joke goes on strava

There now appears to be more than one anorak in our household. Today, myself and Joke had a pleasant cycle ride out to Dedham and back. More importantly/worryingly, this was Joke's first outing as a Strava person. Up until now, my own personal interest with all things Strava has been met with raised eyebrows and a look of bored exasperation in the Cracknell household. Now, all of a sudden, Joke has a keen interest in average speeds, calories burnt, speed going up hills etc. In other words, she is on the slippery slope to Strava obsession......

An inappropriate use of a bicycle

Readers of a nervous disposition may wish to look away now. The following image shows a distressingly inappropriate use of a bicycle.......

Yes, that's a nightdress hanging from the handlebars of my bike, and no, it's not my nightdress. Worse, it's hanging from the handlebars of the Bianchi.  The culprit knows who she is. This is not the first time my bike has been violated in this way, and I'm fairly certain it won't be the last time it is used as a wardrobe accessory. Shocking.

My "standard" ride today, just a round trip to Alresford via the university road. Entirely uneventful, except for a small childish incident that someone of my age should really be beyond.

It was nothing really, I was just steadily starting the long drag up Boundary Road when I was passed by another cyclist. Nothing unusual about this, except for two very minor points. Firstly, the chap who passed me, out of the saddle for maximum effort, made no attempt to acknowledge me as he passed, no "hello" or even a nod of the head. Secondly, I wouldn't have minded so much, but he was riding a Bianchi, in fact an identical Bianchi to my own. I would have thought that some sort of celeste brotherhood may have brought forth some communication, but no.

So, I couldn't resist it. A bit of extra effort, and I sped past him on the steepest part of the climb without getting out of the saddle, on my way to my best time up the hill. I felt better for that, even though he was probably a very nice man and entirely oblivious to my irritation.

a gentle cycle ride to test joke's new knee

A modest cycle ride with Joke of about 15 miles this afternoon, out to Alresford then back via Wivenhoe, stopping off at the Rose and Crown for a pint on the quayside. Nothing special in itself, other than the fact that it's only about 10 weeks since Joke had her knee replacement operation, and this was her first proper cycle ride. Her recovery has been both astonishing and inspiring. Her progress has been thus

Week 1 - walking a few hundred yards up and down the road on crutches (and lots of painful stretching)

Week 2- walking up to a mile or so around the Recreation ground with one crutch

Week 3 - a walk of 3 miles at Alton water with walking poles

Week 4 - a walk of 6 miles with walking poles to Wivenhoe and back

Thereafter no need for poles or crutches, and back down the gym for exercise and swimming once the wound had healed properly. A testament to sheer bloody mindedness and determination.

Fantastic.

coast to coast cycle day 4 osmotherly to Robins Hood Bay

Day four was our last day, about 47 miles of hilly roads (surprisingly, this day had the most ascent of any day on the trip) to Robin Hoods Bay, where the Packhorse minibus would pick us up at 4 o'clock.

I was a little anxious about getting away fairly early, so we would have time to enjoy a pint or two at the end and, most importantly, not miss the bus. After delicate negotiations, myself and Brian persuaded our companions that breakfast at 07.30 would be a good idea (clearly Matt and Mark are not early morning people) and we were away reasonably early.

Although the route profile showed us climbing to lesser heights than on previous days, the roads were constantly up and down, with hardly any flat bits today. First big climb was up Sandhill Bank, on which I was feeling surprisingly sprightly, to this bus stop at the road junction.

Brian has his "I'm a bit knackered" face on

The rollercoaster of hills continued, Matt had a slow puncture

and through to  Castleton for a teashop stop, and on to Glaisdale. Rearing out of Glaisdale was probably my favorite climb of the whole trip - Limber Hill.

Limber Hill is remarkably steep, and myself and Mark climbed it at a remarkably low speed, barely above walking pace at times. By now I had adopted the Whybrow method of climbing - out of the saddle, not too fast, using all the road to minimise the gradient (apologies to the BMW driver who may have been surprised by my presence on the wrong side of the road on an earlier climb), and most of all, not stopping until the top. It works, and I didn't have to resort to walking on any climb after Kirkstone. At the top of the hill, this sign says it all.

