Category Archives: Cycling

I DO LIKE TO BE BESIDE THE SEASIDE.

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The Mythic Coast.

Blackpool has switched on its illuminations, boosting tourism for a few more months. But I’m not here for the lights; I’m here for a bracing walk beside the sea. In the past, I often cycled the Fylde Coast and have written about it here many times. I can’t believe it is two and a half years since my last visit.  Today I’m motivated by yet another chapter in that 52 Ways to Walk book, Walk Beside the Sea. Not that I need much motivation to return to one of my favourite stretches on the Fylde.

The book promises:  “the sound of surf and breaking waves are deeply restorative, while reflections pique and engage our brain, and the fractal patterns of shells and waves soothe our frazzled minds” Sounds good.

I check the tide timetables as I hope to walk out onto the beach, unencumbered by my cycle, to examine some of the artworks described in that last post from here.  High 10:38;  Low 17:13.  Cleveleys. So the afternoon should work out well. Now to check the bus times from Cleveleys back to Fleetwood. The number 5 runs every half hour.

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I park up at about two o’clock, on the front in Fleetwood near the Knott End ferry terminus and RNLI station. It’s obvious, judging from the views across Morecambe Bay,  that the day is going to be crystal clear.

Even though I’ve previously highlighted several memorials and statues to lives lost at sea at this end of the promenade, I find myself revisiting them, as they are so poignant even to a hardened soul like myself. The shoal of fish lead me to the ‘Welcome Home’ statue.

I walk along the soft sands for a while; the sea looks so far away across the sandbanks exposed at low tide, but these are dangerous places when the tide comes in; many people have been cut off and rescued by the RNLI volunteers. They have had some unexpected and adverse critical reactions recently related to asylum seekers, but where would we be without them? The RNLI is the charity that saves lives at sea above all others.

Back on the promenade, I make good progress but keep stopping to photograph Black Combe and the Lake District across the bay.  A cargo ship is heading out from Heysham. 

The stretch to Rossall School seems to go on forever. The concrete panelling, part of the sea defences,  is relieved by panels depicting episodes from The Sea Swallow, a beautiful illustrated book by Gareth Thomson based on a folklore story of the Wyre Mythic Coast, of which more later.

The promenade sweeps onwards. My attention is divided between the panorama out to sea and the graceful seawall with its occasional artworks.

Tall installations represent local flora and the animals that depend on them.

The wavy wall continues; can you spot Blackpool Tower? It ends with another piece from The Sea Swallow.

Rossall School always looks Dickensian to me.

I’ve chosen to come in the afternoon to explore the sand at low tide. I’m starting to worry that I have missed the Shell and the Ogre installations, which I have only seen semi-submerged before. I walk on, taking in the curves of Cleveleys’s sea defences. Dog walkers far out on the sand give my seascapes some scale. I drop down onto the beach for a change and alternate between sandy and stony stretches.

I can’t resist a bit of beachcombing.

And then I spot Mary’s Shell over the next groyne.

How exciting to come up close from all angles and even get inside. The whole massive structure is encrusted by the sea’s twice-daily immersion. Lines from the poem are inscribed on the inside coils, though they’re hard to make out, and I spot a couple of other original decorations. 

 

Another groyne away, I thought I could see the Ogre sculpture, but it was surrounded by more boulders (for sea defences) than I remember before; perhaps some have been added over the years. I walk across the beach, and yes, he is there crouched and looking grumpy, a veritable ogre. He is heavily encrusted, as he becomes completely submerged at most tides.

I scramble back onto the promenade with its futuristic lighting; I must come one night to repeat this walk.

I knew the ‘Ogre’s Paddle’ was along here somewhere; incongruously next to a cinema and gym, most people walk past it without realising its significance.  I did for years, not even noticing it!

One has to seek out the relevant poem’s lines on the paddles back side.

On the promenade opposite the main street of Cleveleys is the 10m-high Sea Swallow statue. Opening like a book, the two swallows fly high. The base features engravings from the poem.

All in all, it’s an elegant structure.

It’s only a short walk to my final art installation, The Fylde Shipwreck Memorial. A memorial to all known ships lost along the Fylde coast, from Fleetwood to Lytham St Annes. It is positioned on the promenade adjacent to the site of the most recently lost ship – The Riverdance. A rusting wall of names of over 200 boats.  Time to catch my bus back to Fleetwood.

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With the tide well out, it’s not been a day of crashing waves, but more of soft sands, silvery seas, and big open skies. My mission to visit the Shell and the Ogre at low tide is accomplished. For a comprehensive history of the Mythic Coast art, you should look here before you go. The ‘children’s’ book The Sea Swallow by Gareth Thompson, which tells the story, is one of my treasured possessions.

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THE OLD PRESTON TRAM ROAD.

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First, a bit of history.

In 1792, a canal was proposed to link the towns of Kendal, Lancaster and Preston with the Leeds to Liverpool Canal. The main traffic was to be coal, from the Wigan coalfields going north to Preston. Additionally, limestone was to be moved south. Hence the local nickname for the canal – the black and white.

The spur from the Leeds Liverpool canal reached what is now Walton Summit. Originally, an aqueduct to cross the Ribble was planned, along with many locks; this would have been overly expensive, so a ‘temporary’ tramway was constructed from the Walton wharf, with a bridge over the Ribble, in the early years of the C19th. So the canal effectively was in two halves. (The Lancaster Canal was finally connected to the rest of the national network with the recent opening of the Millennium Link; that’s another story).

Horses pulled the wagons along the Tram Road, and then there was a steam-driven chain to haul the wagons up an incline to the canal wharf in Preston. Eventually, the railways superseded the canal for commercial use, and the tramway closed in 1864.

 An old map shows the original wharfs in Preston, circled top left, and the route of the tramway down through Avenham to the Bridge over the Ribble.  The route of the tram road is highlighted on this next old map, connecting with the canal at Walton Summit.       

Since then, the canal basin in Preston has been filled in, the canal link from Walton to the Leeds Liverpool has largely disappeared, and much of the tramway line from Bamber Bridge to Walton Summit has been lost to development—the dotted sections on the map below.

Pic: Wikimedia, OS Street Map.

                                              

The original wooden tram bridge over the Ribble was completed in 1802; it needed repairs in 1890 and was severely damaged by floods in 1936. During the Second World War, the timber decking was removed to prevent any potential German tank invasion. In 1964, concrete replaced much of the wood to maintain a valuable walking and cycling route. The bridge deteriorated again, was closed to the public in 2019, and was demolished in 2024.

The Old Tram Bridge.                                                                                                                 Blog Preston.

Its future was in doubt until a government grant from the Levelling Up Fund secured the millions needed for a replacement. The new bridge was opened to much acclaim in May of this year, thus restoring the pedestrian and cycle connection to what remains of the old tram road on the south side of the river.

I’ve drawn on several websites for archived historical information.

https://www.leylandhistoricalsociety.co.uk/bb-02.html

The Old Tramway

Clicking on the photo below links to many superb period photos of the canal and old tram road.

Lancaster Canal at Cottam c1920

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Today’s exploration on foot – I walk the lines. 

When I walked the whole of the Lancaster Canal from Preston to Kendal in 2018, I started from the remaining basin north of the city centre. There is not much evidence of the original course of the canal to the wharfs in the centre of town: the odd wall here, the odd bridge there, but nothing continuous. The University, shops, and roads have done it for it. And the start of the tram road from the wharf heading into Avenham Park has suffered the same fate.

Today’s walk nearly ended after ten minutes outside the Harris Museum; I tripped over an elevated tree root in the pavement and flew headfirst  –  grazed hands and a tear in my trousers, but luckily no more. A gentle lady came to my aid, but I reassured her I was fine – even if the pride is dented somewhat. I took a picture later in the day on my return.

I next find myself in the Georgian Winkley Square, a green oasis off Fishergate.

I had read about the state of no 28, the past home of Edith Rigby, a famous suffragette, but am surprised to see it in such a sorry state for one of Preston’s notables.

On the top edge of Avenham Park, I pick up the line of the tramway as it went down towards the steep incline above the new tram bridge. Passing the Belvedere building, approximately on the site of the engine-house that wound the tramway trucks up and down.

The bridge looks impressive from up here, with plenty of pedestrians and cyclists crossing it both ways. I drop down and use the Guild Wheel paths to try to get photographs of the bridge from either side.  It is indeed a graceful bridge serving the area well, and Preston can be proud to see it reinstated. 

From the centre I can look downstream to the old East Lancs Railway bridge I hope to cross later in the day. Beyond it and out of sight is the main line rail bridge into Preston.

Once over, I am now in Lower Penwortham, and the tree-lined old tram road stretches out in front of me. A steady stream of walkers and cyclists passes by. Fields line both sides, so you feel out of the city within minutes—the green lungs of Preston. The resurfaced track goes straight for nearly a mile, rising to Carr Wood, where paths meet. The tram road heads left, but I will be back at this spot later. The lane now goes through housing estates but still feels rural, and there are plenty of pedestrian links for the locals. Occasionally, a quiet road crosses.

Then all of a sudden it comes to an end at Todd Lane, and the tram road disappears into fields and Bamber Bridge. Thankfully, I find paths down a green corridor through the Walton Park Woods. The day has warmed up, and I find a seat near the lake for a drink and snack. I’m surrounded by nature; raised beds have been planted for butterflies and bees, herons rise from the waters, and I add to my bounty of haws. A few dog walkers pass through, but one feels in a world of your own in here.

Here is a little map highlighting the position of Walton Park woods.

I climb up onto the track of an old railway heading back to Preston.   Preston and Blackburn Railway, which opened on 1 June 1846, became part of the East Lancashire Railway two years later, which built its own bridge across the Ribble to Butler Street station and goods yard by 1850. This stretch closed to passengers in 1968 and goods in 1972. (see below *)  I’m soon back where the tram road passed by, but take a left to stay on the ELR track. These resurfaced ways create a network of walking and cycling paths south of the river, most of which I was previously unaware of. Must come with the bike and explore further. Always adding to my list.

