Travels with my panniers

We left late in the afternoon. It was high summer and there seemed little urgency as we finally escaped the city centre and found our way onto the tow path. The geography of those places that I had previously flashed past whilst on the motorway, suddenly making sense, as we meandered through their borders. Out onto the flood plain of Morcambe Bay, that huge, wide expanse of big skies, sand and water. Into the rolling hills of the Leven Valley, up huge hills and down to the ferry in Windermere. It was evening as we stood on the quiet deck, the sun low over Red Screes to the north. It was the middle of summer, but the tourists were no where to be seen. Along Windermere, on a deserted forestry track, no need to worry about oncoming vehicles or anything else. Finally up to Skelwith Fold and fantastic views of the Langdale Pikes; and the final stretch though the quarry, around a herd of sheep and down into Langdale itself. It was gone 9 when we arrived and dusk was beginning to shroud the valley. 

 

 

Climbing from Langdale to Grasmere in the morning was a challenge, but it was really rewarding to summit Red Bank and tackle the damp and steep descent into the village. The scenery and weather were markedly different as we travelled north. A slog up Dunmail Raise rewarded with a fantastic road along Thirlmere; I never knew that it was dammed. Past Castlerigg stone circle, down into Keswick, back tracking up and down the old railway line looking for any way to avoid cycling back up that big hill! All the bridges were washed away in Storm Desmond, I hope one day that they are replaced. 

 

Reaching Threkeld, the weather was on the turn and heading up tiny undulating roads to Mungisdale, the heavens opened. And kept opening. A short toil alongside the dreary A66 and we were onto the old, parallel road. Straight as a die but with no rest-bite from the hills. As we looped north east towards Greystoke, by this point soaked to the skin, we found ourselves in a very different landscape, through gently rolling farmland, alongside big green, vibrant hedges. 

After just over 90 miles, it ended, of course, with a train. And as we pulled out of Penrith, wet feet, soaked panniers and all, it felt great to have planned and completed this journey and to have joined the dots between places which used to seem so very far apart.