Day 8: Kendal to Haydon Bridge

I like Kendal. Every time I pass through I see something interesting I hadn't seen before.

And I don't mean on the Wetherspoons menu. I mean things such as this signpost (picture) in the Market Square pointing to both Scafell Pike and Everest, for climbers who have limbered up in the Lakes and fancy something slightly more challenging.


The A6 from Kendal to Shap starts out with nice seductive scenery (picture). The stretch after that, to the bleak top of Shap Fell, is notorious in End to End lore as a long uphill slog. Indeed, arriving in the rather dismal village of Shap comes as a welcome relief.


I've been through Shap twice recently: in 2010, on my Cape Wrath to Dover ride, and last year while walking the Wainwright Coast to Coast, when I left my towel in a hostel here. I was pleased to see that the planter illustrating '100 uses for a dead Ford Escort' was still here (picture).


After lunch in Penrith I slogged up the A686 to Hartside, and its 580m summit cafe which gave wonderful panoramic views of the mist. Most of what followed was glorious downhill in moorland (picture) - five miles with hardly a pedal - to Alston.

I came here once with Si and Mark and we were chatted up by local lasses in the pub, proving that Alston is one of Britain's highest-altitude Cattle Market Towns.


Some more lovely cycling later, I finished in Haydon Bridge, which indeed has a historic bridge now closed to traffic (picture), at a nice riverside campsite with perhaps the best shower I've ever seen in a campsite.

Which, given all today's climbing, was just as well.

Miles today: 64
Miles since Land's End: 570

Day 7: (Wheelton to) Warrington to Kendal

After a convivial night with Si, Sue and company, in which certain single malts may have been involved, I took the morning train back to Warrington Bank Quay to pick up the pieces. Er, I mean, from where I left off last night. Warrington Bank Quay (picture) is one of only two UK stations to have given its name to a UN Secretary-General. The other, of course, is Annan.


Back lanes and roads took me through Leyland. The approach to the town is marked by a tank (picture), in homage to 1970s carmakers British Leyland, which produced tanks, such as the Austin Allegro.


I had lunch in Preston. I'd never thought of it as a Caribbean sort of place, but its impressive Guildhall quarter was throbbing with a rehearsal for its Carnival next week (picture).


Just north of Garstang was one of the few milestones in England expressed in algebra (picture). In keeping with most milestones, perhaps it should really say "X+1, where X is what the previous one said".


At Lancaster I crossed the Lune via the splendid Millennium Bridge (picture). As with the rest of the day, I was surprised by the large number of cyclists out on a run. They were everywhere. Though, as all looked identical, it could have been one group of five simply following me around.


Lovely sunny evening cycling along quiet back roads got me to Kendal (picture), one of my favourite places, thanks to its reopened hostel, its historic and characterful town centre, its Wainwright associations, and the Wetherspoon round the corner with its Lancaster Red and wifi.

Miles today: 80
Miles since Land's End: 506

Day 6: Coalport to Warrington (to Wheelton)

The name 'Ironbridge' means, literally, 'iron bridge', and is named for an iron bridge (picture), which is a bridge made of iron, the world's first. It was bashed up in 1779 by Abraham Darby, son of Abraham Darby, and grandson of Abraham Darby. They didn't have a way with words: the Industrial Revolution was born here not out of poetry, but out of prosaic functionality.

They were feeling their way with engineering, too. The picture shows some primitive, heavy, clumpy metalwork done on the cheap. But then, it's my bike, and I like it.

After a morning exploring the various overwrought ironmongery spanning the Severn (there's another bridge at Coalport) I cycled up the Silkin Way to Telford, a new town which consists solely of ring roads and shopping centres.


Market Drayton, I was surprised to learn from its welcome sign, is Home of Gingerbread. I asked the friendly locals (hello Emma! See you in New Zealand!) and discovered that (one form of) gingerbread was indeed invented here, by Clive of India. The genuine stuff (picture) used to be made in this house (same picture) which is now home of Shropshire Gas; the authentic product is now made in Barnsley, and the proper way to enjoy it is apparently to dunk it in port, which sounds a very good idea.