Up ahead is a wooden sculpture, the Tree Pod by Rosie Fenwick and Ben Maris, along with pupils from Lostock Hall Secondary School. Carved from oak trunks, it lets you stand inside and peer through the holes. The Tram Road, on reflection, would benefit from some artworks, and some seats – there wasn’t a single one on the stretch I walked.

A little further is ‘Coupling Rods’  by John Packer and Martin Maudsley, paying homage to the railway history and at the same time incorporating insect-eye-like lenses,

The raised rail embankment gives views of the Preston skyline and, at one point, the New Tram Bridge across the fields. 

Now approaching the city, the disused rail bridge, with its original pedestrian walkway, crosses the Ribble.

Trains are rattling across the Main Line bridge downstream (well, not in my photo), and there is yet another view of The New Tram Bridge upstream.

From the balustraded bridge, you look down on Miller and Avenham Parks, both busy on a sunny afternoon at the end of the school holidays.

Then, all of a sudden, you are in the rail station car park, with the shops ahead where the Butler Street station and goods yard used to be until the seventies redevelopment. *

Butler Street Station, to the east of the main station, before demolition.                   Blog Preston.

I’ve enjoyed walking back into history and seeing more possibilities for exploration south of the river.  The mural on the Station Inn also reminds me to seek out Preston’s street art before too long.

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You might not have read this far, but I’m going to sneak in one of my 52 Ways to Walk chapters, Exercise your curiosity muscle – Walk a Ley Line.

Well, I’m always curious when out and about, so that ‘muscle’ must be strong. I didn’t know of any obvious ley lines in this area, so I did an internet search and came across The Lamanche Zodiac from the Journal of Geomancy, joining features in a line from Preston to Cheshire.  “A star-aligned landscape formation that mirrors the constellations of the zodiac using roads, streams, churches, and ancient trackways “,  proposed by Kathryn J. Preston in 1977. Reading further only confused me more.

“The concept of ley lines was created in the early 1920s by English amateur archaeologist Alfred Watkins. While walking through Herefordshire, England, Watkins noticed that ancient sites like churches, standing stones, and burial mounds seemed to fall on continuous straight paths. In his 1925 book The Old Straight Track, he argued these lines were ancient, pre-Roman trade and travel routes used for navigation. Watkins never attached any supernatural meaning to his theory.”    Britannica

In the 1960s,  the idea evolved away from archaeology and natural features into more esoteric beliefs. They were seen as channels for spiritual or magnetic powers, connecting sacred sites or even serving as landing guides for alien visitors.

No scientific evidence shows that Ley Lines exist, so I won’t necessarily be walking the Lamanche Line.

In the past, I have created my own straight-line walks using end-to-end points of personal interest. Most notably from Blackpoll to Aldbrough on the east coast. These have been great fun to plan and walk but of no other value or meaning. To counter this negativity about the possibilities of Ley Lines, I proposed today’s walk as a chance to ‘use my curiosity muscle’ by walking the old rail lines. Simple, effective, and satisfying.

 

PILGRIM’S PROGRESS. MAINLY MONSAL.

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Day 10.  Buxton to Monsal Head.

I say ‘mainly Monsal’,  as it takes me, with all my exploring, almost half a day to reach the Monsal Trail.. Slow progress, and be warned, a long post, but hopefully an interesting one.

In Buxton, I had spotted this café the night before and earmarked it for breakfast—a great choice, with perfect scrambled eggs on sourdough.

The walk out of Buxton along the main road is not good, I’m more than pleased to see a footpath into the fields. The viaduct is on the defunct Cromford to Whaley Bridge railway line, mentioned yesterday. On past Staden Farm to the rim of the massive Staden Quarry, where I was hoping to see some climbing action. We used to come here when the sun was hot, as the main wall faces north. Yes, there was a rope at the top, but no sign of the climbers. Barbed wire prevented me from looking down the face. I chat to the farmer and his wife, mainly about cows and calves in the fields. The threat of prosecution from the public weighs heavily on them.

Onwards through Cowdale and across newly mown fields, a walker is ahead of me, but he goes off in a different direction.

There is a small church, Christ Church, King Sterndale, by the road. There is a medieval cross in the nearby village, which I regret not visiting.

Back into the fields, the Midshires Way starts to drop steeply into Deep Dale. It arrives at the base right below  Thirst House Cave, and I scramble up to have a look.

I don’t venture too far into its depths. Roman artefacts have been found here, but it dates far further back, with a bear’s skull.

Deep Dale is a delight, a sunken gorge full of bird song, mainly Jackdaws from the higher crags, and carpeted with flowers. Nobody else about.

The limestone path is uneven in parts, and the summer foliage is encroaching, so slow progress is required.

The end of the valley has been despoiled by an overflow of waste material from the adjacent Topley Pike Quarry. How do they get away with it in a national park?


Escaping the modern industrial devastation, across the A6 at Wyedale, I am on the road leading to the former Midland Railway Line, Manchester to London—the Buxton to Bakewell section, which closed in 1968.  As well as passenger transport, this line served the limestone quarries hereabouts. Thirty to forty years ago, we would use stretches of it to reach crags in the valleys. The tunnels were closed at that time; since then, they have been opened and illuminated, and the route has been surfaced, making it suitable for cyclists and mobility vehicles – The Monsal Trail. So I expect it to be busy.

All routes lead to the Blackwell Mill cycle hire depot at the beginning of Cheedale. One is not actually on the railway until then, the bridges you pass under carry the Great Rocks Dale branch of the railway, which still operates to several quarries. This is as far as many people reach, all very pretty, but on a dusty road. This map may clarify the complexities of the initial trail, but there again…

I meet a man checking, just visually, the bridges. Every few years, they have to do a more detailed rope assessment. A pleasant job on a sunny day like today, we stroll along together.

Anyhow, I’m now on the trail for the next 5 miles, cyclists come whizzing past in both directions. The rest of us just saunter along.

To start with, the railway cuts through the limestone.

And then along the gorge of Cheedale.

The river is down below the towering crags. Plum Butress is one of the first climbing areas I recognise through the trees. A route called Sirplum goes through the overhangs and ascends the nose.  Happy memories of climbing in the sun with my mates, I’ve become distracted in no time. The first bridge I cross gives views down to Chee Tor. The bridge man is down there somewhere.

The first tunnel, Rusher Cutting, is only a short one, 111m.

The next one, Chee Tor No.2, is also short, 83m and unlit, but the next Chee Tor is much longer, 367m, and has roof lighting.

Back in the open, there is some excitement at the next bridge. A group of children are being introduced to the delights of abseiling. 40ft to the floor.

A more serene pastime is old-fashioned photography, which involves using a coated glass plate and developing the image on-site with all the necessary chemicals. A lot of equipment to carry about. I wish I had taken note of his details to view his work.The object he is going to focus on is this limekiln, a 20th-Century concrete structure hiding Victorian kilns. During the C19th the demand for quicklime, used in steelmaking, chemical industries and agriculture, increased. Quarries and lime kilns were developed alongside the railway, coal for burning was transported in and quicklime out.

It’s time for lunch. The cafe at Millers Dale is on the line. I sit inside, out of the sun, surrounded by railway memorabilia and enjoy a quiche and a Bakewell slice.

The additional viaduct, they built two, is being renovated.  The river is a long way down here.

More tall lime kilns appear close by the right-hand side of the trail.

The crowds have thinned out after the cafe at Millers Dale. Cyclists keep appearing on their return trip.

Down there is Raven Tor,  the jewel in the crown of Peak District sport climbing, ie using bolts for protection.  In 1982, Ron Fawcett initiated the action with Indecent Exposure, 7c,  a multi-pitch route that reached the top of the crag. 1984 Moffatt’s Revelations 8b became the hardest route in the country. 1988 was Martin Atkinson’s Mecca, which at 8b+ was one of the hardest routes in the world. Ben Moon beat Moffatt to Hubble  8c+,  the hardest route in the world at the time.  In 1998, Steve McClure climbed Mecca Extension, 9a, and quickly followed it with Mutation 9a+,  putting the Tor on the world map again. Fancy your chances, it’s even steeper than it looks?

I have time to dally and look at some of the flora lining the trail.

The chimney of Litton Mill can be seen down in the trees. Built in 1787 as a cotton spinning mill, it gained notoriety for exploiting its pauper apprentices. Later, it produced yarn for hosiery and was eventually converted into apartments.

Litton Tunnel, 471m goes through a spur in the hills and emerges overlooking Cressbrook Hall before diving into my last tunnel, Cressbrook 431m. (I will not reach the longest Headstone at 487m).

On emerging from Cressbrook Tunnel I can see up on the hill my hotel for the night, but first I have to leave the trail and drop into the Wye valley for the footbridge at Upperdale.  An angler is fly fishing for brown trout in this idyllic spot.

A bit of a slog up paths brings me to the popular tourist viewpoint at Monsal Head. It is some viewpoint. The Wye Valley is laid out below with the Headstone viaduct prominent in the foreground.

Monsal Head Hotel lords over the scene. Faded glory on the outside, but luxury in my room, where I was keen to have a shower and freshen up before a meal and a few drinks in the stable bar.

I can watch the sun go down from my boudoir.

It’s been a long ten miles, but every mile was full of interest. A classic walk.

This is what Ruskin had to say about the valley in 1871.

There was a rocky valley between Buxton and Bakewell, once upon a time, divine as the Vale of Tempe. You enterprised a Railroad through the valley – you blasted its rocks away, heaped thousands of tons of shale into its lovely stream. The valley is gone, and the Gods with it; and now, every fool in Buxton can be in Bakewell in half an hour, and every fool in Bakewell at Buxton; which you think a lucrative process of exchange – you Fools everywhere.

