Silloth to Sellafield to Whitehaven - 65 miles

Silloth is a small and welcoming place. It is perched on the north west tip of the Solway Firth and I was apparently staying in the oldest building in the town; a photo of the short terrace in splendid isolation with nothing around was in the hallway. A big green sloped down to the sea, once planned to be the grass in front of a Bath Royal Crescent style development in a growing town before the money ran out. A large replica of a Lockheed Hudson on a pole at the edge of the green is a reminder of the impact of the Second World War here; on the way here I had passed a number of old hangers now turned to farming. The arrival of trains had made it a main holiday destination until overseas holidays became a thing although it is apparently still very busy in the summer. All this I learned last night from my host Graheme - bedecked in smoking jacket behind his tiny corner bar - as I enjoyed his wine and, later, excellent food. 

Graheme also answered a question that had been in my mind during the cycle route: why, when Hadrian's Wall stopped at Bowness on Firth did my route extend to Ravenglass another 60 miles south along the west coast of northern Britain? The answer was obvious once you knew: as part of the defensive structure the west coast was also heavily protected by forts since the sea was an easy route around the wall; a series of forts rather than a wall were all that was required given the protection that the coast itself offered. Sadly, today coastal erosion has swept away almost all evidence of that aspect of the Roman defences. All this was flitting through my mind as I cycled the cobbled street along the sea front to join the coast road and my route south.

My first thirteen miles swept by on smooth tarmac along the coast, ignoring the occasional sign for my route aimed at temporarily looping me off a busy road that was not at all busy. For mile after mile long muddy shores swept out to a flat sea to my right until Workington appeared on the horizon. It was a far cry from Silloth with its grey, bulky and industrial silhouette. Luckily I managed to avoid the outskirts on the badly signed but tree lined cycle paths that had clearly once been train tracks.

West Coast

I passed through the centre, busy but anonymous and with a definite sense of having seen better days, and was then once again on old rail track heading out; Beeching's legacy has had a positive aspect for cyclists at least. My initial aim today was Whitehaven where I would spend the night, eight miles further on and the start of my cycle route back across the country tomorrow. Ideally today I would press on a further twenty miles to Ravensglass and the end of the Hadrian’s Cycleway. However, I was not really improved from yesterday despite my night of rest so I would take stock at Whitehaven, especially as I would have to now cycle back there from Ravenglass as today the coastline trains had been replaced by buses. 

Towards Whitehaven 

Whitehaven seemed slow in coming; too many poorly signed junctions and too much stopping for navigation checks. But I reached it not long after midday and in a far more positive state of mind than yesterday despite still feeling rough: yesterday everything had seemed too difficult and a mental and physical effort whereas today things seemed at least possible despite the hangover of a chesty cough. So I elected to carry on.  

Country roads, more old rail line and a cycle lane alongside main road took me to a small lane back towards the coast and the Sellafield nuclear power station, an outline of towers and domes in the distance. A pleasant cycle on good gorse-lined path took me along the sea edge, mud and marshland with grazing cattle stretching to a distant sea. The power station got ever closer as a I glimpsed it through the gorse until I was cycling the long route around its perimeter.

Sellafield Village Church

I passed the tiny Sellafield rail station and noticed signs warning of coastal erosion and the need for care on the cycle path. A few hundred yards later I hit the reality. The sign was obviously placed a while and many tides back. I cycled a scrappy mud track between the Sellafield outer fence on my left and the coastal train line and then the sea to my right. From here I was meant to cross by a small iron rail bridge ahead, over a stream feeding the sea, then double under the bridge along a path by the river bank to join a coastal path the other side of the tracks. But no path under the bridge existed, just a steep and muddy bank. I cycled further to see if I had misinterpreted the route but found myself on a mud path trapped between Seallafield and the rail tracks which, after two hundred yards, was blocked by a stile that led onto a footpath across a golf course. It was definitely not the way. 

I had read something on the SUSTRANS website about the section south of Sellafield being suspended due to coastal erosion and it seems that on this occasion it was more than undue caution. I consoled myself that I had gone as far as was possible and that I was only seven miles from Ravenglass so had completed the majority of the cycleway. I retraced my route to Whitehaven and by four in the afternoon I was in my room, drinking more lemsip to keep my continuing symptoms at bay and preparing for a hearty dinner and an early night in anticipation of feeling more human in the morning.

