The Hadrian's Wall Cycleway

As the realisation that my departure date was drawing ever closer finally dawned on me, it occurred to me that perhaps it might actually be a good idea to get out on my bike and do some distance, some real distance, and some heavy-weighted distance.

So with this in mind decided to tackle the 174 miles (280km) of The Hadrian’s Wall Cycleway from Ravenglass in the west, to Tyne Mouth in the east. The route stretches the length of the Hadrian’s World Heritage Site in the North of England. Glutton for punishment that I am, I however planned to ride to Ravenglass, and then home from Tyne Mouth, making it a total distance of 340 miles (547km). So for the maths challenged amongst us, I would in effect be riding it twice.

The day dawned bright, and it was with a light heart that I left my home with my bike carrying 110lbs (50kgs) of kit. My goal was Keswick in the Lake District a distant 65 miles away. On the face of it 65 miles does not seem an unachievable distance to cycle in a day, and based on the map, it looks very doable.

What isn’t apparent is that there are two big climbs that dominate this route, namely Killhope Moor, 2000 feet (623m), and Hartside Pass, 1904 feet (580m). I had cycled over both in the past, though never with a load. I knew that if I managed to negotiate them without incident, the rest of the ride would be just a matter of keeping moving, and trying not to get knocked off the bike in the traffic that would be no doubt be streaming into the Lake District.

Now, just so you know, I don’t just ride bikes for the pain, I do it because I love the scenery and the history of the places I pass through. I live in Weardale in the North East of England. It’s a dale or a valley, on the east side of the Pennines, range of high moors that run down the centre of the country, the head of which is dominated by Killhope Moor.

Weardale is a rural area in County Durham or “the Land of the Prince Bishops” as it’s also known.

My ride up the dale was uneventful. The sun was shining, there was no headwind, and the bike was handling well, in other words all was well in my little world. (I had discovered on previous outings with my trailer that if you did not get the weight properly distributed it handled like a pig and could be positively dangerous.) 

The ride inevitably brought me to the top of the dale and as I passed Park Level Mine at Killhope, a restored lead mine that was the richest in Britain in its day. Killhope Moor hove into view.

On the ride up the dale I’d given the Killhope Moor climb quite a bit of thought, it was steep, very steep but slowly levelled off towards the top and I reckoned that if I could get up the first steep bit in one piece the rest would be ok. One thing was for sure though, and that was that I was not going get off and push, no matter how much riding hurt. So with this is mind I attacked.

At first all was well, I was making progress albeit very slowly, but I still had a gear left to drop down to. As the climb steepened it began to feel as if I was towing a car not a trailer, so I dropped down that gear and began to grind it out. By the time I was half way up I was in a red faced, sweaty, huffing and puffing world of pain.

What happened next nearly very nearly caused me to fall off.

Through the swirling mist of my misery came a very cheery “good morning”. “Beautiful morning isn’t it?”

Before I could answer the shapeliest Lycra-clad backside and legs imaginable effortlessly rode past me, closely followed by a man whom I assumed was her bloke. A few yards in front of me he drew alongside her and they started talking.

I imagine the conversation must have gone something along the lines of:

Attractive young woman: “God, did you get a look at the state of that Walrus-faced old bloke?”” Perhaps we should hang about a bit and make sure he’s ok.”

Bloke: “He’ll be fine. Come on I want to get you home, you know what your backside in Lycra does for me.”

Attractive young woman: “Oh for Pete’s sake, is that all you ever think about?”

Bloke: “Who’s this Pete?”

In any event, the little known Scientific Law of the Attractive Young Woman asserted itself.

By way of an introduction to this Law…….

Over the years I have tended to knock about with fell runners and have done a fair amount of fell running myself. Our days of running fast are long gone, but we are all still pretty handy when it comes to long distance, so that is what we all tend to do. A good day out has always been one spent running in the mountains with your mates, the finishing post being the pub - strictly for medical hydration purposes, you understand.

Running long distances with big climbs and descents, combined with rough terrain usually tends to kick you in the backside. Ending up absolutely totalled is not unusual, in fact you kind of expect it - or at least I certainly do.

It’s when you are in this altered state that the Law of the Attractive Young Woman usually manifests itself. No matter how totalled you are, no matter how much you are hurting, the sight of an attractive young woman always has the most wonderful rejuvenating effect on you.

Your limbs become feather light, your exhaustion disappears, your style and form return and you are able to canter past, chest puffed out, head held high, looking, if not smelling, as fresh as a daisy. You become positively Olympian.

But be warned, this state only lasts as long as she can see you. The minute you are out of her sight your body usually throws in the towel and you collapse into a pathetic, steaming, snivelling heap. This collapse, in most cases, heralds the start of the real fun, which has on occasion been known to begin with the question,” How the fuck do I get back to the car from here?”

With the effect of this law kicking in, I powered up the last of the really steep climb, changed gear and blasted to the top of hill - just in time to see them disappear into the trees at the bottom, no doubt on their way home.

So, to the attractive young woman I say a heartfelt, “Thanks for the motivation. Yes you do have a rather fetching derriere, and yes, I’m afraid I do have some sympathy with your bloke.”

To the bloke,” You don’t know how lucky you are mate, and I wouldn’t spend too much time worrying about that Pete bloke.”

Just getting to the top intact was great; I pulled into the lay-by basking in the admiration that was radiating from a number of cars that were parked up.

“Yeah, old buggers can still do it!”I thought.