Categories
Riding Trail Riding

Tracing Tidal Tyneside – A Ride into an Industrial Past

Distance: 36.8 Miles / 59.2 Kms

Elevation: 728ft / 222m

Terrain: Trail = 27.19 miles / 43.76 kms ; Tarmac = 9.61 miles / 15.47 kms

Bike: CX / Gravel / MTB

Difficulty: Easy

https://connect.garmin.com/modern/course/76571025

Tracing Tidal Tyneside GPX
Tracing Tidal Tyneside FIT

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.  

The River Tyne is tidal for a good 20 miles, snaking inland from Tynemouth on the coast (where else would it be!) to Wylam, on the border of Northumberland and Tyne & Wear.  At Wylam a weir holds back the encroaching water, as it tries over and over to force its way deeper into the Northumberland countryside…but with every tide destined to fail.  Almost entirely within the county of Tyne & Wear, this 20 mile stretch of water has been a vital artery for the industry of this area for centuries.  It has allowed shipping to import and export goods and raw materials to and from the numerous factories and collieries along its banks, and, of course, many ships have been built in its famous dockyards.  Another story of industrial boom and bust can be told around every meander.  This ride would be a chance to learn a little bit more of the great history and heritage of Tyneside. 

JC accompanied me for this early evening ride, following the South bank of the river from Wylam to the Tyne Pedestrian Tunnel at North Shields, before returning on the opposite side.  The weather was mild and sunny as we set off from the Old Station Car Park, but as we crossed Wylam bridge we noted a moderate Easterly wind…which is not so common in August.  Easterlies are normally associated with the cold wintery gales blowing in from Siberia.  These winds were mild enough, and would at least give us a push home.  

I gazed up at Wylam’s iconic overhead signal box as we swung into the “new” station car park to pick up the Keelmans Way towards Newcastle.  Late Nineteenth century signal boxes such as these are quite a rare sight, but the Newcastle to Carlisle line is lucky enough to have two, the other being at Hexham.  Standing like a grand sentry box, this  ”rail traffic control tower” keeps an eye on all proceedings about the railway and it’s near quarters below.  I have only ventured into this old hallowed timber box once, in my youth, when a train was well-overdue and I had clambered up the steep steps (which are surprisingly high) to interrogate the poor signalman.  It is some view from up there!

Across the tracks punters sat at tables in front of the Boat House pub, enjoying a real ale in the early evening sunshine.  I have many fond memories of pulling pints from behind the bar of this popular Camra award winning establishment, and I’m glad to see it is still doing well.  I wouldn’t be the forgetful alcohol-seasoned inebriate that I am today if it hadn’t been for this place!

The smooth Keelman’s Way runs East on the bank between river and rails, and soon we were skirting Tyneside golf club and headed for Ryton Willows nature reserve.  Note as you pass the golf club that the path swings away from the river around a fenced off area of apparent waste ground.  In fact, the path has been relocated further and further from the river over recent years as an underground fire has smouldered and burned the earth to the point of collapse.  You may still see smoke rising from the ground and detect an acrid burnt odour as you pass.  Beware of flying golf balls here too, as the rerouted path forces you closer to the golfers firing line.

Although it may be that you have just left behind the risk of injury from flying projectiles, should you have been riding across Ryton Willows during 1610 (admittedly prior to the invention of the bicycle), then the risk of injury from projectiles would have been much greater.  The Battle of Newburn Ford took place here, when an English army of 3,500 men located on the willows, faced 22,500 Scots gathered on the far riverbank at Newburn.  The Scots were looking for a place to cross the river in order to attack Newcastle from the South, and Newburn ford, situated where the road bridge now stands, was their first opportunity.  They waited for low tide in order to cross, and after being beaten back twice by the English guns and cannons, they succeeded in crossing on their third attempt.  The English army retreated to County Durham and the Scots went on to take Newcastle.  So musket balls, cannon balls and even arrows, which were used for the last time in a British Battle by the Scottish Highlanders, would have been the aerial threats in 1610.  Of course, it couldn’t have been a more tranquil evening when we passed.

Further along this old battlefield is a wide promenade running in front of attractive new houses looking out over the river at Stella Haughs.  This area has seen a few different faces over recent centuries.  Originally named after the nearby Stella Hall, which has since been demolished, the land was adopted in 1887 as the horse race track for the annual Blaydon Races, which had moved from its original site of Blaydon Island on the Tyne.  Later, the site was used as the grounds of Blaydon Rugby Club and by Newcastle University Boat Club.  Following compulsory purchase in 1951, it was then used for the construction of Stella South coal-fired power station, along with a neighbouring Stella North site on the opposite bank near Lemington.  The power stations operated until 1991, and were demolished soon after their closure.  I remember standing atop a nearby hill one Sunday morning in the early Nineties, watching the demolition of the cooling towers.  The sound of the explosives set off car alarms all over the place, but it was great to watch.

The Keelmans Way took us past Blaydon Station and deposited us onto the pot-holed tarmac of Blaydon’s industrial estates.  We weaved our way through the estates, keeping an eye out for articulating artics and veering vans.  Thankfully, this was only a short section before the route rejoined the riverside on gravel paths.  You will know you are on the right course if you pass under the old Scotswood railway bridge, resplendent with its bold yet underwhelming graffiti…no Banksy artwork to be seen here! I’m showing my age, but I remember crossing this bridge as a child, travelling into Newcastle on the train with my mother.  Beyond this vague memory, the only other overriding image I have of these trips was being dragged complainingly across the synthetic carpets of Fenwicks haberdashery department, before being jolted awake by an electro-static shock following inadvertent contact with one of the metal-rimmed glass counters.  I spent the rest of my time attempting to avoid a build up of electrical charge by walking like a paranoid child with bilateral footdrop and in fear of “completing the circuit” by contacting anyone or anything.  Happy days indeed…

As soon as you pass beneath one bridge you are presented with another.  The Scotswood road bridge opened in 1967, replacing an older chain bridge that had been the first bridge to be completed over the Tyne in the industrial era when it was built in 1831.  Just beyond is the site of the former Scotswood and Elswick Works of the Armstrong Whitworth Company, later becoming Vickers Armstrong.  This company of the famous industrialist William Armstrong, built armaments, ships, locomotives, aircraft and automobiles and stretched an amazing three miles East of here along the banks of the river. The company employed 13,000 personnel in its heyday and had its own steel works and iron and brass foundries.  It was renowned as one of the most important builders of warships in the world, but it also produced many important military vehicles, planes and weapons.  Most notable were some of the first tanks, with the iconic 102 mkIV accounting for a large proportion of all the tanks used by the British army in World War One.  The British Army’s primary battle tank, the Centurion, was built here between 1946 and 1959.  The company shrank in size over the years due to a reduction in defence spending, as well as increased automation and computer-controlled technology.  The buildings at the Elswick works were becoming tired and the heating bill for the whole site was £1million per year, and the system was inefficient.  Eventually, in the 1970’s both sites were demolished and a new factory was built at Scotswood, producing solely military vehicles, as can be seen by the buildings that stand today.  The Vickers factory in Scotswood closed in 2012, but production was thankfully restarted in 2015, under the new ownership of Reece Construction Group, and it continues today.  The Elswick site is now the Newcastle Business Park.  Phew…it is not easy condensing such an extensive history!

We made our way past the ever-bustling Metro Centre…Britain’s early answer to an American Shopping “Mall”.  Built in the 1980’s on the site of the former Dunston Power Station, it was the mastermind project of local property-developer and previous chairman of Newcastle United, Sir John Hall.  It is, however, some folk’s idea of hell to be trapped by their partner and children within the confines of this vast retail enclosure!

Pedalling swiftly away to avoid any onset of PTSD, JD and I soon found ourselves trundling freely along riverfront promenades again.  We had reached the wooden behemoth that is Dunston Staiths, which is believed to be the largest timber structure in Europe.  The grade 2 listed staiths were built in 1893 to allow coal trains arriving from the Durham coalfields to deliver their loads directly onto waiting colliers (coal ships).  With the decline of the coal industry in the last century the staiths had fallen out of use.  Serious fires have since destroyed parts of the structure on a number of occasions, however, donations of time and money by charity and volunteer groups have helped to start regenerating this fantastic beast of our industrial past.

We followed the old coal line inland for a short distance to see how it fared, and I was glad to see that it is a well kept path which is evidently well used.  Before long we cut back towards the river to continue our journey.  We were now close to the Quayside, and as we approached, the spans of Newcastle’s seven bridges arched across our line of sight.  Successively different and further from our view, they ran for a mile, like a line of huge showjumping fences.  It is difficult to imagine Newcastle without them.

Joining the road running from the Swing bridge (a creation of William Armstrong’s to allow ships to pass to and from his works upstream) we took our first left and dashed quickly beneath the deck of the Tyne bridge.  The kittiwake droppings on the pavement smell bad enough without having to wear them too. 

The great ballooning glass windows of the Sage Gateshead loomed above us as we rode by on our way towards the Millenium bridge and Baltic Centre for Contemporary Art.  Smooth wide tarmac allowed us to look up and take in the sights and sounds.  As JD and I stood talking, a siren and tannoy announced that the millennium bridge would be rotating to allow a yacht to pass in five minutes time.  What good timing! I hadn’t previously witnessed this feat of engineering in action.

It was amazing to see that no apparent end of warning can stop some people from wanting to cross the bridge at the last minute!  Even when every other person and a few impatient cyclists had eventually vacated the bridge, one solitary women decided to amble across.  She wasn’t in any haste at all…her high heels clinking slowly and rhythmically as she strode over the metal walkway.  The poor yachtsman was left dizzying himself… turning in circles on the river, whilst waiting with the gathered crowds for the Millenium Eye to slowly “blink”.  The women in question didn’t even pay regard to the maintenance guy as she left and, ignoring eye contact with the general public, she powered slowly on to her destination.  We laughed at the incredulity of it all.

The bridge silently and slowly tilted on its axis and the yacht slid through on its path upstream.  JD and I continued on our journey.  There was no need to watch it return to its starting position…there was more to see downstream.

Decent grafitti is usually welcome in my book. It certainly brightens up what would otherwise be a plain ugly wall. Who remembers Hong Kong Phooey? This artist is showing their age! We laughed as we remembered the theme tune : “Who is this super hero? Sarge? No. Rosemary, the telephone operator? No. Penry, the mild-mannered janitor? Could Be!”…

Via quiet roads and paths it was easy to navigate the route following the river East of Newcastle.  Certainly, it was easy following my route map on gps too.  Soon we were passing the large Shepherd Offshore Technology Park on the far bank, which offers a wide range of services to the maritime industry.  Huge cranes stood ready to handle cargoes, whilst warehouse high cable reels of various bright colours crowded around their base, almost precariously close to the water’s edge.  Heavy industry is fascinating.  What curiously looked like a bright yellow roller coaster was actually a mechanism for winding the giant cables onto their drums, diving and twisting its way along the quayside.  

It was as we approached the stretch of the river at Hebburn, with Walker and Wallsend on the opposite banks, that we became acutely aware of the disused shipyards which are now relics of Tyneside’s industrial past.  Old warehouses, large areas of fenced off wasteland and flooded drydocks are all that are left of businesses like Swan Hunters and Hawthorn Leslie, which built some of the worlds finest ships and employed many of the region’s workers.  Of course, other businesses have utilised land and warehouses where they could, and regeneration is slowly taking place in the form of new riverside housing, but shipbuilding appears to have left for good.  Hopefully, when one door closes another one opens, but it is a big door that needs to open to replace a lost industry such as this.  

Being unable to pass through the area of the old shipyards, we pedalled uphill and away from the river to skirt around them.  Although you see very little evidence of it when you ride by, this area was also the site of Hebburn Colliery and it’s three pits, famous for its links to the invention of Humphrey Davy’s miners lamp.  Coal trains would also arrive from the Durham Coalfields to be loaded onto ships on this section of the river.  One thing that can be said is that the air and water quality today is much better than it would have been a century ago, when this area was booming with all sorts of heavy industry.  I wonder what the response would have been if you were to ask a hebburn miner, or a politician for that matter, what they thought of the level of carbon emissions!?

A further mile down the road and we were dropping down to the Tyne Pedestrian Tunnel.  I have mentioned it a few times on previous blogposts, so I won’t rave on about it again, but I never fail to enjoy the experience of a ride in these porcelain-lined tunnels beneath the Tyne.  All I will say is try it yourself!