I think we have mellowed since then and have learnt to live with and interpret our industrial heritage.

***

A NEW ERA.

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I’ve been for a cycle ride today.

I’ve owned several cycles over the years, ever since I was a child. I learnt to ride a sit-up and beg bike in a farmer’s field when I was about six. A series of second-hand bone-shaking bikes were used for getting to school.  A new Triumph cycle with Sturmey-Archer hub gears was a present for passing the ‘eleven plus’.  I started going further out into the countryside of Durham and Yorkshire. Youth hostelling with mates from school became a regular holiday activity. 

The early Triumph bike.

 

When I was about 15, I became obsessed with a racing cycle in the local bike shop window. It was something special – a hand-built Baines ‘Flying Gate’. It certainly stood out from the crowd with unusual geometry, beautiful paint work, and chrome-plated forks and stays. If I remember correctly, the cost was £20, a princely sum for a schoolboy. The shop owner agreed to keep it for 4 months for me until I had saved enough money. Somehow, I must have scrimped, saved and maybe borrowed, as eventually I walked out of the shop with that bike. I don’t have a photo of that bike, but it looked like this…

It was initially in fixed-wheel mode, and I used it for 10 and 25-mile time trials on the flat roads south of Darlington. Eventually, I upgraded to Campagnola gears, two front chain wheels and five rear sprockets. As well as my daily bike, I toured the country on it in my teens – incredible freedom in those days.

I’m with the Baines, my old mate Mel alongside.

London became home for 6 years whilst I was studying. At the end of my first year, I bought an old bike from a departing student. Heavy duty with the obligatory front basket – it served me well for all those years. I was sad to pass it on to another student when I left.  I wouldn’t dare to cycle in London these days.

Professional and family life took over for a few years, but it wasn’t long before I fetched the Baines from my parents’ home and started riding the Lancashire lanes. The years passed, and eventually the bike needed a respray and general upgrade. The firm warned me that there was some corrosion in the tubing, which had me worried with thoughts of a snapped fork whilst going at speed. I used it less and less, preferring a Raleigh road bike my son made up for me, more reliable and with better gearing suited to the local hills. Notice this has my original Brooks saddle and Caradice bag.

About that time, mid to late 80s, I bought a new ‘mountain bike’, a Dawes Wild Cat. It has been a superb workhorse and has travelled the trails of Britain and Europe. You may have seen its bright yellow frame in photographs on my cycling posts of the last few years. It is still going strong.

In a bout of house/garage decluttering and clearance at the beginning of the 2000s, I stripped the Baines Flying Gate down to its frame and forks and offered it for sale on eBay. There was considerable interest in what was a prewar classic.  The highest bid went to a gentleman from Bradford (where the original Baines factory was), a collector of Baines cycles.  It was going to a good home, and I wish I had kept his details, as it would be interesting to see his collection. My youngest son, a cycle fanatic, has never forgiven me for selling it. An inferior example of a  ‘Flying Gate’ can be seen in the Bradford Industrial Museum.

I continued cycling off and on over the years, using the Raleigh for road trips; I managed it through the Trough a couple of times, not so long ago.     

https://bowlandclimber.com/2014/07/29/cycling-through-the-trough/  https://bowlandclimber.com/2014/08/07/breaking-the-50-mile-barrier/

On my regular trips to the Lot Valley, I used a variety of rickety bikes to explore the French countryside, often with wine tasting thrown in. A leisurely pace was called for.

Most cycling recently has been on off-road cycle trails using the Dawes. Morecambe Bay and The Fylde are my favourites, though I have often been around the Preston Guild Wheel. I find the local roads scary with boy racers and speeding agricultural juggernauts.

In the past, I have been somewhat dismissive of electric bikes, heavy and cumbersome and not necessary for my mainly flat rides. I vowed not to invest in one until I was well on in years. But at the end of last year, I saw Ribble Cycles, a long-established and respected Lancashire firm, was having a sale. Why wait for those years to creep up on me if there is a bargain to be had?

Their hybrid e-bike was on sale, with a £500 saving on the internet. Not certain of my sizing, etc, I wanted to see the bike first before ordering. Luckily, they have a saleroom in Clitheroe. So I booked an appointment and went across to see what was on offer. The shop is an Aladdin’s cave for cycle enthusiasts with some beautiful bikes on display. The electric Ribble Hybrid ALe was perfect, well featured and not much heavier than my mountain bike. So I arranged to purchase one, which would take about a month to deliver. The good news was that the in-shop price had been reduced by £900. I took delivery before Christmas, just as my cataract operations were scheduled. Bad weather and then my own frailties have meant that it has hardly been touched. Today, I gave it a spin to get used to its handling and motor assistance. Only a short ride to visit a friend in the hills. I have downloaded the app onto my phone, which links to the bike as a form of computer. It didn’t work for me, but I’ll worry about that later. The bike itself was comfortable to ride, well geared, and the electric motor, when needed, was a help on those hills. I will be venturing further in the coming weeks. 

NEWS FROM LONGRIDGE.

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Most of my recent walks have been, out of necessity, around the village. A lot is going on, and there are plenty of people to chat with, both old and new acquaintances. Longridge has virtually doubled in size in the last decade; I would be interested to see the statistics. The traffic has more than doubled, and queues of cars are a regular sight at busy junctions. I wonder where all the lorries come from and are going to. Last week, some roads were at a standstill because of road works and temporary traffic lights.

I am slowly exploring the new estates but keep getting lost and coming out where I went in. I must check online maps to see how quickly these streets make an appearance.

Away from the hustle and bustle, up in John Smith’s Park, there is a new addition I am keen to see. So, after one of our fell road walks, JD and I divert slightly into the park.

Longridge is about to join a small number of pioneering towns and villages across Britain with a micro-wood, or Miyawaki micro forest. Miyawaki forests are named after their creator, Japanese botanist Akira Miyawaki. He developed a method in the 1970s to restore native forests.

These micro-forests use only native species naturally occurring in the local ecosystem. The method typically involves planting closely a diverse mix of native species into prepared and enhanced fertile ground. This woodland will mature in 30 years, compared to the 200 years it usually takes.

Last weekend, volunteers planted over a thousand trees into the enclosure. 

It is difficult to make out all those little saplings, but over half a dozen native species are represented. There has been some rock landscaping created around the site, and it is good to see a new addition to the ‘Slate poems’ propped up amongst them. 

Here is the full version of the C19th American Lucy Larcom’s poem.

He who plants a tree
Plants a hope.
Rootlets up through fibres blindly grope;
Leaves unfold into horizons free.
So man’s life must climb
From the clods of time
Unto heavens sublime.
Canst thou prophesy, thou little tree,
What the glory of thy boughs shall be?

He who plants a tree
Plants a joy;
Plants a comfort that will never cloy;
Every day a fresh reality,
Beautiful and strong,
To whose shelter throng
Creatures blithe wih song.
If thou couldst but know, thou happy tree,
Of the bliss that shall inhabit thee!

He who plants a tree,–
He plants peace.
Under its green curtains jargons cease.
Leaf and zephyr murmur soothingly;
Shadows soft with sleep
Down tired eyelids creep,
Balm of slumber deep.
Never has thou dreamed, thou blessèd tree,
Of the benediction thou shalt be.

He who plants a tree,–
He plants youth;
Vigor won for centuries in sooth;
Life of time, that hints eternity!
Boughs their strength uprear:
New shoots, every year,
On old growths appear;
Thou shalt teach the ages, sturdy tree,
Youth of soul is immortality.

***

Over in another park, ‘The Rec’ a further project is underway. Our brand new Pump Track. 

“A pump track is a circuit of rollers, banked turns and other features designed to be ridden by riders ‘pumping’ their bodies up and down to create momentum.

They are an increasingly popular way to exercise while developing balance and handling skills in a safe environment, away from traffic and other dangers”.

The track aims to provide a fun and exciting place for users of all ages and be a community asset for generations to come. It will be suitable for bicycles, scooters, rollerblades, skateboards and wheelchairs. Grass, wildflowers and native trees will be planted in and around the circuit to help it blend in with its setting, 

Today, they are busy tarmacking.

Now, the Rec has a pump track, a skateboard track, a children’s playground and a fitness apparatus circuit. Very respectable for a small town, I no longer feel it is a village. I look forward to its onward progress.

If the weather settles, I will be back out on my Lancashire ‘pilgrimage’ before long.

CHANGING CLOCKS. CHANGING PATHS. CHANGING TIMES.

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I didn’t know where I was heading for as I drove up onto the fell. Somehow the extra hour has thrown me today and it is lunchtime before I stir. I wondered about some bouldering at CraigY but a cold wind dissuaded me. I drove farther up, it looked like half of Preston had parked along the road to access the forest tracks. Too many people and dogs, so I continue to quieter Kemple End and squeeze into a parking spot. One of my favourite walks over the years was a small permissive path avoiding the forest roads, starting through a gateway, SD 689405, just down the hill and then snaking up through the trees eventually arriving at Sam’s Best View, if you remember it.

Things have changed. A few years ago a large area of forest on the Northern scarp was harvested and then we had the storms causing more damage to the remaining plantation. I tried to find a suitable way up this end of the fell in the heatwave of June 2023. here.

It will be interesting to have another look. That is how my walk for today evolved.

Through the gateway on a path of fallen leaves, I start the climb. The path here is quite broad and obviously used by mountain bikes. As it narrows they, the mountain bikers, have been trimming back the branches, filling potholes and creating jumps over obstacles.

Out of interest, a PRoW, marked on the map, crossing my track at SD678410 has to all extent disappeared. Blocked on the left by fallen trees and lost on the right from lack of use. Higher up some steep downhill tracks lead off right, specifically created by the mountain bikers. They look suicidal.

I become diverted by a prominent group of fungi often seen in coniferous forests.  ?Hebeloma mesophaeum – Veiled Poisonpie.Moving on I recognise the dogleg in the path and follow it into the denser forest. Again branches have recently been cut back. This little used, at the time, path went right along the ridge but now after less than a quarter of a mile comes out into the area felled a few years ago.

