Two months after buying an e bike, I found myself attempting the C2C (Sea to Sea) cycling challenge route. 140 hilly miles, over three days, from the West Coast of England, Whitehaven in Cumbria, to Tynemouth in Tyne and Wear on the East Coast. A journey of nature spotting, and of peeling the layers of lycra and the emotional onion that is grief.
Day One...Whitehaven to Penrith c.50 miles
My back wheel is dipped in the Irish sea at the bottom of the slipway, the enthusiastic Cumbrian couple, who insisted on taking a photo, are considering the best angle. There's no going back now. I'm a cyclist. I also own a cycling jersey, which means I can no longer ridicule lycra clad cyclists.
Skimming stones under the lighthouse, choosing a pebble on Whitehaven beach the previous evening for good luck, seems far away now. The pebble is in the back pocket of my leggings, I'm not ready for cycling shorts.
A Whitehaven housing estate soon delivers us onto an old railway track and out into the Lake District. Swallows fly by and for a moment I am flying too. Goldfinches burst out of hedgerows alive with bluebells, cow parsley and poppies. We skim the edges of our first lake. Tiny Lake District villages, tourist-free and brimming with flowers.
There are glimpses of mountains ahead through the valley, the Lake District opening up. I'm still trying to imagine the hilly terrain ahead, wondering if a month's training in the Peak District is enough.
In Whinlatter Forest, a fallen tree blocks the path. I inhale the Scots Pine while we reroute. Ferns glow in shafts of sunshine. A detour is found. Down into the valley along mountain bike trails, I feel slightly out of my comfort zone, but so alive.
Up again. Slow, slow climb up steep hills, past cottages with old ladies tending beautiful gardens.'Well Done' exclaims one and smiles.
A stop in Keswick to charge, my e bike and my body. The cafe at Booths has soup and chips.
Lakes and mountains give way to softer dales. Flying downhill on roads long abandoned by cars in favour of bypasses feels magical, bird like even. Fields full of rabbits and a hare that runs alongside us.
The cycle through Penrith brings traffic, housing estates. The North Lakes Hotel, right by the M6, feels like a service station from the outside. Conference guests, laughing and winding down in the foyer, are at odds with the pretty lakeside hotels I have spent the day cycling past and imagining. But I chose it for the pool, and a few lengths and a sauna do wonders for aching legs.
A glass of sauvignon, melt in the mouth aranchini, sourdough dipped in sticky balsamic, roast halloumi kebabs. A suprisingly good feast well earned, and so far from service station food. And tomorrow is short but intense, leaving plenty of time for more spa before getting back in the saddle.
Day 2 Penrith to Alston c.30 miles
Day Two begins with juggling the logistics of having bags ready to be transported, with wanting another spa and swim. Working out my bikini will have to go in my bike jersey pocket and wishing I had brought one without wires in.
The ride out of Penrith is slow and pretty, leaving behind the Lakes scenery for the gentler up and down dales. Just 30 miles today, but this is the seriously hilly bit. Hartside Summit.
Before Hartside though, a sign for Long Meg Stone Circle and after a small detour, the joy of cycling right through the UK's third widest stone circle. It's a peaceful place to stop, walking around and taking in the oak trees, 12ft high 'Meg' a red sandstone monolith marked with megalithic symbols and her 59 'daughters' or standing stones. Energetically it's magical, I hope some will transfer to me.
On to Hartside, it's a slow but not bearable climb. I cycle past a resting couple they comment they need my e bike. I'm a little irked, but smile politely, this has only been my hobby for a month and the e bike is the difference between taking on an adventure like this now and waiting until I have built the cycling legs to do it.
The summit is a true goodbye to the Lakes, and as I join the other cyclists recovering on benches, I savour a Fab lolly bought from the ice cream van and stare down into the otherside of the valley cycled through yesterday, of mountains and lakes.
The other side of Hartside takes us on to the moors, the landscape reminds me of home, the Peak District. Flying down the other side feels like a wilder world beckons, cross winds trying to take the bike, curlews madly calling and flapping overhead. I feel the fear, but also the life in my veins.
Cycling descents are a release, I often find myself quietly shedding tears behind my sunglasses, grief and loss for a past me now making new memories, and for my nature loving parents who I can no longer call to tell about this adventure.
Woes are soothed in The Alston House Pub over veg chilli and shandy in the sunny beer garden, followed by Temple Croft B&B and a wonderfully warm welcome from Amanda. Paul has made vegan meatballs in rataoullie with a delicious herby salad and home made sweet potato fries. It's too good to turn down a second meal and I need the energy for a huge day tomorrow. One wonderful thing about cyling this far as a foodie, is the amount of fuel required, and tomorrow is the longest day yet.
Day Three Alston to Whitehaven c.70 miles (30 uphill, 40 down/flat)
An insanley special veggie breakfast sets up for the big last day - juice, fruit, museli, perfectly poached eggs, and it's the little things, basil on the tomatoes, coriander on the avocado, herby mushrooms with breadcrumbs. Paul waves us off at the bike shed as I pull on arm warmers and gloves, I've finally accepted that modular cycling layers have benefits. Although later I will regret finally wearing cycling shorts over the chilly moors, and curse as the leg warmers roll down repeatedly.