Start of Coast to Coast

Carlisle to Silloth - 35 miles

Today was hard. It was only thirty-five miles and almost totally flat as I cycled around the Solway Firth but I was lacking energy and had a sore throat and headache; I had definitely caught something, it had affected me for a day or so but until today I had managed to work through it. Now though it had really taken a hold on me and it made this, probably the easiest of days, difficult.

I left Carlisle alongside the river, following its meanders through the city centre. There was no morning mist today but it was cold. What looked from the map like a quiet road to take me out of town turned out to be quite busy, especially so this week day morning, but eventually I was on quieter country lanes that took me through occasional villages and towards the Solway Firth.

I cycled a quiet and flat road that cut through flat grassland leading down to the mud and calm flat water of the Firth. Cows grazed on the grass around me and the wide stretch of the Firth and its twinkling waters separated me from the first gentle hills of Scotland some miles distant. It was a picture postcard image of tranquility that filled the breadth of my vision, seemingly untouched by the hand of man with the exception of occasional signs warning of sinking sands and mud.

But unfortunately today was about more than the views. All day I was physically drained. I had stopped two or three times for extended periods, feeling unable to continue without rest. I had taken coffee, eaten sandwiches and sat on available benches to simply enjoy the view and to try and summon up energy. The views were uplifting, the route flat and the air invigorating but nothing lifted me far from my exhaustion; my body felt entirely in thrall to this Illness.

It was a slow and intermittent ride around the Firth, as much spent fighting my symptoms as enjoying the views. I stopped at tiny Bowness-on-Solway, the limit of Hadrian's Wall in the west, viewed a model of the fort that once stood there and then continued in a more southerly direction around the coast. Another twenty miles and I arrived at the small town of Silloth on the west coast. It was only three o’clock but it felt as if the day had been much longer. Having stopped it was as if any physical and mental momentum were lost: I had hit a wall. But it was also definitely easier to cope now that my activities were limited to preparing more lemsip and admiring the view out to sea from my room. And I did not plan on much more than that this evening.

Bowness-on-Solway Fort

Silloth by Night

Solway Coast

Hexham to Carlisle - 59 miles

Today is the day I climb over the spine of Britain. It is also a day where I will do more miles than yesterday but where I am hoping for more stops to look at Roman history directly related to the wall. At least today there are no ferries to miss to add time to an already longer day.

I left in morning mist, the cold piercing my jacket as I retraced my steps into Hexham and along the river to rejoin the route. I was not cold for long; after a cycle alongside a rail track I began a long and straight ascent on an empty road through the countryside. The mist still clung to the landscape around me enclosing me in a limited bubble of existence and preventing any enjoyment of the views the height gained might have afforded me. It was an hour before I saw a hint of shadow and a hazy smear of blue sky but it was still some time before the mist rolled back to reveal the empty and scrubby countryside around.

So far the route had not taken me along the wall, it lay a mile or so north across the rugged landscape the lanes now took me through. To get a first view of the wall on this, the Hadrian's Cycleway, I headed off route to Housesteads, the remains of a fort by the wall on a road parallel to the one I now cycled. It would also put me in a good position to find a point from where I could walk to the remains of the tree in Sycamore Gap, maliciously cut down just a year earlier and something I had for a long time hoped to see. 

Housesteads is sited on a ridge, a large rectangle of low stone walls sitting on undulating grassy slopes and within which the outline of various buildings can be seen. Even with the modern nearby road, the location felt isolated and wild. Nineteen hundred years ago, and on the most remote edges of the Roman Empire, it must have felt completely inhospitable. I walked the hundred and fifty yards or so across the fort to the most northern edge. From here I could see Hadran's wall disappearing across the barren and uneven landscape to my right, a grey snaking line of solid stone blocks that followed the sharply undulating hills and ridges of the ground before climbing the line of a steep escarpment in the near distance and disappearing out of sight.