As you might guess, we emerged back into daylight on the North side of the river, and it was time to change direction and ride upstream.  Maybe it just coincided with our timings, but it wasn’t until we faced the setting sun, that we realised time was going to be against us.  It shouldn’t be a huge problem as the route was generally well lit and flat, and we had a tailwind of course.  

Weaving through a housing estate we picked up the Hadrian’s Cycleway…a 170 mile route across Northern England and part of the national cycle network.  With only minor deviations, the route would take us directly back to the car.  

You have to admire Willington Dene Viaduct as you pass.  Built between 1837-39 for the Newcastle & North-East Railway Company, it now carries the Tyne & Wear Metro rather than steam trains, but it is great to see it in all its splendour.  Curiously, a woman was crouched into a ball on the wide open grassland below the viaduct.  I’m pretty sure she was simply taking a photo of a flower on her phone, rather than shooting up, but I can’t say for sure and it looked pretty odd.  Hey, it’s none of my business anyway!

I hadn’t realised that the cycleway runs directly past Segedunum Roman Fort until it was upon us.  “Segedunum”, meaning “strong fort”, was built as part of the construction of Hadrian’s Wall in AD122.  It was needed to protect the Eastern end of the wall and housed 600 Roman soldiers.  A museum exhibits Roman finds from the excavation of the fort, and part of Hadrian’s Wall itself is here, as well as a 35 metre high viewing tower gives a great aerial view of the site.  I imagine you get a good view of the old shipyards too.  If you didn’t visit on a school trip, then go and take a look now…preferably when a school coach isn’t in the car park.

We were now making rapid progress, partly by way of smooth tarmac paths and partly by the necessity to finish before dark, though we still had time to stop and admire the things that interested us.  A good example of this was St Peters Marina, with its flotilla of anchored yachts and boats, overlooked by modern apartments.  I am, like many others, drawn to a life by the waters edge.  It may be something to do with the idea of freedom and escape that the water seems to invoke in people.

Before returning to Newcastle quayside, we rode across the open tarmac on the edge of the old Spillers Flour Mill site.  Now earmarked for major investment in the form of a £100million leisure development, this area has been given the green light to construct a 460ft observation wheel.  Dubbed “The Whey Aye”, the wheel will be the biggest of its kind in Europe, and will be accompanied by a restaurant, entertainment centre, giant sports deck and a virtual golf club.  There will also be a 39ft statue known as the Geordie Giant.  The development will add another interesting angle to Newcastle’s visitor proposition, but whether I’ll be spinning aloft in a glass capsule on a windy day is a different matter!  Maybe on a still summer evening at dusk, when I can imagine a magical scene of the lights of Tyneside reflected in the river.

At the entrance to the Ouseburn, in a building that resembles a landlocked boat, sits the Cycle Hub.  This cafe offers more than just coffee and cake or even a beer and bacon butties.  You can hire bikes or book your own bike in for a repair in their workshop.  They may even be able to take a look at your ailing bike whilst you relax on the outdoor terrace, taking in the superb views of the Quayside with your beverage.  You won’t want to leave, even though you now can with your repaired ride. 

It is worth pointing out that the name of the Keelmans Way comes from the men who operated the wooden flat bottomed boats or “keels” that would travel up and down the river carrying coal from collieries upstream to awaiting coal ships, or “colliers” further downstream.  The keelman would take advantage of the ebb and flow of the tide to travel, but they used oars and, later, a sail to aid their journey, if the conditions were right.  The colliers were too large to operate beyond the point where the Ouseburn met the Tyne, so the cargoes of coal would be shovelled from one vessel to the other near here.  This back-breaking work was done by the crew, often working after dark.  

The setting sun radiated a distant glow over the cityscape from the horizon beyond.  Shadows were starting to lengthen as we weaved our way between the early evening strollers on the quayside.   It felt like we were chasing the light.  

We hugged the Tyne as we sped along the tarmac and trail of the Hadrians Way.  There is an easy sense of pleasure to be had from steadily pedalling along a flat course at an unfaltering pace.  Your muscles are working efficiently yet not quite producing enough lactate to put you beyond the cusp of the pain barrier.  This pleasure is enhanced by the further efficiencies gained by working with others, as you alternate periods of effort on the front, pushing the wind out of the way whilst your companions sit in your slipstream.  

At Newburn, paddleboarders were taking advantage of a still evening on the river.  We sped past and joined the old Scotswood, Newburn and Wylam railway line for the final roll back to the Old Station Car Park at Wylam.  

Half a mile before our finish in Wylam, we passed George Stephenson’s Cottage. The famous “inventor of the railways” was born here in 1781. He lived with his parents and four brothers and sisters, all crammed into one room. The house itself was divided into a tenement, shared between four families. Not much privacy here it seems! At the time, a wooden waggonway ran past the cottage, and horses would pull “cauldrons” of coal along it on their journey from Wylam Colliery to the Quayside on the Tyne.

We had certainly sampled Tyneside’s industrial history and heritage, and witnessed the changing face of its river.  Eleven bridges and one tunnel too…that’s a decent figure for any civil engineer.

Start / Finish : Wylam Riverside Country Park Car Park, Wylam, Northumberland, NE41 8DW

Coming Soon : Old Railways to Durham and Old Bridleways Home

Categories
Riding Trail Riding

Tyne Valley – Visiting the Duke in the Mill

Distance : 22.75 Miles / 36.61 Kms

Elevation : 1682 ft / 513 m

Terrain : Trail = 12.53 Miles / 20.16 Kms ; Tarmac = 10.22 miles / 16.45 Kms

Bike : MTB / CX / Gravel

Difficulty : Easy / Moderate

https://connect.garmin.com/modern/course/73020435

Tyne Valley – Visiting the Duke at the Mill GPX
Tyne Valley – Visiting the Duke at the Mill FIT

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.  

We set off West along the disused Scotswood, Newburn & Wylam Railway.  This line had been a branch or loop of the Newcastle to Carlisle line, which followed the route of the former Wylam Waggonway, but closed in 1968 following the infamous Beeching Report.  It is now part of the Hadrian Cycleway.  Not far from our start point at the site of the former North Wylam station lies Wylam Railway Bridge.  To locals it is known as Points Bridge, as it sits just beyond the signal points where the tracks joined the Newcastle to Carlisle line that runs to the South of the river at Wylam.

Points Bridge opened in 1876 at the cost of a new Ford Fiesta or VW Up! at today’s prices.  It’s impressive design avoided the need for piers to be sunk into the riverbed, as there were shallow mine workings beneath.  Often believed to have been an inspiration for the later Tyne Bridge and Sydney Harbour Bridges, Points Bridge actually has some major differences in its design.  The abutments at each end of the latter bridges bear no load from the single span arch and are aesthetic, whereas the abutments of Points Bridge directly bear the lateral load of the arch, as it is anchored into them.  This prevents distortion and a potential “road-wave” forming in front of a reversing train, as maneuvering trains would often reverse at the nearby points.  Clever thinking by our Victorian civil engineers.

Stupidly, as kids, we used to clamber over the arches of this bridge.  It is a wonder that none of us fell and caused ourselves serious injury, but that’s best left to childish recklessness that I hope none copy in the present day…

Beyond this famous span, tarmac bridleway sped us on past the Spetchells to Low Prudhoe Country Park.  The Spetchells, or “the chalk hills” as we called them, because that’s exactly what they are, were created as a byproduct of fertilizer production by an adjacent ICI factory, for the war effort during World War 2.  They are the only chalk deposits in Northumberland, and are now an important habitat for trees, wild flowers, bees and butterflies, amongst other species of flora and fauna that love the alkaline chalky soil.   These steep-sided mounds are good to explore by bike too if you get the time, as well drained trails run over and around them.

Just West of Prudhoe station, our route crossed the tracks and entered woods for a stiff climb through the trees to a Hammerite paint factory, alongside the A695.  We were encouraged on the climb by a couple of chaps pushing their bikes up the muddy path, but my achy legs were very glad to reach the gate at the top.  At least I knew it was the only climb for a few miles, as we would soon be speeding down the rocky road towards Cherryburn and following the riverside paths for a few miles to Stocksfield.

Cherryburn is a National Trust property, comprising a house and farm, which was the birthplace of the famous Northumberland wood engraver, illustrator and printer, Thomas Bewick (1753-1828).  Tucked away down a bank North of Mickley Square, the main house holds a small museum devoted to Bewick’s life and works, and there is a small printing shop in the barn.  It is often the way that you tend not to visit places which are on your doorstep and, unfortunately, I can say this for Cherryburn.  This quaint location, however, looks well worth a visit.

Back over the railway, and we spun along riverside paths dusted with sand, before turning inland across grassy fields and tracks to Stocksfield.  Opposite Stocksfield station, we turned into Guessburn.  I’ve no idea why they call it Guessburn, as it’s the Stocksfield Burn that runs alongside this quiet little estate.  I tried to find out, but failed.  Maybe the clue is in the title?  You just gotta guess!  

At the end of this Cul De Sac a narrow cut-through brought us on to Ridley Mill Road, from which we followed an old track, climbing through trees and alongside tall boundary walls to Old Ridley, with it’s beautiful stone houses and large lawns.  We were gradually gaining height as we crossed a country lane, onto a byway that led us up through the edge of Broomley Woods, before crossing fields to the tiny village of Broomley itself.   

Broomley is an attractive, entirely stone-built settlement, sitting near to Dere Street Roman Road, and amongst farmland, on the Tyne Valley hillside.  Twas nigh on the highest point we would reach…on the South side of the valley anyway.  

Having trundled through the village, we soon turned off to ride the old road to Riding Mill, following the exact route of Dere Street as it goes.  You can still see the white painted lines down the centre of the road, but public traffic hasn’t driven along here since 1982, when the construction of the A68 Corbridge Eastern bypass cut straight through this road, charging North and South.  The bypass did, however, reroute the A68 from the centres of Corbridge and Riding Mill, for which I’m sure the respective residents are very grateful. 

We pedalled the old road up to the point where the new bypass scythes through, then followed the bridleway round to a crossing point at High Shilford, before joining the old A68 for it’s rapid descent into Riding Mill.   It was worth remembering the character of this descent, as it’s reverse form presented the climb that awaited us on our departure from the village, and it’s a canny drag.

We sailed down into the village and pulled up at a junction with the busy A695.  Riding Mill is named after the location of a medieval corn mill which was built here alongside the Dipton Burn, a tributary of the nearby River Tyne.  As tenant farmers were forbidden from using hand mills, corn would need to be brought to the mill for grinding, making mill ownership quite lucrative.  This one was granted to Blanchland monastery.  The mill has since been converted into a house, which stands directly opposite the Wellington Hotel.      

Named after the eponymous Duke who defeated Napoleon Boneparte at the Battle of Waterloo in 1815, the Wellington Hotel stands right in the centre of the village.  At just under half way through our route, this popular inn would have been the perfect spot for food and refreshments.  Unfortunately, we had decided against the need for lights, on the basis that it was August and the evenings should remain light for some time.  It seems we had been a little ambitious, and we reluctantly decided not to stop for risk of riding the latter stages in the dark.  I recommend, however, that more sensible and suitably equipped riders visit the “Duke in the Mill” for a well earned refresher!

After a momentary breather we turned around and pedalled back up the hill to sample more of Tyne Valleys fantastic trails on our return leg.  

Once we reestablished the higher ground we peeled away from the trails we had so recently ridden in the opposite direction, to follow a lane down past the “Bongo Barn”.  I wasn’t sure what to expect on our passing…maybe a herd of African forest antelope or the rhythmical beat of a processioning band of drummers.  It turns out that the “Bongo Barn” is a specialist garage and dealer of Mazda Bongo vans, run by enthusiasts and set in a beautiful location!  I hadn’t expected that…

Before long we were entering the unofficial mountain bike playground of Broomley Woods.  Well used trails dash between the trees and over the Smithy Burn.  I was careful to ensure we followed a downward trajectory on these fantastic and often technical trails…I have ridden them before and it is not quite so much fun in the opposite direction.  A little longer spent exploring here and you would soon discover the easier routes to the top and the most exhilarating routes to the bottom.  Our route followed one of the most popular trails which offered a great taste of what is on offer.  Flushed with adrenaline and endorphins, we re-emerged onto tarmac just West of Stocksfield station.  

