falling off bikes since 1975

Arriving at Preston station in time for the 11:23 North to Lancaster I’m ready but Virgin trains are not. Their reliability and punctuality compared to the smaller rail companies is there for all to see on posters at the entrance to the station. Fortunately the 11:31 First North-Western is on time, so I hop on there instead.

15 minutes later I’ve saved myself an hour and a half of cycling and I’m heading through Lancaster’s back roads, avoiding the always traffic jammed one way system through the city.

Heading South out of town I cut through the University campus, which has undergone major changes since I was there as a student in the days of the Smiths, the Pixies, and the second Summer Of Love.

Not five minutes after leaving campus I’m on the white road to Kit Brow, SD492566. This is a long wide ford, and the wheel test reveals it’s up to the hubs. I take the rather precarious stepping stone route. The last four stones are particularly rounded. Momentum takes over and I end up trying to leap faster and faster from stone to stone. It ends in disaster when my foot slips off the final stone and I get a wet foot.

Now I have a choice of heading North into Lunesdale along the biker road between Quernmore-Caton-Hornby, or cutting more directly across country, hugging the northern edge of the Forest of Bowland. I’ve already realised that by its nature this challenge involves riding down into a valley, up the other side, down into the next valley, and so on all day. I’m never riding along, always either up or down. The direct route involves 8 arrows on the OS map. It would be more but they don’t apply them to white roads. And the white roads I take are steeper than the ‘yellow’ ones.

It takes me two hours of granny ring climbing, and brake scorching descending to reach the double Irish bridge at Haylot, SD600630. Along the way I’ve passed through some of the most picturesque scenery in Lancashire. Also one of it’s best kept secrets. Except to the sheep. The road has also put paid to any idea of a circular route involving the Salter Fell Road, then using these roads to get back home. I don’t think my knees would stand it.

The River Roeburn is running reasonably high, but still fails to reach the top of the bridge. I manage to keep my feet dry for a change.

Although the road and the river now head for Wray the road builders decided that a little more climbing would be character building. So instead of following the valley bottom I’m faced with, yes, more climbing. There follows a single arrow descent leading to a small hump backed bridge. There’s a definite moment of silence beneath my wheels as I take off, at an angle to make the impending corner. I feel like I’m taking one of the bridges on the I.O.M. T.T. course.

Fortunately the double arrow climb that I’m immediately faced with is my last major ascent of the day. It’s followed by a 2 mile descent. This would have been the ascent had I taken the ‘flatter’ route. I think I made the right choice.

North of the River Lune the tine village of Gressingham, SD569699 is home to two tiny little fords. The sun is out and I paddle through them to take photos. I’m observed by an old, retired lady making pottery cats, but we exchange no words. Working in her back garden she has everything arranged on top of the garden wall, overlooking the beck and fords. There are worse places to work.

I can now head downhill, my next three fords are all tidal, so, by definition, at or below sea level.

The Morecambe Bay Byway, SD455675, is the longest ford on my itinerary. Leaving Hest Bank the route heads across the treacherous sands and cockle beds of Morecambe Bay, crosses the channel of the River Kent, before finally regaining land at Grange-Over-Sands. By the time I reach the wetroads grid ref the tide is in. This route is marked, rather appropriately, on the OS maps as a BOAT. I’d need one to get any further.

Although the sun is out it’s a little hazy, obscuring the views of the Furness Fells. Still, it’s more picturesque than I expected. A lot of other, older, people also appreciate the view. Riding back towards Hest Bank I pass through serried rows of static caravans, gleaming in the bright sun. Compared to the East Lancashire OAPs of Wednesday in their tracksuits the West Coast OAPs taste in sportswear extends to shorts and running shoes. Whatever happened to dignity? When I get old I’m going to wear tweeds. With brogues. And when it gets warm I shall roll up the sleeves of my green checked shirt.

Morecambe apparently shares a town planner with Preston and has been inundated with traffic lights since my days here in student digs. I hop onto the seafront promenade which is a lot less stressful then negotiating traffic. Morecambe is a lot more genteel than Blackpool, so the flourescent posters festooning the cast-iron lamposts look out of place. They’re all advertising acts I’ve never heard of. Even the large Nick Drake poster contains in small letters ‘the songs of”, and identifies some cover act who’s name slipped my mind by the time my eyes had looked back to the road. Of course Morecambe’s most famous son is Eric Morecambe. I keep an eye out for the large bronze statue of him looking out towards the Lake District but miss it. It’s not the only art in Morecambe these days which has several wildlife and futuristic statues also. The seafront is undergoing something of a rennaisance. The tackiness of what is left of Frontierland surely can’t last much longer.

Sunderland Point, SD427563, is one of two UK communities that can only be reached by a tidal road. The other is Lindisfarne. Sunderland Point is unique in that it is on the mainland.

At the start of the causeway the posts are most definitely in the water. A local sees me taking photos and tells me that I’ll be alright. High tide was an hour ago. I confirm by looking under the bridge that water is indeed flowing out. The causeway is just over a kilometre long. Only the final section is under water, but only an inch at most.

This is the last chance to get my wheels wet today. Although I have a ford left Oxcliffe, SD448614, only goes under at certain high tides. The mark on the wall of the car park of the Golden Ball pub shows ho high it can get though.

By now I have just 30 minutes to get to Lancaster to catch my train. I click into the big ring for the last time today. Fortunately Lancaster and Morecambe have embraced cycling more than Preston, and a new cycleway has been built along the Northern bank of the River Lune back into town. The view of the old castle and the priory is rather special. Cyclists heading for the station are even spared the one way system. A millenium footbridge provides a convenient crossing of the river, and then a cycle route through the grounds of the priory takes me to the station.

Turns out that the 17:24 - Virgin - is not expected until 17:50, and I needn’t have rushed. Fortunately the 17:06, also Virgin, is not expected until 17:30 so I could catch that instead.

Alternatively I could, once more, forget all about Virgin Trains and take the on-time First North-Western at 17:13. Which I do.

Miles Today: Many
Calories Used Today: 2749:
Fords Today: 7
Total: 24
Remaining: 1