Housesteads and Wall

Housesteads

I left Housteads, cycled a couple of miles west along the adjacent road and then headed north on a small climbing lane to reach the wall. The bike chained to a convenient signpost, I walked the Hadrian’s way footpath, following the wall as it cut directly across the terrain with no regard for topography. It followed the high ground of the landscape making steep ascents and equally sharp descents on small hills rather than following the easier, flatter ground nearby. Even in its aged and much reduced state it is an impressively solid structure. I passed the outline of old watchtowers, no longer any existing structure but now simply a stone footprint, and dropped down into the steep ravine known as Sycamore Gap. Only the stump of the tree remains but even so it was drawing quite a crowd and, a year on, the signs of new shoots are showing. I had always wanted to see this tree, supposedly the most photographed and iconic tree in Britain, but here I was a year too late. I retraced my steps back to my bicycle along a flatter path, away from the wall, and headed back to my cycle route.

Wall and Sycamore Gap

I rejoined the route near Vindolanda fort, famous for its well preserved artefacts, a result of the waterlogged and anaerobic soil. Vindolanda became well known when fragments of written records on wooden leaf tablets were found there and it is another place I have always wanted to visit. The expansive remains of the fort are settled among the surrounding hills and from the large car park and numbers of people milling around it is clearly a major draw.  The site though is big enough to absorb them and as I wandered its remains, including areas being currently excavated, it seemed quiet. The site's modern museum shows many of the items that have been discovered: well preserved leather shoes in a variety of styles; tools with their wooden handles still intact which showed how little some things have changed (the plastering tools were identical to those I remember my father using); and of course those writing tablets including an invitation to a birthday party and a number of military records.

Leather Shoes - Vindolanda

Vindolanda 

It was early afternoon before I set off again. I was still climbing towards the high point some nine miles ahead at Halfwhistle, supposedly the halfway point across the country according to the 'Centre of Britain' hotel that I passed. It was a wearing ride with the warmth of the sun and the continual undulating road. Sometimes a descent would give enough speed to make the following ascent, sometimes I had to work to reach the top. But the views across the valley to my left were spectacular. I forewent a visit to Birdoswald fort because of the time but I did use the shop to top up my water. Soon after, a long straight section of narrow road took me right by the wall and the remains of a frontier watchtower. It is one of the few stretches on the Hadrian’s Cycleway that you get to ride alongside the actual wall.

After Halfwhistle I had expected mostly descent for the next twenty-nine miles to Carlisle, I was after all over the spine of Britain. Unfortunately it was not to be. Other frustrations were also added to the afternoon: the lateness in the day and the warmth contributed to my tiredness; a couple of poorly signed junctions led to my having to backtrack; and the back lanes I was following would indicate Carlisle a certain distance in one direction while the route would send me in another, a direction which road signs would later confirm was taking me even further from Carlisle.

I eventually reached the outskirts of the city, somehow off the route but on a quiet lane. My hotel, an imposing older building on a main road, was only a street away from the route but I found it as much by luck as by judgement. I headed to my comfortable and well appointed room where tiredness caught up with me, a tiredness that was not simply from the efforts of the day. I made straight for my bed; eating would have to wait until breakfast.

South Shields to Hexham - 35 miles

Breakfast did not start until 8.15 so it was a later start to my day than I would have preferred. By the time I had escaped the morning conversation of the hotel owner, pedalled to the route start and then onwards to the river to retrace my steps from yesterday, I had missed the ferry I had planned to catch back to North Shields: the boat was just moving away as I got to the ferry ramp. Rather than wait the thirty minutes it would take for the boat to return I thought I would follow an alternate cycle route along the bank of the Tyne this side of the river with a view to crossing by bridge nearer the centre. However, that route proved elusive and poorly marked so eventually I found myself simply whiling away the time until the ferry returned. 

The Start

Once across the Tyne I again lost my way on the section through main roads but was soon on the better signed and more obvious route from yesterday. I was once again riding under a perfect blue sky as I followed a quieter Tyneside promenade than yesterday. The trappings of city, the shops, buildings and infrastructure of modernity, slowly thinned out as I headed upstream along the Tyne, stopping at the occasional information board on the history of the river or the Roman presence in the area. My route began to take me up and away from the river, through woodland and parkland and from where I looked down at the last vestiges of city tarmac and concrete that clung to the valley floor. I cycled an old rail line that, fittingly, passed the cottage where George Stephenson the rail engineer had been born. Small, white and compact, it sat in isolation alongside the wood-shaded track. Behind, sitting on the skyline, was Heddon-on-the-Wall, a small village right by the Roman wall and large parts of which were built from wall stones. I had hoped to detour there in order to see the wall proper for the first time but although it sat less than a mile away across the fields it would have required a significant detour to reach a road or suitable track to get me there. Also off-putting was that it would entail an obvious climb, sitting over three hundred feet above me. Instead I continued along the route, following my wood shaded path to the Tyne Riverside country park by the river, a peaceful stretch of grass and trees and smooth tarmac and very popular on this gradually warming day.

