May 2022 - Friends. Roamers. Cyclists - Lend me your gears!

Tetris level 7 - complete. And we are ready to go. 

It’s 730am and we’ve got a long day ahead of us, but our first task is done. Somewhere in that pile are three bikes, 4 panniers, and numerous other bags stuffed in every bit of possible space. But is there room for anything else? 

Yup. A couple of willing passengers who remain smiling for the next 12 hours of travelling. 

Our aim is to reach our campsite near Carlisle with enough time to ride to the start of the route. We are one man down for this trip as Babs couldn't make it in person. But, as you can see, she was still very much a part of the trip, making a surprise appearance just as we were about to leave.

Still smiling! 

There are positives and negatives to driving an electric vehicle, the positives are mainly regarding reduced carbon footprints but the downside is that it does increase your journey time. Google was predicting 5.5 hours. I was thinking 10! And it ended up being 12. 

From a driver's perspective, the enforced stops for charging are quite handy, giving a chance for a refresh at regular intervals. I have found this a much more relaxing way to travel, though I am pretty sure we had more than one lunch (not that I am complaining).  

We arrived at Highfield farm, our first campsite, at about 730pm. We unloaded the van, pitched camp, and were ready to ride within the hour.  

The view was as stunning as the sky and we wanted to get to the official start point before the sunset. 

But it was on this ride, I learned a new thing about myself. 

Do you have any idea how often I look at my Garmin? 

I now do! 

About every 2 minutes by my reckoning. 

How do I know? 

Because my Garmin was still charging - at home!!! 

I was not a happy chappy. 

The old technology just didn’t cut the mustard. Neither did asking Jo a billion questions about how far we had gone etc. She will, no doubt, ensure I won’t ever forget it again! 

With minimum kit (First aid and puncture stuff only), we headed down to Bowness-on-Solway and the official start point. 'Are we nearly there yet Jo?' 

I have to admit, I'd had every intention of sitting this one out - I was shattered from a busy week at work and a crazy 12-hour drive, but FOMO wouldn't let me. So there I was peddling away, hardly able to string a sentence together but just loving being out in the fresh air, stretching my legs, and enjoying the beautiful scenery. Sharing the road with my friends and a ton of sheep, I was so glad I made the effort. 

"84 miles to Wallsend - Good Luck go with you" I had a feeling that the Romans wouldn't be worrying about elevation quite the same way I was. 

We stood watching the sun change the colour of the sky, listening to the birds calling to one another regarding the latest food source, and taking in the fresh-smelling sea air. The perfect antidote to a long day in the van. We reluctantly left when we remembered we had to return before dark.  

But not before checking out the brilliant mural on the village tea rooms. I bet hundreds of people have stopped here before continuing on the next leg of their journey. 

By the time we got back, stowed our bikes in the stable provided and carefully made our way down the steep steps into the camp field, it was getting dark. We needed to cook, I just sat in my chair hoping that I wouldn’t be needing the toilet during the night. 

By this point, the day had caught up with me. Jenny very kindly made me some pasta and it really wasn’t long before I was tucked up in my sleeping bag. I had no trouble at all going to sleep.  

I woke at 4 for the obligatory walk to the facilities, which wasn't as bad as I thought it would be - the sun was nearly up and the steps weren't as steep as I remembered. I was soon back in my lovely sleeping bag and unusually went straight back to sleep. Jo was up at 5 and had a long wait before we joined her. She did get a great photo of the sunrise though. 

Breakfast was easy - toasting the last of the sandwiches made for the journey. I may have overdone it a little, but it still tasted great and hit the hunger spot perfectly. It did take a little cleaning up though. 

We spent a long time sorting out our gear and making sure we were only carrying what we needed. We left many ‘what if’ bits in the van, which would be staying on site until we returned on Wednesday. We would regret some of these choices later. 

Finally, with Babs and Dora safely stowed in the giant bag on the front of Jo's Brompton, ready for any photo opportunity and hopefully not needing the rain cover stored in another pocket, we were ready to set off. It was 10.45.

