Home
Travel StoriesAyside, The Lake District 2012 - By Ren Withnell
Ayside, The Lake District 2012 - Going To The Lakes
I think HM's just using me to visit all the places she remembers as a child. This time she wants to take me to Flookburgh, she used to go there in her dad's caravan and she'd like to go back. The only problem is being out of season there's only a handful of caravans still "open" and to be honest, they're asking silly money even though it's out of season, cold and everything is closed. No matter, she's found a B&B in Cartmel which is near enough.
The plan is to stop at her place in Fleetwood on Friday night to get an early start and make the short run to Cartmel on the Saturday morning. I just need to get to hers with the saddle bags and my overnight gear, easy peasy lemon squeazy. I leave my house at 1930 and get to hers at 2030. On the doorstep HM asks a simple question...did I remember to bring her helmet? ...damn...blast...pooh...pants...drat...flange... It's getting cold, I've just covered 40 miles, I guess I'd best cover another 80 to get the...erm...chuffing...helmet. NOT A HAPPY BUNNY!
120 miles. 120 miles, I bet I won't cover that making the goddam trip to Cartmel and back. Somehow, someway, using all my self control and positive thinking I manage to only be incredibly cross with myself. By the time I re-arrive back in Fleetwood I've managed to convince myself to see the funny side and with only a few miles to go I start to relax and forgive myself. Next time, I promise myself, next time I'm gonna date someone who lives just a few miles away. Why...why the hell do I do this to myself! What a complete and utter muppet.
So on Saturday morning I look at the bike with a slight sense of disdain and resentment. However the sun is shining and apart from a slight risk of a shower the forecast looks pretty good considering it's the middle of November. I load the bike up as HM prepares some ham sandwiches. It could have been worse last night, at least it wasn't raining or sub zero temperatures. I throw the saddlebags on the bike and HM dons her bleeding helmet. It's done, it's in the past, forget about it Ren and lets enjoy the day, whatever it may be. At least I can be sure the battery's charged up and the motor's had a good run.
It is in fact only 50 miles to Cartmel from Fleetwood, the room at the B&B won't be ready until 1600 and we're on the road at 1000. That's 6 hours to cover 50 miles. I reckon I could cycle there in that time. Obviously it's detour time again, the first detour comes off the road from Hambleton to Lancaster, the A588. I just spot a side road and turn down it onto a single track lane that leads us through the flat and rather waterlogged farmland behind the Fylde coast. With the sun in my eyes...again...I manage to spot a duck pond by a farm and stop there just to look, kill time and take some nice pictures.
There's a lot of nice places in the UK. None as dramatic and remote as the far North of Scotland, maybe not as quaint and rural as the Cotswolds and maybe not as historic as the city of Bath, but they are still good places to be. This is one, nothing exceptional yet it is peaceful after the bustle of the towns. Watching the ducks paddling around and flapping at each other on the pond as I slip around in mud helps me forget last night's trauma. Sunshine always makes me feel better too.
Just a really nice place to stop for a short while.
Back on the A588 the road leads us into the busy and confusing city of Lancaster. Like most cities if you know the place I'm sure it's easy to ride through but to the relative stranger such as myself I find I'm in the wrong lane at every junction. It's nigh on impossible to take in the direction signs while dodging shoppers in a rush, watching traffic lights and hoping that you've spotted the invisible speed limit signs. More by luck and dubious lane changes than skill I find I'm still on the A6 heading North. It feels wrong, the A6 should be the major road but after Lancaster it feels more like a B road.
A friend and contributor to this site, Tom McQuiggan, once posted some pictures of Arnside on faceache, it looks nice. Having consulted the map on my phone and having far too much time on our hands, I detour North West at Carnforth. I think I've stumbled upon another little peace of magical Britain that I've lived nearby yet never ventured through! Narrow little lanes lead us through little hamlets named Yealand Conyers and Yealand Redmayne. The roads are damp and covered in leaf litter so I can't press on and I don't want to. I'm happily looking around at 20 to 30 mph and HM seems comfortable too. I notice she's not fidgeting on this trip anywhere near as much. Well done her.
Arnside is not what I expect, which is silly as I did not know what to expect. I sort of expected it to be coastal as on the maps it's on the coastline. It's a small town, very small, and has what is bravely signposted as a "promenade". In fact this proves to be a short stretch of road that runs alongside an estuary with no sea but mud flats and a river. There's a short row of shops and a stone built jetty that leads only to more mud as the tide must be out. I park the bike on the "promenade" and we rest a while and eat some of the sandwiches. It's cold and chilly but when the sun shines through the light cloud it really feels like the day could warm up quite nicely.
The "Promenade" at Arnside.
