Distance : 34 Miles / 54.7 Kms
Terrain : Trail = 17.36 Miles / 27.94 Kms ; Tarmac = 16.64 Miles / 26.78 Kms
Bike : MTB
Difficulty : Moderate
https://connect.garmin.com/modern/course/38429283
Well this was a ride with all sorts going on and really seemed to typify a mountain bike adventure. It could possibly have gone more smoothly towards the end, but then, adventures aren’t always predictable. Sometimes you just have to be philosophical and hope you learn something from your experiences.
I was eager to sample the byways that run up the Northumberland coast between Newton by the Sea and Bamburgh. They tend not to hug the coast but run the course of old lanes between fields and, although possibly not the most technical at first glance, they offer the chance to travel across the countryside on traffic-free routes.
We would drop into Bamburgh for a quick refreshment stop, ride up the coast, before turning inland to tackle the windswept expanses of Wandylaw Moor and Middle Moor and finally descend again towards the coast. It was destined to be another ride of two halves.
On a bright morning I met Gavin at High Newton by the Sea car park and quickly readied myself for the off. The forecast was generally cloudy, but rain showers were expected in the afternoon. As we pedalled up the road to our first section of byway I explained the route plan. Although 34 miles is quite a distance by mountain bike, I had been surprised by the amount of tarmac included in this ride. Although they were necessary to link up the off road sections, they were almost entirely on quiet lanes, which gave us more chance to chat whilst covering ground.
We left the B1339 at its junction with the B1340 just inland from Newton by the Sea. A byway took us past Sarah’s Ice Cream Parlour on the corner. Although there was no sign of Sarah, or anyone for that matter at this time in the morning, I thought we might check it out on the way back.
For the first few miles we rode grassy paths along the edges of fields and followed a farm track across Brunton Burn and up to the pretty farmstead at Brunton. We gently and cautiously shoo’d on a herd of cows with calves that were blocking our path. He denies it, but I’m sure there is farming stock in Gavin’s family somewhere…
Turning right at a crossroads, we travelled a lane running along the perimeter of the abandoned Brunton Airfield, peeking over the hedges as we went, to see if we could identify any remaining structures. As we were about to leave the lane, beyond the rear entrance gate to the airfield, a car pulled up. An elderly couple and their daughter were parking to walk their dogs, and it transpired that the gentleman knew a lot about the history of the airfield, having researched it himself. Brunton Airfield had been a training base for fighter-bomber pilots in World War 2, stationing Hawker Hurricanes, latterly Typhoons and also Submarine Spitfires and Hawker Tempests during its period of active service. Operational Training Units ceased using the airfield as early as 1945. Later, it was used as a base for parachutists from the mid-1970’s until 2003. The area is now private farmland. Incidentally, the lane we had just travelled had been the supply road for fuel tankers entering the base. The tankers were generally kept clear of the main entrance for safety reasons.
Having chatted at leisure with these nice folk, we continued on, riding from tarmac onto a rough byway. At first glance it appeared impenetrable, but actually turned out to be good riding. Give it another month or so, though, and you may need a scythe to get through.
We took in a good few miles of field access tracks, sometimes gravelly and wide at other times grassy and narrowed by vegetation. It was all pretty flat and rideable, and although not difficult, it was pleasant going. Even when we rode the narrow verges of fields of oilseed rape the going was firm enough to be of little effort.
When Bamburgh Castle came into view it was as impressive as ever. Standing boldly on the skyline with the North Sea and Farne Islands lying behind, this Norman fortress is nearly 1000 years old. It had, however, been the site of a Celtic Brittonic fort for 500 years prior to its current construction. It is still owned by the Armstrong family, having been bought and refurbished by William Armstrong, the Victorian industrialist of Cragside and Jesmond Dene fame. It is open to the public and well worth a visit.
We freewheeled into Bamburgh and pulled up on the wide grass verge in front of the shops and pubs for a refreshment stop. As well as the attraction of the castle, this picturesque village is lucky enough to be located alongside a magnificent stretch of beach. Golden sands stretch far and wide, so even with a steady stream of walkers and beachgoers, it never seems to be overcrowded.
After our brief sustenance stop, we continued on, down The Wynding towards the beach and golf course, where the lane comes to an end. On the way you are rewarded with a beautiful and iconic view of the castle as it sits above the beach, looking out over the waves, walkers and wagging tails of dogs running freely over the sand.
Our next stretch of bridleway must surely be one of the most attractive in the UK, running along the top of the dunes and alongside Bamburgh golf course (opened in 1904), on its journey to Budle Bay. The meandering Budle Water snakes its way out of the wide bay between rippled banks of clean sand. In the distance, Lindisfarne Castle stands proud, across the water on its Holy Island.