George Stephenson Cottage

As I wheeled my bike from the track and into the park area I got into a long and interesting chat with two women standing at the edge of the small car park. Although obviously Jehovah’s Witnesses we at first had a wide ranging discussion that avoided religion. It was only when they asked if I felt whether my life 'was fulfilled', the obvious preamble to their pitch, that I made my excuses and headed to the adjacent cafe for coffee. 

After coffee I cycled quiet country lanes for some six miles, hot under an early afternoon sun. The small and neat market town of Corbridge slipped by and after another mile of empty lane I reached the site of the old Roman town of the same name. Roman Corbridge was a key town in this part of Britain even before the building of the wall some two miles further north. I explored the museum, interesting and informative, and wandered the relatively large archeological site under a baking sun. Stone foundations in the grass outlined buildings and the layout of the town and there were interesting artefacts like old water troughs installed in the streets for public use. Despite the impact of time and disuse and the masking veil of history, the remains of Roman Corbridge proved enough such that only a little imagination was needed to get an impression of what once was.  

Corbridge 

Half an hour after leaving Roman Corbridge I arrived at Hexham and my stop for night. I had cycled only thirty-five miles but they were gentle and steady with plenty of stopping and no sense of rush. As it was still only late afternoon I took the opportunity to explore the squat and solid abbey, massive for the size of a small market town, before heading to my basic pub accommodation. A beer and a chat in the bar with the toothless local drunk - younger than me but looking far older - were followed by an Italian dinner in readiness for a hillier and longer day tomorrow.

Hexham Abbey

Alne to South Shield - 29 miles

After two days relaxing I left Alne under a blue and cloudless sky. My journey was the reverse of the route from two days earlier with its mix of quiet lanes and tracks through countryside. Today though I also passed through the landscaped grounds of Beningbrough Hall cycling an empty access drive through parkland that was dotted with trees and, near my exit, the eponymous Hall, a classical frontage of red brick and white stone dappled in the morning shadow of its avenue of trees.

An hour on the train and I was in Newcastle where a short ride through city roads took me to the north bank of the Tyne and a ride along the embankment, heading towards the iconic Tyne bridges silhouetted against blue in the near distance. The river was a stream of listless, brown muddy water sitting between sloping, brown muddy banks, glistening moist in the sun and exposed by the low tide. I cycled alongside the empty and seemingly lifeless waters - a far cry from the busyness that would have helped create this city - weaving my way through the coffee drinkers and walkers with whom I shared the smooth embankment path. Shops and modern offices gave way to quiet roads feeding utilitarian industrial buildings alongside the river as I headed away from the city centre and towards the coast. A section on old rail line had a more rural feel, running through grassland and trees, but which in reality were only narrow strips of nature that obscured views of the river and heavy suburbia that I knew lay beyond.

After six miles the path opened out and I reached my first stop for the day, the Segedunum Roman Fort museum. It is obvious as you pass its perimeter fencing, its futuristic but time-faded tower, built to provide views over the archeological site, looking incongruous amid its surroundings. The remains of the fort are now trapped between a small area of flattened industrial wasteland alongside the Tyne and the parallel streets of terraced houses on the outer edges of residential Wallsend but when built it sat alongside the river and represented the end of the wall in the east.

I spent time in the museum. The fort is apparently the most thoroughly excavated of those along the wall although there is little to see above ground other than the footprint of the fort foundations on the grass. I viewed the site from the tower and wandered the remains of the fort before continuing my ride east towards my accommodation for the night and the start of my ride tomorrow.