Then I saw this tricycle (picture) serving as a novel planter in a Nantwich garden.


Nantwich is clearly a bit posher than Market Drayton. To celebrate the fact, the locals were literally dancing in the streets (picture).


After catching the astounding Anderton Boat Lift in action just up from Northwich (picture) I cycled in the drizzle to Warrington, where my longtime cycling chum Si whisked me by car to Wheelton for a fine sociable evening with Sue and their friends Alan and Barbara. A sociable day all round.

Miles today: 75
Miles since Land's End: 426

Day 5: Gloucester to Coalport

What could be more English - on an English End to End - than a visit to Worcester (picture), home of the quintessential English composer, Edward Elgar?

Well, lots of things I suppose, such as rail replacement buses or bad kebabs, but this scored very highly on the English scale.

Elgar was, of course, a keen cyclist, but I didn't have time to retrace any of his countless bike tours round here. But I did pay homage to his father's music shop, where young Ted taught himself to play many orchestral instruments. It's now a branch of H&M.


And I went to the Crown Inn on Broad St (picture), where teenage Ted wrote arrangements for the local Glee Club. It's now a Wetherspoons, so just as gleeful.


After Worcester I went through Stourport (with a 75p coffee stop at their Wetherspoons) and then Bewdley, a little gem of a Severnside town, and picked up the Sustrans Route NCN45. It gave the usual Sustrans mix of lovely quiet back lanes, traffic-free delights such as this ped-only bridge across the Severn (picture), four-sides-of-a-square long-ways round, and a few appallingly-surfaced bridlepaths. Very good in parts, but full of compromise and fudge... again, how English.


I nearly ran over this slowworm (picture). Luckily I was going even slower than it was.


The ferry at Hampton Loade (picture) - evidently one of the last cable ferries in England still in operation - wasn't, because the Severn was running pretty high and fast following recent rain. There were several signs up by the ferry, saying it was Open. And Closed. And that, to get it to run to demand, you could call a mobile number. Again, how English.


After a marked-down 45p Tesco sandwich in characterful Bridgnorth (picture - again, how English, the lane I mean not the marked-down sandwich), I got up to Coalport, just south of Telford. The only camping option here is evidently Telford Naturist Club, who aren't keen on putting details online, perhaps understandably. So I'm in the YHA hostel. Clothed.

Miles today: 71
Miles since Land's End: 351

Day 4: Taunton to Gloucester

Another long and lovely day of cycling across England's patchwork nation. Up the pleasant canal towpath from Taunton to Bridgwater this morning (picture). The route - part of NCN3, Bristol to Land's End - has a scale model of the planets, rather like York's. This is the sun, as if dumped at Maunsel Locks by an astronomical flytipper; Pluto is in a supermarket car park.


Some back roads got me to Cheddar. I spurned the chance to visit the caves - if I want to spend time in cramped, uncomfortable, dripping conditions, I can do that at home - or eat the cheese. But I did cycle up the Gorge (picture), which is one England's few genuinely spectacular natural features, along with the Severn Bore.

At the top, talking of bores, I had one of those encounters with a cyclist whose sole intention is to subtly rubbish everything you do and suggest that his way is better. He was surprised I was using paper maps and not a GPS like him. He couldn't understand why I had so much luggage and didn't travel light like him. He was amazed I was camping and not using couchsurfing websites like any normal person.

I wanted to say yes but, if I couchsurfed, I might have to spend a whole evening with someone I didn't like, such as you, but thought better of it. Instead I talked to him about helmets, another topic on which he arrogated expertise, and after five minutes of me explaining in detail the shortcomings of British Standard EN 1078:1997, he couldn't get away quick enough.


Anyway, I cycled past Chew Valley Lake, and into Bristol, where I had a late lunch at the Mud Dock Cafe (picture). I remembered this as the cool place to be when I used to live in Bath 15 years ago. Cycle cafes are relatively common now, especially in London, but Mud Dock was one of the very first: a place where you can have your bike repaired, buy a top-end road bike, or - if you're feeling really really flush - even buy a sandwich and coffee.

