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.
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| 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.
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| 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.
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| 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.
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| Hexham Abbey |
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