No matter. I'd been to England before. Several times by train and charter flight. Once cycling with a large group on a supported tour. Now I was going there again.
I had the basic outlines clear in my mind from the start. I wanted to enter and leave the country from different ports to avoid back-tracking. That meant Newcastle and Harwich. I decided to go north to south (Newcastle -> Harwich) because that way I'd have the easier going towards the end of the trip and besides; Going south feels easier since if you have a headwind at least it's warm and if the wind is cold at least it's from your back...
There were a few places I knew I wanted to see which also influenced my planning: I'd seen a little of Hadrian's wall the previous year and I wanted to see more. I wanted to see the North Yorkshire Moors national park and I wanted to re-visit Youlgreave, a delightful little village in Derbyshire.
Slowly the plans took shape. I really can't tell how much time I spent brooding over maps and guide-books the following months, but it sure was a lot! I photo-copied maps of relevant regions to tape them together for better overviews. I prepared a separate bunch of sheet-sized copies of road maps for my route and I collected information about strategic places along the way. Then the practical hassles. Booking railway and boat tickets for getting there. Finding an up-to-date copy of the English Youth Hostel Guide. Buying traveller's checks. Finally, at the end of June everything was ready and I sent my bike on the train to Gothenburg as registered luggage. Now I had committed myself - no turning back (not that I wanted to, either)!
Then to find a taxi that could carry me to the harbour since I was a bit pressed for time and didn't want to start searching my way out of a strange city with a boat departure to meet!
After a minor bit of hassle at the boat terminal (I had to check in my ticket at the passenger entry first and then go around with the bike to the car entry) I got on the boat and the trip got started for real.
The journey was uneventful if a little bit shaky. I arrived at Newcastle the following evening and was pretty quick to get through the customs. A map I'd found on the boat turned out to be an excellent help for orienteering through Newcastle to the youth hostel where I'd booked a bed in advance.
At the youth hostel I called ahead to make reservations for the next couple of days and then I tucked in for the night.
Leaving Newcastle proved no big problem, just time- consuming. I needed to do some shopping so I went straight through the centre of the city and was guided by a friendly cyclist who rode ahead of me to a good bookstore. After that I just worked my way out along the least heavily motorized roads. By the time I'd got to the start of the visual remains of the wall, traffic intensity had dropped and from then on it was nice going.
Lunch at a fairly un-crowded pub. I was early, though, and had to wait a while before they started serving food. Then on westwards along the wall all the time. An amusing roadsign drew my attention. Little need for map-reading except for that one place where I zoomed past a turning and had to head back a few hundred meters.
I got to the "Once Brewed" youth hostel pretty early and had lots of time to go for a look at the Roman museum and the excavations nearby. Really impressive to see the size of that wall and to think of the amounts of work it must have taken to build it.
I started by going up Rosedale valley to the village with the same name. From there I headed up the dreaded Rosedale Chimney Bank. I suppose the proper word for a person like me is "Bicycle Masochist". I knew from maps and guidebooks that the incline was 1:3. I just wanted to see if I could get up there. Well, I couldn't. I had a decent Japanese touring bike (a Nishiki Continental) with triple chainwheels. At the time, my lowest gearing was 30/30. With the wheels I was using (622-32) that gave a 211 cm travel per crank (a 27" gear to Imperials). That infernal road went winding in serpentines at a 33% gradient! I was standing up, pulling with all my might with my clips and at the handlebars. I just couldn't do it. I had to get off and push. It was all I could do just to get off the bike gracefully and hold it! After a lot of huffing and puffing and rather graceless pushing I got to the top and was rewarded by a beautiful view of the valley as the sun broke through the clouds. Well timed...