An area of devastation which last June I couldn’t penetrate but now a path winds its way through the stumps and newly planted trees. The mountain bikers are to be thanked for this, they have carved out a track which can now be followed by walkers without having to trudge up the forest road.

There are good views back to Pendle Hill, down into the Hodder Valley and way over the Bowland Fells to Pen Y Ghent and Ingleborough.

I walk on and eventually come out at what was Sam’s Best View before the trees obscured it. I’m pleased that the path connects up again with the main ridge path and given time and use as the forest regrows will become a pleasant route sought out by the discerning walker. I suspect that the bikers will be more instrumental than walkers in keeping it open.

And there lies a problem. When I started ‘mountain biking’ 40 years ago we kept mainly to bridleways and there weren’t many of us. Most of the uphills we walked, or at least I did. Our tyres weren’t much fatter than road tyres but even then we were aware of the erosion caused by bikes on fragile ground. Fast forward four decades and there are mountain bikers everywhere, not necessarily strictly legally. The bikes have changed with full suspension, dropping seat posts and wider tyres. More importantly in recent years, electric mountain bikes have appeared. They are heavier and if used aggressively tear up the ground in an accelerating time. No more walking uphill. We are usually only aware of environmental damage when it is almost too late.

It’s great to see youngsters enjoying the trails on Longridge Fell and elsewhere but if used irresponsibly on footpaths may bring them into conflict with other users. Places like Gisburn Forest and  Llandegla have been specifically ‘designed’ for mountain biking with trails for all abilities separated from other users. There is so much scope on Longridge Fell for mountain biking, as witnessed by the self-made innovative trails appearing everywhere. I wonder whether some input should be with the landowners, Tilhill Forestry, into developing a mountain biking environment. I’m well aware that could stifle and regulate the whole process. Pros and cons.

Let’s leave that debate to another time, there are far worse things happening in the world.

I wander back down the forest road, the clocks have changed and it will be dark a lot sooner today. 

That only leaves me with the obligatory Autumn Leaf image. Pardon the pun.

GLASSES IN GLASSON.

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                                                                    Glasson across the mud flats.

I manage to make my routine cycle ride to Glasson a little different this time.

*

I find myself driving into Lancaster on a hot afternoon. Thankfully it’s a Sunday. I normally avoid Lancaster City’s roads wherever possible, they are a nightmare of one way streets and I’m always in the wrong lane at the next junction.  I’ve come from Halton on the north side of the Lune and I need to get to Glasson Dock on the south side of the Lune. Any mistake in Lancaster will send me all the way around again, possibly to be repeated ad nauseam. My worst nightmare.  There are too many choices and everyone else knows where they are going. Today I can’t read the signs clearly, there is a reason for this that will become obvious shortly.

I don’t have time to admire the magnificent city centre Victorian architecture as I queue at traffic lights. A bit of lane drifting and I think I’m on the right way near the hospital, but no I’m heading for Aldcliffe which I had cycled through earlier today. At least I’m south of the Lune. I stop to look at my map, I don’t have satnav, and yes a left turn will take me to the A588, the main road to Glasson.

*

The day had started with a drive up the motorway to park up as usual at Halton ‘station’. It was very busy and I just about squeezed in on a verge. I unloaded my bike and realised I had forgotten my helmet. Even though I was going to be off road all day I felt very vulnerable with just a peaked cap. My worst cycling accident happened on Blackpool Prom when a collision with another cyclist sent me head first into the tram lines. Thankfully I was wearing a helmet that day. Hence my apprehension now. P1060017

Not having been on my bike since February, surely not that long – it has been very wet, I was looking for a straightforward ride. Well it was, I arrived in Glasson on a high from all the fragrant May blossom lining the route. I had cast a clout now that May was out and I was glad of it as the temperature soared. The tide was well out exposing acres of mudflats. I smiled cycling down that slight dip in the old rail track at how on a couple of occasions I’ve nearly come to grief in the floods that can cover the way, all was bone dry today. The motorcyclists were out in full force.P1060020P1060027P1060023

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My usual haunt, the village shop across the harbour had undergone a change, a wider door straight into the bakery section. I usually order one of their cheese and onion slices. Is this the only reason I cycle to Glasson? But what had happened to their really quite good coffee machine? It had gone but you could get one from the Smoke House shop next door. Have they missed a trick there?   I was going to call in there anyhow for some smoked mackerel for Sir Hugh whom I hoped to visit later in the day. I got my coffee and sat outside the shop enjoying my slice whilst chatting to a fellow cyclist who had come down from Hest Bank. It was a great day to be out. Before leaving I returned to buy the mackerel and enjoy a bit of banter with the lady shop assistant who was struggling to unpack crisp packets for an instore display. For a full selection of their products – The Port of Lancaster Smokehouse

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Refuelled I set off back with renewed energy. Whizzing along the old railway line past Ashton Hall golf course and taking the side route to Aldcliffe to join the canal, which stays surprisingly rural, for a last burst through Lancaster to the Lune Aqueduct. It was only then I became aware that I wasn’t wearing my glasses, I hardly need them hence the delay in realisation. Was i still under the influence of the May blossom? A furtive search in my handlebar bag failed to find them. You know more or less straight away where you have probably left them. In the shop where you were balancing mackerels, glasses, phone and credit card. P1060060P1060062P1060067

So once back at the car I set off to navigate to Glasson.

My glasses had been handed in at the shop, the lady assistant was still battling with the crisps. So all was fine. Well almost, in my fluster about the glasses I’d forgotten I was nearly out of fuel – where is the nearest garage?

Sir Hugh never received his mackerel and in any case he was taking advantage of the good weather and wandering in the Eden Valley once more. I hope he has enjoyed a more relaxing day than mine. I await his report at conradwalks.

BRADFORD INDUSTRIAL MUSEUM NOSTALGIA.

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For my last day in Yorkshire I had a choice of venues. I wondered about the National Coal Mining Museum nearby, but due to ‘staff training’ there were no underground tours that day and I did wonder whether the place would be overrun with school children. A lady at the Hepworth had recommended a NT property, Nostell Priory, but the house is closed in winter and the gardens were restricted. So there are two to come back to. Other considerations are Bradford’s Cartwright Hall Gallery, where one can see Lowry, Warhol, Lichtenstein and Anish Kapoor, or the ever popular Salts Mill in Saltaire. But there is one other possibility – I check its opening times and am decided.

When my children were small I used to take them on occasions to the Bradford Industrial Museum, for reasons which will become clear. I’ve not been back for getting on for forty years, time for a reappraisal and it is on my way home if I avoid the M62. I let the satnav take me there from  the Campanile in Wakefield. I still am unsure of its precise location in sprawling Bradford, look it up, but I am delivered to the entrance in less than an hour.

I first took my boys there for them to see the inside of a mill with working machinery. But there was also a room dedicated to transport vehicles manufactured in Bradford. Jowett cars and motor cycles mainly but tagged on the end were a couple of cycles hand built in the city. (Between the wars and ever since there has always been a tradition of quality hand built lightweight steel racing cycles from our northern towns. You may well of heard of Ellis Brigham, Bob Jackson, Jack Taylor, Dave Yates – all sort after frames) As I will tell below I had owned a Baines bike and ridden it regularly whilst the boys were young. Imagine their surprise when there was the identical cycle in the museum. “ your bike’s in a museum Dad!”  I’m not sure whether that was said with pride or shame, but they never forgot.

Here is a photo I took in the museum back in the early 80s. baines1

Going back farther in time, as a teenager, maybe 15, I was into racing cycles and time trials. There was a cycle shop in Northgate, ??Cunningham’s, and in the window was a second hand bike I coveted. A Baines ‘flying gate’ racing machine built in Bradford.  For an article and photos of the Baines cycle have a read here. and here.

Priced at £20 it was out of my reach but I would still go in and look at it. Eventually I came to an understanding with the owner, a racing cyclist in the past, that he wouldn’t sell it until I had saved up the money. I don’t know how I saved out of my meagre pocket money but perhaps I was helped by my various aunts and uncles. So the day came when I marched into the shop with £20 and marched out with the precious Baines cycle.

Dragging out another old photo, sometime in the early 60s. Can’t see much of the Baines in detail, although the chromed front forks show up. Note the ‘musette’ bag strap (‘bonk’ bag) over the shoulder and the bottle with straw. That is my longtime mate Mel behind, he of the long distance walks who sadly passed away in 2020.P1040357

Here we are at the start of Hadrian’s Wall Path in 2012.Hadrians Wall Peel Crags 026

That bike was my pride throughout my teenage years, I used it to cycle to school, tour the youth hostels in the holidays and to compete, poorly, in 10 and 25 mile time trials. Most of that time it was in classic fixed wheel mode. After University and when I had settled down in Longridge in the 70s I resurrected the bike, added some Campagnola gears and started using it for cycling locally and through the Trough. At some stage I took it into Sam William’s, another ex-racer, cycle shop in Preston and arranged to have it resprayed. It came back looking brand new with chromed forks and original name transfers. The only problem was that I was informed that there was some rust in the tubing which could weaken it. That put me off using it often and I built another bike for regular use. The poor old Baines was left hung up in the garage.

That’s how it could have ended but a few years ago I had a minor declutter and advertised it on one of those well known sites. There was a lot of interest and eventually the auction ended with a substantial financial gain for me. The chap who bought it was from Bradford and a collector of Baines Cycles. He was thrilled with his purchase and intended bringing it back to life with original fittings, though not necessarily to ride. I was pleased it had gone to a good home. My youngest son, who now has more bikes than I can count, however was very disappointed I had sold it. When I send him a photo of the same bike in the museum today his immediate reply was – “I still haven’t forgiven you”

***

So back to the museum.

