BHCC on Tour - Cambret Hill, SW Scotland - 22nd April 2009

Approximately 25 miles (plus another 7 miles to get to the pub and back)

Well, due to a variety of factors, attendance has been a bit lax of late, so it's down to Duncan to actually get on his bike. The Dumfries and Galloway area of South West Scotland was the venue, where the workshy fop was enjoying a break near Gatehouse Of Fleet.

After a misty start to the day, the late afternoon saw an improvement in the weather, and for the purposes of this blog, the starting point was a fine establishment in the town, The Masonic Arms pub, which gives the Black Horse a run for it's money in the Guinness stakes.


Here's a shot of the pub culled from the net, as I forgot to take one at the time. This is actually on National Cycle Route 7, so that was followed for a mile or so, out of the town, before turning off towards the ancient dwelling of Anwoth and onto the Old Military road dating from 1763 apparently.
The OS maps of the area have this down as an "other road", but clearly a road. LIES!
Hoisting the bike over a gate, it was up the steep wooded hill, and you can well believe the road was built in 1763.


It hadn't been raining for a good few days, so perhaps the small stream running down the "road" should have been a sign of things to come.


That's a bloody steep hill, and not the best surface for cycling on. Just around that corner most of the road had been washed away, and it was inches deep with thick black mud and cow shite. I wasn't stopping to take photos, and inched forward through it in a very low gear.
I can see why the road had a gate across it. They don't show that on the map.


This is looking back towards the woodland and that steep hill from Anwoth. That was about a foot deep in the middle, the bike went along the side through the boggy ground. Not good, but surely the worst was over.


Here, our rugged hero surveys the road ahead in this very artsy self-timer shot. Quite impressive that the wind didn't blow the camera off it's precarious perch on a fence post.
Notice the rather steep hills along the side of the track. Perhaps a bit of a rain catchment area.


A tractor had obviously been along here at some point, and sunk in just a touch in places. Hard to turn back, as that steep hill behind us was too treacherous to be safe and you probably wouldn't get found for days.


Oh joy. More mud. And tractor tyre ruts. It was quite overcast and gloomy, hence the slightly blurred nature of a few of these pictures. And about ten to six as well.


But the views are quite good.


At last, a dry bit. Optimism was rising at this point that the worst was over. Red coats (the soldiers, not the Butlins mafia) had probably trodden those very stones quelling some uprising.


Mutant gorse bushes from all the Chernobyl fallout no doubt.


And then you go around a corner, and it's a flooded mudbath again. Much swearing. Way too deep and claggy to cycle through, a path was found through the gorse bushes by the wall. Shoes were somewhat soggy at this point.


Action Shot! The road surface had improved by now though. Well, at least it was dry. Like cycling over a ploughed field.


At the bottom of a really steep and rutted bit, to go over the crest of Ardwall Hill. Like 45° steep. Bike was pushed up.


Top of the hill looking back down. Only about a mile along the Old Military Road. Felt like ten.


Then at the top of the hill, the first view of our target. Cambret Hill, and the transmitter masts sitting on the top. They're at over 1100ft, the bike was currently at 470ft.


A welcome downhill bit, leafy country lanes, that sort of thing. There was more gate climbing to be done just here. I'm not a fan of gates.
This nifty little panorama was made with the free Autostitch software. Dead simple. Worth a go.


Kings Laggan farm nestling under the slopes of Kenlum Hill, which is rather pointy.


Civilisation!


So this is where I'd just come from. Maybe they could have had a sign at the other end too. That would have been nice.
I'm not sure it's even suitable for tractors.

And with the hard bit over, it was sensible roads for the duration of the ride. Onwards towards Glen, or at least that was the plan, but 500 yards further on......


As you can see, the stampede meant the road was blocked. More followed around the corner, so with the phrase "bloody farmers" echoing around the valley, it was back to the crossroads at Kings Laggan.
Now I could either abort the ride and go back along the Old Military Road, but that wasn't a sensible option, so it was all the way back down the valley, almost to Skyreburn on the coast and up the other side again. Big detour.


Still, at least it was going to be downhill for a while, and it's a nice spot of countryside to cycle through and it was only 6.30pm. Of course, probably only about a quarter of the way around unless I went back via the A75. Which is not a good idea if you want to live.


So, after dropping down the valley to the dizzy altitude of 150ft and within spitting distance of the sea, this is the view from the road on the other side, looking back at the farmhouse where the cows were blocking the way. If it looks like it's miles away, it's because it was. Three to be exact.