I know from the maps that our destination, Cartmel, lies but a few miles across the estuary. I also know that I need to travel inland again through Milnthorpe and around the estuary to get to Cartmel. So why can I see a long bridge across the estuary? Why can't I cross here? Having maps and internet access on a mobile phone is both invaluable and informative, the bridge is a railway bridge. I guess that answers that question. Not to worry, it's not even 1200 and there must be less than 40 miles to cover before 1600 when the B&B room becomes available. We hit the road again.
What I now know is the railway bridge across the muddy estuary, and to the right the jetty.
We follow the muddy estuary inland for a few miles past some lonely and windswept houses and plenty of farmland. Milnthorpe comes and goes and soon we're on the main road to Lindale and Grange-Over-Sands. The sun is low in the sky and in many places I can barely see the the path ahead. At one point coming off a roundabout I'm totally blinded even as I shade my eyes with my left hand. The reflection off the shiny wet road eliminates all visible indications of where the next corner may be and I'm forced to slow almost to a crawl, this is dangerous. Trees come as a huge relief but my senses are baffled by the flashes and changes of light when the sun blasts through. Why does this not seem to be as much of a problem in the summer?
Combining careful speeds with careful cornering on the damp and leaf strewn roads does finally see us on a road signposted to Cartmel. I have some printed instructions as to how to find the B&B so I pull over, dig them out of the tank bag and read them. I'm looking for a butchers, somewhere called "High Newton" and a blue house of some description. I've been to Cartmel once before and none of this makes sense, no matter, I'll work it out. Just in case I type the postcode into the maps on my phone but there's no internet connection to give me a result. Phones are great, just not QUITE as great as a self contained sat-nav.
No problem, I'll ride into Cartmel and see if I can make any more sense of things there. No, it still doesn't make any sense. What does make sense is the Pig and Whistle pub because I need a pee and time is still very much on our side. I park the bike up and we walk into a small room with a bar, a few friends sharing a quiet drink and a massive shaggy black dog doing a good impression of a rug. After getting 2 glasses of coke I carefully step over the large black rug and his owner nods a thank you for my careful footing. The dog just lifts his huge head, looks at my feet then settles again.
I get my phone out, still no internet connection. There must have been access at some point though as the maps program has pin-pointed the post code. Odd. The postcode appears to be some 5 or 6 miles North of here, just North of the main A590 Barrow road, the road we traveled along to get here. Naaah, I must have typed the postcode in wrong...nope...so I check the directions sheets again. Yep, there's High Newton, Low Newton. HM's been telling me where stopping in Cartmel these last few days, it seems we're stopping NEAR Cartmel. I have a quiet word with HM. Then I proceed to mock her relentlessly, I mock her sense of direction, tease her about her navigation skills and question her overall intelligence. So far I think she's taking it in good humour, I'd best not push it too far.
Cartmel, nice enough, but not quite where we are supposed to be...apparently...
The massive dog's owner and friends get up to leave. With a deep bellowing "WOOF" the dog marks his authority, another dog somewhere else in the pub retorts with an equally worrying deep aggresive bark. I fear fur and carnage but with a tug on the lead all is calmed again. We finish our coke while HM tries to get internet access on her phone to prove to me that the B&B website claims it IS in Cartmel. At least we're heading North so the sun will be safely behind us, hmmm, that means the oncoming traffic can't see me though.
I need not worry. There is a small road that should lead us up through the countryside to High Newton. This road is narrow in the extreme, barely enough for a small car. It's muddy down the centre with high hedges and very wet. There's no passing places, if we're caught down here I doubt I could even turn the bike around and I don't have a reverse gear. We ride for 5 miles along this lane and another like it, slowly, happily taking in the farms, the fields, the cows and the rolling hills. This is the Lake District but this area is far less dramatic than further inland. We pass nothing and nothing comes into our path, perhaps that's why there are no passing places, the road is just too empty to need them.
We go under the A590 then appear on the High Newton road. Only a few hundred yards later I spot the butchers then the blue house. We climb a short stretch of narrow leaf strewn road and into a gravel driveway. The Blue House B&B, for that is this place's name, looks like an old farmhouse with a few more recent additions including a small modern photography studio. I position the bike carefully on the gravel and we look around, after a few minutes knocking we decide there's no-one home. Fair enough, it's only 1400 and we're not really due until 1600, the owners can't wait in all day just in case we come early. There's no mobile signal here either so we can't make a call to the mobile number we have.
The Blue House B&B, it is blue, oddly enough.
I guess I'll have to think of something to do. We need that elusive mobile phone signal so to head out makes sense. And while time's on our side it would be a shame to not visit Flookburgh as that was to be our destination originally. I just hope that somewhere along our path someone's fitted a phone mast. So off we go, back through Grange-Over-Sands, back past the turning for Cartmel and as I roll into the village of Allithwaite I notice a rare sight for sore eyes, a mobile phone mast! Dammit! There's nowhere safe to stop for over a mile until a pub comes into view. Luckily there's a signal here. After we both clear the belated text messages and stupid emails from our phones HM makes the call. Our host has been to town, probably shopping for our breakfast, and will be back at the B&B around 1500. That's perfect, we'll roll into Flookburgh, have a look, turn around and head back, that will be about right I reckon.
