I returned to Bolton-upon-Dearne on a beautiful Monday morning in mid-July under a warm sun and the bluest of skies. This – for the moment at least – was much more like summer weather should be. And so – an hour’s train ride and 30 miles from home – my long ride to the Yorkshire coast resumed in the former coalfields of the Dearne Valley. I set off along early morning country roads that immediately felt too busy for their size, with aggressive drivers attempting unwise overtaking manoeuvres, causing much gesticulation on my part. I shook most of the traffic off after a few miles and things settled down as I rode over gentle hills through fields of wheat, between towering wind generators, their sails still in the calm morning.
I negotiated Adwick-le-Street – just to the north of my childhood home town of Doncaster – passing school sports pitches where I recalled playing football and rugby as a teenager. Then I passed Carcroft, memorable in my upbringing only as the first place we ever went supermarket shopping to an Asda. It wasn’t at all like it is today – and we drove a long way from home for this experience – but for some months this was a regular shopping trip and it felt quite futuristic at the time. How things have changed.
I crossed the A19 Doncaster to Selby main road and suddenly everything went both flat and very quiet. The area to the north-east of Doncaster is a mostly overlooked expanse of level fields amid a network of railway lines, canals and rivers – all arranged in straight lines with swing bridges – and tiny lanes meandering between nondescript farms and hamlets. There was almost no-one here except a few other cyclists and horse riders making the most of the good weather, and I enjoyed the peace and quiet while it lasted.
The empty lanes across the flat, drained land took me ever closer to the chimneys of Drax Power Station and the forest of wind generators near the inland port town of Goole, which lies on the River Ouse. This isn’t pretty country. You really just want to get across it as fast as you can. This morning, I was managing that task quite well. The modern, faux-classical properties I regularly passed on these country lanes appeared wealthy, if rather tasteless; but there were few people around here to be offended. It was as good as it gets in these mostly featureless parts, and the cycling at least was decent.
Just short of Goole, the main road briefly kicked back in; but I found respite in the well turned-out red-brick villages of Rawcliffe and Airmyn. Rawcliffe has a broad and attractive village green, while Airmyn’s main street is adorned with a tall and splendidly ornate clock tower, quite unexpected in such an otherwise unassuming little place. The two large clock faces were stuck at 11.45am, which was still some way off; but it was a cheerful sight nonetheless.
The tower bears the legend ‘GEORGE EARL OF BEVERLEY 1865’ and is a tribute to him from his tenants. When the foundation stone was laid on ‘a very gloomy day’ in October 1866, he was in his late eighties and unable to attend the ceremony. He was represented by his nephew, Algernon Charles Heber Percy, who had by then taken control of the Airmyn estate. Heber Percy placed a time capsule within the masonry containing a copy of the Eastern Morning News (Hull’s first daily newspaper), some coins, and a parchment detailing the genesis of the memorial tower. He then laid the foundation stone and read a letter from his uncle. The Goole Volunteer Rifle Band played, and everyone sat down to a celebratory tea.
My own first refreshment stop of the day was well earned and it came as soon as the chance arrived in the attractive small town of Howden. I crossed the substantial River Ouse on Boothferry swing bridge, within sight of the much taller and broader M62 Ouse bridge, where you could see the vehicles crossing like toy cars. Away from the busy main roads, Howden’s unassuming little centre was dominated by its magnificent Minster – a once much larger cruciform church whose original nave is now in ruins. The east end of the remaining structure was bricked off in 1600; but this all adds to the drama and the rest of the substantial building – with its unusually tall and impressively windowed central tower and green copper roof – is a sight to admire. I found a popular little cafe right alongside it and joined several other cyclists who were using it to recharge themselves. One brunch sandwich and some tea in the sun later and I was good to go again.
Howden, I discovered, was the place where the R100 airship was built. It took 3 years and was launched in December 1929. The ship was 709 feet long and 133 feet in diameter. It had a range of 5,000 miles and could carry 100 passengers at a top speed of 81 mph. The trial journey it made to Canada took 79 hours! After the disastrous crash of the competing R101 airship in France in October 1930, killing 48 people, the British airship programe was halted and the R100 was grounded and later dismantled. Memorial plaques along the Market Place mark its considerable length.
Beyond Howden lay more flat land for an hour or so, with a large number of agricultural glass houses around Sandholme growing salad and soft fruit, until I reached the start of the Yorkshire Wolds at the attractive village of North Cave. The scenery immediately improved and I enjoyed a half hour blast along a straight road to the town of Market Weighton, which lies nestled at the foot of proper hills. I revisited the same “Cafe on the Wolds” that I had lunched at in my OS maps adventure in 2022 (they didn’t remember me but were very nice nonetheless) and enjoyed a baked potato in their sunny patio. Then it was time to climb.
The Wolds are hardly mountains; but you get a sense of being on top of the world when you reach the rolling plateau, and it continues in gentle folds as far as the eye can see. The lanes are tiny, with wide grass verges and tall hedges. It’s good cycling country. I ascended through the pretty village of Goodmanham, and from there onwards – barring a brief foray into Driffield due to a closed road – I saw barely a car all the way to Bridlington, 34 miles away. The skies clouded over but it stayed fair and it was very enjoyable. I got to cross a remote level crossing that has been closed to vehicles; but excitingly maintains a red / green lighting system for cyclists and pedestrians. There were a couple of larger, red brick villages – Cranswick and Nafferton – that looked like nice places to live. As well as a selection of shops, pubs and green spaces, each sported a large and fetching duckpond, which I always feel raises the level of a place.
For the last 20 miles or so to Bridlington I was following cycle route signs that took me along the final section of the trans-Pennine “Way of the Roses” route, which starts in Morecambe in Lancashire. I have ridden the whole thing once – some years ago – with a group from my friend Simon’s cycling club and we did all 170 miles of it in a single day! Most sensible people take three days. This final section to Bridlington came after 150 mostly quite hilly miles in the Yorkshire Dales and I recall even the gentle climbs at the end feeling quite big enough. But today I enjoyed all of it, arriving after 92 pannier free miles at Bridlington Priory, in the Old Town, at 5pm – just as Jenni reached our BnB down by the sea front.
We arranged a rendezvous at my finish point 5 more miles away ENE on the cliffs at Flamborough, where the road ends at North Landing, on the northern side of the headland, sticking right out into the sea. It is as much of an extremity as I was ever going to get for the end of a cardinal ride. I got there a few minutes ahead and we walked down the steep path to the beach together for the end-of-ride photos. It is quite a dramatic place. The small sandy beach is enclosed by tall white cliffs with grassy tops. The distinctive sound of Kittiwakes carried to us from where they were wheeling over the waves.
A very steep ramp – too steep to walk or cycle – dropped away between us and the water, once used for launching lifeboats into the sea from the boatshed behind. That would be quite a sight. The Flamborough lifeboats now launch only from the opposing South Landing; but there were a couple of traditional Yorkshire Coble open top boats lying at the top of the beach. Tractors are still used to haul them in from the surf. It felt like a proper finish to the ride and as we stood there the very first spots of light rain began to fall. Timing, as they say, is everything. And now it was time to go back to Bridlington for fish and chips. Obviously.
