Last week my brother John and I embarked on a five day bicycle ride. Starting from Chorley to Morecambe on the west coast on the first day and then travelling coast to coast and finishing at Bridlington on the east coast. It is also known as the Way of The Roses as you pass through the red rose county of Lancashire and the white rose county of Yorkshire. This is how it happened.
Day 1
After a last-minute panic buy of waterproof cycling pants at a panic-inducing cost of £90 and a final equipment check, we were ready for the off. John had his new pannier bags affixed to the back of his bike while I went for the spinal pain option of having my trusty rucksack on my back. I caught a glimpse of myself in the window just before we set off and thought I looked like a sporty turtle with a luminous shell on its back. As our partners and kids waved us off we had no real idea what to expect. The furthest I have cycled in a day is about 70 miles but that was swiftly followed by a few days rest. Over the next five days we would cycle an estimated 220 miles at an average of around 45 miles per day with the added bonus that we were ascending some of the most brutal hills in the Pennines. It was important to stick together. So it was with amusement that I lost John just metres after starting as he was trying to get his cleats clicked in and I cycled out of our cul-de-sac. I shouted to ask if he was alright as a baffled neighbour with his back to John shouted ‘Alright’ back at me as he thought I was talking to him. An auspicious start I thought.
We had decided we were going to avoid the main A roads that surround the village where I live and stick to the excellent cycle paths that snake through the village until they guided us to Cuerden Valley Park, a park popular with walkers, cyclists, families and dog walkers. We weren’t racing and we weren’t out to set any land speed records but there is still a minority of dog walkers (usually in little herds) who feel they own the entire park path and give you weird looks as you amble past them. Maybe I am in the wrong, cycling on a cycling path on a national cycle route through a park which welcomes cyclists to cycle through it. The nerve of me! And let’s not forget all the shit that comes out of my bike or the fact my unleashed bike could bite a child. Again, the nerve of me! It has to be said most dog owners are great and will call their dogs. Not all of them feel the need to block the entire path with a surreal canine barricade.
Continuing north on Route 55 we made it to Preston. I think it’s fair to say Preston is not the first place you think of when someone mentions beauty but their 22-mile Guild Wheel cycle route which circles the city is a superb achievement. Almost all of it is off-road making it ideal for families to get out and about safely and the route I chose meant we were following it for about seven miles. After we left it, my geographical knowledge of the area quickly evaporated and we were left to check my phone every few miles. At this point the plan was to travel north until we met the Lancaster Canal towpath which, according to the cycle apps I had, we could use to cycle the rest of the way to Morecambe. The only problem was that when we arrived at the canal there wasn’t really a towpath as such; it was more just muddy land next to the canal. With the sun starting to set it wasn’t really the time to go off-road on our hybrid bikes so we decided to cycle down the road to the busy A6. It wasn’t as bad as we thought it might be and there was the odd cycle lane in places. There are few things that motivate you to pedal hard as much as cars and trucks whizzing past you at 60 mph so we made good time the rest of the way and finished off with a nice off-road cycle path for the final few miles from Lancaster to Morecambe.
Morecambe is one of those places that you know had a glorious past as a seaside holiday destination. And believe it or not, you know what hastened the decline of Morecambe? Noel Edmonds and Mr Blobby. Twenty years ago, the World of Crinkley Bottom opened in Morecambe at the very height of Noel Edmonds fame through Noel’s House Party. The only problem was, it was a bit shit. In fact beyond a few houses and some bloke dressed up as Mr Blobby there wasn’t very much to do. After visitor numbers quickly dropped off, a protracted legal battle commenced which eventually left the local council out of pocket to the tune of millions. I imagine they still burn big, fat effigies of Mr Blobby every weekend while mock crucifying a Noel Edmonds doppelganger. There doesn’t seem to be anything else to do.
That said, there are some very grand buildings on the promenade, one of which was the Clarendon, our base for the night. After carrying our bikes upstairs into storage (a nice warm-down after a 40 mile ride), we threw our stuff into our room before getting changed for dinner. There seemed to be some rather curious plumbing going on in our hotel. There was a sign in the bathroom informing you to please try to reuse the towels that are supplied to help save the environment while in another part of the bathroom there was another sign telling you to run the hot water tap for a whole minute before you get cold water. I’m not sure these two things tally up with each other.
Luckily, when we went downstairs for a drink there were a group of people all dressed up for a posh dinner, who we learned were there as part of a plumber’s convention. We should have asked what was going on with the hotel plumbing but thought it would be unfair to ask them a work question when they are on a night out. One of them asked what we were doing though and when we told him we had cycled from Chorley to start the Way of the Roses and that tomorrow we were heading to Settle he helpfully pointed out it would have been quicker going to Settle from Preston. That wouldn’t be a coast to coast ride then though would it? Preston to coast doesn’t have quite the same ring to it. And if we were looking for the most direct route, we just would have driven. Also, do me a favour and go and sort the fucking taps out in my bathroom while you’re in the mood for being helpful.
The next day was the first day of the Way of the Roses so after carb-loading on a few pints of lager, it was time to get some rest.
Placename of the day: Bare – not, as I first thought, the area left behind by the ruin of Crinkley Bottom
Daniel McChrystal 