We carefully made our way down the slope of the farm entrance and followed the blue signs pointing right rather than left at the end of the road. Finally, we were on the NCN72, heading initially to Carlisle and then onto our eventual destination of Tynemouth.  

We didn't get far before our first photo opportunity. A stunning memorial to Edward 1st called out in the sunshine against the backdrop of some ominous clouds. Edward was killed in 1307, on the shores that we had cycled past the night before, while battling with Robert the Bruce (him, that is - we only battled with the wind!)

  

A few pedal strokes later, we were at the beautiful St. Michaels Church. It was here that the King's body was initially laid to rest after the battle that took his life. 

Many of the older gravestones bore reference to the Roman history of the local area. But nearer the entrance to the building, we spied a more modern-looking set of slabs. 

These formed a timeline explaining the history of the area. The first stone proclaimed that the building of Hadrian's wall commenced in 122, the next explaining that only 288 years later, the Roman empire came to an end.

St Michaels church was built in the 12th century on the site of one of the many forts built along Hadrian's wall. There was no evidence of the fort now, only its many stones donated to this pretty building. Other slabs commemorated the more recent visits of royalty and the latest marked the platinum jubilee being celebrated By Queen Elizabeth at the end of the week. 

The final stone carried a message just for us - 

"Your visit is part of the history of this place. Peace be with you." 

A thought to always remember methinks. 

Once back on the quiet roads and cycleways that bore the blue 72 signs, we soon made it to Carlisle and decided that as it was very nearly midday, we would need to storm the castle, armed only with our newly acquired English Heritage memberships, to find some refreshment. 

We were directed where to store our bikes and had them in view at all times. We needn’t have worried though, the only attention they received was while we were readying to leave and were questioned about our journey. I sensed there were a few unspoken questions about our sanity at that point too. 

It was fitting that the only part of the museum we saw on the way to the cafe, gave reference to the usefulness of the humble bike in the war effort and D day in particular. 

Jenny spied the ‘keep your distance’ signs, reminding us that the battle with Covid isn’t quite over yet either. 

After coffee and a quick walk around the ramparts, we decided we really should be making a move. We collected the first of many popper badges (I think they were for the children really, but they were brilliant and we collected one at every English Heritage stop.)

There was a great temptation to browse the shop or take a trip around the museum, but remembering that we still had a long way to go, we reluctantly donned our helmets and left the castle. The cycle path signs were a little different here. I assume marking a student cycle route to campus. 

We were directed into the beautiful Bitts park and then onto Rickerby park and under a marvellous Victorian bridge,  the cycle path followed the path of the River Eden for much of the time, crossing bridges once or twice two. We even spied a Heron doing a spot of fishing under one of the arches.  

Once out of the park, the roads were quiet and the houses pretty. Crossing over the M6 and spying on the building queues of traffic reminded me how lucky we were to be able to use this mode of transport to see the area. 

Time just ebbed away and we decided to keep an eye out for a good lunch spot. At the very next turn in the road, we were confronted with a billboard offering good food and cream teas right on our route. It was a sign! 

Eden golf club not only provided good food, but the accompanying views were lovely too. No wonder the chairs were filled with so many Lycra-clad bodies and the bike racks filled with gleaming carbon machines. Our heavyweights looked a little out of place. But we didn’t care we enjoyed the rest and the facilities. 

There was one other set of bikes that had a more touring look, though they weren’t very laden. I assumed these belonged to some knowledgable locals who knew where to find a good lunch. Sure enough, it was a couple and their teenage son who wheeled them away, just a short while before we left. 

We dragged ourselves up a little later and headed along quiet roads, a small bridge that shared its name with my grandparents and, as the guide book said, an impish hill. We saw little traffic and no sign at all of the wall we were following. Just evidence of Hadrian's handiwork recycled in the various buildings and brickwork wherever we looked. 