So, once past Glen, which is no more than a T-Junction, the road is known as "The Corse Of Slakes", another ancient route. At least this one has seen some tarmac in the last decade or so.
Starting to climb quite steeply up onto the moors too, but still only about 500ft up.


Looking back towards Gatehouse, which is over those hills in the middle. You can just make out the path of the Old Military Road going over them too.


Looking back a bit further up the climb, the vegetation is thinning out now, and once over the cattle grid, it's onto the moors proper. Sheep are lurking. You never see a sheep grid though.


And there's the transmitter on Cambret Hill. It's getting close, but it's a steep climb into a fierce headwind whipping over the tops of the hills. Not much traffic up here, so you have to hope there's no mechanical failures, or you might not be found for days. No mobile signal of course. What are those masts for then?


Up a small access road to the transmitter station, and we reach 1000ft above sea level at this gate, as close as you could get. Probably on a list of terrorist suspects already for these pictures.
The Irish Sea is just a couple of miles over the hill to the left, and the wind gale is bitter.


Looking north down the little road to the transmitter, back across the moors. The cloud-shrouded mountain in the distance is Cairnsmore, the highest around. Another swanky panorama.

It was about 7.40pm now and starting to get a bit gloomy. That slow first couple of miles and the detour had messed up the timing, but luckily I'm used to cycling with Jim so I'd brought my lights just in case.
Time for a blast down the other side of Cambret Hill, heading west towards Creetown, and then loop back east onto the road following the course of the old Portpatrick Railway.


The low light levels made for few photos that weren't a blurry mess, but this one shows one of the little stone bridges crossing one of the burns. It's a gradual climb from the coast, back up to the station at 500ft. Done a lot of climbing.


Just for Jim, here's a little sheep tunnel crossing under the old trackbed.
All the sheep had gone to bed by this point.
(Not with Jim)


Just past Gatehouse of Fleet station at the highest point of this stretch, and in the distance you can just make out the Big Water Of Fleet viaduct. That's another bike ride that one.
Almost dark now. Those lights are great.

And then it was downhill all most of the way back to Gatehouse. It's still over 6 miles back to the town, into a headwind off the sea. You shouldn't have to pedal downhill. It's not right.


Rather dark by the end of the ride.
Very tired too. Done a lot of hills. Climbing over 1800ft in total. Ow. A good ride though.


And just to finish, a shot of my shoe the next day. Won't be riding that Old Military Road again, unless we have a two month drought first.

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Two Get Lost Near Lanchester - 13th April 2009

Approximately 40 miles (in the end)

Just Jim and Dunk on the bikes today, as Chris was having a busy bank holiday in the pub and Ian's currently out of action at the moment with a spot of nut rub or something.
So, bikes loaded into the back of the rusty trusty Berlingo and off to Chester-le-Street.

We found a nice spot to park, (next to Coronation Street actually, which must be a fun address to give out over the phone) and headed off.


Within 20 yards we chanced upon this traction engine. Jim's eyes lit up, and he lurched into action with the camera. Notice how Dunk is on the pavement out of the way. Notice where the pictures are taken from, standing in the middle of the road. Jim failed to spot a white van sneaking up behind him, which could have resulted in the shortest bike ride in history.


Best have another shot of it.

So it trundled off down the road with a string of cars stuck behind it, (the traction engine, not Jim) and we headed the other way along the A167 for 5 miles or so on the nice cycle path, then turned off towards Bearpark, and onto the old Lanchester Railway.
Then we passed through Langley Park, and before long we were in Lanchester itself.
Without taking any photos along the way. Oops.



And here we are in Lanchester, posing like a couple of Edwardian gentlemen. Jim appears to have forgotten his pipe though, while Dunk seems to be indulging in a spot of light relief on the crossbar.



We got no further than 10 yards across the road before Dunk points out the dreaded word "Hill" and Jim decides to take a totally different route, back along the railway line instead.



Look at this dashing figure, glancing at the old station buildings in Lanchester.
It's barely changed judging by this old photo Jim took when he was a bit younger we've half-inched from the internet.

We kept going along the railway line as it headed towards Consett.



Doctor Doolittle spotted some lambs and decided to torment them. If it's not horses it's sheep.




Look at these "come to bed" eyes. The "Ahhh" factor as Jim calls it.

Once we'd managed to tear ourselves away from dinner, we decided to deviate from the railway path and head off into the wide blue yonder. Jim had brought a book of cycling routes, so after a quick glance we decided on a route and set off. Down the steep bank called Butsfield Lane, and then sadly, up the other side. That wasn't very clear on the map. This hidden hill problem would occur more than once in the next few hours.