On of the best things about Limber Hill is that it leads to Egton, and the superb Wheatsheaf pub and our beer/ lunch stop

Before departing the pub, Brian was anxious to check the way forward. He carefully checked the map and announced that we should go left out of the pub, before immediately taking the first left turning to Grosmont. The route confirmed, nothing could possibly go wrong.

Navigationally empowered, Brian led the way out of the pub to the left, and immediately and inexplicably sped downhill, missing the left turning to Grosmont. Brian was clearly on a mission to go the wrong way, and no amount of shouting or arm waving could stop him. We waited for him to come back, but Brian was not forthcoming.  Eventually, I pedalled off after him, only to find a road sign warning of a 33% downhill drop. I wasn't going down that, and then back up again, just to find Brian, so I gave up. Matt called his mobile, but Brian had no signal.

So we waited. Eventually, a forlorn figure in bright yellow appeared in the distance, puffing and sweating up one of the steepest hills in the north of England. I warned some passers by to cover their ears in case of bad language, and we tried, in vain, not to giggle.

To Brian's enormous credit, he took it well, and by his standards the language wasn't too bad, and once he had recovered (and the rest of us had stopped laughing), we were on our way.

At Grosmont we encountered another ridiculously steep hill, and then we reached the magnificently named village of Ugglebarnby, with another never-ending hill up to the church. Normally, you expect the church to be on the top of the hill, but no, this hill just kept on going up way past the church and beyond.

More undulating roads took us to main road, and a lovely, long descent into Robin Hoods Bay. Robin Hoods Bay has a twisting, narrow road down to to the sea, full of pedestrians and 30% descents, so we walked down to the water for a welcome pint at the bay Hotel at the end of a fantastic ride.

Day 4 stats

46 miles

3901 feet of ascent

5 pubs

So, that was it, another beer at Robin Hoods Bay in the Victoria, a minibus ride back to Kirkby Stephen, a curry and more beer, and back home the next day.

The whole trip couldn't have gone any better - nobody fell off, no mechanical  disasters, only two punctures (both Matt's), we didn't get lost (apart from the Brian incident), plenty of beer, and wonderful cycling in good company.

I can't wait to do it again.

coast to coast cycle day 3 Kirkby Stephen to Osmotherley

Today's ride was probably the best day's cycling I've ever had. I was expecting the spectacular roads and scenery of the Lake District to be the highlight of the trip, but I was wrong. The best bits were the high moorland roads of the Pennines and Cleveland hills, mostly less steep but perfectly formed for cycling.

Day 3 was our longest day (60 miles), but most of the hard work done on the initial 12 mile stretch from Kirkby Stephen to the highest point of the trip, Tan Hill Inn.

There had been some prevarication about which way to go - we had a choice of the higher route via Tan Hill, or a lower route through Swaledale. I had opted for the apparently easier route through Swaledale, but the Packhorse man we saw in the morning described that road as a "rollercoaster" with just as much up an down as Tan Hill, and it seemed a pity to miss out on the highest pub in Britain, so we changed our minds at the last minute.

What a ride. The long climb to Tan Hill was knackering (I had to stop for a breather at one point as Mark and Matt passed by) but well worth it. The Tan Hill Inn is located in the middle of nowhere, on a high moorland road at the junction of the Pennine Way, and is a wonderful place. We were a tad early for beer, but teas were welcome as Mark warmed his feet by the roaring fire whist enjoying AC/DC on the pub stereo. Mark seemed to be surprised to have cold feet, having cycled to 1732 feet in his sandals.

After a lengthy stop, it was back on the bikes for the fantastic descent down the moorland road to Reeth. The road surface was excellent, the gradients perfect, the views magnificent, hardly a car to be seen (and those that were on the road could be seen from miles away) and my GPS recorded a top speed of 39.1 miles an hour. Even the uphill bits were a joy, and never have I freewheeled up steep hils so fast with the momentum from the downhill bits. I've always found that on every holiday or trip I have been on there is one moment, camping spot, view, ride, climb, summit or walk that makes it all worthwhile, and this was it. Perfect.