The roads started getting steeper. We knew we were now heading into the Pennines. Jenny’s long legs and lighter load enabled her to whizz up the hills to photograph our grimacing faces as Jo with her heavy load on tiny wheels and me with my even heavier load and lack of fitness, worked our way slowly towards her. I’m not sure whether to thank her for those photographic memories or not. 

We had literally just been discussing our surprise at the lack of tourers we’d come across so far, especially as it is half term and we were on such a prominent route when we caught up with the family we’d seen at the golf club. I was glad of the distraction as the lady and I slowly made our way up the next incline. I was chatting away with her as we climbed. We all congregated together at the top of the hill. And exchanged the usual ‘Where are you headed?’ ‘Where have you come from?’ questions

They were apparently on the same route as us,  but their trip had been arranged through a baggage handling company, moving their luggage from B&B to B&B. This totally explained the lack of weight on their bikes. The less than chatty son would have evidently been happier watching the formula 1, but was now ‘enjoying’ enforced family time. 

It then transpired that they came from the same area that Jenny grew up in. In fact, they both went to the same school. And as soon as helmets (the cunning disguise of all cyclists) had been removed, they both recognised each other as being in the same classes at the same school. What a crazy coincidence. We chatted to Susan and her family for a while longer, and then headed on our way. 

The descent was more fun than the hill and took us a few more ‘free’ miles toward our stop for the day. 

We could hear a busy road nearby, but needn’t have worried as the blue signs directed us onto a segregated path for its duration (thank you again Sustrans) and were soon heading away from its roar. 

We then found something I’d been on the lookout for all trip.  It was my second chance to ‘bag’ a millennium milepost. We soon found it and took some photos to record the fact. Susan and her family arrived and offered to take our photo for us. We took up their kind offer. 

A few blue signs and stunning scenery later, we turned off route into the small town of Brampton. They were in full preparation for the jubilee celebration and evidently had a number of both prolific and talented yarn bombers in their midst. 

We had two goals here, first to find the marketplace and answer the next British cycle quest answer. (Number 3 for me) and secondly to visit the spar to get for extra provisions for dinner. 

Distracted by more decoration, we missed our turn and gained a tour of the town. We found a marvellous statue of Hadrian which, upon researching later, marked the spot where people had been hung, drawn, and quartered. I’m glad they had changed the purpose of the area. 

Back on course and with a couple more hills to go, we stopped at Lanacost priory. We were a little too late for the tea rooms and were almost involved in the Sunday service while looking inside the giant place of worship. But we decided we really should complete the final few miles to our campsite. 

We had one more, rather large hill to complete that took us to the aptly named Banks campsite. Once we had paid for our stay, we were directed down a small grass track alongside the owners' house, through a gate and into a large opening. A set of walkers were setting up camp in the best location as we deliberated over our preferred spot. The site was surrounded by fields of long crops. The field above us was host to a deer as we arrived. She soon hopped off, heralding our arrival with her barking. 

We pitched in a line near the resident shepherd's hut and readied ourselves for dinner making. It was at this point we found an issue with the idyllic location. MIDGES! There were loads of them. They were immune to the sprays we had and only left us when rain threatened. 

I tried a covered approach but still got bit. 

Dinner was a simple tofu stew with cheesy mash. And I realised just how hungry cycling all day can make you as I polished off what would normally be a double portion and considered making more. 

The midges were temporarily forgotten as we were delighted by a beautiful sunset across the field below us. 

We headed to our tents when the midges proved too much, only to hear the patter of rain on canvas shortly afterwards. Sleep came quickly and morning seemed to arrive seconds later. My socks, ready for a second day's outing. 

Striking camp took an age as though the tents weren’t too bad, the groundsheets were very wet. However the morning sun was very warm and did a good job of drying things. We were out on the road by 9.30. 

And at last, we’d found our first section of wall. We had been camped less than five minutes from Banks lookout turret. We took up the offer of a passing couple to have our sock photo taken. And sat for a while admiring the views. We could easily see why this had been chosen as a lookout post. 

Today, the clouds looked angry. We were taking no chances and had covers on all the bags that needed them. We cycled alongside the wall for another mile before we reached Birdoswald. Our first Roman fort. 