The museum is in the former Moorside Mill, built around 1875 as a small worsted spinning mill.  Bradford Industrial Museum has permanent displays of textile machinery, steam power, engineering, printing machinery and motor vehicles etc etc.  You can also visit Moorside House where the mill manager lived, and in contrast the mill-workers’ back to back terraced housing.

It is crawling with enthusiastic and noisy, young school trippers.

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The whole of the first floor is taken up with machinery from the worsted manufacturing era. Worsted was from sheep’s wool as opposed to cotton fabrics from, well, cotton. Many of the processes are similar. Blending, scouring, carding, combing, twisting, spinning, winding and finally weaving are all explained. There is machinery from the water mill era through to the steam era. Now all can be seen working by the flick of an electric switch. There are set times for switching the demonstrations on, I just follow the school groups. P1040229

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When the machinery is working, particularly the looms, the sound is deafening, imagine working in this environment. Hope the videos play.

There is quite a lot of educational material on the social environment in the weaving towns in the late C19th and early C20th. I am not sure how much the junior school children took in.P1040237P1040238

The development of steam engines since over 200 years ago is highlighted. They were important to the weaving industries as well as the growing industrial world. The information too complicated to take in casually, but there are many working models to admire. And down in the basement an actual steam engine, recovered from Linton cotton mill when it was demolished in 1983. Victor, as it is named, is steamed up at certain times of the year and must be a spectacular show of power. P1040162P1040163Screenshot 2024-02-04 214247P1040164

The transport section is just the same as I remember it and there at the end of the line past all the Jowetts is that classic cycle. P1040182P1040180P1040181

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The iconic Jowett Jupiter.

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A black Jowett Javelin behind the Jupiter.

After a coffee in the basic café I wander outside to look at the mill owners stone house. It is furnished in the period style, early twentieth century. There is so much detail to take in, literally a view into the past. P1040244

The much humbler back to back cottages across the way, saved from demolition and again furnished in the era of the mill’s working. Some of them also show life in the 60s and 70s – lots of nostalgia there for the older visitor and amusement for the school children. P1040268

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There is so much of interest in this museum, far more than I have highlighted, particularly to industrial or social historians and those of an engineering background. We of a certain age will find abundant memories for a lost but recent part of our lives.

I am pleased I stopped off for a visit, especially for that bike. We all love nostalgia.

SEA SWALLOWS AND SHIPWRECKS.

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This may take some time to write up and to read. I completed the short cycle ride on a frosty January 18th. 2024.

How many times have I cycled down the seafront from Fleetwood to Blackpool?  How many times have I later flown past, with the wind behind me, the several pieces of artwork without realising their significance? The answer, my friend, is blowin’ in the wind. A song still appropriate to the present troubles of our world and my wanderings.

Grab a coffee, relax, listen and read on.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=MMFj8uDubsE

I aim to put that right today. I have done a little research on the Cleveleys website. Over recent years the sea defence improvements at Rossall and Cleveleys have provided a wonderful promenade, a leisure amenity alongside the coast popular with walkers and cyclists. At the same time funding was secured by Wyre Council through Sea Change, a national fund designed to regenerate the coast through the Arts.

This gave rise to Cleveleys Mythic Coastline art work following the story of The Sea Swallow  A children’s fairytale, written by Gareth Thompson and illustrated by Hannah McGee, it blends legends with local features. Each primary school child in Wyre was given a copy of the book in 2011. (I need to find out if any copies are still available – just this minute ordered ordered one from ABE Books.) The book tells of the epic story of land versus sea and uses old fables from this stretch of the Fylde coast with the sea swallows protecting it. A tale of an Ogre stirring up the sea with his giant paddle, threatening the waterfront community, only to be thwarted by the story’s heroine, Mary and her golden shell.   Mary is granted the ability to journey to the seabed for an encounter with the sea-ogre, who covets the shell and threatens her village with inundation. I need to read the book to find out the hopefully favourable outcome. The story and pictures from the book have been the basis for the public artwork subsequently installed along the seafront. 

***

To set the scene:  I unload my bike as usual near the delightful ‘Welcome Home’ statue on the front at Fleetwood and pedal off in the freezing temperatures, my hands rapidly becoming numb. There are patches of ice along the promenade and the beach is frozen solid. The tide is farther out than I’ve seen it before and one can imagine the difficulties of navigating into the mouth of the Wyre and Fleetwood’s docks. Out to sea the Isle of Man ferry is heading to Heysham whilst a couple of freighters are leaving, with the back drop of Barrow, Black Coombe and the snowy Lakeland hills.P1020491

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Once  past the toppling coast watchers and round Rossall Point I’m onto the new tiered promenades of Rossall’s sea defences with concrete walls showing wavy themes in relief. P1020521P1020547P1020543

Along here are three art installations I’ve not bothered to examine before. Each one consists of three slender arching columns, grass-like, decorated with a floral theme. Ragwort,  Sea Holly and Sea Spurrey and their animal dependents, Cinnabar Moth, Red Tailed Buff Bee and Common Toad respectively. I can find little information on them, but obviously, they reflect coastal species. They are sited at access points to the beach for maximum impact; perhaps they are marker posts between here and Cleveleys. P1020529

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It was along here that Sea Swallows started appearing in the back wall and, at the end an impressive larger relief featuring Mary. P1020575P1020581P1020578 I now realise there was another Mary ‘panel’ at the start of the wall farther back –  it gives me an excuse to have another leisurely exploration.   https://bowlandclimber.com/2026/09/10/i-do-like-to-be-beside-the-seaside/

The main installations of the Mythic Coast are from the storybook – The Shell, The Ogre, The Ogre’s Paddle and The Sea Swallow, and the nearby Shipwreck Memorial. They have all been put together by artists and designers from Broadbent Studio.

First up was Mary’s Shell, a large piece of spiralling metal in a shell shape on the Cleveley beach below the café. Looking through it at low tide is the sea; at high tide, it becomes completely submerged. The complex Conch shell was made from stainless steel in Ulverston, with a blast finish and weighs in at  17 tons. Today, the tide was out, and I could have, should have, gone down the steps to come up close, but with the bike in tow, I was content to view from the promenade.

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The Ogre is easily missed alongside the boulder groyne just south of the Shell. It is in fact a boulder carved to represent the crouching giant. He was hand carved from a single fifteen ton block of limestone by the stonemason Adrian Wright and fittingly submerged for a lot of the time. Today, I was lucky, and he was plain for all to see. Again, I should have gone down onto the beach for a closer look, but as I said a good excuse to return. 

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Can you spot him?

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The Ogre’s Paddle is on the higher promenade, unceremoniously in front of the cinemas and gym. The paddle was constructed in purple heart wood from South America, carved with decorations and text from the story by the woodcarver John Merrill.

“the Sea Ogre’s paddle drifted up to lie on the muddy sand like some strange offering”P1020625P1020633P1020628P1020635

The Sea Swallow monument is right in the middle of the promenade. A 10m tall sculpture, its shape inspired by the feel of a book coming to life and the swallows flying out of it.. The swallows are the town’s protectors, and I now realise are representative of Sea Terns. Just look at that blue sky.

“This feature acts as a visual beacon to draw people from the town centre to the seafront” . The granite was supplied by Hardscape, and the aluminium structure fabricated and installed by Chris Brammall Ltd. of Cumbria.P1020657P1020653P1020680

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‘For at night they stand together on the sea wall, as if protecting the town with their great white wings.’

Illustrations from the book have been carved and blasted into the granite base of the sculpture. “maybe somewhere along the coast, the shell waits for someone to find it again”

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You may have noticed everything is curvy (wavy) on Cleveleys promenade, often practically to soften the force of the waves but more of an ongoing architectural statement. I think it works quite well.P1020713

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The last piece,  the Shipwreck Memorial, stands proudly on the Cleveleys Promenade. A huge piece of iron, 15mm thick, laser cut with the names of lost vessels. It stands 4.5m tall against the sky, supported by two huge solid pieces of timber. The metalwork is slowly rusting, as would have the sunken ships.

It acts as a memorial to all known ships lost along the Fylde since 1643.  It is positioned on the promenade at Cleveleys, adjacent to the site of the most recently lost ship – The Riverdance, which ran aground in 2008 and became a tourist attraction as it slowly lost its cargo and was subsequently dismantled. In the same area the wooden ribs of The Abana, sunk in 1894, still show up at low tide.  Apparently, they can be seen through the disc in the memorial, I should have looked more carefully. 

On the wooden supports are a couple of panels listing all the ships with more information about their wrecking. A sobering list, a huge graveyard of over 200,  The first listed as Unidentified, wrecked near Fleetwood in 1643 having run aground after being set on fire by Loyalists in the Civil War. In more modern times, the Trawler industry suffered disproportionately. A full list of wrecks has been transcribed onto a page on the Cleveleys website.

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A final installation – Coloured Sea Swallows, cast in resin, was planned to sit along the seawall on the Cleveleys promenade. They have been temporarily removed following the unfortunate theft of several of them, and are awaiting re-siting.

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Historical picture.

The Shipwreck Memorial stands on the border between Wyre (Cleveleys) and Blackpool. I’ve gone as far as I want today; it’s time to head back. 

 But first I stop to watch some activity on the beach. They are building more stone groynes to prevent potentially dangerous deep-side channels from developing across the beach. Blocks of stone, Granite from Shap and Limestone from Carnforth, have been ‘dumped’ on the beach. Concrete ramps to allow access along the beach have been built, and they are now starting to carefully place the boulders at right angles to the prom, forming the groynes. Each block weighs between 3 and 8 tons; anything lighter would get washed away in storms. 

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Needless to say, I haven’t seen any Sea Swallows but a cheeky Starling joined me for some lunch. P1020722

Thanks for sticking with me. Maybe listen to Bob again.

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GLASSON FOR COFFEE, COME HELL OR HIGH WATER.

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I nearly didn’t make it. But here I am with my cheese and onion slice and a hot coffee watching the world go by.