The Tyne Valley offers up some fantastic trails for mountain biking, but perhaps unsurprisingly, they are not always linked to one another.  The next section of our route involved three and a half miles of road, and one long ascent for a good part of it, but it would be worth it for the descent alongside Whittle Dene.  Climbing on tarmac may not offer the offroad distraction of picking a line between rocks and roots, but it is often less steep, and with a decent comfortable rhythm you can measure your effort to the summit.  Although it may feel like those big nobbly tires drag on the tarmac, at least you won’t lose traction, as you sometimes do climbing over wet grass, rocks, roots and mud.

It wasn’t long before we had climbed high up onto the valley side to admire the views West over the rolling fields towards the setting sun.  A brief section of gravel track climbed gently around the back of North Acomb Farm with it’s popular farm shop.  I’m always drawn to the quality of home grown produce, and although it’s more expensive, it rarely disappoints.  It’s a shame it was shut really or I’d have been leaving with a string of sausages round my neck and a steak tucked into my jersey.

After a careful traverse of the A69, the road led North past the entrance to Mowden Hall School.  Taking children from reception up to Year 8, this highly regarded school offers top class education at a top class price (over £6k per term by Year 8).  Lucky I was happy with Ovingham Middle School then! 

A cheeky little kicker of a climb led up to a right hand bend, but not far beyond was the climb summit and the final ascent of the ride.  Mountain biking on the banks of the Tyne Valley can be hard work, but great battles are often hard fought, as they say.

The start of our return to the river began with a gentle cruise across fields to Nafferton Farm.  The light was starting to fade.  A herd of cows barely raised their heads to register our passing, possibly reflecting the end of a hard day standing around in a field.  That grass won’t chew itself!

Curiously, the farm lane into Nafferton was carpeted with astroturf, probably to protect cows hooves from damage rather than for bovine ball games.  Now I don’t believe the future of mountain biking lies in synthetic grass, but it was nice enough to roll along….although the “natural fertiliser” coating was wasted here and unappreciated.

We left the farm behind, free-wheeling down the access road before swinging off onto a high-sided concrete bridge over the dual-carriageway.  A combine harvester was busy at work in an adjacent field.  Farming has never been a 9-5 job, but not many are rewarded from their office window with a glowing sunset, casting light and shadow across canvases of green from behind a bold frame of hedgerows.  

A hardpack path ran along the field edge and above the wooded banks of Whittle Dene, descending smoothly as it went.  It was perfect, allowing us to build some speed and experience that “flow”, with only the occasional turn of the pedals.  The path dipped into the treeline, throwing rocks and roots under our wheels, but scrubbing off very little momentum.  It emerged back out onto the edge of a field, ripe with peas and offering a smooth run along its border, down to the village of Ovingham below.  I pulled up at the mighty field gate…the climb had been more than worth the effort!

As we emerged from the fields, I looked across the road to the eminently affordable school of my tender years.  Nothing much had changed and it brought back happy memories, as it always does when I pass.  Ovingham is another pretty little Northumberland village with an Anglo-Saxon church, old pack-horse bridge, and plenty of nice stone buildings.  

The River Tyne separated Prudhoe from Ovingham until 1883, when a toll bridge was opened, replacing a ferry which previously connected the two settlements.  Interestingly, the Tyne Bridge and Sydney Harbour Bridge have more in common with Ovingham Bridge than of Points Bridge at Wylam.  Ovingham Bridge has steel tubes marked “Dorman Long Middlesbrough”, the firm that designed and built the Tyne and Sydney Harbour Bridges.  Ovingham Bridge only allows for one flow of traffic at a time, so lines of vehicles must take turns to cross.  It is quite narrow and unnerves many a driver, often to breaking point…or the breaking point of car bodywork at least, as can be seen by the scrapes on the stone abutments at each end of the bridge. 

Once back over the Tyne, via the footbridge this time, JC and I rejoined the riverside path downstream towards Wylam.  A nice little detour follows a chalk path behind the Spetchells, giving an opportunity to explore further and gain a little extra trail time.  It isn’t technical but it all counts.  Beyond the Spetchells we retraced our steps to Points Bridge and picked up a nice riverside singletrack trail on the far side, skirting allotments and the Jubilee field at Wylam.  Leaving our final section of trail behind it only remained for us to roll past the War Memorial and back into the Old Station Carpark to finish.

Well we made it back before dark.  Okay, so we hadn’t quite visited “The Duke in the Mill”, but for us it was still mission accomplished…with or without a nobleman’s inn, and there is always next time.  The Tyne Valley had produced once again…great trails in great conditions…you can’t get bored of that! 

Start / Finish : Wylam Old Station Car Park, Wylam, Northumberland, NE41 8DW

Coming Soon : Tracing the Tracks of Industrial Tyneside

Categories
Riding Trail Riding

Newcastle upon Tyne – Rolling the Urban Hinterland

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

Rolling the Urban Hinterland GPX
Rolling the Urban Hinterland FIT

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!?!

Start / Finish : Blucher Colliery Road, Blucher, Newcastle upon Tyne, NE15 9SE

Coming Soon : Tyne Valley – Visiting the Duke in the Mill

Categories
Riding Trail Riding

Loughrigg – A Tour of the Island Fell

Distance : 11.26 Miles / 18.12 Kms

Elevation : 1354 ft / 413 m

Terrain : Trail = 7.22 m / 11.62 km ; Tarmac = 4.04 m / 6.5 km

Bike : MTB

Difficulty : Moderate

https://connect.garmin.com/modern/course/69097666

Loughrigg – A Tour of the Island Fell GPXDownload
Loughrigg – A Tour of the Island Fell FITDownload

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.

But Loughrigg certainly isn’t a lonely fell.  It is one of the most popular climbs in the Lake District, being close to the ever bustling Ambleside, and with good paths, amazing views and set at relatively low level, you will usually see walkers dotted across it’s slopes.  Tire tracks are found up here too, as a fantastic rocky bridleway loops around the fell and reveals many of the sights that you would see from the summit, and more besides.  Loughrigg Tarn,  Rydal Cave and even Rydal Water are sights that you wouldn’t see from the triangulation pillar atop Loughrigg Fell, but show themselves to us in all their splendour on a “Tour of the Island Fell”.

I was over in the Lake District with my family for our summer holidays.  Covid 19’ has meant that foreign travel is off the cards for the moment, so we decided to visit this family favourite area instead.  I will never complain as I love the Lakes, and I know my girls do too.  

It was a bright sunny early evening without a breath of wind when I set off from our base in Ambleside.  We were enjoying a bit of a heatwave and it was still in the mid-twenties at 6pm, but I had plenty of fluids for the ride.  Following the one-way system through the town, I took a right turn off the Borrans Road, heading towards Coniston, Hawkshead and the Langdales on the A593.  Immediately after the narrow humped-back bridge I took a road on the right, sign-posted “Under Loughrigg”, which fantastically sounds like somewhere from Tolkein’s “Lord of the Rings”.  After half a mile of quiet lane alongside the River Rothay behind Rothay park, I crossed a cattle grid and took a road off to my left.  Now this road just disappears towards the heavens, up through the trees on a tough gradient.  Up, up, up on a steep lane winding beneath the trees, until it levels off for a short distance just beyond Brow Head Farm, where it passes from tarmac to trail.  This first section of road was only a quarter of a mile, but it was a real baptism of fire for legs that are short on practice.  I passed a family with young kids walking up, making it look effortless, so of course, I had to do the same…not walk…but make it look effortless.  I don’t know if I succeeded!

I paused on the wide gravel track to take a photo and regain my breath, but I was soon climbing again, between moss covered walls, up to a gate, and beyond, onto the open fell. 

The sun was beating down hard and I was beyond the shade of the trees now, so I settled for slow and steady progress, making the most of any gate stops to recover a little.  It was possibly only a mile or so from the valley floor to the highest point of the bridleway on Loughrigg Fell, but it was a solid mile of climbing.  

Once I was up there, however, the views were amazing.  To the South, the ferns and trees tumbled down to meet lake Windermere…it’s bright blue waters toning with the sky above it.  The Old Man of Coniston peered over the side of Ivy Crag to the South-West, but to the North all I could see was a bank of ferns across the side of Loughrigg Fell.

I let go of the brakes and let my weight quickly build speed down the track below Ivy Crag and on towards Tarn Foot.  I apologised for surprising a couple of young women with my sudden approach.  In truth, I think one was looking for a quiet place to “powder her nose”, so I would certainly have been an unwelcome intruder!

I bumped down over bigger rocks and roots at the base of the descent…my shocks absorbing most of the forces, and my body reluctantly accepting the residual.  At Tarn Foot I passed through a couple of gates and followed a hairpin right to ride up a beautiful chalky smooth road through the tranquil and scenic Tarn Foot Farm campsite.  Old metal fences, uniformly spaced, guided me through the cropped pastureland, where fortunate happy campers had set up for a week of sunshine in idyllic surroundings.  Only the hardy lakeland sheep may have been feeling overdressed and unimpressed by the conditions.

As I left the tent erectors under the watchful eye of their other halves, I was suddenly met with a scene as archetypal as you will find in the Lake District.  Loughrigg Tarn glistening under a bright sun in the foreground, encircled by lush green meadow and deciduous woodland, whilst mighty crags and fells in their varying shades of grey, looked on from afar, like the taller, elder and wiser figures standing assuredly in the back row of an old photograph.  I half expected to see Wordsworth in deep concentration, sitting on a rock by the side of the tarn, notebook in hand and pencil held to his lip.  Just as a side-note…”Tarn” comes from the Old Norse word “Tjorn”, meaning a small teardrop lake.

It was hard to drag myself away from this setting.  I would have been happy to lie on the grass and doze, but I knew more treats were in store, so I pushed on.  Leaving the smooth gravel track behind, I passed onto the pretty lane which winds up across the lower slopes of Loughrigg towards Red Bank. 

On reaching the brow of this mini pass to Grasmere, I navigated a gate on my right, which opened onto a stately looking bridleway.  Wide, smooth and lined with great beech trees, it would escort me down to the famous Loughrigg Terrace.

As I trundled onto the terrace, the familiar vista of Grasmere lake and village with Dunmail Raise behind, presented itself.  Another perfect scene in glorious sunshine.  I had forgotten how technical Loughrigg Terrace can be in parts, but it was a superb traverse gently downhill through the ferns towards another well known and popular attraction of these parts.

Rydal Cave is part of the remains of the 19th century Loughrigg slate quarry.  Of course, it is impossible to move around the Lake District without seeing walls and roofs built using this material.  It is the classic example of using what is close to hand.  In days gone by, slate mines were common in the Lake District, but now Honister Slate Mine is the sole remaining working slate mine in these parts. 

The cave is easy to find, just beyond a flat slate plateau, which was likely used for processing or storage of this fine-grained rock.  It’s gaping entrance is only slightly recessed behind banks of earth, and trees hang across from either side like theatre curtains lining a stage, opening a production of “Voyage into the Abyss”.  Actually, although the entrance appears to present a chasmic void, the cave isn’t actually very deep and daylight reaches all the way to the deepest recesses.

A foreign couple watched me bemused, as I carried my bike across the stepping stones into the cave.  They were feeding the shoals of tiny fish that have inexplicably found their way here to inhabit the shallow pool of water that has naturally spread across the soft cavern floor.  The fish scattered from my shadow as I precariously tottered from one stone to the next to reach the drier ground of the further reaches.  Huge slate teeth jut from the ceiling at threatening angles, and are reflected in the grey waters below.  The mirroring effect, however, lessens any sense of claustrophobia, as the cave appears almost twice its size and height by the water’s presence.  I decided that waterlogged feet was an acceptable price to pay for lasting artistic photography, so I waded up to my ankles to see what I could capture.  As I left, I made a passing explanation for my apparent insanity to the quiet couple.  I’m not sure they understood, but they nodded and smiled in sympathy.

I left by the old quarry road that transported slate away from the mine when it was operational.  It was a downhill run, wide, fast and flowing in parts and steep, rocky and precarious in others.  I get off on a couple of occasions to save injury to my body and my pride.

The trail brought me down to the edge of Rydal Water at its Eastern shore, with Nab Scar at one end of the Fairfield Horseshoe standing prominently across on the far bank and harbouring our eventual route home. 

A lovely lakeside trail took me along the shores of both Rydal Water and Grasmere, before rising to reach the lane at the bottom of Red Bank.  A left turn here would mean a whole world of pain, as the very steep Red Bank is a stiff test of the legs, but luckily I turned right and trundled along flat tarmac into Lakeland’s most popular village of Grasmere. 