We were immediately greeted by the local Queen, who had fought her ex-husband with assistance from the Romans. Sadly she had lost her divorce fight and was now in exile. She was rallying any young troops she could find over this half term and 1900 birthday celebrations of Hadrian's wall. (This wasn’t the last time we would be greated by those who loved history so much that they wanted to bring it alive for others.)  We escaped hearing the same story from the Centurian in favour of a not-yet well-deserved cream tea. Once we were full, we took a stroll into the fort itself.

The cream tea made a second breakfast - The English Heritage cafe open to all. They had also provided toilets and a tap for filling bottles all without the need for the membership. But as we had ours, we ventured into the museum and out around the fort. 

Each area was clearly labelled with interactive signs in many places. And replicas in others. The views were phenomenal. The fort was famed for the steep drop down to the meandering river valley below, which, of course, can never be quite captured in a photograph

We finished our visit at the museum shop. Where Jo was perusing the T-shirts. One of the assistants pointed out that the one she was looking at had to be sold at half price due to a spelling error. Who knows how to spell Archeology anyway? Jo snapped up her bargain while I looked for one in my size. Sadly the only ones left were massive. We had a couple more sites to visit, so I would keep looking. 

As we were leaving, Jenny’s friend and her family were arriving. We exchanged notes about the final hills of yesterday (their first one's today) and then bid farewell as we were unlikely to see them again. They had an extra day to complete their trip. We turned right out of the fort and bid farewell to the wall as it headed over fields while we dropped into the valley. We paused for added waterproofs as we said goodbye to the dry weather and then paused again in Gilsland, the next village to say farewell to Cumbria. This village had again been decorated for the upcoming jubilee celebrations. Babs got in on the act there too. 

Once through the village, the blue signs directed us onto a segregated cycle path. We had to make sure we got the right one, there were a couple to choose from. 

It was lovely to cycle along a good surface and without worrying about traffic, especially as our speed was decreasing as the gradient was increasing. And though the day was grey, we were having fun. 

It was a tough call between the rickety bridge and the lumpy Ford. Of course the bridge won! As did the mammoth hill to the military museum. I can’t say I was pushing my bike up the hill. It was more of a pull than a push. Jenny again managed it, but instead of taking photos, this time she came to give us a hand with the bikes. I was back on by then so she reverted back to her original plan. (Note that road sign!)

I have to admit - at that point, I was exhausted and if a taxi had arrived, I’d be jumping in. 

But it didn’t. And we carried on. We opted for a detour from the guidebook that promised no extra miles or hills. We started on a road that became a track and ended up as a gravel path through a farm. Initially, we were walking through sheep and very cute lambs 

But the next cattle grid took us into an unexpected cow field. This was a little more daunting and by the time we’d spotted the bull, we were in formation with us in the middle and our bikes on the outside of us for the little protection they might provide. We wondered again if we had gone wrong, but we had already checked against the book and the map. We were still on course. 

The nearby farmer, probably amused by our antics,  assured us that we were fine to walk through and the Bull turned away, not giving us a second glance. Eventually, we found the road. All I can say about the next bit is - if it didn’t add hills, there must be an awful one getting out of Haltwhistle! 

We were very hungry and quite damp by now. The sun had made fewer appearances than the rain clouds and we had eaten all our snacks. We decided that we would be using the very next place that looked like it might serve food. 

We hit the summit of the next hill and could see the main road that all the routes had been avoiding. And at the road junction that we were about to cross, there was almost a mirage. It was a gleaming white building that definitely looked like it must have coffee. 

We were right, we pulled into the SILL an impressive nature reserve and hostel.  Jo ran up to check we were still in time to eat something. 20 mins till the kitchen closed. Perfect! 

So after a swift locking of bikes and unpacking a change of clothes for Jenny, we were soon sat in the warmth of the restaurant perusing the menu. 