Soon after leaving Alston the lapwings reappear, baby rabbits scatter over the fields and then, part way up the very first hill of the day, there is the sighting I have been desperately hoping for, a red squirrel poised watching from a branch just a metre away. I crash my bike and scrape my knuckle trying to take a photo and scare it off. I'm still getting used to the bike being part of my body.
I forget my phone and marvel instead at my first sighting of a wild red squirrel in England. And despite stopping on the steepest of hills in the wrong gear to start again, I manage to cycle across the hill just long enough to give the e-bike a second to kick in and help me. Hill start achieved, I am learning.
Forest gives way to moors. A banana is eaten in the no man's lamd between the county signs for Cumbria and Northumberland. Northumberland is shortlived but not without the delight of hearing a cuckoo for the first time in my life.
Another selfie at the sign for the county of Durham and a wee in a ditch. How I envy men not having to get off the bike to do this. I decided there was no way I would entertain what proper cyclists call 'bib shorts' - cycling shorts with braces - removing your braces from under layers while desperate for a wee sounds insane to me.
There is very little traffic, miles go by, just moors, curlews and lapwings. Used to having the place to themselves, they fly over so close at times, enough to see their faces and curled beaks.
And then my battery dies, it's been a solid 30 miles of hill and to be expected, but I had hoped it might make this, the very last hill of the day. It is so much heavier than a road bike. I feel it badly when the battery goes. It's the last hill, out of Stanhope and it's spotting lapwings that keeps me pedalling, and the thought of the Stationhouse Cafe at the top.
Unfortunately the Stationhouse Cafe, the only stop for ten miles, and also my planned charging stop, is closed due to unforeseen cirucumstances. I stare longingly at the window a while and then accept eating my packed lunch from Temple Croft on a bench exposed to the full pelt of the wind off the moors. The packed lunch had nearly been turned down as it was more stuff to carry, but it saved the day. Vegan ham and mustard baguette, homemade brownie wrapped in greaseproof and string. Nothing ever tasted so good.
Onwards, downhill for miles and miles and miles. The cold hitting now I'm not having to pedal. Cold moors and shady cycle tracks. I wish I'd put on leggings. The 5 miles or so across the moors, down into Rockthorpe there is nothing at all but the sound of lapwings, curlews and my own thoughts. More tears come now, thoughts of my parents, my losses. But I can't imagine a more beautiful way to shed some more layers of the onion.
The Durham train track goes on for what feels like forever, still on a downhill, huge bridges cross through valleys lined with trees, it feels like being a bird again, flying through the canopy. I'm obsessed by how much cycling makes me feel a part of nature. One last stop in the sunshine, to admire a break in the traintrack and a countryside vista before we arrive in Gateshead, and wind our bikes around the River Tyne and all it's industry.
Newcastle is a sensory overload, suddenly it's all people, bars, restaurants, bridges, graffiti, trains, trams, buses. It feels emotional after the silent retreat of the moors. But a riverside cycling cafe with a solar charging unit and great coffee and cake gives a chance to acclimatise. I am bitterly disappointed when the charge only gets me 100 metres before the battery dies again, but still, I make the most of the tiny boost, and the caffeine.
Edging into Tynemouth at long last, posh restaurants amid the industry. Up the last hill into town, I can see my car is waiting like a red beacon under the shadow of the castle. And then suddenly on the last hill, as I force the heavy, and still without charge, e bike to the end, my front wheel bursts into a kind of life, the tyre erupting, spraying tubeless tyre sealant like a catherine wheel. After 140 miles, right at the end of the C2C, a puncture. How very poetic.
The end is not quite the experience I had imagined; the celebratory picture at the finish line doesn't happen, we missed it. Wonderful Brian from Haven Cycles organised my car to be transferred from Whitehaven, but the hotel rejected my keys because everything is booked in different names, so they are in a pub instead. Another headache from the no woman's land of waiting for divorce.
I booked the iconic Grand Hotel, but when I check in, bedraggled and mentally, physically and emotionally jolted by 70 miles of wildly varied terrain, I find a couple having their wedding photo taken on the spiral staircase. But then we find chips. And a sunset.
And then I am once more savouring the beauty of this new world I am learning to navigate. One in which I cycled 140 miles, heard a cuckoo, saw a red squirrel and felt a curlew fly over my head. And I'm laughing at a deeply unglamourous picture of bedraggled me at reception with the happy wedding couple in the background.
The following morning there is time to enjoy the spa bath, walk to the finish line, take a photo and to walk out to the lighthouse and drop a pebble I collected from the Irish Sea in Whitehaven into the North Sea at Tynemouth. Lighthouses have come to be deeply symbolic to me, but that's another story.
I have cycled across England, from lighthouse to lighthouse, C2C, on an e bike admitedly, but I'm very proud.
Worth Knowing
Transport: Haven Cycles in Whitehaven took care of moving my car and organised for bags to be moved on to each stop on route.
Navigation: Komoot for the route and Wahoo Elemnt Roam GPS for navigation.
Accomodation: The Corner House Whitehaven, The North Lakes Hotel & Spa Penrith, Templehouse B&B Alston and The Grand Tynemouth. I charged at E Venture Bikes in Keswick and had planned to stop and charge at Parkhead Stationhouse, Stanhope.