Grasmere means “Lake in the Pasture” in Old English, and if you look around here, then this really needs no further explanation.  Grasmere village obviously takes its name from the lake, and it was equally as quiet and tranquil as its watery neighbour when I roll through on an early evening in late July.  In fact, I was surprised by the absence of bustle around the gift shops and cafes, as it was peak tourist season and many people were holidaying within our domestic shores this year due to Covid 19’.  

On the outskirts of the village sits the prior home of Grasmere’s most famous resident…William Wordsworth.  Dove Cottage and the accompanying visitors centre, which is itself an architectural demonstration on the liberal use of slate, are a huge draw for tourists, eager to learn more about the famous poet.  In fact, Wordsworth only lived at Dove Cottage for 9 years, before considering it inadequate.  After several moves in the following few years, he eventually settled at Rydal Mount, a rustic and impressive family home near Rydal Hall.  Rydal Mount is another popular tourist attraction, and it is no coincidence that my route would take me past the door, a few miles further up the road.

William was buried at St Oswald’s church in the village in 1850, to be joined by his wife 9 years later.  Their grave is marked by a simple tombstone, but it has become one of the most visited literary shrines in the world.  The land between the church and the River Rothay has been developed as the pretty and peaceful “Wordsworth Daffodil Garden”, where you can buy a stone engraved with your name and hometown set into the path.  A small building at the entrance to the churchyard is the home to the famous Sarah Nelson’s Gingerbread Shop, but it was once the village school, where Wordsworth himself taught, along with his wife and sister.  Try the gingerbread…it is fantastic fuel for a hungry cyclist!

My route back to Ambleside followed the old Coffin Road across the slopes of Nab Scar, through the Rydal Estate, and alighting at Rydal Mount.  Coffins were conveyed on their final journey along this undulating rocky path to the only consecrated ground in the area, at St Oswalds Church.  It is possible that Wordsworth himself was carried over the rocks and roots of this scenic road to his final resting place.  Much of the route has been upgraded to a wide gravel path, which is not technical, but rolls nicely nonetheless.

My legs were getting quite tired as I tackled the climb up onto the higher aspects of the route, but the pain eased as my mind absorbed the beauty on show.  It wasn’t difficult to see where inspiration could bloom, perhaps from a host of golden daffodils on a meadow bank or from a lonely cloud wandering across the fells.  I had to remind myself to keep moving.  I had to be back soon to head for the cinema with my family.  All this inspiration would be for nothing if I was late!

I sped down the steep tarmac past the entrance to Rydal Mount and Rydal Hall, losing all my gained height in 30 seconds of rapidly plummeting human and carbon.  I joined the A591 towards Ambleside, but within 100 metres I was leaving this busy thoroughfare, and sailing over the hump-back bridge back onto the lane “Under Loughrigg”, heading back to Ambleside.  If you are after a ride with fantastic trails, interesting sights, scenic vistas, sensible distance, and not too far from civilisation, then “A Tour of the Island Fell” is the one for you!

I would make it back in time to see another childrens film on the big screen.  Nothing with adult themes unfortunately, but it was an hour and a half of lounging on a comfy chair in a dark room with drinks, handfuls of sugar and distractedly silent kids.  The perfect post-ride recovery…happy days!

Start / Finish : Under Loughrigg, Ambleside, Cumbria, LA22 9LJ

Coming Soon : Newcastle Upon Tyne – Rolling the Urban Hinterland

Categories
Riding Trail Riding

On the Trail of St Cuthbert

Distance : 27.54 Miles / 44.32 Kms

Elevation : 1580 ft / 482 m

Terrain : Trail = 15.34 Miles / 24.69 Kms ; Tarmac = 12.2 Miles / 19.63 Kms

Bike : MTB

Difficulty : Moderate

https://connect.garmin.com/modern/course/71338715

On the Trail of St Cuthbert GPXDownload
On the Trail of St Cuthbert FITDownload

“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.

It was the trusty trio of Gavin, Andy and I, who set off from a convenient little layby just outside of the tiny village of Doddington in Northumberland.  Many people wouldn’t have heard of the village had it not been for the Doddington Dairy that churns out (pun definitely intended) delicious flavours of ice cream at North Doddington Farm.  They now produce a fantastic range of local cheese too, and if you are ever in the market town of Wooler, a couple of miles down the road, then you must try the milkshakes from the Doddington Milk Bar…they are a real treat!  Anyway, before I start sounding like I’m on commission I’ll move onto the ride.

We were under blue skies as we left the car, but the threat of darker clouds from the West had us discussing Britain’s favourite topic.  A couple on e-bikes warned us about a jungle of nettles up ahead on the narrow tarmac bridleway, and although it is that time of year when the vegetation is rampant and spilling across the trails, it was actually an avenue of cow parsley and goose grass which lay in wait.  Certainly not as annoying as our stinging nemesis.  

Looking across into the wetland to my right I caught a glimpse of a large dark shadow moving quickly through the reeds and rushes.  Gavin and Andy had missed it.  Could it have been a hare!? I’ve seen plenty of hares, but this looked to be the size of a large dog…I best get Sherlock onto the case of “The Wild Dog of Doddington”…which admittedly doesn’t quite have the same ring to it as “The Hound of the Baskervilles”.  Anyway, it left as quickly as it arrived and I saw nothing more of it, and we were soon beyond the scene and heading for our first climb of the day.  A young female farmer on a quad wished us  “Good Morning” as she passed…obligatory balancing border collie riding pillion as they bumped along the rough track.

The climb from Doddington was long and steady…tarmac at first before giving way to a rocky track.  A couple of level sections and even a short descent gave our legs a brief rest, as we left the Milfield Plain for the higher ground of Doddington Moor.  Beyond, the fields rolled out East for a short distance before the landscape climbed the Kyloe Hills…hiding the North Sea from view.  

We drew up alongside poppy fields on the Devil’s Causeway roman road, admiring the flowering white blooms spreading across the green like a dusting of snow.  We didn’t quite understand why they were grown here in the UK, let alone Northumberland.  It appears that a world-wide shortage of morphine since 2005 has prompted the commercial growth of opium poppies by British farmers.  The seed pods are full of a milky latex which dries to an amber-coloured resin, rich in codeine, morphine and other substances which are sought by medicine producers.  Pharmaceutical company, Macfarlan Smith, holds the sole licence for poppy production in the UK.  They inform the Home Office about the location and size of UK crops, and the Home Office, in turn, writes to the various farmers to confirm the arrangement and invites them to let the local constabulary know what they are doing.  The farmer only needs to prepare the land, drill the seeds and watch them grow.  Once grown, the poppies are harvested and processed by Macfarlan Smith.  It is an arrangement that works well for all parties it seems.  I trust you understand I only have a passing and merely educational interest in this field!

Quiet country lanes guided us away from the opiate plantation and on towards the hamlet of Holburn, where we picked up a pleasant grassy bridleway, ascending onto Holburn Moss Nature Reserve.  The reserve is an internationally recognised wetland with close links to Lindisfarne National Nature Reserve, as wildfowl regularly move between the two areas.  The link is reinforced further by alleged stories of monks from Lindisfarne Priory travelling to Holburn Moss to harvest peat for fuel.  This may well account for the square hollows across the site.  Pink-footed goose, wigeon and grey plover can be seen here.  A nice variety of grass track, forest fire road and woodland singletrack led us around the edge of the reserve.  

On leaving the woodland we were presented with the familiar beauty of the Northumberland coastline.  Lindisfarne Castle perched at the end of its sliver of island, looking East over the North Sea for Viking invaders who had long since stormed and pillaged this land, or in many cases, had simply integrated peacefully into our communities. 

Our gravel track divided the pastureland into two and with it, the fortunes of two mighty bulls.  To our left, a huge chunk of bovine muscle stood alone, looking over the fence to the field on the opposite side, blasting verbal protests at his rival d’amour.  Without going into too much detail, the hefty heifer on our right was accompanied by a field of cows, and he was busy doing what he had been bought to do, ignoring the objections and disapproval from over yonder.  We trundled furtively across the stage (and what a scenic backdrop for a bit of al fresco hijinx!) and exited in time to warn an oncoming troup of elderly female ramblers about their imminent lesson in animal husbandry in UK farming.  

A right turn took us across fields of long grass, following St Cuthberts Way up onto Greensheen Hill.  The views just got better, with the glistening coastline to the East mirrored in beauty by rolling fields of ripe golden wheat stretching out to the Cheviots in the West.  Strips and patches of dark woodland lay scattered across the landscape, their green hues deepened by a thickening cloud cover.  

To the North the sky had developed a threatening presence, like looking up from deep beneath the heavy breaking waves of an ocean storm.  Showers were already soaking the earth only a few miles away, so it was time to head for shelter.  Luckily, we had one in mind and a fast singletrack descent through heather and fern took us there.

The first drops of rain reached us just as we rode up to St Cuthbert’s Cave.  We certainly weren’t alone as we shared the ample space beneath the sandstone outcrop with quietly conversing couples and a group of walkers in discussion over lunch.  I examined the multifarious graffiti from days of yore, wondering who must have been first to leave their mark.  Maybe it was the ancient monks of Lindisfarne, as it is rumoured to be they who brought St Cuthbert’s body here for safekeeping in AD875, in order to evade the Danes ravaging their Holy Island.  

St Cuthbert was a famous monk of the 7th century and the patron saint of Northumbria.  He ran the Lindisfarne Monastery and it is said that he developed the gift of spiritual healing.  At the age of 40 he decided to become a hermit to fight the spiritual forces of evil in a life of solitude.   Some believe that he spent a short period of solitude at St Cuthbert’s Cave, before moving to a more permanent location on the Inner Farne Island.  After his death in AD687 he was laid to rest on Lindisfarne, however, his remains were  later moved to avoid the clutches of the Vikings.  Lindisfarne monastery and the island were abandoned in AD875, after years of threat from their invaders.  The body of St Cuthbert, along with surviving relics and treasures, were transported to various sites over the next 200 years.  Finally, St Cuthbert’s body was laid to rest within the newly built Norman cathedral at Durham in 1104.  The grave is marked by a plain gravestone with the inscription “Cuthbertus”, and it is still the site of many pilgrimages today.

It wasn’t long before the rain passed…just enough time to eat an energy bar and snoop around a little, before we got back in the saddle.  We departed to allow others to take our sheltered spot.  I had hoped to leave in a quiet and gracious manner, but my brakes squealed a drawn out parting wail as I descended across the wet grass.  I caught up with Gavin and Andy at a gate, when our aforementioned friends approached, en route to Saint Cuddy’s campsite cavern.  I still laugh now when I think about their expressions.  I have always been the one to laugh loudest at my own jokes though!

We were now riding dirt tracks along the fringes of the golden wheat fields that we had viewed from higher ground. 

We simply can no longer pass a log stack without stopping to take a photo…it has become a “thing” I guess. 

I admired the old farm buildings at Dick’s Oldwalls (wow, what a great name!).  I think the buildings deserve better than to be used as a sheep shelter, but what do I know… I know it is a tranquil little spot at least.

A few miles further on down gravel road and woodland trail and we were coming into the ancient village of Belford.  This old coaching town sits on the old Great North Road…a road which is now usually found sitting quietly alongside its noisy and beefier successor, the A1. 

A quick stop at the Co-Op for scran resulted in the discovery of a new gastronomic sensation…. for me anyway.  A chicken karahi naan wrap…it tasted so good.  I don’t know who made it and from what but it hit the spot!

We left the village on the South Road, knowing that we would imminently be turning West and facing a long uphill struggle onto Belford Moor.  I enjoyed the climb, however, as it was never too steep and with a steady rhythm I turned my way to the top. 

The traverse of the moor required moments of patience and hazard management.  Patience to study the best route across an area of bog, and then to plough on across it in the hope that man and bike would not become stranded without hope.  Hazard management also involved the assessment and then circumnavigation of bovine threats, actual or merely perceived…it wasn’t left to chance.

Joining tarmac towards the summit of Lyham Hill, I knew we would soon be in for a long downhill towards home.  I wasn’t wrong, as the road behind the crags of Bowden Doors took us down Dancing Green Hill on an asphalt journey to the pretty Hetton Hall.   The same lane led us all the way back to the Devil’s Causeway and from here we retraced our steps to the car.  The long energy sapping ascent from Doddington on the edge of the Milfield Plain became a long energy restoring descent.  