From Reeth it was onwards to Richmond by the Swaledale Road (not as busy as we had been led to believe), and into Wetherspoons for lunch. Wetherspoons may not be to everyone's taste (including mine), and attract a largely homeless clientele, but at least they are cheap and the food OK. Next stop after Richmond was Danby Wiske for beer, before the surprisingly steep climb to our overnight stop at the lovely village of Osmotherley. I was convinced I had been to Osmotherly before, when walking the Cleveland Way, but didn't recognise it at all, so clearly my memory is failing.

Osmotherly is blessed with 3 pubs, so a pre-dinner recce was required. In the interest of research I had a pint of something golden in the Golden Lion, discounted the Queen Catherine (a bit soulless and full of kids) and the Three Tuns looked good for food. So, back to the Three Tuns for dinner and beer, and back to the Golden Lion for more beer.

Day 3 stats

60 miles cycled
3306 feet climbed
5 pubs

coast to coast cycle day 2 Ambleside to Kirkby Stephen

Having been rudely awakened by the dustman doing their early morning bottle collection/smashing directly outside the room window, today's ride had a particularly brutal start - directly up "The Struggle" right from the off.

"The Struggle" is aptly named - the steepest way up to Kirkstone Pass, 3 miles of climbing with 1300 feet of ascent. There is no gradual start to this climb - just turn right at a mini roundabout in the middle of Amblesde, and the road immediately rears straight up out of the town.

However, to make for an easier start, Matt had a brilliant idea. Rather than turn right at the mini roundabout, we could turn left and then turn round to gives ourselves a 20 yard run up on a flat road, and some momentum for the start of the climb. This we did, and the effect was amazing - gravity set in after about 0.5 seconds and it made absolutely no difference whatsoever.

Our climbing was pretty much a repeat of the previous day - me riding the first bit, walking the middle, then cycling the rest, while Mark was ahead, this time cycling the entire climb without stopping, and Matt and Brian opting for a greater degree of walking.

Not only did Mark manage the entire climb without stopping, even more impressively he managed the climb with a newspaper stuffed in his back pocket. I may be wrong, but I reckon Mark now holds the course record for climbing to the top of Kirkstone Pass while carrying a copy of the Independent.

We made it down the other side of the pass down to Glenridding in no time at all. A decent road surface on a fairly wide road made for an exhilarating,  if slightly scary, descent, and we were just in time for the Ullswater ferry to Pooley Bridge.

Pooley Bridge was our lunch stop, beer and smoked salmon baguette in the lovely front bar of the Sun Inn, before an undulating ride to Shap for another beer stop.

Shap reminds me of past visits to Dalwhinnie - a one horse town, a desolate run-down place that seems to exist just as a place to pass through. Mind you, the pub wasn't bad.

Once out of Shap and off the main road came one of the highlights of the trip, 20 miles of glorious cycling over the moors on empty roads to Kirby Stephen.

I did get slightly confused on arrival at Kirkby Stephen, and managed to take the wrong turning for our B & B. I do have a habit of getting lost in places I've been to before. Nevertheless, the B & B was superb, with tea and cakes on arrival.

We were back in the Black Bull for beer and dinner, and then on to the White Lion for more beer. As luck would have it, it was my round and the Jennings Bitter was only £2 a pint

Day 2 stats

48.3 miles (including the ferry!)
3700 feet of ascent
4 pubs

coast to coast cycle day 1 St Bees to Ambleside

We arrived at St Bees (Matt, Mark, Brian and myself) , delivered by the Packhorse bus, and there followed a prolonged period of faffing about with bikes in the unseasonably cold wind. St Bees is not a particularly attractive town, but does have a beach and photogenic cliffs, and most importantly is the start of our epic coast to coast ride.

We followed a road version of Wainwright's coast to coast walk, devised by Packhorse, the company that very efficiently arranged our accommodation,  transport and luggage transfer. The route was about 180 miles over four days, with an extraordinary amount of climbing. The route through the Lake District was been chosen by our expedition leader (me), and is the most difficult possible - over Hardnott Pass and Wrynose pass on day one, and over Kirkstone Pass on day two.