At last! We get a signal back into civilisation here. How did we ever survive before the mobile phone?
Flookburgh's a grey place. That's probably very unfair because the sun has gone in, it's clouding up and I'm no longer concerned about sun blindness, I'm more worried about that massive leaden sky rolling in. Even so, it is grey. The houses are stone grey, those that are rendered are painted grey even the gutters are grey. It's not cheering me up at all, maybe the caravan site is more chirpy. The road leading to the caravan site isn't promising, industrial units interspersed with bland shops targeted at the caravan park line a ramrod straight and characterless road.
Grey Flookburgh with a grey car an a grey day.
At the caravan site a van and car wait while a couple of fluorescent jacketed men scratch their heads and look at the barrier, I guess it must be broken. Meanwhile the skies get darker and even the grass looks grey here. We are, it seems, going no further so I just whip the bike around and head back. I don't like Flookburgh, I must come back some time and see it on a nice summer's day, maybe it will look better then.
It doesn't look like we're going any further down here this afternoon.
It doesn't seem to take long at all to get back to the B&B, especially as I know where I'm going now. It starts to rain as we approach, for once my timing is perfect! Our lady host greets us in the dining room with an open smile and we're shown to our room. According to the website this is a 17th century farmhouse, it is characteristically higgeldy-piggeldy with twisting stairs and a tiny landing. Our room's fine with a window set deep into the thick walls and our shower room is not quite en-suite but directly outside our door and it is ours alone. I grab the saddlebags and we settle in by making the room a mess with bike gear, phone chargers, clothes and then HM makes a brew to finalise our destruction.
The next few hours are filled by taking a well earned nap, climbing across helmets, jackets and baggage to have a warm and welcome shower, watching some TV and various other entertainments. By 1900 we're getting hungry, we know from the internet that there's a pub nearby that will feed us so we prepare to walk there. Waterproof jacket...check...big boots...check...warm clothes...check...it's throwing it down outside now and the reportedly 10 minute walk could be an adventure in itself. As we brace and dress ourselves for the onslaught our host arrives and asks if we'd like a lift to the pub! Typically I'd refuse, starting a car for such a short distance is silly, but as the rain lashes the window and all is dark outside, right now it seems a splendid idea.
From within the little motor the lady tells us it's her son's car and it has a box to record driving habits and standards, this helps reduce the insurance costs for young drivers. She drives suitably sensibly as the rain and wind rattles the windows and it's only a moment before we arrive. She leaves us with instructions to call for the return journey, the pub has her number if our phones don't work. We thank her emphatically for the lift and wander inside to a quiet country pub with just a handful of local characters stood by the bar. A young lady behind the bar seems all too keen to serve us and gleefully offers any table, they're all empty. We choose one near the log fire and remove our waterproof jackets.
We dine on home made pub grub and drink coke. HM does like to drink harder stuff on a night out with the girls but seems content to stay sober with me, and I never drink. A few more locals join the affray at the bar with much merriment and laughter. They tease and taunt each other as only good friends can do and I'm happy to chat with HM as my food settles in to be digested. We pay the bill and decide to walk back as the rain has now abated and the skies are clear, crystal clear.
It's impressive to see the night sky away from the city. At home I'm lucky to see the Plough, here the Plough is vivid among a million other stars. The whole sky is filled with light yet it's pitch dark, we can hardly see our hand in front of our face. HM had informed me to bring a torch, it's a good job we did otherwise we'd have been stumbling into trees, ditches, muddy grass and fences. We also need to the torch to be seen by the one car that passes us as we walk back. It's cold too, I fear these damp roads by be frozen solid in the morning, that could be scary as the B&B is on a steep road.
Back at the B&B we watch "Public Enemies" on the DVD, Johnny Depp see, all the blooming girls fancy him. No matter how dashing the leading character, the films a bit boring and we're both thankful it's over. We settle into the big thick duvet and call it a day. Well...apart from having to get up to go to the loo time and again...too much coke see. The B&B also has wireless internet so we connect our phones up. HM makes a point of sending me to http://www.bluehousebedandbreakfast.co.uk and points out that it IS in Cartmel...Cartmel Valley...see.
Ayside, The Lake District 2012 - Going To The Lakes
The ride from Fleetwood to Cartmel, 50 miles in 6 hours, well done me!
Ayside, The Lake District 2012 - Going Home
The return leg of our Lake District sojourn. Mist, beautiful views and a stupid mistake...
Reader's Comments
Name
Comment
Add a RELEVANT link (not required)
Upload an image (not required) -
Uploading...
Home
Travel StoriesAyside, The Lake District 2012 - By Ren Withnell