Just past the green burial / organic cemetery thing on Millershill Lane, here goes Jim heading for the valley floor. Note the racing posture and the typical position on the wrong side of the road. He does get up some speed on the downhill bits though.


And there goes Dunk heading for the crossroads on the same stretch, hanging on for grim death. Must get some new brake blocks. You can perhaps see the hill up the other side of the valley. Just a gentle one that.
Onwards through Butsfield (perhaps the title of straight to DVD skin-flick), and then to Satley stopping only to collapse for air on the hill up from the valley floor between the two. And this was the gentle route without the really steep hills according to that pesky cycle map book.

Another killer climb after Satley, slogging along past the giant wind turbines that dot the hillside. The lungs didn't permit a stopping and taking photos break, more of a stopping and trying to breathe break instead.



Dunk pointing towards the hill that would have had to have been climbed if we'd carried on to the intended destination to see a friend of Jim's near East Hedley Hope.
Who may not have even been in.

We decided to give it a miss as it was getting on by this time and the legs weren't as fresh as when we'd set off. A quick consult of the map book and we settled on the flattest route back to the Lanchester railway line.

Cornsay Colliery and Quebec were cycled through and then there was a nice drop down the onto the valley floor and into Langley Park. Jim on his road bike and with the assistance of gravity built up quite a lead on this stretch.

And then finally back along the railway line and the A167 to the Berlingo.
And what better way to finish the bank holiday than to retire to the Black Horse later in the evening.

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Corbridge Tea Room Run - 3rd April 2009

Approximately 27 miles

So, another Friday comes around and a headcount shows we're down on numbers again.
Ian is going clubbing in the evening, and needs to conserve his energy, and Chris is having decorating fun at the Black Horse, so today's two athletes are Jim and Dunk.
Chris promises to join us later if the paint dries in time.

A quick jaunt in the Berlingo to Newburn, and it's off along the Old Wylam Waggonway at a leisurely pace, heading west along the river.
At this point Jim discovers he's not charged the batteries in the camera, and only has a few shots of power left. Oops.

Over the bridge at Ovingham and along the north riverbank for a few miles, then down the long hill into Corbridge


The obligatory shot of Corbridge marketplace, just to set the scene.
That's St Andrews Church in the background, and some trees. And cars. And that white van is a Citroen.



The real reason Jim decided to come to Corbridge. A cake stop at Martha's Tea Rooms.
Here, after scoffing a rather large sandwich, Duncan ignores the camera and dives into a sample of the fairly decent carrot cake. This consisted of about a 2lb lump of the stuff, which explains why cycling up the long hills on the way back was much harder than expected.



Jim returns to his seat and demonstrates his drink problem. Duncan's wondering why he's pouring tea all over his leg. Old folks. Bless.
Gorged on a spot of corned beef pie, Jim barely touches the Lemon Drizzle cake, rather letting the side down.

And then the batteries conked out.

So we headed back the way we'd come, till we got to Wylam where Chris had arranged to meet us, not for a bit of cycling as we thought, but a spot of tea at his house just up the road. Hard work that painting, those decorators need keeping an eye on.

And just to finish, Duncan gets a puncture about 500 yards from the finish line. Typical. Bloody hawthorns.

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Up The Tyne Without A Paddle - 27th March 2009

Approximately 30 miles

Another Friday dawned, plans had been made, but it was a bit windy for some of the club. So only Ian and Dunk went out, while Jim and Chris made their excuses and retired to the sandwich shop.
Those made of tougher stuff headed to the Black Horse car park and then set off on the bikes.

Anyway, Ian's done the words again, we've added subtitles for those with a modicum of intelligence.

dont dunk look amazin in his nice red lipstik aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa mean sunblok honist no digital enhancements

(Our expert photographer couldn't digitally enhance his way out of this one. Standing on the Swing Bridge, facing into the teeth of the gale, with the mighty Tyne Bridge artfully cropped in the background)

the sign sezit all us on the road to nowear it was about now dunks nee started givin him gyp so I took the opperatuneity to fiddle wif his inside leg he was verry pleased I cud cee that sraightaway and later he thanked me saying he never expected it would hav such an efect on him

(So, we headed upstream along the Newcastle half of the Quayside, peddling like fury into the wind. Hard going. Hence the slightly dodgy knee. But we made it to Scotswood, and a chance for a photo opportunity. "The Road To Nowhere". Actually, it's the road to Newburn, but it's more or less the same thing)

nother shot of a hansum bugger at rest at a crackin yalehoose ani av to say that flagpole was leanin like that befor I got there honist

