Making a dash for it
I bought a few little gadgets for this trip. A midge net, for instance. And I'm glad I did. I also bought something which has become one of my favourite bits of kit; an all weather stove lighter. It's about the size of my thumb and it produces a jet which would probably power concorde to take-off whatever the conditions. Gone are the days of trying to find a dry match or wrestle with a temperamental cigarette lighter.
This morning, I had one tea bag left. I had also run out of porridge. I was down to my last emergency flapjack and ration of fruit and nuts. As I packed up, I was aware that if I cycled the same distance again today as yesterday, I would make it all the way home. But that seemed a tall order when I'm just south of Sunderland and I've just cycled 95 miles. I started off with a 'let's see what happens' approach.
The last few miles of yesterday's ride had taken me along a track called the Eden Walkway. By coincidence, this was part of my route home anyway, so after a mile of descending from the wind turbines, I found myself back on that track.
The track went on forever. And as we all know, forever is a very long time - particularly towards the end. I reckon it was over 20 miles of track. The quality of the path varied from decent tarmac (rare) to grit (common) to a thin strip of mud and at one point, a bewildering surface on which you felt like you could be on the surface of Mars. At this point, there was just a vast expanse of black grit. Coal dust? The only way I could discern the direction to take was by following the arrows on my sat nav. Again, this is route 1 of the national cycle network!
The path went gradually up for ten miles then gradually down for ten miles. If I had been in any doubt as to the origin of the Eden Walkway, I then came upon a station. Complete with platform and a station building. I cast a look towards the building and saw the word coffee.
Leaning my bike against the platform edge, I approached the door. There was a cyclist sitting on the bench, coffee in hand. He said we were too early but the owner had made him a coffee anyway. I obviously matched him for charm because she obliged for me too. I sat next to the cyclist and I think we could have talked for hours. Isn't it good when neither party dominates but the conversation flows. After ten minutes, we were joined by a third cyclist and we all shared exploits and possible cycle rides of the future.
It was I, who had to leave first, conscious that if I was to make it all the way home....
It was a Sunday. The sun was mostly out and the wind was my friend. Remarkable as I am basically travelling south east. These conditions brought cyclists out in their droves.
I edged round Stockton on Tees without ever really seeing it and headed for Thirsk. It was funny to think that when I reached Thirsk, I would be back in familiar territory.
I crossed a road and headed down a very dubious looking track. I checked my map. Avoiding this track would mean busy main roads. I continued a little way until a couple who I passed told me that the path ahead got worse and worse and would be uncyclable. What to do? I had no choice. I spent a very unpleasant half an hour on a fast and busy road. Eventually, I could bear it no longer and turned off desperately trying to form a route with my phone. I really don't know how the following happened but I shortly found myself in Northallerton!
Being a Sunday, my favourite café was shut, so Costa it was as I pondered my route home from here. As I was leaving Northallerton, I could hear someone playing the bagpipes. It seemed like a farewell from the land I was cycling home from.
In the end, I decided to take another fairly main road to Thirsk, so that I could rejoin my intended route home.
10 miles of rather a busy road had me back on track. In Thirsk, there was a brass band playing. It seemed like a greeting from the County I now call home.
When I reached Thirsk, I knew that I would head for home, however long it took me. My legs felt good. I felt like I was on a mission to get home.
I have pictured arriving home a few times over the last few days. Kate would be gardening and hear my tyres on the drive gravel, and we would have a big hug. That's actually how it turned out. We didn't hug for too long. It wouldn't have been fair until I'd had a shower.
I'm now sat in our lounge, washed, wearing normal clothes and beard off, looking back at the last ten days.
Yes, there were some hard and challenging times but I was concious, many times on the trip, of blessings. The weather never got the better of me. It could have. Punctures: zero. Mechanical issues: zero. Attacked by wild animals or people: zero. Times of feeling unwell: zero. Feeling alone: zero. God was with me. Having the bagpipes played at me: only twice.
Would I do it again? Never. Am I glad I did it? 100%
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