I only wish we had had the time to call in at the Milk Bar in Wooler on the way home, but it was time I didn’t have.  I was required post-haste to report for family duty.  That reminds me, I was going to enquire about the availability of a small hermitage on the Inner Farne Island… 

Start / Finish : Layby @ Doddington Bridge, 1 mile South of Doddington on B6525

Coming Soon : Loughrigg – A Tour of the Island Fell

Categories
Riding Trail Riding

Borrowdale Bash

Distance : 18.46 Miles / 29.71 Kms

Elevation : 2301 ft / 701 m

Terrain : Trail = 8.13 miles / 13.1 kms ; Tarmac = 10.33 miles / 16.61 kms

Bike : MTB

Difficulty : Challenging

https://connect.garmin.com/modern/course/66342727

Borrowdale Bash GPXDownload
Borrowdale Bash FITDownload

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 had travelled over from Northumberland with Gavin and Andy for a few days of riding.  With the bustling town of Ambleside in the heart of the National Park as our base, we had many options and areas to choose from, but the famous Borrowdale Bash was a ride that I hadn’t actually done before, so we penned it into the schedule.

The “Bash” rides out of Keswick, another very popular tourist town in this region, and follows a loop South into Borrowdale (who’d have thought!), running down one side of the valley towards the Borrowdale Fells, before crossing to the opposite for it’s return.  In doing so, the ride circumnavigates Derwent Water, providing a stunning backdrop for photos of the trails and fells.  

We parked at the Lakeside Car Park, which has plenty of spaces, even if it can get busy during the holiday season.  The first two miles followed Borrowdale Road, South to the turn off for Watendlath.  This is a flat run on tarmac, but the road can be a little narrow in places and busy so take care.  Having said that, I have ridden this road many times and  I’ve never had any problems (touch wood!), and you quickly arrive at the junction where you leave the B-road. 

This ride has three major climbs.  The first climb is from Derwent Water to Watendlath, the second takes you up the steepest section of Honister Pass (Oh cripes!!), and the third is a steady climb out of Grange.  It is at the turn off for Watendlath that the fun begins.  This first climb is tarmac all the way, which means that traction shouldn’t be an issue, but unfortunately, gravity will be.  There is no disguising that this is a fair old slog,  and quite steep in places too.  Aim for Ashness Bridge first.  An initial steep ramp takes you up to this iconic little stone span, with the Barrow Beck channelled between craggy boulders to flow under its single arch.  You must have seen it in pictures and photos.  It is the perfect place for a rest should you need one and you are unlikely to be the only person there.

Beyond the bridge the road climbs up through the trees…steep at first, before easing up as it opens across fields, then ramps up again as it continues up to an amazing viewpoint overlooking Derwent Water and Upper Borrowdale.  Again, we rested here to soak it all in, before riding the final easier gradient to the crest.  We were lucky enough to see a Lockheed C-130 Hercules military transport plane low flying through the Borrowdale valley.  The military regularly uses the Lake District for low flying exercises, and with it being midweek and perfect weather, various types of aircraft were on training when we visited.

The road continues along a narrow pretty vale all the way to Watendlath, where we rewarded ourselves with sustenance from the cafe and a seat on the short grass, looking out over the picturesque Watendlath Tarn.  A fisherman stood statuesque with his rod dipped towards the water…the scene seemed to aptly represent the peace and tranquility of this place.  Watendlath derives from the old Norse for “Water End Barn”.  If we are being romantic about it, then the name could even refer to what is now the National Trust Bothy, which nestles by the tarn, providing shelter to those looking for an extended stay.

It was damn hot.  The sun was beating down hard and after the rigorous climb I felt a little wrung out.  I was glad to rest, cool and rehydrate with a coke and an ice lolly.  More mountain bikers rolled in and took up the shade beneath the birch trees…why hadn’t we taken that spot!?  

A packhorse bridge crossed the Watendlath Beck, but we decided to ride the wide ford.  I’m glad to say I made it.  I’m pretty sure the folk sitting nearby were ready to cheer should I have gone for a dip.  The bridleway beyond ran quite steeply up the hillside.  It wasn’t the gradient that posed a problem here, but rather the huge rocks and angled bedrock.  I can’t even imagine a packhorse making their way up such a precarious path.  We made it to the top by climbing and lifting the bike as we went, but luckily it didn’t last long.  We remounted as the trail became smooth and rideable, and enjoyed a traverse across the higher ground of Brund Fell.

Now it was time to enjoy a decent descent down Puddingstone Bank towards Rosthwaite.  I was hanging on as I bounced down the jagged trail.  Every size and grade of rock seemed to be here, from sand and soil to great slate slabs and boulders like watermelons.  This moraine sat on top of a deeply scored and channelled bedrock, which plunged from the ground at all angles, trying to throw you from your path.  It was great fun, and the bike was performing flawlessly…compensating for my mistakes and seemingly guiding me to safety.  

I passed a group of pack-laden teenagers, possibly trekking for their Duke of Edinburgh Award, at Birkett’s Leap.  They stood and watched me pass…no pressure then!  I managed to descend to the waiting gate with my pride and dignity intact.

Andy and Gavin weren’t far behind and I watched them wrestle their bikes down the trail towards me.  We took our momentary hiatus at the gate to savour the unbeatable views up the valley and share our experiences of the gauntlet that we had just run.  Then it was back onto the pedals to continue our journey to the valley floor.

I managed a glimpse up the drive of the impressive and fantastically positioned Hazel Bank Country House Hotel.  I made a mental note for a future visit with Zoe…a quiet weekend without kids sounds perfect.

We joined the Cumbrian Way, running alongside the Stonethwaite Beck towards Stonethwaite Fell, before crossing Stonethwaite bridge to reach…you guessed it…Stonethwaite.   Riding out of this pretty hamlet beneath lofty pines and along a narrow stonewalled lane, you could be tricked into thinking that the riding was going to be nice and flat for a while.  It all depends upon your interpretation of “a while” I guess.  If for you it means “for approximately a mile or so”, then you would be happy, as this was the distance to Seatoller by road, and thereby the distance to reach the infamous Honister Pass.

I have ridden Honister Pass many times, and in both directions…both of which are tough, I won’t lie.  Whereas the climb from West to East is toughest towards the top, the opposite is true for the ascent from the East.  I hope you are like me, as I love a challenging climb, and this one delivers in spades.  You won’t be riding to the top, however, as the bridleway that we are seeking joins just less than half way up. Just so you can get the best bit in first! 

As you leave Seatoller the climbing is super tough pretty much immediately, rising in the shade of the trees which line the Hause Gill, until you reach a cattle grid approximately half a mile into the sky.  Beyond the cattle grid the gradient eases, just in time for you to wobble off onto the bridleway and collapse.  In truth, it’s not that horrendous.  You should feel a good sense of achievement when you reach the bridleway, and the next stage of your ride more than makes up for it.

The bridleway beneath the crags of High Scawdel is a fantastic run.  We sailed along the winding gravelly path, aiming for the gap between Goat Crag and Castle Crag, with Skiddaw standing on the distant skyline. 

As we approached, Derwent Water came into view, framed nicely by the crags on either side.  Our finish point at Keswick lay on the far shore.  

Descending between the aforementioned crags was another trial of skill.  An embedded rock pavement made the cobbled pave of the Paris – Roubaix look like pea gravel.  Scattered stones ran loose like marbles beneath our wheels, and we weaved to avoid the larger rocks.  It may have required all of my concentration but it was a fantastic drop down Broadslack Gill to the River Derwent.  It was exactly the kind of terrain we had come for and it didn’t disappoint.

One or two families had settled for a day by the pebbled shores of the river near to Hollows Farm Campsite, B&B and self-catering cottage.  What an amazing spot this is…very pretty and well kept, quiet and set in stunning scenery.  A great base for exploring the wilds of the Lake District!

The tiny village of Grange lay only a third of a mile away, and as we rolled in we noticed the busy little Grange Cafe, which has plenty of outdoor seating.  The cafe was busy, which was good to see, but Gavin was happy to play errand boy and kindly ventured in to fetch drinks.  We stood nearby, swigging in the sun and making the place look untidy with our dirty and sweaty attire.  

Less than a mile up the lane from Grange is Manesty Park, a pretty area of woodland on the South-West shores of Derwent Water.  Just prior to reaching the park, a bridleway leaves the lane just beyond Manesty Self-Catering Cottages & Glamping.  Straight from the lane, the gravel path rises and quickly gets rockier and steeper as it heads up the hillside towards Catbells.  Luckily, within a few hundred metres, we took a right hand fork at a junction in the bridleway and continued our way up on an easier gradient, heading North.  

Soon we had reached the top of our final major climb.  At the crest we stopped to admire more beautiful views over Derwent Water, before clipping in for a fast traverse  across Catbells’ Eastern banks.  The trail descends and touches the lane, before rising again to allow another run across the hillside before eventually dropping back to the lane beyond Brandlehow Park.

It was at this point that I persuaded my companions that a pint at the Swinside Inn would be essential.  It was off-route by approximately a mile, but it wasn’t an uphill mile, so “it would be worth it” I promised.  I have been to the Swinside Inn on a number of occasions.  Dating to the early 17th century, it has character and charm, and it has been lovingly restored and maintained.  Open log fires create a cosy atmosphere during the Winter, and the food is really good.  In the Summer, the beer garden is a great place to be with views over the Newlands Valley and a convenient serving hatch to keep your thirst replenished.  I obviously like the place, so give it a try and see what you think.  

After a well-earned cold pint in the sun, we embarked upon the final leg of our journey, retracing our steps to rejoin our route via the Cumbrian Way towards Portinscale.  The trails through the forest were smooth and fast, and exactly what we needed towards the end of the ride. 

Within a few minutes we arrived in Portinscale but not before pausing for a moment to check out the Watersports at Nichol End.  Varying sizes of water-bourne craft were moored up, from yachts to dinghies, kayaks to paddleboards.

After the relative quiet of the fells, Keswick felt like Piccadilly Circus, with people bustling about the town centre, in and out of the outdoor shops.  The roads, however, were surprisingly quiet as we spun the last mile of tarmac back to the car.  What a great day out it had been.  Fantastic sunshine, scenery, trails and company.  I can’t wait for the next two-wheeled “Bash” in the Lake District!

Start / Finish : Lakeside Car Park, 30A Lake Road, Keswick, Cumbria, CA12 5DG

Coming Soon : On the trail of St Cuthbert

Categories
Riding Trail Riding

Trails of the Oak Valley

Distance : 22.29 Miles / 35.88 Kms

Elevation : 1802 ft / 549 m

Terrain : Trails = 12.88 Miles / 20.74 Kms ; Tarmac = 9.41 Miles / 15.14 Kms

Bike : MTB (Gravel/CX possible)

Difficulty : Moderate

https://connect.garmin.com/modern/course/48780130

Trails of the Oak Valley GPX
Trails of the Oak Valley FIT

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!).  Bikes have come a long way since those early days of mountain biking and the experience is much better for it (although I still like a spin on my old Orange C16R for nostalgia’s sake).  Nowadays, much of the shock is absorbed by suspension and bigger tubeless wheels, whilst evolving frame angles coupled with shorter stems and wider bars, give a more upright riding position.  All help to give the rider more control and, of course, bikes are lighter yet often more robust. 

I’m so grateful that these technological advances have followed the same timeline as my own mechanical deterioration, allowing me to continue following the trails of yore, and, most importantly, enjoy the riding. 

This ride wasn’t going to be flat, but the trails were going to be good so it would be worth it.  We would be riding in a loop from the Tyne Valley into the Derwent Valley and back again.   The route travels from one area of woodland to another in succession, appropriately so, as the name Derwent derives from the Brythonic/early Welsh name for oak (derw) and valley (-went).

We parked in the quiet cul-de-sac of Winston Way, which should be fine for a few hours if you are considerate to the needs of residents.  The weather was cloudy and warm as we set-off, but within a minute of pedalling a few drops of rain had us questioning our clothing selection.  We rode on regardless, and indeed, the rain had merely been a transient threat, as it didn’t return.

As with many of my recent rides, it started with a climb.  Just beyond the last house of New Ridley a lane rises on your left towards the small farmstead of Apperley (Don’t confuse this with Apperley Road or you’ll have a good bit of backtracking to do).  Halfway up the lane the tarmac disappeared and a gravel track led between holly trees and pines to the top of the climb.  It was a good warm up and we were instantly rewarded with a nice flat singletrack trail, opening onto farm track as we headed for the road beyond.  