Glasson Dock is quiet today, very few people about which is unusual. The lady in the shop/café says things have been ‘dead’ since the New Year. A few workmen from the docks, people visiting the Smokehouse, the occasional dog walker. But as I say it is virtually a ghost town, not even the motorcyclists have braved the cold dull day.

The harbour basin is still empty though cranes have arrived to repair the outer sea gates. I wonder how this has affected the ports diminishing trade. No sign of the The Victoria Inn reopening. I’ve just learnt there used to be another pub on the harbour front – The Caribou, possibly the oldest property in Glasson. One day I should give the Dalton Arms pub round the corner another chance, it seems to have improved with better reviews. But today I’m content with my coffee.

One good piece of news is  that the Port of Lancaster Smokehouse have managed to open their modern shop on the quayside right next  to the café. I wander in to have a look around – they have a wide selection of their own wood smoked products and lots of deli type delights from mainly local suppliers. I come away with some smoked mackerel as a present for friends I hope to visit later in the day. 20240110_130251

***

But first I have to cycle back to Halton by the Lune where my day had started. 20240110_113147

Last time I headed for Glasson from here on my bike in December I was thwarted by a puncture. That other episode when I demolished my car’s tailgate occurred after a Glasson Cycle ride.  Last winter I couldn’t get through floods and ended up with very wet lower limbs when I dismounted and retreated for safety. The story and pictures are here. 

Was Glasson becoming my ‘bête noire’?

I almost didn’t make it today.

The old railway out of Lancaster makes a perfect cycle way alongside the Lune all the way to Glasson. I rarely cycle on roads now so I treasure the safer off road experience. All is going well through the city. my replacement inner tube holding up well. Once out of the industrial area one is suddenly in open countryside. Bird watchers are focused on hundreds of geese in a nearby field, all is drained land either side of the way. I pass a couple of walkers with a brief chat and head straight on. But is that another flood ahead? It stopped raining a few days ago so I wasn’t expecting any problems. Exactly the same spot where I came to grief last winter. But surely it can’t be very deep. I ride into it, crushing the ice as I go. Things then become a little scary, the water deepens and the ice has my wheels slipping sideways. De-ja-vue. I gingerly dismount and turn around after maybe 20 yards. My way to Glasson is blocked, but wet feet are luckily my only problem. 20240110_13362920240110_133742

Calling it a day I cycle back along the lane to meet up with the two walkers once again. They had been closely following my progress into the water before proceeding farther themselves. We agree it is impossible to get through. But what is this right by them? A small track goes into the undergrowth and continues along slightly above the flooded lane. I  had not noticed this last time. In fact the narrow path is probably on the actual line of the railway embankment, the lower flooded lane a more recent addition. 20240110_133111

We walk along together, they are wanting to get to the Canal and go back to Lancaster. The water down to the right is now a lake of considerable size and depth, turning round was a wise decision. This way has been used before for exactly the same purpose as ours today. We are rewarded after 500m,  rejoining the lane where it goes up to Aldcliffe. They to the canal and I thankfully onwards for that coffee in Glasson. 20240110_125135

***

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FOR WHOM THE BELL TOLLS.

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I have been visiting Morecambe on my ‘off road’ cycle rides for some time now, there is a good network of cycle paths in the Lancaster area. And that is where I am, the only choice – clockwise or anticlockwise? A tossed coin determines my day, simple enough.
Lethargy sets in from the word go – I’ve not been on my bike since that unfortunate episode back at the end of August. It took two months to get my car repaired. My bike has sat in the garage for three months, I gave the front wheel some more air but think the back is OK. I capitulate early on and walk up the ramp to the canal aqueduct. Even on the flat I am struggling to keep up a decent pace and I am very wary of the narrower sections of the towpath under bridges. The water looks very cold. I realise my back wheel is taking the bumps badly, yes it is underinflated. I press on even though I know I should maybe give it some assistance with the hand pump. I’m too lazy to bother. Anyhow the sun is shining and there are few people about, let’s just get on with it. Where have all the ducks gone?
Soon I am on the famous promenade stretching ahead of me for four or five miles. The tide is in and the water lapping up to the sea defences. With the sun shining the cluster of boats, usually seen floundering in the mud, give the impression of a Mediterranean bay. 20231213_121415

As I near the Midland I can here a bell chiming, I instantly know where it is coming from – the Time and Tide Bell on the Stone Jetty. One of several around the coast of Britain. I have documented this bell before and photographed it at different states of the tide, but this is the first time I have heard its ghostly sounds. Makes me think of shipwrecks and sea sirens from the deep. I get up close and feel the vibrations, I try a video just for the sound but of course the wind noise always intrudes. That is why on the telly the reporters have those big fuzzy mikes dangled in front of them.

A couple of ladies walk by. “It must be 12 o’clock the bell is chiming”  “No I think you will find it keeps on chiming” says the other.
I must make the effort one day and dine in the Art Nouveau Rotunda of the Midland. Today I just cycle by and eat a banana on a promenade bench. The sea is perfectly calm.

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I’m always a little wary of a short section of the cycle path past the station and down a dingy alley. I have had a near miss assault there in the past by dodgy characters. Today it is blocked by council workers clearing the ditches and they tell me there is no way through. They agree about the potential danger and explain there are no cameras on that section, a situation easily solved with little cash funding. Anyhow I follow their suggested diversion, which with the aid of my phone’s maps, brings me back onto the cycleway past their work and more importantly past the dodgy section. Thanks for that, I will keep using it in future.
My progress becomes laboured as I pedal the old railway back into Lancaster, over the rattly Millennium Bridge and on alongside the Lune to Halton. 20231213_132515

 My arrival at the car park coincides with the Lancaster University’s rowing club’s Christmas festivities. I hope they all survived their river escapades, I am sure health and safety will keep an eye on the students more than in my day.

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I should have pumped my tyre up way back when. Stubbornness or laziness? More likely stupidity. I was knackered at the end – I thought the bell was tolling for me.

ALL QUIET ON THE MORECAMBE FRONT.

12 Replies

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It’s taken two months for my car to be repaired after my stupid reversing accident on August Bank Holiday, https://bowlandclimber.com/2023/08/30/not-my-finest-hour The main problem was not being able to import the parts from the EU, I wonder why. (As an aside, today in the supermarkets there are no tomatoes as we switch from home produced to imported.) My unfortunate accident occurred after I had been cycling along the excellent cycleways out of Lancaster, and not having my estate car the last couple of months has prevented me getting to these ‘off-road’ venues. Cycling around the lanes of Bowland is scary with fast moving traffic and agricultural juggernauts. I nearly got ploughed into by an overtaking driver on the lane where I live a few weeks ago. Hence, I decided to wait until I could get back using my car to take me to safer and flatter cycleways.

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Today was the day. I loaded my bike into the estate and set off to Lancaster, more particularly Halton old station by the Lune. First time out in the repaired car, it was like driving a brand-new car out of the showroom, you know that anxious feeling.  I’m not having much luck with traffic these days. On Saturday my trip out to the Trough of Bowland was blocked by an accident just  before Dunsop Bridge, fortunately I knew the roads from Whitewell to Cow Arc that then had me over the lovely scenic route to Newton that didn’t take me much longer. Today the A6 going North was a nightmare with traffic avoiding the congested M6. But no matter I was parked up at Halton before the  afternoon turned to dusk. How quickly it does so now, it gets worse when the clocks change at the end of the month – that’s the light not the roads (hopefully).

I took it easy, not having been on the bike for a while. The old railway line (Morecambe to Wennington) took me into Lancaster and over the Millennium Bridge to pedal into Morecambe. All very familiar. 

As one arrives at the sea front you have to stop and gaze across Morecambe Bay to the disant Lakeland hills. The stone pier was high and dry today at low tide. Photo stop. And then alongside the Midland Hotel, Art Decor or Streamline Moderne, where people were gathering for lunch in the panoramic dining room. I keep meaning to go in for a no doubt expensive coffee – but I’m usually dressed like a canary when I’m passing on my bike. A dedicated visit is the only way.

The promenade was quieter than usual despite half-term. I don’t understand ice creams on a cold day, fish and chips a far better option taken by many. The site for the Eden Project is fenced off but no sign of any progress, let’s hope they get the finances to go ahead. It looks rather small to me. There was nothing to stop my trip along the coast, I’ve done it so many times. I was soon on the canal towpath and enjoying my sandwich on my favourite bench, the one decorated with a canal motif. The seat was dedicated to someone who had died aged 70, that seems young to me these days.

The ride along the towpath is easy, and I was soon back at the magnificent aqueduct over the Lune. P1000278P1000280

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I had an option to visit friends but in view of my last episode and not wanting to push my luck I just headed to the motorway and drove home. The car is safely parked in my drive, not a scratch on it. A quiet day all told.

C’EST LA VIE – C’EST LE BRUNO.

39 Replies

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In these dark days as Israel sets out to destroy Gaza and its poor unfortunate Palestinian people some light relief is needed. ( I hope I won’t get arrested for that particularly accurate piece of free speech)  Along comes Bruno, a loveable French eccentric cycling around Europe, indeed the world given a chance.

I don’t know Bruno but am about to come face to face with his formidable Gallic presence.

A mysterious morning phonecall from Mike says he has a roving cyclist in his drive whom I might be interested in meeting, come around. Could be one of my passing acquaintances I think and off I go. There in the drive is this man and his touring bike with attached trailer, quite a common site on the lanes of Britain. I have met many an interesting European on the roads and have been amazed at their tenacity, endurance and sociability. I suppose I did it once.