From there the riding was easier. I followed the dismantled railway track across the moor to Blakey. That stretch (Rosedale Mines - Blakey) isn't really open to the public and I was a bit worried when I passed the sign that said "Private Property - keep off!", but as I saw the literally hundreds of people out walking along the trail (I passed a couple of school-classes!) I decided my fears were unfounded and enjoyed the ride. Following these old railways is always very easy going since they wind their way through the landscape with minimum gradients. The only worry was that since this part was "unauthorized", the surface was pretty rough and really more suited for a mountain bike, or at least for slightly wider tyres than mine. With a suitable combination of care and disrespect I usually get through. I never shifted out of that smallest chainwheel however, even though it was perfectly flat for miles!
(A map of Blakey ridge and surroundings.)
I crossed the road at Blakey, had lunch at The Lion Inn (it's not only
a good water-hole, but it's the only place for miles). Lots of hikers
and a few cyclists. From there the going got even easier since the western
stretch of the old railroad is officially open to the public and was very
well kept. Smooth gravel and few bumps. The sheep along the trail kept
off the "road" so the only hazard was the pretty congested pedestrian traffic 
.
At the end of the railway part of the trail, I turned down a "road" along
the ridge called "Rudland Rigg". This was very bumpy going and really the
only part of the ride where I wished for fatter tyres. It was mostly downhill,
but so bumpy I had to go at a painfully low speed. Tiresome! When I finally
made my way back onto paved roads I was pretty exhausted and zoomed back
to my lodging.
Luckily, my map showed me a path up ahead leading east from the trail I was on, so I managed to get back on my route by dragging the bike through the mud for 1/2 mile past a farm and on to an access road. Up and down various roads to Goathland where I had lunch and looked at the steam trains on the museum railway that goes through the village. One memorable road-sign was the double combination of "Beware of steep gradients", with two similar signs together warning of first a 1:4 descent and then a 1:4 ascent. In other words: If you go down here, you'll have a bad time getting out again! I went...
The worst part about these incredibly steep English roads is that they're still so narrow and winding that you have to go at a very low speed when going down too. You crawl down and then you puff up... At the top of the ridge I followed a major road with a bit too much traffic for my taste for a few hundred meters, before turning down another nice little road again for the descent into Grosmont. This was sign-posted at the top with a warning about the 1:3 gradient "down ahead". I was full of expectations and eager to make up for yesterday's involuntary "hike" as I started down the hill. Imagine my desperation as I caught up with a school bus halfway down! There wasn't enough room for me to get past and it was smoking (the driver was engine-braking all the way) so badly I had to slow down and let it pull ahead because I couldn't stand the smell! This probably saved my life, because that driver obviously knew the road better than I did and he knew that the steepest part was at the end. If I'd zoomed down the hill the way I'd originally planned, I doubt that I would have been able to stop in time before the railway crossing and the z-turn after it. The railway crossing was of the really old kind with a heavy wooden gate swung across the road every time a train needed to get past. I can think of nicer ways to end your days than to get crushed into mince through a railway gate!
After tea in Grosmont I loaded the bike on one of the steam trains and let somebody else do the puffing to get me back to Pickering.
Oh, one more detail. The reason I took the "high" road into Grosmont
was partly because I was searching for the extreme gradients, but
partly to avoid the ford at Grosmont. That's not "Ford" as in Henry and
Edsel. That's "ford" as in wet wheels, wet feet and possibly, if you slip
on a stone, wet all over! Some of these roads actually don't have any bridges.
They just pave a shallow part of the river bottom and drive across through
the water! Unless you're very sure-footed (sure-wheeled? )
I'd recommend trainer wheels and/or pushing. Tough if your panniers are
on low-riders...
That exhibition is weird but I liked it. You sit down in a car which looks like a "bumper car" from an amusement park. It then backs up (to illustrate going backwards in time) through a passage with images from past times until you get to the Viking era. Then it turns down an invisible track along a reconstruction of a city street from 1000 years ago with illustrations of how people lived and worked. Very well worth the admission fee but in order to avoid the most ridiculous queues you may remember that locals told me they tend to shorten down just before closing time.