(Newburn, and Ian headed straight for the pub. As for the flagpole, it was straight when we got there. Photos don't lie. We left in a hurry, and tootled along the Old Wylam Waggonway to Ovingham and then back along the north bank of the Tyne to Wylam)

another amazeingly arty shot of dunk at the railway crossing at wylam the boathouse pub is on the other side of the train it was sposed to be in the shot wif the train in the distance (to make jimithy jealouse ) bur the shutter lag on me phone is so long that was the result

(Ian making excuses for the fact that he couldn't really work his fancy cameraphone. The train was only doing 20mph. Still, it's a picture of a railway, which should keep Jim happy. He'd probably gorged himself on bacon sarnies back in the Low Fell at this point, while we carried on back along the riverbank path towards Newcastle)

us turning back onto keelmans way at the bottom of blaydon just to demonstrate how much the shutter lag is a shot of dunk at top of hill
next time the shutter fired but the question is is it a slow shutter or did dunk roar down the hill
nothin left to do so we went home when jim ccccccccccccccs how bad me bloggin is am shure al get peddled

(Just to prove Dunk can go downhill quickly. Nothing wrong with the camera at all)

And after Blaydon it was a long slog up to the Quayside, then back up the hill to Low Fell and a well earned rest.

Probably could have taken more photos really. Oh well.

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Up Tanfield way - 20th March 2009

Approximately 14 miles

The rather odd words are Ian's. Drink was probably involved. A more readable translation/description is provided.

no jimithy so al av a go. dunks nee sore so we desided not to go to far an be gentil on the bairn.

(No Jim this week, so Ian's done the blog. Duncan was having trouble with his knee, so the plan was to take it easy and do a shorter ride)

cris demonstratein how much handlebar he is gonna chop off befor we start

(A nice shot of Chris' handlebars. They're probably very swanky handlebars, can't think of a reason why you'd take a picture of them otherwise. Probably classed as bike porn by those who know about this sort of thing)

gon to miles time for first sarni stop

(After about a couple of miles, just where the Bowes Railway route crosses under the road at Birtley. Clearly feeling a bit peckish already. It was lunchtime)

2miles an firtyyardsin an cris makein like a hamster

(We haven't moved at all in fact, and the sandwich had to be eaten before continuing)

the view from our cakestop

(Looking down Kibblesworth Bank towards Lamesley. The Black Horse is probably somewhere in those distant rooftops)

cris being kind to dunk by makein shure that the road is clear to cross cos dunk worries so

(One thing you learn when cycling with Ian, is to not follow him across roads.)

nother blinkin puncher dunk bein helpful an holdin me wheel al not mention havin to borrow his pump cos the end of mine fill off

(Ian's indestructible puncture-proof tyres prove not to be. Again. Glass was the culprit, but in fact knackered old tyres with tread hanging off was probably more responsible. And he lost the end off his bike pump somewhere on the way up the bank. We didn't go back for it)

aforsed pump in use by an extremly good lookin bloke

(And they say the camera puts 10lbs on you)

four miles in and time for a break cris asbrung the carrot cake though the shakein up in is saddlebag hasent dun it a lot of good in the looks department we all tried it and it still tasted ok

(While the puncture was repaired, Chris whipped out his rather sorry looking carrot cake. Note the size of the plate. The saddlebag was a lot smaller than that, so perhaps it explains the state of the cake. Tasted ok though.)

av gon arty the sign ses where we are as dunk charges round the corner makein the other bisicalists stand back in fright we ill av him cycling on pavements soon

(Ian and Chris are speed merchants at the best of times, and it was them in fact who had forced the old guy off his bike)

sooner than you fink photagrafic evidense of our bad inflewense dunk crossin the road wif the red lights clearly showin

(As mentioned before, never cross the road with Ian. This was perfectly safe as he was taking the photo and therefore nowhere near the road)

criss demonstratein one of the ways cyclists get nut rub it can take ours but can be very worthwile

(Chris showing off for an old lady standing just to the left. Luckily Ian didn't try this, as it might have been too much for her)

what a goodlookin pair nuf sed

(Especially the one on the left)

criss remembers he hasent eatin for an our an settin off for more food an there is the dunston rocket in the backround but it dosent move as fast as us wen wer hedin for beer

(Heading into Bandit Country. Have you seen the film Deliverance?)

So there you are, a light 14 miles jaunt on a Friday afternoon, and everyone back at a sensible hour for a change.

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