After breakfasting we headed out in early morning drizzle to be greeted by a very familiar sight; a big hill. We were expecting it and we knew most of the climbing was now behind us as we headed towards the coast. After a few miles we came to one of those famous on-road, off-road signs. With the fuck-up score tied at 1-1 neither of us wanted to choose the off-road option and to be fair, the off-road option looked very steep so we opted to go around. Unfortunately this meant a few more climbs as the terrain undulated to get back to where the off-road option came out and rejoined the main road.
It was also around this time I had an interesting encounter with a fly. As a cyclist I am used to meeting a variety of bugs and when I say meeting, I of course mean twatting into them while travelling at around 15mph so they always end up being quick meetings. However this meeting was slightly different in that a fly struck my tooth while descending at about 30mph, which felt very peculiar. Probably more peculiar to the fly to be fair.
A few more climbs on and we had to take a diversion route due to another off-road option. This meant a couple of big climbs, the second one in particular which lasted about two miles, the gradient increasing as we both approached the summit. The reward as we finished the climb was a lovely, mostly flat 10 mile old railway path, made lovelier by the fact the drizzle had stopped and the sun was even starting to make an appearance.
As we came to the end of the railway path we knew we were starting to edge closer to civilisation again as we glimpsed big fuck off red glowing letters that proudly spelt out TESCO. Heading into Sunderland and close to the Stadium of Light the signs and paved paths were brilliant and always took you away from busy roads. Which made it a bit surprising when we reached the coast and struggled to find any kind of marker that indicated you had completed the coast to coast route. Apparently there is some indecipherable sculpture like something out of 2001: A Space Odyssey but a sign with a number on would have done us.
We did find a chippy however and both ordered enormous fish and chips. We had already travelled 50 miles to get to the coast since leaving Allenheads but still had another 12 miles up the coast to get to our accommodation in Whitley Bay that night.
Fuelled up we started heading up the coastal path (which was nice and paved) when my Garmin Baghead (patent pending) decided to just give up and turn itself off. We were only headed for a ferry to cross the River Tyne so it wasn’t as if we could get lost but it was still a bit ominous as it had turned off just as the signs for the NCN had also evaporated. That is a fairly common problem with cycle route paths for a variety of reasons; sometimes the fucking things just end. And it’s usually right by a busy road and the cycle path sometimes also helpfully includes the word END daubed in white paint on the road, just for confirmation. I haven’t seen one where just before the word END I also see the word BELL splashed on the pavement but maybe I just keep missing it.
After resuscitating the Garmin we followed the NCN1 route to the ferry terminal. Interestingly the ferry crossing is technically a part of the NCN and the boat even has a NCN sign to demonstrate this. What is also interesting is that I read the ferry times wrong for the day and we had actually just got there as one left so we had 20 minutes to kill before the next one. John insisted this meant it was now 2-1 to me in the fuck-up stakes but I argued it was a minor transgression and there would be another one along shortly. It went to VAR and the score remained 1-1. While we waited at the terminal for the next ferry we saw some rowers pass by on the river, yelling random numbers out every now and again to each other. Maybe that’s how they take their mind off the pain in their arms, by doing some counting games.
When the ferry did arrive we embarked and noticed the ferry had a NCN sign for route 1. John remarked the signage on the boat was better than some of the parts of the actual route on land. I agreed, sniggered and then almost tripped up on to the boat, narrowly avoiding head butting the sign we had just taken the piss out of.
After a short 15 minute journey across the river we were back on the road for the final few miles of today’s journey. We cycled past the road we were meant to turn off the coast on to because for some reason there appears to be a severe road sign shortage in the area. After turning around and cycling past our road for a second time I finally worked out where we were and for a third time headed towards our road and this time, up it.
Our B&B was one of many on the road and after storing our bikes away we went to our room to freshen up. My shit shower luck continued. I turned it on, got it to a nice temperature, got in and the temperature plummeted. Rather than panic and start twiddling the taps I gave it a few seconds. In this short time the temperature sky-rocketed until it felt like the water was literally boiling my skin off. I quickly turned the tap down to the coldest temperature it could go. Rather than lowering the temperature the shower just decided to turn off. So I was stood there, one half of my body beginning to go blue with frostbite and the other half feeling like it was melting off, a bit like Two Face but the whole body experience. I turned the shower back on with the hope of achieving some kind of thermal parity across my body, and for a while it was okay. Then it went back to being ice cold so I shouted ‘Fuck it’ to the universe and got out of the shower, feeling like I was being pranked.
After getting changed I went back into the room and warned John the shower was mental. So then he went in and had one and came out and said ‘It was fine.’ I quietly wondered if there were some hidden shower controls in the room that he had been fucking about with while I was getting frozen and melted.
At this point we were both in need of a pint so headed into Whitley Bay itself and found a nice old pub. As nice as it was, it stopped serving food shortly before we got there and a folk band was about to start playing so these were two good reasons to have a swift pint before heading for a massive curry (see below).
Place name of the day: Ireshopeburn. Sounds a bit like my shower experience.
Daniel McChrystal 