July 13, 2015
Fenwick, England: Into every life a little rain must fall
IT RAINED. It rained in the morning, it rained at noon and it rained in the afternoon. Some times it rained harder than others.
But, hey-nonny-no... this was a glorious day along the signposted Coast and Castles section of Route 1.
Route 1?
We've been following it off and on for a while now. Britain is small but it's gone out of its way to navigate for cyclists. Thanks originally to a handful of enthusiasts near Bristol, it has signposted bike routes all over it. Not bike paths, although paths may there, but routes. So, just as drivers follow huge signs to distant cities, so cyclists do the same thanks to more discreet, blue signs.
Name any two cities and you can link them with National Cycle Routes. You'll avoid busy roads and sometimes you won't be on roads at all. More than once today we have been on single-track paths, gazing at castles, riding beside the opal North Sea, meeting walkers, seabirds and other cyclists.
This is a wild, uninhabited coast with glorious beaches in coves. If we weren't near the Scottish border, with the weather to go with it, it would throng with beach towels and sun-tan lotion.
"There's no sky and no sea," said a German couple from Regensburg, on the Danube. "It's all grey, so you can't tell one from the other."
We crossed with them, hare-and-tortoise style, for an hour or two. And earlier in the day we caught a French couple, from near Lyon, dismantling their tent after a night of illicit wild camping. Just further down the track, signs wagged a finger and told you not to consider it.. On the other hand, the track is too narrow for a car or even a Land Rover, so the risk of being found by other than like souls was slight.
Navigating with a map of all Britain, they'd started in London and they were heading for Scotland, which they expected to be a cycling paradise, before going on to Ireland. They had downmarket, chain-store road bikes with huge gears and heavy rear panniers. They'd abandoned Route 1 for busier roads, "because the cycling route takes too many detours".
They'd rather ride on busy, sometimes horrendously busy, highways.
"We have our fluorescent clothes," the lad said with resilient optimism. "It's more dangerous but it's a faster way to get places."
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He was youthful and bearded, his enthusiasm only a little blunted by not having a proper map, and she was quieter and with a hint of Asiatic blood. We met them again in the afternoon, the rain falling from clouds at head height. They looked close to abandoning the whole venture. They came up a hill from our left at the end of a village. They were tired of hills, tired of places being further apart than expected, and above all tired of being cold and wet. Despite waterproofs, they were soggy to the skin.
"Is it going to carry on like this all afternoon?" the lad asked, misery on wheels. His girlfriend looked on without expression, beyond any sentiment at all. She just wanted it to be over. After civilities, they rode to the inn we had just passed. For tea. To be out of the rain. To be anywhere except where they were now.
By Bamburgh, the clouds shrouded the castle. There are - hence the name - castles all along here. Magnificent castles, small castles, in-between castles. Northumberland does castles with enthusiasm, echoes of repeated wars with the Scots but also with jealous Englishmen.
In summer, they'd have been spectacular. Except that this is summer. Just a wet one.
Tired, content with the day but more than willing to end it, we rode into a simple campground a short spin from Lindisfarne, which is why we're here. We were tired and we were cold. A small kitchen stood beside the showers. Steph insisted, rightly, that we eat before putting up the tents.
"We need to warm up, recover."
And so we cooked - or Steph and Karen cooked - and then defied others to use the kitchen by filling it with grey, sodden clothes and watery shoes.
"You want to join us for tea?" asked a strong Yorkshire voice. We had the tents up and the rain had finally stopped. Andy and his wife were from Doncaster, halfway up England on the right, staying in a caravan opposite us. He was an engineer, she a nurse.
"I've never been in this area until now," Andy sighed. "It's truly beautiful, isn't it?"
And then...
"Fancy some more tea?"
Today's ride: 98 km (61 miles)
Total: 1,899 km (1,179 miles)
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