The story so far – he is cycling along Lancashire’s quiet country lanes when, probably from the hawthorn hedge cutters, one of the wheels on his trailer deflates. It is surprising how quickly that slows you down. He pulls into my friend’s drive and asks for a bucket of water to diagnose the source of his puncture. Their combined efforts haven’t sorted out the problem, repair plasters haven’t stopped the leakage. 20231016_121606

There is still a leak from the side of the repair. Despite this Bruno is happy to talk at length about his exploits and the many previous and future destinations on his travels. He is keen to show us extracts from radio and TV appearances in Europe and other countries. His broken English and our wrecked French leads to some amusing conversation. When I took out my phone for a photo of the ever increasingly comic situation he demanded a video of his proposed next visit to the USA for YouTube. From what we can gather he had crossed America coast to coast on a couple of occasions. He has been on the road for 14 years – sleeping in barns if possible – hard to believe. He had a map in one of the many pockets on the bike to show us his travels. By now most of his worldly belongings are spread out on the drive but no progress  is made on the puncture. 20231016_121907

Mike goes off to phone Halford’s to see if they have this small size 22 inch tube in stock. He is met with directions to their website for what’s in stock – no luck there. I would have happily driven Bruno and his tube down there for a replacement.

Having reinstated the tube into the tyre with difficulty it still deflates, as expected. I tried. Meanwhile, Bruno, to reinforce his experience as a global adventurer, shows us all the food he carries as well as his Stetson hat ready for his USA visit. Gregarious to a fault.20231016_122652

Plan B. Another friend and his wife live around the corner, they are keen cyclists and work from home so should be in. I feel I can ask their help – that’s what friends are for. “This is Bruno”  holding his inner tube, I explain  “he is going around the world but has a puncture.”  Jonathon blinks but rises to the challenge and takes us into his garage, aka  bike shed. Michelle appears and after a chorus or two of ‘Michelle my Belle’ we get down to business. Jonathon dares rip the old patch from the inner tube. A feat I had resisted In case I accidentally inflicted Bruno onto Mike’s hospitality for the night. Michelle appears with a coffee, “pas de lait, mais six sucre s’il vous plaît“. As a perfect hostess there are three shortbreads and two mini chocolate Swiss rolls on the tray. As Jonathon and I discuss the best way to repair the puncture the shortbreads are dunked and quickly eaten. I didn’t have the French for ‘dunked’ but I think he understood as the Swiss rolls disappeared into one of his many pockets.

Back to Mike’s, who has wisely had a sandwich in our absence. In the drive is the shipwrecked bike trailer. Renewed energy and determination with some brute force saw the inner tube back into the tyre and back onto the trailer. J’espere c’est bon. 20231016_140752

It takes some time before Bruno packs up all his possessions in what to me appear flimsy polythene bags. 20231016_142146

Much later we see him off on the quieter way and perhaps with some relief onwards to Scotland, but I fear for his health as the temperatures drop. Bon courage. 20231016_142317 20231016_142406

Let me know if you come across him. You can find him on YouTube.

We have been into poetry recently and Eunice, a fellow blogger, has come up with this lovely effort. Thanks.

BC got a phone call from Mike
Who said “There’s this guy with a bike
In my drive, with a puncture
And just at this juncture
He’s in quite a bit of a stew”

So BC drove himself round to Mike’s
To offer some help with the bike
But the patched up repair
Was still leaking air
And the language was turning quite blue.

A phone call to Halford’s ensued
But they couldn’t supply the right tube
So BC rang a friend
In the hope he could mend
The puncture, which they couldn’t do.

With coffee and cakes from Michelle
And a bit of a sing-song as well
A solution was made
On the best way to aid
Poor Bruno, without more ado.

The tube was put back on the bike
With some brute force from BC and Mike,
Then back on the road
Went Bruno with load
And they waved him off into the blue. 

Eunice.

***

And in honour of Michelle, my friends, Bruno, France and the day in general.

NOT MY FINEST HOUR.

19 Replies

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August Bank Holiday Monday.

For a change I park at the Crook of Lune, famous for its Turner painting. looking up to Hornby Castle and Ingleborough. That view is still there today. I rely on my phone’s camera rather than any artistic ability. 20230828_15165220230828_151617

And then I’m off cycling the old railway line to Halton. On the spur of the moment I decide to climb up to the Lancaster Canal to see me through the city. Once out the other side into suburbs I leave the canal before its towpath deteriorates and follow new-found narrow lanes to Aldcliffe and then descend back down to the rail track taking me into Glasson. 20230828_12460120230828_125402

It’s August Bank Holiday, but I’ve hardly seen a soul. Until now, the place is humming with motorcyclists and tourists around the harbour café. I make my way over to the other side of the dock to my favourite shop – coffee and cake, sat in the sunshine chatting to two ladies who have arrived on horseback. The sea lock gates still seem to be out of operation leaving the harbour unusually empty at low tide. The Port of Lancashire Smoke House still haven’t moved into their new premises. Things go at a slow pace in out of the way Glasson. 20230828_13591920230828_135134

On the way in I had noticed a summer fête at the little canal side Christ Church. I remember getting some delicious homemade marmalade here a year or so ago. I make it my business to call in on the way back. Wheeling my bike between the stalls I find the jam table. I come away with two jars of thick Seville marmalade, made by Beryl as before the vicar tells me.

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The railways and cycle way take me all the way back to the Crook of Lune. They are packing up at Halton, it has been a busy day on the Lune and the cycleways. 20230828_152941

Time to visit my friends in nearby Over Kellet. John, an old climbing mate, has recently been in hospital with a bad heart. I go bearing marmalade. Tea and chat and it is getting late. Prewarned I drive down to the motorway bridge and see that the road is jammed solid going south. Time to find a quieter way home through the hills. Unfortunately my quick three point turnaround had me carelessly backing into a wall. A loud crash as the rear windscreen fell into the boot. Oh dear! I had badly dented the tailgate. I drive home in a more sombre mode and this morning spend an hour on the phone to my insurance company answering tedious questions and facing an expensive repair.

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***

CaptureGlasson. (2)

THE GUILDED WHEEL.

18 Replies

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My camera went into ‘frozen mode’ after a short time on my latest cycle around Preston’s Guild Wheel. Gone for now are the pictures of the Ribble in flood mode, the harmful Giant Hog Weeds and the cautionary notice to dismount on the steep descent to Brockholes. I had no reason to ignore the latter, I’ve been going from one injury to another in the last month, so caution was uppermost. I had parked in the Crematorium grounds after all.

Ospreys have been regular visitors to the nature reserve recently, but obviously not today. They do have a problem with Himalayan Balsam though. It was surprisingly quiet considering the good weather and school holidays. They must be all at Blackpool, not the ospreys just the crowds.

The rural ride from the reserve along the Ribble Flood Plain into town is unfortunately virtually the last of the green fields on the wheel, housing has taken over elsewhere  in the last few years.

My phone camera comes into action on the tree lined boulevard into Avenham Park. Miller Park is looking immaculate, although the former, now empty, Park Hotel overlooking the scene has run into planning and financial problems as have many civic schemes in these cash strapped days. 20230815_12370220230815_124108

Plenty of cash is being spent on flood defences along Broadgate. I manage to squeeze through wheeling my bike on the numerous diversions/obstructions which I should have or could have taken, I persist with the directissimo. It is all green paint for updated and complicated cycleways at the bottom of Fishergate Hill, I survive into Docklands. No steam trains today. And no more photos.

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After the car showrooms the newly opened Western Distributor road linking the M55 with the western edge of Preston seems to be working fine, but at the end of the day is only there to link up with all the new housing developments. The traffic just keeps multiplying without any structured environmental planning. Planting a few trees alonside the new road fools nobody. I have never seen a boat on the Ribble Link – more money misplaced?  At least it is more carbon friendly if that makes any difference.

One now enters Lea, Cottam, Fulwood and Broughton or wherever. It is all housing, housing with a regulation 5 m square front garden often enclosed in the most unfriendly hedgehog fencings. At least the Guild Wheel has been preserved as a corridor to the other end.

I stop for a snack and contemplation opposite the war memorial on Garstang Road  and all I can hear are builders bulldozers in the land behind me. Nothing is sacred.

I’m flagging now through those green corridors, surprisingly lots of ups and downs. 21 miles is far enough, but I have guilded the wheel, even though it is becoming a little tarnished.

TRIED AND TESTED ONCE AGAIN.

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Following on from my recent cycle outing I feel empowered and keen to get out again. Empowered with a small p but powered nonetheless. I find myself back at the Halton Station parking by the Lune. But this time there is the bonus of the tea van lady, I have missed her sweet smile and eastern European accent. It transpires she only comes at weekends now – I celebrate with a coffee. Her prices have increase by 50% but who cares, this is better than any Costa outlet. (only £1.50 for good coffee here)

The chap next to me is ordering a bacon bap with his coffee having completed a morning cycle ride from Penrith, that must be 50 miles or so. He is of similar vintage to me, and we get into conversation of the cycling variety. His steed is a £7,000 German electric bike, no wonder he is here in quick time. Mine is a no frills, strong as an ox, been everywhere Dawes ‘Wild Cat’ from the 1980s. I don’t think he was impressed.

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The talk somehow drifts to past climbing in the Lakes. He knows Paul Ross, a celebrated Lakes climber, again of a certain vintage, who has recently, since his return from living in the States taken up environmental matters in our National Park. Only this morning I was reading on his Facebook page of the considerable objections to Zip Wires proposed across the old road alongside Thirlmere, which had even  been shamefacedly supported by the head of the Lake District National Park Authority! That whiffs of corruption. Thankfully the planners threw it out.  But we need the likes of Paul Ross to keep abreast of Disneyfication of the Lakes.

By now it was raining, so time for another coffee and time to let the Marathon athletes pass on the track. I became caught up in a similar race last year and found cycling through the racing runners trying. I have time to let them go by today.

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Bidding farewell to my cycling friend I find I’m faster than his batteries, I’m crossing the Millennium Bridge as he heads for the station and home. Being a little wary of a dodgy stretch into Morecambe since I was almost assaulted earlier in the year (a Cassius Clay/Muhammad Ali duck and dive saved me that day) I’m happy today to see there are lots of people out and about, so I feel somehow safer.