From there I dodged a few showers and zoomed up the A38 to Gloucester. There were several other cyclists out on the road, some of whom I chatted to pleasantly. One of them was a doctor called Foster.

Miles today: 90
Miles since Land's End: 280

Day 3: Plymouth to Taunton

From Plymouth I went up the first bit of Sustrans's lovely Devon Coast to Coast route. I did this with Nigel last July. It chucked it down with rain. This May morning it chucked it down too. I must come back to Plymouth in summer one day. If someone knows when the one summer day is.


Anyway, the railtrail up the Plym Valley is fabulous, and I stopped to chat to some birdwatchers (picture). We saw two peregrines having a furious scrap mid-air. Last time I saw that sort of thing was on a Ryanair flight back from Malaga.


There's some mildly awesome engineering along the railtrail, such as this viaduct (picture). Note the cows are standing up, thus disproving the fact that they lie down when it's about to rain.


From Yelverton I rode across Dartmoor to Exeter. It was a superb ride, with lots of this sort of thing (picture). All I had for company was a few Dartmoor ponies, and several dozen Dutch tourist buses.

This road, the B3212, is supposedly haunted. Drivers have reported spooky hands taking their steering wheel and making the car veer off course. I saw this happen several times, coincidentally when the driver was gawping at the scenery or emailing on their iPhone.


I'd never seen this sign before (picture). The sheep were indeed lying. They told me the road to Exeter wasn't very hilly and it was only 20 miles or so.

I stopped for a coffee at the Warren House Inn, southern England's highest and most remote at 1425 feet. Not as high as the Tan Hill Inn in Yorkshire, at 1732 feet, but a curiously similar experience as you walk in: the position of the bar, fireplace and tables are almost identical. Now that is spooky.
Moretonhampstead (picture) on the eastern edge of Dartmoor is the joint-longest single unhyphenated name in England, along with nearby Doddiscombsleigh and other southwestern jumbos such as Woolfardisworthy. (The longest multiple name is North Leverton with Habblesthorpe.) I took this just to show that the name is as long as my bike.


I had late lunch in Exeter, by the Cathedral Close (picture) and then whizzed up the old A38 to Taunton. En route I had a very pleasant chat with Sooz at Cullompton library, who told me another End-to-Ender had just passed through - on a skateboard. The remarkable details (he's doing big daily mileages) are on the SkateLeJog Facebook page.

I camped just outside Taunton at a farm with an impressive range of squawking wildlife: peacocks, very free range hens, and toddlers in the next tent.

Miles today: 85
Miles since Land's End: 190

Day 2: St Austell to Plymouth

Heavy rain is no problem with decent waterproofs, which will keep you dry all day. Unfortunately I only have half-decent waterproofs, so I was only dry for the first half of today. It bucketed down with rain incessantly, so by one o'clock I was soaking wet.


Still, I got the authentic Cornish experience - fishing-village scenery, cream tea, trenchfoot - and had scenic experiences in Fowey, Polperro (picture) and Looe.

And a great many near-invisible experiences, my glasses spending most of the day in that irritating mix of steamed up but also spattered with rain.

I spent two hours in coffee shops in the early afternoon, waiting in vain for the rain to ease up. The first time in my life I've had time off in Looe.


The ferry from Torpoint (Cornwall) to Plymouth (Devon, picture) is on chains, a floating-bridge affair a bit like the Woolwich Ferry. It's free for pedestrians and cyclists; other users pay a small toll, but only eastwards, ie only to escape Cornwall.

Not nearly as many miles as I'd hoped, but given the awful weather, I was reasonably happy. Not so the Dutchman staying in my hostel tonight, who is distraught that the TV is on the blink: he had set his heart on watching the Eurovision Song Contest semifinal.

Miles today: 45
Miles since Land's End: 105