I had wanted, but it would have been too cryptic. I made this declaration to an approaching pilgrim pair as we passed each other at a gate, only 100 metres from Northumberland’s mini Mecca, and you should have seen the look on their faces. I could only hold a straight face for a few seconds before telling them I was joking, but we all had a chuckle before chatting briefly and then wishing them well on their travels. I had been tempted to continue with “Yeah, Northumberland County Council had to brick it up as it was considered an eyesore…” but I just couldn’t hold it. It isn’t an eyesore, of course, but a pretty spot with a significant historic tale to tell…more on that later. This godly grotto was on our own devout journey in honour of the god of dust and dirt, as we sought another offering from the scenic trails of North Northumberland.
The Lake District has long been one of the best places for mountain biking in the UK. A large network of bridleway takes you along lake shores, across stonewall bounded meadows, through beautiful ancient woodland and over the highest open fells. It may not be sunny here every day…it is called the Lake District for a reason, but a little bit of water shouldn’t stop you enjoying some awesome riding. You may not always be able to avoid the climbing either, but remember, what goes up must come down!
I always like riding in and around South-East Northumberland and Tyneside, as these are the places I know best, having grown up in this area. I spent many hours riding mountain bikes across the region’s tarmac and trails as a teenager, and although the routes haven’t changed a great deal, the bikes certainly have. During the 80’s, mountain bikes were heavy and rigid machines, but this was all we had and we loved them. We thought nothing of traversing bone-shaking trails, tipped up into the streamlined stance of a road cyclist…ready to be launched forward from our perch if we came unstuck. We were just like human cannonballs, but without helmets and a crowd to cheer our heroic feats (I wouldn’t ride without a helmet now!).
Andy and I arrived at the start of our route a mere 40 minutes after Gavin had arrived, so we made our grovelling apologies and readied ourselves in haste for another ride across the charmed land of North Northumberland. We would be combining man and bike with the rural passageways of field and moor, and by burning calories and using speed as a catalyst, we hoped to produce adrenalin and endorphins (forget the lactic acid byproduct)…the result should be fun. Conclusion: Riding equals pleasure. That’s what we hoped for anyway.
When you think of Beamish you think of steam engines, trams, old buses, a colliery, a fairground, an old school and cobbled streets with a sweet shop, a chemist and a dentist. You think of days of old when industry was dirty, noisy and dangerous and life was hard but honest. Thoughts that create nostalgia for simpler times when faces reflected back smiles and not the glare of screens, plastics weren’t found in the streets, the sticks and the seas, and news of disease and disaster wasn’t played to our eyes and ears at all hours. The Amazon was merely an impenetrable rainforest and the only next day deliveries came from the milkman. Nobody had heard of a Google, and “internet” was simply a phrase uttered by Yorkshire fishermen. Beamish Outdoor Museum is unbeatable for experiencing a different way of life in different times.
A few days after the first ride of our holiday on South Harris, I was eager to be back in the saddle to cover the tarmac I had missed. I think that no visit to the Isle would be complete without a visit to the beautiful sands of its most famous beach, at Luskentyre.
The last time we visited the Isle of Harris, a few years ago, we were blessed with a week of sunshine, and temperatures in the high twenties. We were destined to be disappointed this time, surely? As it happened, we were more than happy with the weather gods on our return.
Well this was a ride with all sorts going on and really seemed to typify a mountain bike adventure. It could possibly have gone more smoothly towards the end, but then, adventures aren’t always predictable. Sometimes you just have to be philosophical and hope you learn something from your experiences.
Kielder has become synonymous with mountain biking, and the outdoor lifestyle in general, due to the fantastic natural and manmade environment that the area provides. It’s manmade lake is the largest in Europe, holding enough water to give every person on the planet seven gallons! Watersports are very popular, with canoeing, paddle-boarding, sailing, and water-skiing, all available for those who don’t mind getting wet.