This next tough slice of tarmac rises from New Ridley Road and doesn’t stop until you enter the small village of Hedley on the Hill.  Rising 420 feet in just over a mile, it may not be Hardknott Pass, but the ascent was good enough for the National Hill Climb Championships in 2017.  Dan Evans covered the ground in a little under 4 minutes averaging 16.5 mph!  Luckily, we had mountain bike gear ratios, only a short stretch to ride, and we weren’t against the clock, but it is a fantastic climb to ride in its entirety if you get the chance.

We peeled away from this rigorous road ramp, into Westriding Wood and sped downhill on a dusty dirt track.  We pulled up for a logstack photo as the track levelled out at the base of a small steep-sided vale.  Ahead, we could see our exit climb weaving a precipitous course up the hillside, before disappearing at what we hoped was the summit.  Tall pines stood like arrowheads pointing at the sky, serving to remind us of our direction of travel.  The struggle was short, however, and the slender window of sky that we had been aiming for was indeed the bank top.  

As I panted in an effort to reduce heat and find my lungs the oxygen they so dearly needed, I managed to utter my admiration for the pretty buildings and views at Hollings farm.  It is quite an idyllic setting.

Skirting around the back of the disused Hollings Hill Quarry, a bridleway dropped us into Milkwellburn Wood.  Fast flowing singletrack had us thirsty for more, and although I wasn’t so familiar with this wood, I knew Chopwell Woods, our next stop, has so much to offer mountain bikers.  We discovered that Milkwellburn Wood has also been developed with recreation in mind, as clearly signposted bridleways run a smooth path in various directions.  All too soon we emerged from the fringes of the woodland at it’s South-East corner. Trundling down a gravel lane into Blackhall Mill, we raved about the trails we had covered, and speculated upon the ones we might have missed.

A nice old riveted steel girder footbridge spans the River Derwent, a tributary of the River Tyne, at Blackhall Mill.  Thought to have been built in 2001, I imagine it is a nod to the industrial past of this small village, as steel was produced at Derwentcote Steel Furnace, a very short distance downstream.  Although it carries a footpath, it was good for a cheeky photo whilst no one was looking.

We ventured into Chopwell Woods from the South.  A steep gravel ramp had our chins on our handlebars and our legs scalded by lactate.  Once through the gate at the top, we paused within the threshold of the woods.  

Chopwell Woods is the largest area of woodland in Tyne & Wear at 900 acres, and has a rich history of coal mining and timber production.  It is a mix of coniferous and deciduous trees, but most importantly for us, it now contains a great network of mountain bike trails.  Of course, there are also fantastic walking trails too, but we were visiting on two wheels, so our focus was beyond boots on this occasion.  We wound our way upward on clear trails between the trunks, rolling across a carpet of pine needles.  Joining a tarmac access road, we rumbled along its course, past fellow bikers and walkers in the main car park.  

I remembered visiting here with my daughters for a ride a few years ago.  The huge electrified wires of the National Grid share a break in the trees with the Chopwell Woods car park, and I had parked up beneath them without a second thought.   As I went to bring our carbon and steel bikes down from the roof of the car I felt a distinct buzzing sensation running through my arms…not a very reassuring feeling!  I quickly jumped back in the car and moved it to a less hair-raising spot.  I didn’t fancy the electrifying experience of an arc from one of our nation’s main powerlines.  I’d be happy with a coffee if I’m after a pick-me-up!  Just a small warning for any would-be visitors…

It really is worth coming to Chopwell Woods to spend time exploring the myriad of trails that loop and wind through this timberland.  They have been built by riders, for riders and you can sense that as you hurtle through the foliage like a speeder bike rider in Star Wars – Return of the Jedi. 

On this ride though, it would only be a fleeting visit to Chopwell Woods.  We had other places to be and other sights to see.  Following a smooth dirt trail across Spen Banks, we descended alongside the Spen Burn to test our rollin’ skill at Rowlands Gill (sorry…it doesn’t get any better either!).  

As we re-emerged into daylight onto the green grass of the Gill, I was wondering who “Rowland” was.  From what I can gather, the name appears to derive from a local landowner in the 17th century called Rowland Richardson, with Gill referring to a stream running through a steep-sided valley.  It is thought that the name Rowland Richardson’s Gill, has been shortened over time to be read as it does today.  During the 19th century, both a toll house and a local station for the newly developed Derwent Valley railway, were given the name Rowlands Gill.  The settlement has expanded from its original locus by the stream, and now subsumes the long standing village previously known as “Smailes”.  

Our next toil on this voyage of discovery would be the tarmacadam of Thornley Bank.  This one mile strip of skyward cycling may have stung as it rose between the hedges, but without it we would have missed the sight of four….yes four, red kites circling over nearby woods and houses.  I hope it wasn’t someone’s barbeque they were after!  It was an easy distraction from our labour, watching these majestic creatures soaring above.  It’s a shame that our cameras couldn’t show them in all their splendour.  As I crested the bank I noticed finger posts for the Red Kite Trail…our sighting had been no coincidence then!

Leaving the Derwent Valley behind, we headed back towards the Tyne.  With our tires kicking up dust we descended dirt tracks from Barlow to Blaydon Burn at speed.  The fringes of Blaydon Burn would be our furthest foray East, and as we rode up Long Ridge Road to find our next dirty frolic, we had already decided to stop for sugar at Greenside.

The shop at Greenside was a welcome sight, and as I approached the chiller full of every soft drink you could name, I noticed the array of flavours of Fanta.  “My kids would like these as a taste of something different” I thought, as I loaded up…strawberry, pineapple, wild cherry, apricot…4 should do it.  I came for liquids…I certainly left with liquids.  I felt like the bottle carrier of a Tour de France cycling team.  I would be finishing the ride more laden than when I had started.  At least I had my Ginger Beer.

We sat by the war memorial and replenished our thirst.  It was still cloudy but we were warm enough.  I listened as Gavin and Andy drew from their encyclopedic knowledge of old films and bands…many of which I had never seen or heard enough of to be familiar.  Maybe I’ll catch up some day.

We climbed out of Greenside and freewheeled down Bradley Fell Road with its fantastic views of the Tyne Valley.  It was easy to make out Crawcrook, Wylam and parts of Prudhoe.  Plumes of steam from the chimneys of Egger chipboard factory in Hexham were visible, as they usually are for many Tyne Valley residents.  

A byway dropped to the left from the road as it took a sharp right and continued on to become Kyo Bog Lane (I love this name, which basically means “Cow Bog Lane” in old English).  The byway was a rough rocky track disappearing downwards into woodland.  A ford at its base gave us a brief water splash…which has rarely been seen on the trails of late with all the dry weather.  Not that I’m complaining!

After a mile or two traversing pleasant flat dusty trails within woodland and between fields of horses (and Alpaca!) we entered a grassy meadow for a steep ascent via Lumley’s Lane to High Mickley.  Now if you look at an ordnance survey map, then Lumley’s Lane is shown as traversing the fields in a South-Easterly direction before entering Hyons Wood East.  Other maps will show it running directly South into Hyons Wood West.  Although I am following the Ordnance Survey maps reference, the latter is more likely to be the lane proper, as it appears to lead to Lumley’s Copse within Hyons Wood.  This is roughly the site of the old Hedley Park Colliery, which operated during the 1940’s and closed in 1951…so the lane is likely to be an associated access road.

If I’m wrong, then Lumley hasn’t got much of a lane left to be honest.  Much of the “lane” is now covered by mud and grass which has been heavily rutted by cows or overgrown with nettles and brambles.  A much easier approach was to ride across the grass alongside the “lane”.  With steady pedal strokes and one eye on my line, the other on the lookout for surprise cows (of which there weren’t any), I made my way up to the metal field gate.  

We rode the final section of rough track to the crest of Bowlers Hill near High Mickley. With our last major climb out of the way it felt good to be rolling downhill.  We were two miles from the car, and with a fabulous panorama around us and a wide dusty bridleway descent carrying us to the finish, we were happy.  

We paused during our descent to watch a glider release from its tow-plane.  Hedley Glider Club sat atop Hedley Fell, just away to the East.   The engines of the tow-plane fell silent as it dropped away on its rapid return to the airfield.  The glider circled a couple of times, before sailing silently away to look for thermals in the valley.

Our final descent dropped sharply down Modigar’s Lane.  It was nice to finish with a flourish of speed.  For the record, the name “Modigar” is likely corrupted from “Moory Grass”, which would make sense if it related to a gravelly lane running through lush green fields.  

Via fields, woods, gills and burns…this was the typical retro mountain bike ride that I remember as a teenager.  I can certainly say that my current bike is lighter than the retro versions of old, but unfortunately the contemporary rider was heavier.  Whether this was down to me or the Fanta, I’m not prepared to disclose.  For the record, my girls didn’t really like the drinks…so that was time, money and effort wasted. Kids these days!!

Start / Finish : Winston Way, New Ridley, Stocksfield, Northumberland, NE43 7RF

Check out the next post – Hexhamshire Common – Coming Soon!

Categories
Riding Trail Riding

East of the Hills, West of the Sea in North Northumberland

Distance : 19.5 miles / 31.4 kms

Elevation Gain : 1752 ft / 534 m

Terrain : Trail = 11.14 miles / 17.94 kms ; Tarmac = 8.36 miles / 13.46 kms

Bike : MTB

Difficulty : Moderate

https://connect.garmin.com/modern/course/35522021

East of the Hills, West of the Sea GPXDownload
East of the Hills, West of the Sea FITDownload

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.

The skies were thick with clouds and their wide flat bottoms sat heavily on an invisible layer of air, threatening to drench the land in their shadow.  But somehow it didn’t feel dark and I felt optimistic that the rain would miss us.  Bright blue was breaking through in places after all.

We were riding out of Ilderton, a tiny village off the A697 just South of Wooler.  A dusty track took us into the shade of broad oak trees and between high stone walls, past the 13th century tower of St Michael’s church.  Within a few hundred metres a cheeky steep climb hurt our legs before they had had a chance to warm up and accept the challenge, but maybe it was best to hit this head on so that we’d be ready for later inclines.

For the first few miles we followed obvious paths and tracks, across fields and down lanes…some rocky, some tarmac.  Low clouds shrouded the Cheviot hills behind us, but we weren’t riding to such lofty heights, so we’d keep our tires on the ground and our heads out of the clouds. 

The Inspiral Carpets in Alpaca form awaited us at Bewick Folly, a very attractive hamlet at the foot of a hillside and overlooking the Cheviots.  These freshly shorn members of the camel family stood curiously “peru”sing us, before wandering to within spitting distance.  I’m sure they just came over to say hello, but we left before they had the chance to clarify their intentions.

Climbing across a field full of sheep, we made it up onto the higher ground of Bewick Moor.  There is much to see up here.  Hanging Crag clings precariously to the steep hillside, threatening to skittle the buildings of Old Bewick below.  Just beyond, a bronze age cairn, two iron age hillforts and a World War 2 pillbox stand high on the hillside, commanding fine positions, with aerial prospects over the land for many miles in all directions.  Ancient cup and ring marks can be found nearby too.  

Good trails of dust and rock led us between the fern and heather up to Bleawearie, a popular ruin sat on the moors alongside rocky crags and a small copse of trees.  Bleawearie means “Tired of the Wind”…a fantastic name for a windswept location.  Built in the 19th century the farmstead was occupied by shepherds up until it’s requisition by the War Office in 1940.  The army used Bleawearie for training purposes during World War 2.  After the army left the previous residents decided not to return, and it has been given up to the elements since.   The whole place has an eerie and mystical atmosphere.  With ruins, mossy crags and ancient towering trees, there are so many recesses for both earthly or spiritual beings to hide.  You can’t help but feel that you’re not alone up here, especially when the swings that are roped to the boughs of the trees, drift back and forth in the wind.  

When you find a place like this you need to explore it, possibly in the hope of finding something you can’t explain, or maybe to look for some morbid curiosity.  Andy, Gavin and I all went in our own directions.  Like children lost in our own imaginary worlds, we crawled over the site like ants over an iced bun.  Andy was last to reappear…I could imagine a vanishing incident up here…but he was still in our dimension (just), so we took a few pics and got back in the saddle.  I need to bring the family up here for a picnic…what a spot!

