Day 2 – Whitehaven to Penrith

After breakfast we packed up and set off to rejoin NCN71. As soon as we left the private road our accommodation was on I took the first wrong turn I could after forgetting how far along we were meant to turn towards the NCN. After waiting for a recycling truck to move out the way and looping back on ourselves we set off again. Down a nice steep but short descent we came to a sign warning us the road was closed ahead. Thinking it was only closed to cars we carried on for a few hundred metres until we came to a river. You could say it was a new river as it crossed the road we ourselves were meant to be crossing. There were a few workmen around who were repairing a walkway just next to the road but this was also closed. They encouraged us to cross the river (I assume for their own amusement when we inevitably slipped and turned our cycling trip into an impromptu kayak adventure) but there was no chance of that. So we had no option to go back up the hill we had just rolled down. Not the greatest start to the day we could have hoped for.

After taking an alternative route into Cleator Moor where we knew we could rejoin NCN71 we made a brief stop so John could go to the shop to pick up some painkillers and bananas (staples for any cycling trip NB staples are not a staple for a cycling trip). I watched the bikes while he went in. He was a good 15 minutes and I was about to ring the police to report him as a missing person when he came back out, muttering something about ‘the fucking higgledy-piggledy shop.’ Apparently the shop had no logical order. Nor did it have any bananas. John was lucky to come out alive.

We finally rejoined NCN71 via the smallest sign I’ve ever seen and it was a good ten or so miles of off-road gravel paths which seemed to be an old train line. After that as we got further away from towns we ended up back on rolling country roads which were good fun to breeze up and down on although we knew at some point the hills would become more challenging to climb. So we stopped for an ice cream which (by fluke really) was just before some of the steep climbs.

Just before the hills

We planned to stop at Keswick for lunch but some of the signs along the way made no sense, with the distance to Keswick increasing and decreasing at seemingly random intervals. We were truly in the countryside though and had to pass through roads on farmland that had closed gates every now and again. The gates were to keep the livestock in of course, mostly sheep, and I wondered if sheep ever relax. They only have to sense you are near them and immediately either run out of the way, run in to the way directly across your path or (my personal favourite) jump repeatedly into the nearest fence as if they believe they can pass through solid matter. And of course I understand why we need the gates closing but some of them were in absolute pain-in-the-arse locations like halfway down a steep descent or near the top of an ascent. We each took turns to be gatekeeper and started turning it into a game to see if we could close the gate in one go once the other person was through. Most of the time it failed and the gate just swung back at you, seeming to whistle ‘noooobheeaad’ as it did so. Trying to move out the way with haste when you are on a heavy, unbalanced bike is not the easiest thing in the world.

After a lovely descent into Braithwaite where you don’t have to pedal for what seems like forever we ended up in Keswick for lunch. Sadly we didn’t have time to visit the world-famous pencil museum (a real thing) so we just scoffed some lunch and carried on to Penrith.

A bridge. Also, John

After a few more miles of quiet country roads and off-road paths we reached Penrith and our accommodation, a very cycle-friendly hostel just outside town. We parked our bikes up in a dedicated cellar full of bike tools and got changed and went into town.

We ended up at an Italian as I really wanted a pizza for tea. I somehow endeavoured to order something off the menu that sounded like a pizza but was actually a big piece of chicken swimming in cheese and tomato sauce. It was like a pizza, except for what some might consider the key part; the bready bit. I made up for it by ordering some Fat Bastard White Chocolate Profiteroles (may have had a different name on the menu).

I’ll work them off tomorrow

We then decided to try a couple of the local pubs. The first one, known as The Pinny was empty except for the barman and a selection of dance songs played at ear-bleeding volume. That was a quick pint before we went to a pub that seemed a bit more lively (as in, had people in it) called The Woolpack.

The Woolpack was fine, apart from a couple of stares as we were swiftly recognised as not local. There was a bloke at the bar giggling to himself but this wasn’t deemed strange enough to be stared at. But we survived and headed back to the hostel, knowing that any more pints, as tempting as they were, would be regretted tomorrow on a day we knew would be filled with hill climbs.

Place name of the day: Thackthwaite. Say it like Daffy Duck.