The staff were lovely. One even offered to dry Jenny’s gloves on the panini grill. We weren’t too sure about that option, but she instead asked for some single-use gloves to keep her hands dry under her sodden ones. 

We reluctantly left when they started mopping the floors Even though they never once ushered us out, we sensed that we had outstayed our welcome. 

We didn’t ride far before seeing signs to our original planned stop lovingly renamed ‘vindaloo’ for the purposes of this trip. 

But as soon as we reached it, we knew we’d made the right decision to stop at the SILL. Though it was one of the largest of the remaining roman settlements, it was run by a private charity and was very expensive. It was also about to close and there was no offer of refreshments anywhere.  We continued on towards the highest point of the whole journey. And though the gradient wasn’t quite as steep as some we had met, this was a long haul. I was more than pleased to see the millennium milepost that marked the top. 

Though the wall was now on the distant skyline we were clearly still riding the (typically straight and with no concern for gradient) Stanegate Roman road. 

The nicest thing about a steep climb is the guarantee of a downhill at some point afterwards. And this was no exception. We dropped down through Newborough and onto the village of Fourstones. Having stopped to photograph the beacon that was being prep’ed for Thursday evening's countrywide lighting, we took the opportunity to cheer, Tour de France style,  a chap riding past his Brompton. (He was the first cyclist we’d seen in hours)  This spurred him to u-turn and stop to talk to us. He was completing his daily commute from Newcastle where he caught the train to a nearby town of Hexham and rode the rest. He was impressed by Jo’s set-up and accurately predicted our campsite giving us directions on how to get there. He confirmed that the only shop was the next petrol station and wished us a safe journey and a good evening. 

The petrol station was a delight. There was nothing modern about it except the card machine and the shop was full of all sorts. Sadly, not the two things I was after, as there was little remaining veg and the coffee jars that he sold were way too big to carry. We did buy eggs for breakfast, and extras for the night’s dinner. 

Just two short climbs with a downhill in between and we were sailing past Chester’s Roman fort which was now closed and soon reached our campsite for the evening. This was the first time in the day that the sun attempted to come out and we wanted to make the most of it. 

We pitched as quickly as our tired bodies would allow then each took advantage of the lovely shower block, of which we had sole use.  

By the time I had returned from my shower, I was tasked by two Romans to ready myself for the evening's feast and don my toga (which I was handed as they spoke) while I duly complied (who wouldn’t), Imperator Jenny ensured that Emperor Jo had enough Grapes to be getting on with. 

Even Dora was in on the act. The fact that two more campers arrived went initially unnoticed as we dug into figs, olives and grapes. One of the chaps came across to ask how to pay for the pitch as he hadn’t prebooked. He didn’t bat an eyelid at our clothing and was more than happy to partake in an olive. 
I’m not sure how the Romans were so successful on such a meagre diet. I guess we were missing some vital bits. We went on to cook less historic meals. Jenny’s being the most modern only needing water to rehydrate. 

Sleep came quickly as the sound of rain on canvas is very soothing. And morning came just as quick. As always Jo was already awake and had taken a walk around the site. We had seen a rabbit or two when we first arrived but hadn’t realised that we were camped on top of their burrows. With the main entrance downhill from us and bolt holes behind, I am surprised we didn’t hear them scurrying around their mini metro. 

I was already halfway through my coffee when Jenny arose. There was a definite ‘Good morning Empire’ feel to her entry into the day. 

We watched one of the campers hobble towards the shower block, hardly able to put one foot in front of the other. When we found out they were both walking the route for charities that helped young people deal with cancer, we clubbed together, donating money and well-needed blister plasters to both their causes. David was keen to show us his Facebook post after the event. I was just pleased to see no mention of our toga-clad supper. 

We felt a bit guilty pulling into Chester’s hill fort, less than a mile after we started. But it was, in my opinion, the best of all the forts we’d seen and well worth a visit. We were initially impressed by the dedicated cycle parking but soon realised that the nice wooden plinths lacked something to lock to. We needn’t have worried though. 

Once we had checked out the shop for the bargain T-shirts (again none in my size) the cafe was our next priority. I definitely needed more caffeine! 