In Penistone I found a reasonably-priced room at a pub and spent a nice evening chatting with the locals.
As I stood at the roadside I saw far below me the magnificent old railway bridge crossing the small river. The railway is long since dismantled and the old bank is now used as a hiking trail. Westwards. Since I was essentially heading east from Monsal Head I really should have turned the other way. I knew I was taking a chance, but I had to try, so I descended into the valley down the little farm road. Once on the railway bank the going was smooth and the view from the old bridge was staggering. But the tunnel to the eastern half of the trail was closed! I had to turn back up the hill again. Oh, well. It was worth the try! I'd still recommend the excursion for any cyclist passing that way, provided you've got the brakes needed to survive the descent and the low gears to get up again. If you're a group of cyclists with someone willing to stay behind to guard the bikes you can walk down a steep path from the pub at the top. You will be rewarded by a breathtaking scenery and, on a plaque on the bridge , one of the most brilliant pieces of English rhetoric it's ever been my twisted pleasure to read. It's a letter to the editors of The Times from the time of the building of the railway and it states the very strong distaste the writer, John Ruskin, feels about it. That old bridge is now a protected "National Heritage"!
The trail down Monsal River looked easy to follow, but I'd recommend a measure of caution to anybody considering it - I think other tunnels are closed too and there are passages which on my maps looked like you had to use stepping stones in the river. Not too fun if carrying a loaded bike...
Once at the top of the hill again I turned east as scheduled, past Little Longstone, and shortly found a road where I could access the eastern half of the old railway trail. I had to unload the panniers from the bike and carry everything down some narrow steps to an old station, but it was no real trouble. Finally on the trail I did really make swift going. Some people have called my bike a "locomotive" (I always drag along too much junk and typically carry about 23 - 24 kg) but that day the resemblance was even greater than normally. Unfortunately, that railway trail was a bit of a disappointment. Allegedly, the local squire made a condition when they built the railway some 100+ years ago: It must not be visible from his mansion higher up on the hill. They solved the problem by running it in a long digging most of the way. I felt like I was riding in a long ditch or canal. When it finally opened up I was on the old railyard where I had to get off the trail!
Afternoon tea in Bakewell (with a local speciality called a "Bakewell Pudding" which is a nice strawberry pastry) and then a few winding country roads to Youlgreave, one of those places in this world you just have to keep coming back to! If you're ever in the neighbourhood you shouldn't miss the opportunity to go there. It's simply delightful! A small quiet country village with old stone houses and a fantastic little youth hostel in an old co-op store. Just one thing: If you want to find it on your map or in some guidebook index you must use some imagination because it seems to be a law of nature that the name of that village is never spelled the same in any two books!
A few miles from Youlgreave I made my way onto the High Peaks Trail/Tissington Trail, another pair of dismantled railways (yes, I admit it; I like trains too!). I took the Tissington branch and soon was pushing across the bleak lands. In some ways this was similar to the high moors of Yorkshire, but not quite the same. There were farms or villages scattered now and then and signs of people were more frequent. Many views were magnificent, though, and it was fun going. Just as I'd passed Tissington village my rear tyre exploded! A real beauty of a blow-out. The cord had ripped along the side of the tyre for about two inches and the tube had (of course) produced a blister and torn a huge hole. Nothing else to it than to push the bike the remaining miles to Ashbourne. Remember about the tools I'd left at the youth hostel? No tools, no spare tube. I did have a spare tyre, but what good did that do me without tools?
At the start of the trail I found (Oh Glory be!) a Bicycle Rental shop! I asked the guy if he had a tube for sale, but he only had parts for the 24" wheels on the rental bikes. "But there's a hardware store in town and they should still be open." So I left my (not so) faithful steed at the rental and walked into Ashbourne. I promptly found the place and got my new tube. I then walked back, borrowed tools from the rental guy and proceeded to replace the tyre and the tube. Nothing to it... Sometimes you have more luck than you deserve!
