Extreme biking with the church warden

Words and Photos by Lewis Preston

November 26^th, 2022

In June 2022

two members of St. George’s (Jesmond) congregation set off to cycle unsupported across northern England from St Bees Head, on the Irish Sea coast, to Robin Hood’s Bay, on the North Sea coast. They sought the wildest, most remote, ‘off-road’ terrain they could find, traversing the Lake District, the Yorkshire Dales and North Yorkshire Moors. They carried all their own ‘kit’ to be able to wild-camp in deliberately un-planned points, when each day they could physically cycle no further. Lewis Preston takes up the story....

Myself and St George’s Church Warden Graham Hatt, (hereafter referred to as ‘The CW’) took the train to Carlisle and on to St Bees station, then cycled further west to a grey and dreich stony beach before commencing our ride east. Initially easy inclines along disused railway tracks brought us to Ennerdale Water, gateway to the Lakeland mountains. Early drizzle had become steady rain and we were wet through on arrival at Black Sail Hut, a Youth Hostel surrounded on three sides by craggy mountains.

The steep non-track over Black Sail Pass presented a daunting prospect. We pushed bikes until it became so steep and rocky The CW shouldered his bike like a Titan and disappeared upwards into the mist and rain squalls. Physically unable to emulate, I had to remove the bike packing bags containing my tent, sleeping bag, mat and food, to push and carry my bike up vertical bogs and slippery, sloping rock slabs, returning back for my bags in a series of relays. The CW generously returned at intervals to assist my slow progress.

The path down into Wasdale was equally steep and too dangerous to ride, so a hairy descent holding onto runaway bikes ensued, while a mountain rescue helicopter circled overhead, (searching for fallen/injured walkers, we learned later). With relief we reach the valley and camp in a field near the Wasdale Head Hotel, where we dry out with a beer and bar meal and begin to feel human again. We had taken nearly 9 hours to ride, push and carry our bikes 27 miles with 2,775 feet of climbing.

Day 2

On Day 2 the sun shone as we packed up camp and then crossed three more tough tracks over passes across the southern Lake District into Eskdale, Duddondale and Coniston, covering only 20 miles and 3,450 feet in 9+ hours of tiring effort.

Our third day of crossing the Cumbrian Mountains involved six passes over wild moorland between verdant valleys. Leaving behind the honey pots of Langdale, Rydal and Ambleside, we continued east into the unfrequented Kentmere and Longsleddale valleys.

We both got punctures and were surrounded by inquisitive, (read, hungry) wild horses. After nearly 5,000 feet over 27 miles and no sign of somewhere to camp we stumbled across Mosedale Cottage, a remote mountain ‘bothy’, empty and unlocked. As the sun set at 10pm we filtered stream water, made dinner on our tiny Gaz stove and, wearing all our clothes against the cold, fell asleep on wooden platforms in a room each.

Day 4

Monday morning, another, (not) day in the office, we pushed, then raced our bikes downhill out of the Lakes and joined local OAPs in Shap Village Hall for their weekly coffee/lunch morning, under Union Jacks remaining from the recent 70th Jubilee gathering.

Crossing the six lanes of roaring M6 truckers, we entered the quiet moorland pastures of the upper Eden Valley and stopped to enter and admire the magnificent gothic-revival church of St Lawrence, gracing the tiny village of Crosby Ravensworth, in the deanery of Appleby. This treasure was designed by Royal Gold Medallist architect Sir Robert Smirke, RA, (also architect to The British Museum).

While I was in architecture-heaven The CW took the opportunity to wring-out his wet and filthy ‘King of the Mountains’ socks. We took on pies and cakes ‘fuel’ in Kirkby Stephen before tough, frustrating, trackless moors and bogs crossing the main watershed of Britain near Tan Hill Inn, (the highest in the country).

A fast, exhilarating single-track descent followed into Swaledale. At Gunnerside a friendly local offered us his ruined barn/cottage as a refuge high up the steep ‘Corpse Road’ (coffin) track out of the village. We inspected and thankfully declined, choosing to wild camp next to the River Swale amidst swarms of midges. We had cycled 45 miles with 4,100 feet of ascent over 11 hours and were both completely exhausted.

Day 5

The next morning, (Day 5) after a wash in the river, we headed steeply up an un-rideable track of boulders and loose gravel onto the high moor overlooking Wensleydale, before a fast, only just-in-control descent on our front-suspension hard-tail bikes back into Swaledale and a double full breakfast each, washed down with strong black coffee at a jolly cyclists cafe. Later we stopped briefly at Marrick Priory, a young people’s residential centre where I’d stayed as a teenager with the youth club of St Mary’s, Monkseaton.

After a pub and shop stop at Richmond, we road-raced across the Vale of York, unused to traffic and relieved to reach Osmotherley on the edge of the North Yorkshire Moors in time to find a wild-camp of level grass near a river. Ex-NMC Bryn Roberts had been loosely following our progress over part of the route since Wasdale and joined us here with wine and good craic ensued. The CW and I had covered 48 miles over 3,825 feet in 11 hours and retired before dark to our respective tents.

DAY 6

Day 6 dawned fine and a big day beckoned across the moors. The CW was beginning to wonder if he would make it back to Newcastle Cathedral’s Visitation service for Diocesian church wardens in 2 days’ time. He wanted to ‘up’ the pace. Feeling quite bike-fit we dropped into, and pushed out of multiple north-facing dales eroded into the moors, achieving another 32 miles and 3,350 feet over 10 hours of hard toil before relaxing at Glaisdale with pub-grub and beers. The landlord allowed not so very ‘wild-camping’ on the sloping hill outside the pub.

Day 7

Next morning, we entered the village of Grosmont, and watched tourist-filled steam trains arriving in a flash-back to ‘Heartbeat’ (pre-Beeching cuts) and my own long-lost ‘branch-line’ childhood days. A massive haul up onto Sleights Moor and deeply rutted off-road tracks across Fylingdales Moor brought us a first sight of the North Sea, oh joy, then racing along the disused railway track down into Robin Hoods Bay for a paddle (me) and swim (the CW), before beer and fish & chips with Bryn to celebrate the completion of our 7 day, 224 miles, 24,175 feet epic!

As if in answer to prayer, Bryn offered The CW and his trusty bike a lift back to Newcastle in time for the Visitation Service at the cathedral the next morning. I enjoyed one more lonely wild camp on the cliff above Maw Wyke Hole and a solo evening walk along the Cleveland Way overlooking a moody North Sea. Biking into Whitby next morning I caught a direct train home to Newcastle to begin an enforced fortnight of inactivity/recovery!

With thanks to the ever enthusiastic and energetic CW of St George’s for great company and adventure, for deprivation and exhaustion, (previously unknown depths of) and that both of us survived to tell the tale. Jim Burlant wrote: “Cycling is like Church - many attend, but few understand.”