We continued across the moors heading for two transmitter aerials on the skyline.  The nearer of the two at Quarry House seemed to be attracting a halo of dark rain clouds.  Instead of depositing rain upon us, the skies actually started to clear, and we enjoyed a little blue sky.

It is from this point that I had planned for the route to follow the bridleway up to the second transmitter and just beyond to Chatton Sandyfords.  Unfortunately, however, the bridleway stops at Chatton Sandyfords and continues as a footpath across Sandyford Moor.  It is a shame as the route is eminently wide and rideable, and would link up nicely with the byway at Shielhope. Our route turns left at the road before Quarry House and runs down a lovely descent alongside Hepburn Woods.  I love this road as a climb in the opposite direction too, although it is a quite brutal effort.

Before descending past Hepburn Woods take a look across to your right.  Ros Castle is a hill which stands as the highest point on the Chillingham Hills range.  So called due to the 3000 year old iron age hill fort which sits upon its summit, the views from here are panoramic.  On a clear day you can see 7 castles from up here (see if you can name them), and just below you is the Chillingham Estate with it’s famous cattle herd.  Although you won’t likely find much evidence of the hillfort, Ros Castle looks amazing when it is awash with purple heather during the summer months.

Just beyond Hepburn Farm the road dropped to a junction.  A right turn took us past the entrance to Chillingham Castle as we headed for the byway at Chillingham Barns.  Chillingham Castle is a 13th century Grade 1 star-listed stronghold.  It has been besieged and battled many times over the last 800 years, but it has always been held by the same family bloodline.  This fantastically refurbished building and grounds are well known for their ghostly sightings and very popular for both day visitors and overnight guests.  The tearoom will keep you happily fed and watered, and if you are lucky you will catch a glimpse of the famous Chillingham cattle.  It was during a stay with friends at this very castle that I first got together with my wife, Zoe.  Ah, happy days!

Behind Chillingham Barns, the byway ran down a pretty grassy lane towards the River Till.  It then crossed the river, but by no obvious means that we could see.  I sensed the eyes of my mates, looking towards the heavens, as I paced the bank and scoured the riverbed for a good crossing point.  Sure enough, we soon managed to cross at a point that was no more than ankle deep, but only to fight our way through vegetation on the far bank.  Luckily, a waiting gate was only meters away, but we were glad to reach it, and the grass of the field beyond.  

We settled into a nice rhythm, riding from one meadow to the next until we dropped through an old gate and onto a quiet lane.  After a short strip of tarmac, we were rolling nicely along farmtracks and grassy paths again, heading for the road at Painty’s Plantation.  We were just East of Wooler now.  Although we were headed in the direction of this little stone-built town, which sits on the Millfield Plain, our route would turn South-West before we reached its urban fringes.

Before we could turn for home we had a long climb to deal with.  It was on road for a short distance initially, before running onto a rough track at Threecock Plantation and becoming grassy towards the summit of Whitsunbank Hill.  Prehistoric rock art can be found in the field to you right as you approach the summit, but without a strimmer you would likely see nothing at all.

Again, the views gave us a good enough reason to pause and catch our breaths, but we didn’t hesitate for long, as the anticipation of a lengthy off-road descent was pulling me forward.  Farm lanes took us past fields of tall wheat, back to the Wooler Water at Heugh Head.  It had all felt like the rolling hills of Tuscany for a moment, but without the sunshine and warmth, or vineyards, or hill top fortified towns….but hey…this is Northumberland with its own climate, style and beauty!

We crossed the A697, and followed a lane which dropped into a shallow ford before climbing out on a rough track, up to a crossroads near Cresswell Bog.  If we had been disappointed with the last ford, I knew we might have better luck at the next one, near Coldgate Mill.  Like all kids, I love a splash in water, so I took a run back and forth through the ford a few times…simple pleasures for a simple mind.

It was a pleasant 2 mile ride along lanes and gravel tracks back to the finish at Ilderton.  OK, so it wasn’t a flat 2 miles, but it was worth it and still adhered to the  “Riding = Pleasure/Pain” principle.  Oh, had I not mentioned the “Pain” bit earlier!?! It was also worth it for the fact that I’d still be sitting on the verge now if I hadn’t covered the ground, so “you gotta do what you gotta do”…

All in all, another great offering from the great outdoors of Northumberland.

Start / Finish : Ilderton, Northumberland, NE66 4YD

Categories
Riding Trail Riding

Crook and the Law in the Land of Prince Bishops

Distance : 43.48 Miles / 70 Kms

Ascent : 2937 ft / 895 m

Terrain : Trail = 29.17 Miles / 47 Kms ; Tarmac = 14.31 Miles / 23 Kms

Bike : CX / Gravel / MTB

Difficulty : Challenging

https://connect.garmin.com/modern/course/50466654

Crook and the Law GPXDownload
Crook and the Law FITDownload


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.

But I bet you didn’t really consider the fun to be had outside of its famous museum, and why would you? Beamish is otherwise simply a small village in County Durham just East of Stanley, sitting alongside Hellhole Wood, and just North of the small village of No Place.  It sounds insignificant and not a place you would bother to otherwise visit.  It does, however, sit on the Consett & Sunderland Railway Path, and provides a great starting point for an exploration of the byways of County Durham.  I should also point out that it isn’t a hellhole either!

I was riding with my ever present cycling stalwart, Gavin, again.  The route took us, via byways, South West from Beamish to Lanchester, where we would pick up the Lanchester Valley Railway Path.  We would follow this East to the outskirts of Durham to join the Deerness Valley Railway Path that would take us back out West and then South as far as Crook.   The return leg ran North-West to Tow Law and then North East, via Hedleyhope Fell, back to Lanchester.  Finally, we would climb up to Annfield Plain to rejoin the Consett & Sunderland Railway Path, back to the car.  43 miles (69 kms), so quite an off-road ride for one day.  

For the first half a mile we were headed No Place, in particular, but at the back end of No Place, we joined a bridleway and we were soon rolling along a wide track between fields.  The time of year has arrived when all flora goes into overdrive…growing without restraint due to a perfect mix of sunshine and showers…green was rising up and out of everywhere.  Cow parsley was putting on a dominant display, and before long it was being ground into my chain and cassette as we rode through narrower trails.  I weaved along, throwing body shapes to avoid goose grass as it tried to cling and nettles as they tried to sting. 

We had ridden up through Stanley Burn, across the Southern reaches of Stanley, before turning South towards South Moor Golf Course.  Again, the track was wide and the surface of compact earth and gravel was good, as we started our ascent between the fairways, up to Wagtail Lane, near Fernwood.  This is a long steady climb, but never too severe, so we sat in and ground it away, tilting at the wind turbine atop the crest of the hill.  We rested only metres from it’s foot, as it loomed large above us, spinning its arms at the wind. 

I pestered Gavin with one of the ridiculous thoughts that amuse me, but leave others wondering about my sanity…What if the guys forgot to grease the bearings in those turbines? They would make a right racket wouldn’t they!!  I’m sure Gavins response was one of bemusement and mild irritation, but he is good enough to suffer my quirks.

As we rode up the tarmac a nicely restored Austin Cambridge overtook me, but I’m guessing bicycles were the only vehicles that the old fella overtook on his scenic drive that day.  

We bumped on down a rough farm track towards Chapman’s Well Nature Reserve.  The reserve is popular with bird watchers as Snipe, Lapwing, Heron, Kestrel and five species of owl can be seen, amongst many other breeds, but I noticed neither twitchers or twitterers as I flew past.

As we joined Edge Lane, we noted the expansive views to the West towards the Weardale Valley and Bolts Law.  After only 200 metres of tarmac, we passed through a gate with possibly the biggest “catch of the day” we’ve ever seen…it wouldn’t have been out of place in one of the Jaws films.  The gate sat at the top of a long descent down an old drove road, linking Lanchester with Newcastle.  An initial strip of tarmac gave way to gravel, which subsequently gave way to a singletrack of rocks, roots and earth.  It was still rideable, but only just in places…a mountain bike would have sailed through there I guess.  This “Back Lane”, as it is known, dropped us out towards the bottom of Howden Bank at the Northern edge of Lanchester.

After a brief stop at a garage for fluids…it was 20 degrees and sunny…Gavin and I navigated our way through the village and joined the smooth Lanchester Valley Railway Path.  The Lanchester Valley Railway was developed by the North Eastern Railway (NER) to run between Consett and Durham and opened in 1862.  Within a few years coal pits opened at Bearpark, Malton, Lanchester and Langley Park, and they were serviced by the line, but passenger numbers were always light.  Like many lines, it closed following the Beeching Cuts in 1965, and has since become a popular leisure pathway.

Pathways such as these are such a valuable resource to communities located along their route.  As well as being an asset for the local population, they encourage tourism, which in turn generates customers for local businesses.  And they are traffic-free.  I wish Northumberland could develop a similar network to County Durham or other areas of the country!

The going was easy now and we made rapid progress.  Pushed on by a moderate South-Westerly breeze, we covered the miles quickly.  If it hadn’t been for my regular pauses for arty photos, we would have probably halved the time it took to travel to Crook.  

We passed from the Lanchester Valley Railway Path to the Deerness Valley Railway Path just West of Durham, where it branched from the old Durham to Bishop Auckland line.  The Deerness Valley line opened in 1858, to service the coal mines along its route, as far as East Hedleyhope Junction.  Coal was transported out of the valley to ships on the Tyne.  In later years passenger services stopped at stations at Waterhouses and Ushaw Moor.  Passenger services were phased out by 1951, and the line closed for good in 1964 with the closure of the pits. 

I pulled up near Broom Park to nosey at “On The Hoof”, a pathside pop-up cafe and takeaway, serving refreshments to picnic tables from a converted horsebox.  What a great idea!  I could imagine spending far too long relaxing in these rural surroundings and indulging myself on cake and coke, whilst gazing idly into the middle distance.  But we still had 28 miles to cover, so it was prudent to pedal on and so we did…

After three or four miles of joining the Deerness Valley Railway Path we realised that the route had been gradually climbing for quite some time and it was continuing in the same vein.  Although it wasn’t too taxing by bike, the steam locomotives that ran this singletrack line must have burnt a good deal of coal on their journey West.  It was just as well that they were servicing the many coal mines of this area.  

The section of the line beyond East Hedleyhope Junction was known as the Stockton & Darlington Deerness Valley Branch. As you approach the top of the incline (21.4miles / 34.4 kms) a wood to the right of the path hides the remains of Stanley Cottage Drift mine.  

Just beyond the wood, the path runs over the crest of the hill before dropping sharply into Crook.  This part of the line was known as the Stanley Incline.  Waggons ran up and down the steep slope, suspended by ropes attached to a stationary engine located at the top.  A conventional locomotive obviously couldn’t operate on these gradients.  This operation serviced Stanley Cottage Drift mine and nearby Wooley Colliery.

Freewheeling into Crook, we took a quick refreshment detour to the shops on Hope Street (off the B6298, less than a quarter of a mile to the South of our route).  Once rehydrated, we pedalled on past Roddymoor, and followed a gravel track to Sunniside, climbing away from Crook on the path of another disused railway.  Old tramways, waggonways and railways criss-cross the map, once supplying the pits and factories of the area.  Like the ancient roads of our ancestors, they too have become relics on the landscape.  Besides the lucky few, most are forgotten or unrecognised by the travellers  following their path.  

On our journey from Sunniside to Tow Law we unknowingly pass directly by the sites of the previous Sunniside and Hedleyhope Collieries.  Nothing remains to hint at the money and energy spent bringing coal to the surface…the workings have gone and the land is reclaimed for agriculture.  The farmer needs only to scratch the surface of the land where miners dug so deep beneath his feet.

I hadn’t planned on adopting Roger the Boxer, as we passed him on one of his daily walks.  Being a puppy, he decided that we looked like we wanted to play and he followed us quite some distance, before eventually returning to his exasperated owner.

Next to tick off today’s animal passport were the birds of Durham Hens, just outside of Tow Law.  My mother bought her hens from here, which subsequently required me to build a sizable coop for them, but it was worth it for the eggs.  

We passed through the Eastern edge of Tow Law before hitting trails which took us on to Hedleyhope Fell.  The name Tow Law derives from the Old English “tot hlaw”, meaning “lookout mound”, taken from the name of a house which was built there before the ironworks and village were built.  As with much of the area, rapid growth occurred in the 19th century after the Weardale Iron & Coal Company was established here in 1845.  Blast furnaces were built and collieries opened.  It is worth noting that a spring at Tow Law provides the source of the River Deerness.