We sat with Jo hastily scribbling in her notebook trying to capture the essence of the last two days. It’s no wonder we were tired! Who would have thought we could see and do so much in such a short space of time. 

We loved wandering around the site. It was so well presented, and the engineering skills of the Romans were clearly evident throughout. I only wish the bridge was still there. I am sure it would have been very impressive. We spent a long time in the baths. But didn’t find them quite as soothing as they once would have been. 

Though big enough to bathe in, this was originally a foot wash. It didn’t stop Jo and toga-clad Dora though. 

Reminding ourselves of the long day's cycle ahead, we reluctantly pulled ourselves away. But not before Jenny had donned a full fighting armour. This was so heavy that two people had to hold the shoulders and she had to kneel to get out of it. I wouldn’t be fighting her any time soon though. 

We soon rejoined the NCN route 72 and made our way towards Hexham. Up until Hexham bridge, the signs had been perfect, the Sustrans volunteers had done an excellent job of ensuring we were on a safe and well-marked route. 

So much so that I had almost forgotten my missing Garmin. But, for some reason, all signage stopped at the edge of the town and we had to pick our way through to find our route again. I assume this bridge had fallen foul of the cull a couple of years ago when Sustrans tried to meet its Nobel goal of ensuring all the routes could be safely ridden by a 12-year-old. I only wish they had marked this one with a bracketed number - so we could see we were still ‘heading towards' the 72. We did get thrown by one sign, only after taking the detour did we realise that we were heading back the way we had come. But I shouldn’t complain. Sustrans has done an amazing job with this route as could be seen as we got closer to Newcastle. 

Our journey was now firmly based in the Tyne valley and much of it evidently had a previous life as a railway track.

We crossed the main road to Newcastle firstly by bridge then by tunnel. We also crossed the modern rail line on a number of occasions, sometimes with clear digital signals to keep us safe, but at other times we were just asked to look and listen before proceeding. 

The weather took a turn for the worse, so while I was busy taking photos of the Darcy-like mansion complete with gatehouse, Jenny donned her free glove liners, fearing a day like yesterday. 

Our next stop, and the most northerly of all the Roman settlements, Corbridge. Though others have come here searching for treasure but found none, we struck lucky. Not only did they have a t-shirt to fit me, but they also had one for Jenny too. On the downside, they didn’t have the much-needed coffee stop that we were after. 

We didn’t stop long. Heading to the town centre with high hopes of a cafe. But we just couldn’t find anywhere suitable for us and a set of loaded bikes to stop.

There was quite a climb out of town, made worse by a headwind and a little rain. It looked like the rest of the world had been warned about our arrival. 

So when the sun poked its head out from behind the cloud and we came across a well-maintained roadside. We decided to take stock of our remaining provisions and have a mini picnic. I have never noticed how many zips and compartments Jenny has in her handlebar bag. But food kept appearing from every opening, so much better than a cafe. If we had longer, we may even have cracked open a burner and made coffee. We were very glad of the rest. 

The roads narrowed and the surface became less good. It looked like the rain had already been heavy here. I was hoping we would miss it. 

Jenny pulled over, her bike feeling strange, and found a puncture. It was a back one so all the bags needed to come off.  We all helped, holding the bike, finding the cause and removing it - a really big thorn this time, and using a canister of gas to quickly re-inflate the wheel as it had started to rain again. 

So we were soon moving. 

The rain got harder. We were dealing with heavy bikes on poor surface quality narrow roads, traffic with poor visibility and now flash flooding. Just when I was thinking this was not a high point of the ride, my front tyre went down. This time we had to double back on ourselves to find somewhere safe to fix it. 

Knowing my tyres were replaced before the ride and were usually pretty bombproof, I was expecting something pretty nasty. I wasn’t wrong. The flint was huge and sharp! It took quite a bit of encouragement to get out. But the whole process of finding it had been made so much easier when Jenny found the hole in the tube. Punctures are so much easier when you work together. 