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Millennium Bridge.  

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St. George’s Quay.

I make it on to the seafront, the tide is well out. For maybe half a mile I have to navigate around dogs on long leads and teenagers, head down, plugged into their phones. Modern times. Once past Eric’s statue the holiday crowds thin out, and I  can relax and admire that famed Morecambe Bay panorama. I realise I have not been into Happy Mount Park or The Winter Gardens on my visits through here. The latter is only open on Saturdays and Sundays, so I missed an opportunity today.

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Children’s play on the site of the up-and-coming Eden Project.

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The yacht club lookout.

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My way back along the familiar canal towpath seems effortless, and I’m soon back onto the Lune Aqueduct where I finished the other day from the opposite direction.P1020725

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That’s two of my ‘tried and tested’ cycle routes covered, look out for the next two – Blackpool Promenade and Preston Guild Wheel.

Later, in Arnside, tea and cakes were waiting for me at Chez Hugh’s.

***

CaptureMorecambe.

FORCE OF HABIT.

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With difficulties sailing up the Lune into Lancaster, Glasson became an important  port in the late C18th and was originally connected by canal to the Lancaster Canal, opened 1825. This has survived to this day, though only as a leisure facility.  A railway line from Lancaster to Glasson Dock opened in 1883, closed to passengers in 1930 and to goods in 1964. Time moves on and a cycleway has been created from Lancaster to Glasson on the bed of the old railway.

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The above photo shows that abandoned line heading to Glasson. And that is where I’m heading. I’ve not been out on my bike since May, two months ago when I visited, you guessed it, Glasson. Yes, I know I’ve done this cycle ride and written about it many times, but it is good to have a ready-made, tried and tested itinerary to fall back on. Force of habit indeed.

I do however wander off the tried and tested, as is my wont. After my coffee and snack at the shop in Glasson, cycling back along the line I notice a sign to Stodday off to the right. I’ve not been there before, a quick look at the map and I can see little lanes leading back to the Lancaster Canal on the outskirts of the city. Perfect. That’s how it turns out with narrow paths and quiet lanes lined by hedges full of flowers. I’m not sure if I found Stodday, but I do cycle past the few houses that constitute Aldcliffe.P1020681P1020682

Then it is all downhill to join the canal. There is a good towpath all the way through the heart of the city, well-used by local residents and the student population. What a fantastic facility and the canal side pubs busy with tourists.

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Farther on it was good to see the family of swans who nest every year in the same spot. The six youngsters, almost as large as their parents, spent a lot of time upside down feeding on the plant life.  P1020707P1020696

I drop off the canal just before the aqueduct across the Lune, and I’m soon loading my bike into the car. Job done and a new variation added.P1020710

The lady in the tea van has not reappeared at the Halton car park this summer, sadly missed.

CaptureGlasson. (2)

CYCLING TO GLASSON AGAIN.

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The hills were in low cloud late into the morning, including Hutton Roof which we explored a couple of days ago. But it didn’t matter – today was for cycling. I was hoping the lady would be in the Halton car park with her coffee wagon, but no sign of her. I hope she returns this summer, Last year I looked forward to her cheerful smile and cheap coffee as I drove up the motorway.

Rather than the round trip to Morecambe I think I’ll have an easy day and just go to Glasson Dock and back on the old railway. The fragrance of the hawthorn flowers hits me as I get out of the car. There are very few people about in the rather gloomy conditions. But the day brightens up by the time I reach Glasson. The usual collection of motorcycles and their ageing drivers around the fish and chip van. As always I choose to cross the bridge to the shop on the other side of the harbour. They normally have a good supply of freshly baked pasties and pies but alas today the van has broken down and none have arrived. I have to contend with a chocolate éclair which goes perfectly with my coffee.  P1010194

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There are usually some locals sitting outside and today was no exception. I catch up on the news.

The sunken boat that has been in the marina for years was lifted, but by some cowboys who kept lifting as it came out of the water rather than let it drain. Most of it then broke up under the force and went back down to the bottom in pieces.

The pub on the other side of the harbour, The Victoria, has been closed for years and is looking in a sad state, but there are plans to reopen it as a pub once more. We shall see. The locals don’t have a lot to say about The Dalton Arms tucked away around the corner.

Next to the shop The Smoke House people have built a retail outlet for their products but are having trouble installing the heavy-duty electricity need for the freezers. Once open I’m sure this will be a popular shop with the tourists who flock to Glasson in the summer.

I cannot vouch for the truth in these stories. P1050053

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The new Smoke House shop.

The ride back is uneventful, it’s about a 20-mile round trip. The tide had come in whilst I’d been away. The Millennium Bridge over the Lune and Ashton Memorial were looking good in the afternoon sunshine.  P1010208P1010210P1010211

I spend the rest of the afternoon drinking tea in the sunshine at Over Kellett with longstanding friends.

SPRING ON THE WHEEL.

7 Replies

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It’s peaceful on the Preston Guild Wheel today, there is no wind. Very few people out, not even many dog walkers. I cycle slowly round, not having been on the bike for nearly two months. I’m in no rush and have time to see what Spring is bringing to the route. The woods have greened up since my last visit and bird song is everywhere. It is in the woods, Red Scar in particular on the early part of my circuit, that the floral display has changed. The celandines are fading to be replaced by the spreading sea of bluebells. Wild garlic is looking fresh, and its white flowers are opening up. Patches of cowslips and cuckoo flowers light up more open spaces. The green hawthorn has started to flower, it’s probably time I cast a clout, but the fickle weather changes day by day.  P1000958P1000962P1000970P1000976

The notoriously muddy section at the bottom of the hill as you enter Brockholes Reserve has been drained and a decent hardcore surface created. I call in at the first hide to see what’s happening on the water. I’m not carrying binoculars, but I make use of the shop selling binoculars and telescopes. Their equipment is so much better than my antiquated items. Maybe time for an upgrade, but the assistant baffles me with his enthusiastic technical sales talk. At least I checked out the lake with his powerful scope.

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On alonside the Ribble, through the parks and then the docks. The long drag alongside Blackpool Road went on forever as I pass the nearly finished junction for the Western Link Road. The Guild Wheel now goes under the bridge carrying this road.  P1000978

My favourite café, The Final Whistle on the University’s playing fields, is surprisingly closed. I have to make do with one of their benches for a sit down with some water and a banana. I find the ‘hilly’ sections through Fulwood a bit of a chore and have a few spells of walking. Just over 21 miles in Spring sunshine. 

CANAL AND COASTAL CALM, UNTIL…

9 Replies

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What a relief to find Sir Hugh at home, I needed a cup of tea and a sit down. I had just struggled to finish a 25mile bike ride. As I left Morecambe along the old railway line I seemed to be tiring fast despite having eaten well. Cyclists seemed to flash past me, I made the excuse they must have electric assistance. I had just travelled through what I consider a dodgy section of the cycleway. A haunt of drug addicts and other undesirables. One had just tried to punch me as I passed, try ducking and slipping on a bike. He just missed, probably because he was drunk.

After a few more hundred yards I was coming to a standstill. Only then did I look at my back wheel – the tyre appeared awfully flat. I suspect I had ridden over some glass in that dodgy area. Five miles back to my car at Halton, should I just battle on. I did have a spare inner tube on me, but it would take quite a while to fix in these cold conditions, so I peddled on becoming slower and slower. At a bench entering the city I stopped –  A. for a rest and B. to try and pump up the tyre. The former helped, but the latter lasted about 50 yards before I was reduced to a crawl again. Only three miles to go, so I got off and walked for long stretches The afternoon’s rain was coming in fast, so I remounted and pedalled as best I could to reach the car just as the down pour started. I was knackered and hence the need for a visit to Sir Hugh. I can sort out the puncture tomorrow at my leisure, why is it always the back wheel with all its complicated derailleur gears?

The day had started far more optimistically, cold but dry as I pedalled up onto the Lancaster Canal Aqueduct over the Lune. We have had some topsy-turvy weather this week. But now all was peace and quiet, even the dog walkers stopped and held their precious pouches until I had passed. Good progress was made along the towpath, here in reasonable repair – in contrast to that leaving Lancaster to the south, which can be a nightmare on a bike. My plan was to extend my usual route by cycling onwards to Carnforth. I love this elevated stretch above Hest Bank and Bolton-le-Sands with views down to the coast. Carnforth was busy with a market in progress. My route took me past the infamous station, the last time I visited it for a ‘brief encounter’ in June ’22 I ended up with Covid. I hesitated before repeating the process but the thought of coffee and cake was too much. I had awoken this morning to find I had no bread or little else to concoct a sandwich. All was cheery and friendly in the 1940s café –  a good latte with  a slice of iced flapjack did the trick.

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Lancaster Canal Aqueduct over the Lune.


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Sailing high above Hest Bank.


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Woodland approaching Carnforth.


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Brief Encounter.

Refreshed I continued alongside the River Keer, under the threatening Main Quarry on Warton Fell. Deceptive bends and plastic icebergs re-emerge into my conscience, it was always a frightening place to climb. Onwards without destroying the peace.

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Warton Crag and quarry across the marshes

Soon I was back on the canal, reversing my morning’s route. If only I had just ridden back along it to Lancaster.  Bur no, I could not resist turning off at Hest Bank to cruise down to the promenade and follow the Bay into Morecambe. It’s becoming a habit. The tide was out and one could hardly make out the sea.  It’s different every time I come along here, that’s the charm of Morecambe’s seafront.  I sat on a bench looking out across the bay.

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Bench on the bay.


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Morecambe’s cormorants.


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Low tide walk about.

Then all my troubles started.

***

CaptureCarnforth.

***

As a footnote I have to thank Sir Hugh for his hospitality at short notice. A few of you I know follow his blog and will be aware of is modelling skills. Well here is the professor in his modelling den.

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