My cowboy skills are coming on quite well.  As we crossed Hedleyhope Fell, we gently encouraged a herd of bullocks to allow our safe transit.  Of course, they decided to run ahead of us on the same path for some distance, turning back at intervals to weigh up a retaliatory charge, before moving to one side.  We are obviously a formidable pair! 

You can see now where the ride name comes from, having passed a “Crook and the Law”.  County Durham has long been known as the “Land of Price Bishops”.  I have tried to keep it short, but the reason for it goes something like this…

In Anglo-Saxon times, Great Britain was not one kingdom as it is today, but broken up into several kingdoms spread throughout the land.  One of the most powerful of the Anglo-Saxon kingdoms was Northumbria, which spread from the Humber to the Forth, taking up almost a third of mainland Britain.  After successive invasions by Vikings and Scots, however, the kingdom was reduced to an area between the Tweed and the Tees, what we know as North-East England today.  

When William the Conqueror came to England’s throne following the Norman Conquest in 1066, he realised that he couldn’t protect his kingdom from Scottish invaders until he ruled Northumbria.  He also was aware of Northumbria’s remoteness and independence and saw that it couldn’t be easily ruled by a king in the distant South of England.  The two most powerful men in Northumbria at that time were the Earl of Bamburgh, who held the royal powers passed to him by the old kings of Northumbria, and the Bishop of Durham.

William formed an allegiance with the Earl and Bishop in the hope of securing an adequate defence from the Scots.  Subsequent Northumbrian rebellions demonstrated that this arrangement could not be trusted, so William sought to install a Norman Earl of Northumbria.  This Earl, Robert Carmine, was massacred with 700 of his men in the City of Durham before he could take office.  In revenge, King William led his army in a devastating raid on Northumbria, now known as the “Harrowing of the North”.  The Bishop of Durham tried to flee, but was caught and imprisoned, where he later died.

A Norman Bishop of Durham, William Walcher, was installed, but rebellion was not completely subdued, so William installed an Anglo-Saxon Earl of Northumbria, Waltheof.  Although the Bishop and Earl had a good relationship, the Earl was later implicated in a rebellion, and executed.  The Bishop was then conferred with both powers and became known as “Earl Bishop”.  Unfortunately, he was an incompetent ruler, which angered his men, and he was murdered in Gateshead in 1080.  

His successor, Bishop William St Carileph, was given the same powers of the Earl, but they were restricted to an area we now know as County Durham…the Land of Prince Bishops.  The land to the North of the Tyne and Derwent became the County of Northumberland.  

So in effect, County Durham acted as an independent state for many centuries, ruled not by the King of England, but by the powerful Prince Bishops.

Are you still awake!?! I think we better move on…

We rode down from Hedleyhope Fell to Steely Hope Nature Reserve and then on into Cornsay Colliery.  A white horse idled across it’s field with her beautiful young foal in close pursuit.   

Again, no sign of previous mining exists here, but a nice steep tarmac climb out of the village will get you digging deep into your own reserves of energy.  It is all rewarded, however, with a long flight down Bargate Bank into Lanchester, crossing the path of Dere Street Roman road as you go.  As a note, the remains of Longovicium Roman Fort hide beneath a grassy meadow on the hill to your left as you descend, but I’d be amazed if you can make it out from this vantage point.

Back through Lanchester we went, stopping once more for liquids, before the final climb up Howden Bank, to rejoin the Consett & Sunderland Railway Path on the Coast to Coast (C2C) cycle route at Annfield Plain. 

It was a nice feeling to reach this well known cycleway, as we knew it was now a gentle ride downhill from here to the car.  The surface was smooth tarmac too, so the last few miles allowed us to spin the lactic acid from our tired muscles and debrief each other on our experience as we went. 

Conclusion: Like pit ponies, we were tired, hot and dirty, but like Durham’s lucky prospectors, we were happy with what we had found in the Land of Prince Bishops.

Start / Finish : Car Park at Eden Place Picnic Area, Beamish, Stanley, County Durham, DH9 0RE

Categories
Running Trail Running

Isle of Harris – The Resurrection Run

Distance : 9.1 Miles / 14.65 Kms

Terrain : Trail = 6.05 Miles / 9.74 Kms ; Tarmac = 3.05 Miles / 4.91 Kms

Ascent : 939 ft / 286 m

Difficulty : Challenging

https://connect.garmin.com/modern/course/59121216

Isle of Harris – The Resurrection Run GPXDownload
Isle of Harris – The Resurrection Run FITDownload


I was lucky enough to be staying only 2 minutes from the start of my run on South Harris and it was a mild sunny evening as I trotted down the road with Tilly at my side.  We would be leaving this wonderful island the next morning and I was determined to squeeze in a trail run in this rugged wilderness.  I have a niggling hamstring problem at the moment, so I would be taking it very steady, but I was desperate to be out.

My route would take me from the East Coast to the West, via the Coffin Road.  From the West coast I would return via the island’s old roads, before touching new roads towards the finish.  To reflect the vaguely “grave to cradle” character of the route, I chose to name it “The Resurrection Run”.  The name doesn’t quite follow the “Benjamin Button” theme, but hey, you get the picture and it has a nice ring to it!

I won’t revisit all of the island’s background and history here, as it has been lightly touched upon in my previous Isle of Harris cycling blog posts, so, if you haven’t already, please give them a read.  If the read doesn’t quite capture it, the photos show just how stunning this landscape is.

Setting off from the road junction to Lackalee, just East of Aird Mhige (Ardvay), a finger post directs you towards Seilebost, your target on the West coast.  A strip of tarmac road with a central grassy runner gives the impression that it’s metalled surface will lead you smoothly all the way to your destination.  The initial steep rise, however, merely disguises the fact that the tarmac disappears 100 metres beyond at a sheep fank (a set of stone walled pens used for sorting sheep).  Does this mean a female sheep in a pen is a “Fank Ewe”? (Sorry!!)

Passing through a gate to the side of the fank, I was pleased to see that the path is well trodden and easy to follow.  It was reassuring that the navigation should be easy, but I still needed to concentrate on my footing amongst the rocks, and I was well aware that this wasn’t going to be a flat run.  At the next signpost I joined the Hebridean Way, headed West towards a White house standing on the shore at Ceann a Bhaigh.  

To my right, everywhere, from my feet to the blue sky, was rock and heather.  No fields bring uniformity to this barren landscape, and the few small trees lie along the edges of lochs and smothering their tiny islands.  The only constant here is the heather covered peat, softening the jagged outline of ancient rock, as far as the eye can see.  It is little wonder Stanley Kubrick used tinted shots of parts of this landscape as the surface of Jupiter in his classic film “2001: A Space Odyssey”.

I dropped down to the White house, crossing a stream, before joining the Coffin Road travelling North-West.  The rough rocky landscape of the East coast provided no suitable sites for cemeteries, and no road was available through the bays region, so the local population of old would have to transport their coffins to suitable level ground on the West of the island, for burial.  They did this via the Coffin Road, a narrow rocky track which led over these hills for several miles.  

Having read literature about the Coffin Road, I had been warned that it would be very boggy and unclear in places, however, as I ascended towards Bealach Eorabhat, I was pleased to note that the path had obviously been upgraded.  Although the ground had been dry lately, I imagine that the current gravel surface should hold up quite well under inclement conditions.  Many channels have been cut into the path to allow water to continue on it’s journey without drenching the feet of passing runners, walkers, or coffin bearers.  The penance for dry feet is to take repeated small leaps across these channels as you make your way up the hillside.

As I approached the top of the bealach, the path ran below the towering crags of Creag an Eoin, meaning “Rock of the Bird”.  Golden eagles nest in these cliffs.  Flights must have been cancelled when I passed, but you may be lucky enough to see one of these amazing raptors soaring overhead. 

The path was now wide and easy as I ran down towards Seilebost, with views opening up towards the golden shores and blue seas of Traigh Losgaintir (Luskentyre beach).  I was getting thirsty now under the hot sun, and I wished I hadn’t worn a thermal.  When will I ever dress properly for the occasion!?  The lochs and shores teased at my need for liquid but I wasn’t going to keel over, so I pressed on.  Next time I’ll take my hydration pack and carry the thermal instead. 

The dry track ran down to Loch Carran where it met the old road to Tarbert.  It felt nice to run on the smooth surface of the old road for a while.  Although broken in places due to the tests of time and weather, the old road carries you along swiftly, covering ground in a fraction of the time it would take should you veer from it’s decisive path.

I was heading North now, and directly towards Beinn Losgaintir, with Beinn Dhubh sitting on it’s shoulder, the latter being the highest point on South Harris at 506m (1670ft).  I had, initially planned to run these mountains, but thought better of it due to my hamstring injury.  It’s a shame, as the views from the summit of Beinn Dhubh, overlooking Luskentyre beach and towards the mountains of North Harris, are fantastic.  As a side note, An Cliseam (pronounced Clisham) on North Harris is the highest mountain in the Outer Hebrides and the only Corbett at 799m (2621ft).  It was also the location where I tore ankle ligaments, just beyond the summit, a mile and a half into the Low Alpine Mountain Marathon in 2018, ending my event very prematurely. Even this, however, couldn’t detract from my enjoyment of the beauty on display.  I have only good memories of my visits to Lewis & Harris.

Passing through a gate, I dropped onto the A859 and turned right for a long steady ascent up the valley.  Although the roads are generally quiet, it was nice to leave the main road again after approximately 1km (0.66 miles).  I joined a drive as straight as a rising arrow, heading for the horizon over the rough terrain.  Water trickled in a stream to my left, wires draped lazily between telegraph poles to my right and sheep lay in the grass. I appeared to be the only thing working against the natural order of this place.

The drive led towards Laxdale Cottage, a remote cosy fishing bothy, built beside the idyllic Laxdale Loch, the leading Salmon Fishery on the Borve Lodge Estate. 

Tilly and I skirted the loch and continued our adventure up the broken old road towards a quarry just beyond the crest.  Machinery stood silently amongst huge piles of rocks and boulders, some awaiting further industry, whilst others rested out the days of their retirement in the same spot since they fell from use.

On Harris, Lewisian Gneiss (pronounced “Nice”) is quarried for many purposes…work surfaces, flooring, gravestones, facing stones on buildings and road-building, to name a few.  This rock pre-dates life on earth, going back to a period just after the hard crust formed around our planet’s molten fireball.  Unbelievably, this material actually formed over the South Pole (near Antarctica) and floated on giant tectonic plates, by mere millimetres every year, for eons, travelling across our globe to their current position.

The far South of Harris is well known as a source of the rare mineral Anorthosite.  This mineral is a coarse grained igneous (volcanic) rock, similar to granite, but a lot less abundant on earth, and certainly in Britain.  The highlands of the moon are known to have large deposits of Anorthosite, so the composition of South Harris has a lot in common with our lunar satellite.  Wow, I never thought I’d know so much about geology!

It was evident that no work was ongoing in the quarry as we passed.  No lights, flags or sirens warned us of impending earth shattering blasts, so I ran on, and before long I had reached the section of new road on the A859.  Tilly and I were near the top of the climb, and I was thankful that the final leg was downhill to the finish.  We crossed over the new road, to regain the path of the old, over several rolling peaks and troughs, until it fell once more and slid beneath the fresh tarmac that had superseded it.  

The final leg of my route took me down the road that I so love to climb by bike.  I couldn’t quite achieve the same feelings of joy on two feet, especially as my hamstring was now telling me that descents aren’t my friend at the moment.  

I cut a few corners, following footpaths across country, until the path descended to the signpost I had passed on my way out.  From here it was a simple process of retracing my steps to the junction where I started. A ram stood boldly on an elevated rocky plinth, evidently quite sure of his prowess, as he watched us pass over his wild kingdom.

As I returned home I remembered the one thing I had forgotten on my travels around the island. I had meant to look out for the dwarf juniper bushes that hide amongst the heather.  Of course, I had a fool proof plan…a 79% proof plan! A visit to the Harris Gin distillery in Tarbert! I could forget about the juniper bushes if I toasted the Isle of Harris with a G&T. This fantastic tipple infused with Sugar Kelp seaweed is the perfect way to say “Slainte Mhath” (Slan-ge-var) Harris! Now let’s see if I need “Resurrecting” in the morning!

Start / Finish : Parking at junction to Lackalee, 0.25 miles East of Aird Mhige (Ardvay), South Harris, HS3 3EH