The Yorkshire Dales is one of my favourite parts of England, and today I would have the chance to cycle through it in perfect weather, and along the tiniest of traffic-free roads. And then, to add to the fun, I would ride all the way along the flanks of the beautiful Howgills range of hills and into the Lake District National Park, where I would spend the night with my cousin Lex (the same one who twisted my arm into doing the Frog Graham Round with her this June). That all made for a superb day of cycling in some of the finest scenery England has to offer, with a lunchtime stop in Dentdale, perhaps my favourite of all the valleys in the region. I knew it would be a good day, and I certainly wasn’t disappointed.
After an excellent home cooked breakfast of salmon and scrambled eggs in Settle, I set out through Giggleswick and threaded my way along country lanes through nowhere in particular until I reached Clapham, the charming village at the foot of the distinctively flat-topped, limestone table mountain of Ingleborough. Clapham is a collection of old farmhouses and cottages set around a stream that emanates a little higher up the small valley from a cave in the side of Ingleborough. The hillsides here are peppered with potholes, including the cavernous Gaping Gill, that you can visit via a chair winch a couple of times a year at Bank Holidays, courtesy of the local caving clubs. We did it once some years ago. It is very much one person at a time; but it is a unique experience and well worth the waiting around (if the weather is good).
There are also waterfalls aplenty around here, including Clapham Falls, which cascade down from the grounds of Ingleborough Hall. Once, when the falls were in spate after heavy rain, a teenage boy, Bill Farrer, was swept over in a small rowing boat from the lake above. He was carried over all three tiers and was lucky to survive with only a broken arm and bruised pride.
Half an hour further up a very small lane I arrived in the equally pretty, but rather larger village of Ingleton. The quiet village centre is perched above a deep valley, spanned by an old (now disused) railway viaduct that forms something of a centre piece to the village. It otherwise comprises a fine old church and streets narrow enough to require a one way system. I found a small bakery with tables outside and allowed myself a short tea stop, with a bacon sandwich for good measure. Ahead I knew there was some work to do, and I wanted to be ready!
Cycling under the viaduct and past the entrance to more waterfalls I emerged to pass the lovely church and pub that more or less entirely comprise the village of Thornton in Lonsdale, which stands at the start of the long and lovely valley of Kingsdale, up which leads a very small gated road. It was here that I headed, enjoying every glorious moment of the hour it took me to reach the village of Dent in even more beautiful Dentdale, over the steep pass.
These special places hold fond memories for me, and now I was making more. The road climbs high up the southern flanks of Whernside, and then drops steeply down into upper Dentdale around sharp bends on the tiny gated lane. You have to keep your wits about you while soaking up the scenery. When Dent Town (as the village is known) arrives, it is every bit as lovely, with whitewashed old stone buildings and a cobbled main street that runs past the solid parish church in its centre, flanked by the two pubs: the Sun Inn and the George and Dragon (both of which I know from previous visits over the years).
I had Dent in mind for lunch and was able to sit outside at the Heritage Centre, just beyond the little village school, and enjoy soup and a cheese scone. It was all just as I would have wished, as it typically feels when I come here. Dentdale – and Dent – are like a secret world, set apart from the rest of England and hidden away behind high hills to be enjoyed only by those who know of its secrets. I hope it stays just like this.
The main way out of Dentdale to the north west leads towards the small town of Sedbergh, on the western edge of the Yorkshire Dales National Park. It is an unassuming place, dominated by its private school and – more obviously – by the Howgills: a range of round-topped, bare mountains that rise immediately behind the town’s modest main street. Approaching from Dentdale you couldn’t fail to be impressed by their size, shape and even colour, as the green September bracken began to show the first tinges of bronze.
The Howgills sit in the gap between the Lakeland Fells and the Yorkshire Dales, and they are like neither in character. When the national parks were first created, only the southern portion of the Howgills was included within the boundary of the Yorkshire Dales; but in recent times that was rightly extended to the entire range. They are well worth exploring and receive none of the crowds you find in the better known hills. They also offer superior views of the Lake District. If you have driven north up the M6 to Scotland, or taken the West Coast railway, you will have seen the Howgills close up to your right in the narrow Lune Valley. It is the best part of either journey. There is a tiny lane that runs north west from Sedbergh along the eastern side of this valley, hugging the lower slopes, and that was my route for the next hour. It was a delight and, like most of today, I had it all to myself. Really, this is as good a cycling experience as you could wish for.
Eventually, the tiny lane gave out onto quiet main roads into and out of Tebay and along to the pretty village of Orton, which has a luxury chocolate shop. I stopped here for an ice cream, because I deserved it, before pushing on up to the top of Shap Fell via a very small road that runs for a mile in between the two carriageways of the M6. And then down into Shap village, which straggles along the now very quiet A6, and down quiet lanes once again into the delightful Lowther Valley and the village of Bampton.
This is a very special place to me and always will be. I have been coming here since I was a teenager because my auntie has owned a cottage here, and more recently a larger house, throughout all of my adult life. I have no connection any more with the place I grew up, nor do I miss it; so apart from Hathersage, this is as close as I get to feeling like I am at home. I have enjoyed many happy times here with my family. And aside from that, it is a beautiful and peaceful valley, much less visited than the rest of the Lake District National Park; but in many ways just as delightful. The enlarged Haweswater, now a reservoir, lies at its south western end, surrounded by higher mountains. As I descended from Shap today, the sun reflected brightly off the lake in the distance, close to the dam, shining like a silver mirror.
I had no time to pause in Bampton this afternoon, and in any case no one was at home. Instead I continued up the valley to the pretty village of Askham and then up and over the rise to descend to Pooley Bridge at the top of gorgeous Ullswater. Coming over the brow of the hill, I got my first view of Blencathra, with its distinctive saddle-back summit ridge. My cousin’s home – today’s destination – lay a few miles this side of it, now well under an hour away along more tiny little lanes. It was the final piece of a quite superb day of cycling.
