Whitehaven - Mungrisdale Thursday 5th October
7am and snug, duvet pulled up to my nose and drifting in and out of sleep. For the last 15 minutes all I can hear is the relentless drone of water and I'm desperately trying to pretend I'm not about to go riding in it. Luckily, Nigel pulls me to my senses by informing me he's 'bust' the shower and it will not turn off. The weather outside is OK just a little drizzly.
Fortified by a full English breakfast (as endorsed by the British Olympic committee), Simon and Jullianna pick us up and we drive through increasingly worsening weather to the C2C starting point at Whitehaven Harbour.
A quick pumping of tyres leads to our first incident of the day- before we've even pedaled in anger - when Simon's inner tube punctures under the pumps pressure. I sit in the nice warm car and watch as two men, in very tight trousers, scramble round looking for a lost pump in the, now, torrential rain. What on earth are we doing?
7am and snug, duvet pulled up to my nose and drifting in and out of sleep. For the last 15 minutes all I can hear is the relentless drone of water and I'm desperately trying to pretend I'm not about to go riding in it. Luckily, Nigel pulls me to my senses by informing me he's 'bust' the shower and it will not turn off. The weather outside is OK just a little drizzly.
Fortified by a full English breakfast (as endorsed by the British Olympic committee), Simon and Jullianna pick us up and we drive through increasingly worsening weather to the C2C starting point at Whitehaven Harbour.
A quick pumping of tyres leads to our first incident of the day- before we've even pedaled in anger - when Simon's inner tube punctures under the pumps pressure. I sit in the nice warm car and watch as two men, in very tight trousers, scramble round looking for a lost pump in the, now, torrential rain. What on earth are we doing?
Simon & Pat at Loweswater in the Lake District
Tyres fixed and dipped in the sea, and Jullianna waves us off as we set off on our way to Sunderland, hurrah. But hold up, we've stopped again after five yards as my seat needs adjusting. Back on the bikes, rain drops running down our noses and this time we're away! For a few more yards anyway, we pass a bike shop and stop to buy some inner tubes. The proprietor kindly informs us the weather is forecast to get worse later and the next day. Cheers.
This time we're really off and we ride out of Whitehaven on a well laid and sheltered cinder track, taking us into the Lakes. The rain continues but we can't get any wetter and the exertion soon warms us up and we all start to settle down and cover some mileage. Leaving the track and joining a road we're approached by a kindly but assertive looking elderly lady on a quad bike who warns us of an imminently approaching herd of cows. She advises us to get back on the track, and, if we stand well back, we won't get trampled. 10 minutes later, and no cows have passed, we decide to risk the road and continue without any further sight of a cow or the elderly lady. As we ride off, I swear, I hear the deranged cackle of an elderly woman, echoing through the valley.
We press on through the morning, making good progress as we pass through picture post card countryside. The pleasure trip comes to an abrupt stop at lunchtime as we begin ascending our first real challenging climb - the Whinlatter pass. Simon zooms to the top and out of sight, as myself and Nigel breathlessly limp up. Disaster strikes though when Nigel's gears malfunction and he find his drive shaft broken. Luckily he's not too far from the café at the top and pushes his way to a hot cup of soup and cake. Lunch eaten, and a suicidal freewheeling descent by a more grumpy Nigel, and we're at the bottom of the hill. By mid afternoon we stagger into Keswick with Simon's arm round Nigel, riding alongside and pushing him to the nearest bike shop. For those not in the know this could, of course, be construed as a little amorous and I make great play of this, until I get my just deserts by falling off my near stationary bike into the road and nearly under a car.
Luckily the bike shop soon repair the bike and inform us that we're but a 30 minute ride from Mungrisdale our stop for that night. Hurrah! One and a half hours later and we're still cycling in the pouring rain. "This is getting boring" Nigel correctly states. Then out of the mist comes the Mill Inn, our destination, warm showers, radiators, frothy beer and award winning pies. We stagger to bed later warm, content and slightly anxious about the next day.
This time we're really off and we ride out of Whitehaven on a well laid and sheltered cinder track, taking us into the Lakes. The rain continues but we can't get any wetter and the exertion soon warms us up and we all start to settle down and cover some mileage. Leaving the track and joining a road we're approached by a kindly but assertive looking elderly lady on a quad bike who warns us of an imminently approaching herd of cows. She advises us to get back on the track, and, if we stand well back, we won't get trampled. 10 minutes later, and no cows have passed, we decide to risk the road and continue without any further sight of a cow or the elderly lady. As we ride off, I swear, I hear the deranged cackle of an elderly woman, echoing through the valley.
We press on through the morning, making good progress as we pass through picture post card countryside. The pleasure trip comes to an abrupt stop at lunchtime as we begin ascending our first real challenging climb - the Whinlatter pass. Simon zooms to the top and out of sight, as myself and Nigel breathlessly limp up. Disaster strikes though when Nigel's gears malfunction and he find his drive shaft broken. Luckily he's not too far from the café at the top and pushes his way to a hot cup of soup and cake. Lunch eaten, and a suicidal freewheeling descent by a more grumpy Nigel, and we're at the bottom of the hill. By mid afternoon we stagger into Keswick with Simon's arm round Nigel, riding alongside and pushing him to the nearest bike shop. For those not in the know this could, of course, be construed as a little amorous and I make great play of this, until I get my just deserts by falling off my near stationary bike into the road and nearly under a car.
Luckily the bike shop soon repair the bike and inform us that we're but a 30 minute ride from Mungrisdale our stop for that night. Hurrah! One and a half hours later and we're still cycling in the pouring rain. "This is getting boring" Nigel correctly states. Then out of the mist comes the Mill Inn, our destination, warm showers, radiators, frothy beer and award winning pies. We stagger to bed later warm, content and slightly anxious about the next day.