The wind had settled down since the previous day and rolling out at 10am, we were set to beat the rain that was expected to arrive by 3pm. Gavin, Andy and I had found a grassy parking area in the centre of the tiny Northumbrian village of Alwinton. Meaning settlement next to the River Alwin, the village comprises a pretty collection of houses, a farm and a pub, all sitting amongst the beautiful rolling hills and tranquil waters of Upper Coquetdale.
The UK certainly has its fair share of variable weather. It has been warm and dry for the last few weeks, and the trails have been firm and fast-flowing. The rain, however, has returned and I would imagine it won’t be long before we’re ploughing our bikes through thick mud and negotiating slippery roots again. The variety, however, keeps your skills honed and your interest levels up.
If you have never done it, you need to ride through the Tyne Pedestrian Tunnel. It feels like a step back in time with its wooden escalators and porcelain tiles, which I guess is to be expected as it was built in the late 1940’s.
Describing the weather as bright and sunny is a happily recurring theme at the moment. Most mornings start with a frost and, although a chill lingers in the shade during the day, the riding conditions couldn’t be better. The trails are firm and fast-flowing…long may it last.
I was looking for a nice flat ride for a change. No leg-breaking climbs, no mudfest and no getting lost. Just an easy spin on good trails with plenty to keep me interested. I knew exactly the ride for this one.
Distance : 22.75 Miles / 36.61 Kms Elevation : 1682 ft / 513 m I was back in the village of my youth, Wylam. JC and I had parked in the old station car park for an evening ride up the Tyne Valley on familiar trails. I know this area like the back of my hand, but I never tire of it. I was looking forward to the sandy riverside trails, rooty woodland paths, hardpack field tracks, and even the tarmac bridleways and lanes. The absence of any extended periods of rainfall meant the trails were firm and dry, which really helps your “flow” as you glide along, without the resistance of sticky mud or the lost traction from skidding over wet rocks.
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.
Loughrigg Fell isn’t on an island. It stands as one of the central Lakeland fells, approximately 17 miles from the nearest sea, so why would I call it “the Island Fell”? A clue may be found in the name “Loughrigg”, meaning lake (“lough”) ridge (“rigg”) in Old English. A quick look at an ordnance survey map shows water surrounds this popular hill on all sides. Windermere lies to the South, Loughrigg Tarn, Elterwater and the River Brathay lie to the West, Grasmere and Rydal Water to the North and the River Rothay to the East. The fell only just manages to attach itself to the High Raise ridge by virtue of a gap at Red Bank, like an arm reaching out, clinging to dry land. It appears to be a solitary hill amongst the surrounding high peaks. In many ways Loughrigg Fell is an island, cut off from its neighbours by lowland and water.
“St Cuthbert’s Cave’s Closed!” That was the post title I had wanted, but it would have been too cryptic. I made this declaration to an approaching pilgrim pair as we passed each other at a gate, only 100 metres from Northumberland’s mini Mecca, and you should have seen the look on their faces. I could only hold a straight face for a few seconds before telling them I was joking, but we all had a chuckle before chatting briefly and then wishing them well on their travels. I had been tempted to continue with “Yeah, Northumberland County Council had to brick it up as it was considered an eyesore…” but I just couldn’t hold it. It isn’t an eyesore, of course, but a pretty spot with a significant historic tale to tell…more on that later. This godly grotto was on our own devout journey in honour of the god of dust and dirt, as we sought another offering from the scenic trails of North Northumberland.
The Lake District has long been one of the best places for mountain biking in the UK. A large network of bridleway takes you along lake shores, across stonewall bounded meadows, through beautiful ancient woodland and over the highest open fells. It may not be sunny here every day…it is called the Lake District for a reason, but a little bit of water shouldn’t stop you enjoying some awesome riding. You may not always be able to avoid the climbing either, but remember, what goes up must come down!
