The amazing weather of the last two days was not done yet. Today – my final cycling day before I headed off to Montenegro on holiday – was another day of perfect weather, and I once again enjoyed some exceptional riding to go with it. I had Lockerbie in southern Scotland as my destination today, the first and only station between Carlisle and Edinburgh on the west coast train line from which I could get a train back home the same evening. This allowed me to follow my NW straight line from my cousin Lex’s home (which it pretty much dissected) in Motherby, right up to the banks of the Solway Firth at the point where Hadrian’s Wall began at its most westerly outpost. I then had the chance to head inland to the first bridging point, and then back out again on the northern (Scottish) shore to the town of Annan, from where I would pick up my line once again and follow it to Lockerbie. That felt like the right thing to do in the face of this uncrossable geographical barrier.
Today’s ride in the sun began with a cycle through the northern part of the Lake District National Park. Ever since last night I had been just north of the main west-east A66 trunk road, and I have a personal theory that the crowds die away once you cross that line. The country carries on being gorgeous; but you have it to yourself. It was certainly true this magical morning. For a few miles I headed straight for the distinctive Blencathra, standing majestically alone. I reached the narrowest of quiet lanes, hard up against the mountain’s eastern flanks in an unenclosed area of open grazing called Mosedale Commons. To my left the bracken covered land rose sharply. Ahead the lane twisted its way over bumps and around boulders, at one point fording a mountain stream. It was peaceful and quiet and you felt lost among the many sheep in the magnificent landscape.
I cycled on like this for the best part of an hour, slowly leaving the higher part of Blencathra behind; but still alongside its lower, northern slopes. I finally reached the lovely village of Hesket Newmarket, arranged along two sides of a green with a single square, blue building perched right in the middle, which I was most surprised to see was actually a dwelling. Then it was another mile to the more substantial – and extremely pretty – village of Caldbeck. There are many lovely things here. It has a large and handsome old parish church set in extensive grounds, behind which flows a characterful river. There is an old mill here by the water, which today houses a collection of small shops and a café. The village has a pub in its centre; but it felt early for that. However, just behind it ran a tributary of the river, with grassy banks and a row of quaint cottages behind. The bank by the stream doubles as an open air café, with picnic tables set out and a small counter to place your order. On a day like this, it felt perfect for a passing adventure cyclist. A fried egg sandwich is always feel good food; but this morning it really couldn’t have felt better.
Caldbeck has another surprise. As you climb away from the village heading north towards Wigton, you pass a large open space, ringed with cottages set well apart, and in the middle sits a large and rather splendid duck pond! The ducks were mostly on land this morning as I passed by, sitting in the grass. But even without any quacking or splashing, the spectacle was a delight and it added extra kudos to an already lovely spot.
My road now headed in a very straight line, up and over a hill with a large radio mast, and down in a long, fast sweep out of the national park and into Wigton, with the mountains now all behind me. Wigton is a pleasant market town of red sandstone that serves this part of rural north west Cumbria. It is nice enough without being especially memorable. Thankfully it is also bypassed, which made the high street a more pleasant place. On the other side of town, past the station, I took a road that carried on along my line and headed further into nowhere of note. Things flattened out and I realized that the hills some distance ahead of me must be in Scotland. In between was an area of quiet sandstone villages and empty lanes that felt like they must receive few visitors. I kept going, faithful to my line, knowing that in a matter of miles it would all come to an abrupt halt.
In Bowness on Solway, I reached a T junction on the village street, lined with houses on both sides. Turning right I saw a small visitor centre with a tea room and decided it was lunchtime. I had reached the official start of Hadrian’s Wall, and its associated long distance walk and bike ride. Inside the unmanned visitor information room was a big model of how it would have looked here in Roman times, showing the large stone Fort Maia: the second biggest on the entire 80 miles of wall. It covered much of what is now the village. There is no trace of it in modern day Bowness (although the church was built with stone from the Roman wall); but it is an atmospheric place. The lady in the small restaurant said it is where groups of successful walkers sometimes toast the completion of their long distance walk. But more often they are just setting off, with a typically following wind to push them along the Solway and beyond. Not always, though. She told me about a group who walked east into a strong wind for a week and returned to collect their car in Bowness with sun tans on the right half of their faces. The food here was unexpectedly excellent and I was very glad I stopped. Across the road was a small path that took me to the water’s edge, invisible from the street. I was quite taken aback by both the size and beauty of the body of water in front of me. The tide was fully in and the water lapped at the shore. You could see right across the firth to Galloway, and I looked for landmarks to spot when I got there later today. But it was mostly just green and hilly. To the left and right was open water. Lots of it. From here, I couldn’t have said without knowing in which direction the sea might lie, such was the vastness of the vista both ways. It is truly deserving of its status as an Area of Outstanding Natural Beauty.
The Solway Firth does a good job of separating England from Scotland and it is an area of great importance to wildlife. But it doesn’t attract many visitors and you can’t very easily access points along its coast. I suppose when the tide goes out it must be quite muddy, and – if the signs are to be believed – dangerous. Whatever the reasons, I have rather neglected it in my domestic travels. Only once before, decades ago, had I been on this small road from Bowness the twelve miles along the southern shore into Carlisle. I had forgotten that there are sections of this road that run right along by the water, with an embankment (Roman?) on the land side. Signs warn of water depth and flooding. The skies are huge and the landscape is unlike most other places I have been. Every couple of miles is a small village, at times made up of an unlikely collection of quite grand buildings that seem out of place. Most had a pub, but not much else. I saw quite a large number of walkers, mostly in pairs, and a few cyclists, and almost all of them were heading east. The weather was certainly giving them the best possible start to their journey.
I didn’t enter Carlisle itself on this journey. A new bridge has been built over the River Eden to the east of the city and it saved me time and miles. For ten minutes I was brought back to the world of busy traffic and people in a hurry; but I soon escaped on to lanes and followed the bike route signs alongside the M6 and into Gretna Green and Scotland. I had time to head back to Annan, 5 miles from here, and complete my straight line all the way to Lockerbie. Annan provided ice cream from – of all places – a fish and chip shop. I remembered stopping here for chips two years ago and sitting in a small courtyard to the side of the shop. I did the same today, another overlap between two different cycling adventures to all of Britain. There have been a few moments like this – not as many as I thought – but often in cafes. It’s a little trip down memory lane.
The final hour into Lockerbie was very pleasant and the roads were not busy. It was gentle country and good for cycling; but not especially memorable. Lockerbie is the only proper town for a long way in each direction, but it isn’t much of a place really. Like Annan it has a good clock tower in the middle of town on top of its Town House, and that certainly adds to the scene. I think I also counted as many as four red sandstone church spires. Almost Oxford like. But there were closed shops and a sense that it was perhaps not thriving.
I was over an hour ahead of schedule and there was another train heading to Manchester in ten minutes that I could take; but my ticket was an Advanced Single for a specific train only. Still, I thought, you can always ask. The nice lady in the station booking office was most obliging and made a couple of phone calls to the respective train managers. Then she secured me a bike space and – hey presto – I suddenly had an extra hour to pack my suitcase for tomorrow morning’s departure to Montenegro! Which just goes to show that it is always worth asking. You never know!