So far I had avoided busy roads but that was soon to change as my semi-rural path ended and I found myself riding on fast roads and circumnavigating roundabouts further from the river, staying on them longer than necessary as I lost the route for a while. Back on track, I was soon dropping back down to the river and the platform for the ferry that would allow me to cross from North to South Shields. A fifteen minute wait, then a short trip on the small passenger ferry took me to the south bank of the Tyne. It was only a short road ride to the remains of the Arbiea Roman fort, built to supply the wall and guard the mouth of the Tyne and now a large square patch of archeology surrounded on all sides by terraced housing. More importantly for me, it is the starting point of the Hadrian Cycleway and only a stone's throw from my accommodation for the night.

I visited the tiny fort museum and then wandered around the grounds. With the exception of a reconstruction gatehouse and Commanding Officer's house, like Segedumum south of the river, the remaining structure consists for the most part of footprints of original buildings defined by the foundations. Despite what appeared - to my uninformed mind at least - as limited archeology the descriptions of the roles of the buildings, their scale and their number gave a sense of what once had been: a large supply depot integral to the functioning of Hadrian’s Wall and home to some six hundred soldiers.

I left the fort and headed into the rows of terraced house that surrounded the site; my bed and breakfast was only a few streets away. With my gear offloaded and suitably cleaned up I set off for dinner in a nearby Indian restaurant. The journey to the start of my ride was complete. Tomorrow the trip proper begins. 

To the North

My five mile cycle ride to Chippenham station is now a familiar one. At seven thirty on a cold winter-like morning I am cycling towards a still-low, and milky sun; only the winding of the narrow lanes and the high hedgerows which enclose me shield my eyes from its brightness. This is the start of my journey north towards Hadrian's wall. I am heading for a train to Bristol and then on to York where I will have a weekend stop in nearby Alne before another train to Newcastle and the start of my ride. 

With the exception of the usual difficulties when trying to store a bicycle in the undersized and poorly designed bike storage areas on trains my trip proved uneventful and by early afternoon I was in York where I was met by Steve. Together we cycled the fifteen miles north to Alne. It was a pleasant route along wooded tracks and empty lanes with a stop in the quiet village of Newton on Ouse, all aging red brick buildings and greenery. As we sat under sunny skies in the garden of a pub with the village church opposite us across the lane I was struck by the quintessential Englishness of it all, by the lack of cars parked along the narrow road and the settled calmness of a previous decade. We continued past the nearby approach lights of a silent and now closed RAF Linton on Ouse, lost somewhere across the fields, a throwback name to another time for both me and the Royal Air Force and two miles later we arrived in the tiny village of Alne and, for me, a weekend of rest.

Introduction

My cycling life was late in starting. As a youngster I never owned a bike and it was a while before I was able to ride one. When all my primary school classmates stayed behind after lessons to do their Cycling Proficiency training I happily walked home: I may have been unable to cycle a bike but I was free of any extracurricular activities, something which was probably more important to me at the time. After a patchy beginning - at university the first bicycle I ever owned was stolen within a month of buying it and the second, some time later, lasted only a few months longer - I eventually fell in with John, an enthusiastic and adventurous cyclist who opened up the wider possibilities that bike riding can offer. I owe him a lot as I am not sure I would have taken that particular path without him or at least not followed it so far. As a result the last decade has seen me criss-cross this island of ours on any number of multi-day trips in all seasons and in all weathers and I have seen some of the best that Britain has to offer and at a pace that has allowed me to appreciate it more fully. 

Despite diarising many of my other journeys I have tended to not record my cycling trips; a three or four day ride seemed too brief a time to offer up memories of substance. However, the fragmented memories I do have of some of those rides - of the landscapes crossed and the effort spent - are so vivid I now regret not having a fuller record that would have captured something much richer and more complete. Long trips may offer an extended narrative but there is an intensity in those shorter journeys that is just as compelling.

With that in mind I determined to keep a diary on a forthcoming trip across the country, firstly from east to west following the 174 mile Hadrian’s Cycleway from South Shields to Ravenglass and then returning via the 136 mile Coast to Coast route from Whitehaven to Newcastle upon Tyne. It would be a journey of about ten days and take me along parts of the iconic Hadrian’s Wall, something I have yet to visit, and through the scenery of the Lake District and North Pennine National Park. I am hoping that the mix of heritage and natural beauty will offer variety enough for both absorbing memories and a worthwhile narrative. 

Hadrian’s Cycleway 

Coast to Coast