I always like riding in and around South-East Northumberland and Tyneside, as these are the places I know best, having grown up in this area. I spent many hours riding mountain bikes across the region’s tarmac and trails as a teenager, and although the routes haven’t changed a great deal, the bikes certainly have. During the 80’s, mountain bikes were heavy and rigid machines, but this was all we had and we loved them. We thought nothing of traversing bone-shaking trails, tipped up into the streamlined stance of a road cyclist…ready to be launched forward from our perch if we came unstuck. We were just like human cannonballs, but without helmets and a crowd to cheer our heroic feats (I wouldn’t ride without a helmet now!).
Andy and I arrived at the start of our route a mere 40 minutes after Gavin had arrived, so we made our grovelling apologies and readied ourselves in haste for another ride across the charmed land of North Northumberland. We would be combining man and bike with the rural passageways of field and moor, and by burning calories and using speed as a catalyst, we hoped to produce adrenalin and endorphins (forget the lactic acid byproduct)…the result should be fun. Conclusion: Riding equals pleasure. That’s what we hoped for anyway.
When you think of Beamish you think of steam engines, trams, old buses, a colliery, a fairground, an old school and cobbled streets with a sweet shop, a chemist and a dentist. You think of days of old when industry was dirty, noisy and dangerous and life was hard but honest. Thoughts that create nostalgia for simpler times when faces reflected back smiles and not the glare of screens, plastics weren’t found in the streets, the sticks and the seas, and news of disease and disaster wasn’t played to our eyes and ears at all hours. The Amazon was merely an impenetrable rainforest and the only next day deliveries came from the milkman. Nobody had heard of a Google, and “internet” was simply a phrase uttered by Yorkshire fishermen. Beamish Outdoor Museum is unbeatable for experiencing a different way of life in different times.
A few days after the first ride of our holiday on South Harris, I was eager to be back in the saddle to cover the tarmac I had missed. I think that no visit to the Isle would be complete without a visit to the beautiful sands of its most famous beach, at Luskentyre.
The last time we visited the Isle of Harris, a few years ago, we were blessed with a week of sunshine, and temperatures in the high twenties. We were destined to be disappointed this time, surely? As it happened, we were more than happy with the weather gods on our return.
Well this was a ride with all sorts going on and really seemed to typify a mountain bike adventure. It could possibly have gone more smoothly towards the end, but then, adventures aren’t always predictable. Sometimes you just have to be philosophical and hope you learn something from your experiences.
Kielder has become synonymous with mountain biking, and the outdoor lifestyle in general, due to the fantastic natural and manmade environment that the area provides. It’s manmade lake is the largest in Europe, holding enough water to give every person on the planet seven gallons! Watersports are very popular, with canoeing, paddle-boarding, sailing, and water-skiing, all available for those who don’t mind getting wet.
The wind had settled down since the previous day and rolling out at 10am, we were set to beat the rain that was expected to arrive by 3pm. Gavin, Andy and I had found a grassy parking area in the centre of the tiny Northumbrian village of Alwinton. Meaning settlement next to the River Alwin, the village comprises a pretty collection of houses, a farm and a pub, all sitting amongst the beautiful rolling hills and tranquil waters of Upper Coquetdale.
The UK certainly has its fair share of variable weather. It has been warm and dry for the last few weeks, and the trails have been firm and fast-flowing. The rain, however, has returned and I would imagine it won’t be long before we’re ploughing our bikes through thick mud and negotiating slippery roots again. The variety, however, keeps your skills honed and your interest levels up.
If you have never done it, you need to ride through the Tyne Pedestrian Tunnel. It feels like a step back in time with its wooden escalators and porcelain tiles, which I guess is to be expected as it was built in the late 1940’s.
Describing the weather as bright and sunny is a happily recurring theme at the moment. Most mornings start with a frost and, although a chill lingers in the shade during the day, the riding conditions couldn’t be better. The trails are firm and fast-flowing…long may it last.