Budle Bay is an important bird sanctuary, with huge mud flats that are revealed at low tide, but it was a busy port in the 13th century under King Henry III. The harbour has since been buried beneath the silt, but remaining buildings hint towards its industrial past. A corn mill, originally dated 1187, gave the hamlet of Waren Mill its name, and sat at the mouth of the bay. The current building dates to 1780 and has been redeveloped as attractive apartments with fantastic views over the bay.
We climbed from the sand of the bay, past an abandoned stone cottage…the ripples of its old tiled roof mimicking the nearby sand and sea. Pretty Heather Cottages and a small caravan park stand just off the sand, and we commented on their fabulous location as we pedalled away up their access road.
Our next five miles were on tarmac roads as they took us inland, away from the sea. I had assumed that these miles would be simply a means to an end, but they were, in fact, a nice roll along quiet lanes. Attractive stone farm buildings in the hamlet of Bradford offered us a quick break for a photo, before we spun on, crossing a nice old bridge over the Waren Burn on our exit.
We stopped for lunch in Lucker. Sitting on a low stone wall we talked of the changing face of this small village. New development has sprung up in recent years around Lucker Hall, and the award winning Apple Inn serves gastro-pub food in stylish decor. The School House Country Kitchen sits over the road from the Apple Inn, serving sandwiches, salads and stone-baked pizzas. I wish I had had the time to try both, and no doubt I will at some point, but sweat and mud didn’t seem to sit well with the plush surroundings of either eatery.
Just beyond Lucker we left the tarmac, riding back onto farm tracks as we gradually climbed towards the A1. Upon reaching the A1, we followed the old road running parallel for a short distance past Warenford Cottage. We were then able to ride a path alongside the highway before we had to bite the bullet and ride the road for 400 metres to our exit point at Rosebrough. Not one vehicle passed us, however, and if needed we could have ridden the reasonably wide grass verge.
A canine friend barked at our departure from Rosebrough Farm, and beyond the route took us across fields and up onto Wandylaw Moor. Sheep and cows wandered the rugged panorama that lay in front of us. They occasionally looked towards us with general curiosity, but then returned to their business when they realised that we provided neither threat nor interest.
A sleuth of wind turbines dotted the moorland, spun by a brisk Northerly wind. The forecast hadn’t indicated such vigour from the elements, but a rumble of thunder left us in no doubt that the weather was changing. Looking towards the South, the white “golf ball” of the radar station at Brizlee Wood, sitting above Alnwick, stood in stark contrast to a deepening sky. Luckily, the wind direction was set to lead these inclement conditions away from us and we stood under blue skies, looking and listening to the heavens affecting the lives of others.
The trails over these moors and fields were a mixed bag, flowing and quick in some areas, but badly rutted by the hooves of cows, making for slow progress in others. Suspension is a blessing in these circumstances, enabling the rider to continue without the need to dismount. Thunder continued to rumble on sporadically, covering the sound of any expletive utterances.
Soon the celestial growls were accompanied by the buzzing of chainsaws, both interrupting the gentle hum of the turbine blades and the twitter of moorland birds. As we headed downhill, we passed logstack and lumberjack, snapping the first and saluting the latter. Before long we had left the moors behind and rejoined tarmac on a rapid descent back to the A1.
We echoed our way through an underpass, rumbled along farm tracks, rattled over cattle grids and clinked the chains on gates. All in a days work for these rustic pedallers.
We were now only four miles from the finish of our ride and had just passed a footbridge over a stream in a pretty setting, when calamity struck. A very disconcerting crunch erupted from the bike below me and I ground to an abrupt halt. We later determined that a large branch must have hit my rear mech, sending the chain into the back wheel, and snapping two spokes in the process. My rear wheel was now more buckled than Uri Geller’s cutlery set, and wouldn’t spin without rubbing heavily on the frame. To top it off the tire had fully deflated. It was an unfortunate affair but I would be walking from here on!
Gavin rode on ahead, fetching the car to exact a rescue, as I trudged on along the lanes past Doxford Hall. I smiled as I remembered the massage my wife had bought me during a weekend at the Hall, only for it to have been inadvertently booked for the previous week. We had laughed, and I hadn’t minded really, as I can never relax in such circumstances.
I made it as far as Christon Bank before my knight in a shining car arrived. The mechanical had certainly been inconvenient, but it could have been a lot worse. I could have been 20 miles from the car or in the middle of the moors, getting wet or struck by lightning!
I’m afraid I can’t comment on the mile of bridleway we missed, which runs away to meet our outgoing route, but it appeared to be on good farm tracks. I will be back to find out I can assure you.
I firmly believe that you have to take the rough with the smooth, and, unfortunately, sometimes adventures involve both. This one did. It certainly hasn’t changed my opinion on the route itself, which I thought was great. It offered a bit of variety and made for a good old mountain bike experience.