After a quick lunch of Fish & Chips I wound my way out on the back-roads, westwards to Waterhouses where I found another of my beloved railway trails, the Manifold. This, I must say, was the best one of them all and I strongly recommend it to all cyclists. Running all the way in a natural valley, crossing the winding Manifold River again and again on bridge after bridge and with the rich trees giving an almost magical atmosphere to the ride, it was beautiful! About halfway I passed Thor's Cave, a huge natural cave high up on the side of a mountain. It looked absolutely incredible and I was sorely tempted to stop by and go look at it but after that puncture earlier I was pressed for time and had to go on.
The only unpleasant part was at the exit of the valley when the trail and the road running along it merged together to use the same tunnel! That hole was dark and damp and I didn't see anything, coming straight from the bright sunlight outside. I've got a pretty good light on my bike (cars lower their headlights when they meet me at night on a country road!) but I couldn't see shit! I didn't know where the wall of the tunnel was or what condition the surface was in. If there had been a hole I wouldn't have known it until I fell in. Finally I began to make out the details, through the reflections of the light from the opening ahead in the wet paving. I got through, into the bright sunlight again.
At Hulme End (some of these British names are funny and you can see
where Tolkien got much of his inspiration) I emerged on the regular roads
again and headed for "home" - that li'l ole Youth Hostel. With maybe only
2 miles to go, I got drenched in one of these incredible torrents England
sometimes produces. Perhaps that's why their panniers are so well water-proofed?
Dinner at the YH and then spend the rest of the evening talking and examining the beer at the George Inn with a fellow YH lodger. What better reason could there be to spend your vacation in England than a place like that?
But no reason not to have fun doing it. I managed to get on the High Peaks/Tissington Trail again and took the High Peaks branch this time, following it all the way to Matlock. From there I wound my way on back roads past Crich (didn't have time to go into the tramway museum, unfortunately) and Alfreton, to the area generally marked on my map as "Sherwood Forest". Unfortunately, by the time I'd got there the rain had picked up and the various "Robin Hood Inns" that I saw looked a bit too commercialized for my taste so I went on into Nottingham where a computerized display in the Tourist Office's window helped me find a cheap hotel.
Instead I wound my way on quiet country backroads in a sort of arc on the map; from Cotgrave to Colton Bassett to Harby to Waltham-on-the-Woods to Garthorpe to Edmondthorpe to Ashwell to Oakham. I don't quite remember in which of those places I shopped for an afternoon snack and bought a sandwich and a bottle of banana-flavoured milk, but when I later sat down under a tree in a field and tried to out-stare the cows, I enjoyed one of the best sandwiches I'd ever had. Or it may have been the setting.
In Oakham I stayed at another hotel, definitely overdrawing my budget since even a cheap one costs four times as much as a youth hostel.
Finally I got across and could use that wind to really take off across the Fens. I had a straight tailwind and the area is completely flat. I flew across it. The mean look of those clouds across my shoulder added incentive. I got to Ramsey just before the rain and huddled in a doorway while it passed. Then I had lots of time to find a hotel (another dent in the credit card).
From Cambridge to Saffron Walden didn't take long either (partly because I had to go on the A301, but it wasn't as bad as some of them). At least, the Youth Hostel there has plenty of room - but it was a bit hard to find at first.
The Youth Hostel was easy to find though fairly crowded. No problem getting a bed, however.
At the railway station came the shock. The express train for Stockholm didn't run on Saturdays. No train for another 6 hours... Of course, no sleeping berths left on that train. I managed to get a seat in a non-smoking compartment and had to be happy with that. The train got to Stockholm at 9 on Sunday morning. I could think of better ways to end a vacation. Next time I'll check the trains before booking the ferry. Maybe I'll have a look at what flying would cost, since I could then go direct from Stockholm and save the train to/from Gothenburg.