We were wet through, muddy, gritty and needed a rest. I checked the mileage with Jo. We were only just halfway. I began to wonder if we were actually going to make it to the end or just get as far as the hotel. 

Hold on! 

Hold that thought! 

Why don’t we stop at the hotel? Drop off our bags and do the last bit unloaded. It was agreed that this was a good idea and we headed back down the road. 

We soon reached Prudhoe. And crossed the Tyne once more, this time on a tiny pedestrian bridge next to an equally tiny one for cars. The route took us around some houses and back under the bridge we had just ridden. 

This was more like it. Smooth traffic-free paths with little change in gradient. We were back on that old train line again. We even had the wonderful old bridges to prove it. 

It was easy to imagine a steam train taking this route as we chugged slowly along enjoying periodic views of the Tyne and being surrounded by parks, golf courses and nature reserves as we went. This was beautiful, despite the rain. 

At times we were riding with the modern trainline at eye height next to us. I was half willing a train to go past and half dreading it. 

With my mind still full of trains, I spot a blue sign on a little White House. (It was too wet to stop and get the camera out)  This is where George Stephenson was born, without his prototype ‘The rocket’ motorised travel would not have been a thing. I wondered what life would have been like if train travel or the car had not been invented. 

The surroundings quickly got more industrial. And we were soon deposited onto the Tyne quayside shared use path. It was here we found my first milepost of the day. Closely followed by two more. 

The famous bridges of the Tyne came into view and we knew we weren’t far off. As planned, we detoured off to the hotel. 

It is at this point that I really must give a shout-out to the receptionist at the Jury’s Inn hotel. Who, when faced with three very wet cyclists and their very muddy cycles dripping all over her concourse, did not bat an eyelid, asked if we wanted to take our bikes to the room, changed our allocated room to an easier one for us to get to and with a smile, pointed us in the direction of the three lifts, explaining we could have one each! I  have nothing but praise for this lady and this hotel! 

We spent about an hour in the room, changing out of soggy gear. Putting said gear onto the now blasting radiator and making a quick coffee while we grabbed the important stuff to take with us on the final leg (I wasn’t going anywhere without a puncture repair kit!) 

By the time we’d raced each other down in the lifts, dropped down the really steep road alongside the hotel and rejoined the quayside shared path, the weather was glorious, showing off the gleaming waterway and its iconic crossings perfectly. 

We had definitely made the right decision 

There were only 15 miles between us and our journey's end. That’s less than the average Breeze ride we kept reminding each other as a certain level of fatigue had already set in... 

We recorded another two mileposts and then found the unearthed Roman settlement at the aptly named Wallsend. We decided Rome was a little too far for one evening and marvelled that the van was sitting 80ish miles away, where we left it only a few days ago.

With the end of the wall just behind me, I wondered if the legions of soldiers tasked with building this mammoth structure had the same sense of satisfaction that we did when they got to this point.

We send Jo ahead to be the first through the official end point. She had masterminded much of the holiday and we had gratefully benefited from her organisational skills throughout the trip. 

But is this the end of the story? Not at all! To class this as a coast-to-coast, we needed to be by the sea. And anyway, someone had promised me a chippy tea! 

Another milepost and the promise that Tynemouth was getting closer. We weren’t using the ferry, but it was based nearby. 

Our 7th and final Millennium milestone of the day. The 9th of the trip and the 10th in my collection. No two the same as the wonderful Sustrans volunteers made sure each was unique with their newly acquired paint jobs. 

We’d made it to the sea and could now look out over one of the most peaceful views that I know. This was the third time I had visited this harbour and I’ve adored it every time. 

Sustrans had other ways of marking the end of the route. These buoys showed the point that three cross-country routes met. The C2C from Whitehaven, Hadrians CycleWay on the 72 and something called the RCR - later investigations found this one, named the Reivers route is further north still and contains many more hills and off-road sections. Rievers were well-renouned bandits of old that would happily remove all your possessions from you. It is apparent that it is from these bandits of history that we gain the term ‘bereaved’ I didn’t feel I would have lost anything by not completing that route, though apparently, it is very pretty. 