Bikes were parked for photographic purposes, and then it's in to the cafe for a cup of tea before the off. Keen eyed readers may notice a fair amount of celeste in these pictures - Mark, being a cyclist of taste, is a fellow Bianchi owner. Matt  borrowed his Dad's Ribble bike for the trip (as well as his car and bike rack to get us here!) and Brian was on his rather heavier Specialized. Mine is the only bike without a triple, so I had my cassette changed to  a"dinner plate" 11-32 to give me extra gearing for the hills - a very wise move as things would turn out.

After a delayed start from the cafe,we're off. As usual Mark spent an extraordinary amount of time in the gents. Mark's bodily functions can be best described as "very regular", and waiting for him to emerge from toilets is to be a feature of the trip.

Safely navigated out of St Bees, we headed south over undulating minor roads, when it became apparent that young Matt was cycling unusually slowly - he's playing his usual game of "how long can I freewheel along the flat/downhill bits without pedalling". The answer is a very long way (in the region of 1.5 miles).

We then turned inland towards Eskdale, after climbing our first proper steep bit - the road over Irton Fell. Brian, as befitting the senior team member riding the heaviest bike, opted for the walking option up this one, and then it was down to Boot for a lunch stop at the miniature steam railway cafe, sitting out the only rain shower of the trip.

It was then on to the hardest climb in the country, ascended from the hardest direction. However you look at it, Hardknott is extraordinarily steep - 30% hairpins over 1.3 miles of rough road, and even the easiest bits are ridiculously steep. I found myself leading the way, girding my loins for the brutally steep part of the climb as we passed the phone box. As is my habit, I made my usual mistake of going too fast at the start (despite firmly telling myself beforehand not to do exactly that) and the gradient and rough road surface immediately took their toll. I slowed down to such an extent that I almost fell off, and lost all momentum. An awful realisation came to me - I JUST CAN'T DO IT. So, it was off the bike and walking until I got my breath back. Matt and Brian were also walking, but Mark, magnificently, came by, out of the saddle and cycling barely above walking pace, and continued up the hairpins.

As the gradient eased slightly, I was back on the bike and following Mark, who looked like he was going to make all the way without walking. The road steepened again, and I was walking again, then back on the bike for the last bit (with a friendly "chapeau" from a passing motorist). Mark, sadly, had to walk a very short section near the top, but rode at least 90% of the climb to get there first. I reached the top, having probably cycled about 60% of the way, and we waited for Matt and Brian.

As this point, it would be reasonable to expect a thrilling and exhilarating fast descent down the other side of the pass to the valley and on to Wrynose. No chance. It may well be possible to ride down Hardknott Pass and live to a ripe old age, but none of us were chancing it. The road was so steep and potholed, with running water in places, that even walking down was treacherous, especialy with cleats. By the time the gradient eased my arms and shoulders were aching from holding the bike in defiance of gravity.

Back on the bikes, a lovely ride along the valley to the foot of the next whopper of a climb, Wrynose Pass. The climb followed a similar pattern to Hardknott - me going off too fast and walking the middle section, Matt and Brian walking a bit more, and Mark cycling all the way to the top. Mark is clearly the fittest of us, with the added advantage of being about 3 stone lighter. Again, we walked the first part of the descent, but were able to cycle the lower half, myself desperately hoping not to meet any cars coming up at awkward spots. Well before the bottom of the descent, I noticed a distinct whiff of burning from my brakes. By the time we got to the bottom, copious amounts of black dust on the frame were testament to the wearing of my brake pads (foolishly not changed before we left).

At Little Langdale, we had our first beer stop at the Three Shires (Coniston Old Man), before a leisurely ride on to our overnight stop at Ambleside. Actually, the expected leisurely ride was undulating all the way, and I was definitely struggling at one point.

On arrival at Ambleside we had the usual amount of faffing, as none of us actually knew where the B & B was. Eventually we found it and parked the bikes in the cellar. It was a decent place, although our room was directly on to the pavement at street level and it's a bit disconcerting (unless you are Mark) to perform one's ablutions whilst watching people walking by the bathroom window.

An evening out discovering the fleshpots of Ambleside ensued - the Unicorn for dinner (a bit disappointing), the Golden Rule (superb) and the Queens (OK) for beer.

Day 1 stats

32.7 miles
3236 feet of ascent
4 pubs