Checking the time, we realised that we needed to get a shift on if we wanted chips. We scoured the shoreline shops for an open chippy. We could see evidence of there having been some, but couldn’t find any serving food. In fact, the only open takeaway was named ‘Porkys’ and was decorated with pictures of pigs and the best cuts for butchering. Not the most inviting for a couple of vegetarians. 

Jenny went in to enquire about chips and was kindly reassured that the loaded chips with cheese and onion would be just perfect. She placed the order and we waited. And waited. And waited. Eventually, our order appeared. We cycled quickly to the benches to enjoy the last of the sunset while devouring our prize. 

Little did we know that there had been a mix-up with the order somehow and where there should have been onion were now small chunks of bacon. 

We didn’t care. We were too hungry and too tired to ride back. Jo and I picked around the bacon bites and enjoyed the cheese-laden chips. Jenny and the local seagulls benefited from what was left. Not even a bit of meat was going to spoil the celebration of our efforts.  

We stayed till the sun left no trace, then headed back down the hill and towards the station. We were hoping but weren’t sure whether the metro would let us travel together. We couldn’t find any information about it online so we arrived at the station hoping for the best, but fearing the worst. 

We were greated by a set of police officers standing next to the ticket machine. They, like a number of others this evening, asked about our travels. One was so helpful that he explained which station to use in the city centre and exactly how to get back to the hotel from there. 

Tickets were bought, the train arrived and we got on with ease. We enjoyed looking over the route we had just ridden and recognising the names of the areas we had ridden through earlier that day. 

Needless to say, the journey back was much quicker than the journey there and we had our first glimpse of train travel with bikes in the north of the country. It was dead easy! We didn’t quite get our directions right however and had a quick tour of Chinatown on the way back. 

Once back at the hotel we all showered and checked out our new commemorative T-shirts before heading to bed and a very comfortable night's sleep. 

We all woke earlier than expected - the room hotter and more airless than the tents we were used to. We packed in no time and checked out soon after. 

Our intention to get breakfast from the station was thwarted as our train was due on the only platform without a cafe. The station was perfectly organised for cyclists even down to the slopes and bridges between platforms. We were very impressed. Then a little confused as the train drew in. It didn’t look the two carriage metro-like train we had been led to believe. This one looked like it would go miles! 

Then we heard a shout from one of the platform guards. Our train had been moved. It was now coming in on platform two in one minute. Everyone started running towards the bridge. I’m so glad we weren’t reliant on a lift! 

We made it just in time for the train to pull in, but sadly not in time to buy coffee from the shop we stood next to.  Next stress - would we all fit? 

Yes, with room for more. These train lines were obviously much more used to the cyclist commuter than the trains further south. Jo and Jenny followed the route on the map and we tried to recap the events of the journey. Just as with our metro ride, it was great to recognise the names of the areas we had cycled through so recently. 

We were very impressed by this rail connection. It had been something I had been concerned about since we first discussed it. But there had been no need for the anxiety. It was a great way to travel. 

Our first stop in Carlisle - breakfast. Followed by a return trip to the gift shop in Carlisle castle. Then the 8 miles back to the van to complete our cycle of 120 miles and 6333ft of climbs. 

The van was loaded in double quick time and we began the long drive home. The first leg was the hardest, but it got easier as we got into the swing of it all again. Our best meal of the day was totally amazing. Max and cheese toasted sandwiches. Perfect! 

Having dropped the others off, I finally reached home just before midnight. Unloaded the bare minimum and dropped into bed exhausted but happy. 

What an amazing adventure! 

Thank you so much to Jo,  Jenny and Babs (by messages this time) for your great company, your encouragement when things were tough and for sharing your photos for the use of the blog. All of which I am very grateful for. 

Where’s next? 

Ps. This is what post-trip breakfast looks like. The tent is drying on the line and I couldn’t quite give up on the camp cooking just yet. It was scrummy!