Day 6: Preston to Carlisle

Total: 98.2 miles
Time: 6 hrs 14 mins
Average speed: 15.5 mph
Top speed: 36.7 mph
Cumulative: 515 miles (over halfway)
Chafing rating: 3/5 (oooh!)

A plinky-plink version of The Entertainer woke me at 6.30 this morning (my wife hates my alarm, and so do I, which is why I use it, as the annoyance - especially hers - is the only thing that gets me out of bed) and for the first time my immediate thought was "Oh God, have I got to get back on that bloody bike?" This feeling soon subsided, and how! We have had one of the most exhilirating days of the ride.

But before that, I woke to the fabulous news that I had slept both soundly, and soundlessly, the night before. My snoring had kept Colin awake for a couple of nights early on, and so, for two nights, I had swapped with Nick to allow both a quiet night. Sharing with John meant we could be up blogging until late and he knows me well enough to wake me with a shove if I start my farmyard noises. He's not averse to an occasional midnight symphony himself, so this was win-win all round. Or, at least, we thought it was. Colin appeared at breakfast looking a little dog-eared this morning after Nick had spent the night snoring like a pneumatic drill, this after Nick had earlier pulled the key card out of the electric socket and walked out of the room, plunging poor Colin into total darkness as he sat on the lavatory. I am back with Colin tonight.

The charms of the Preston Ibis, which were considerable in comparison with the pententiary of a Premier Inn we are in tonight, receded as we headed out at 8.15am. As soon as I turned the pedals I was happy on the bike again. Ahead of us lay a hard day's ride through Cumbria and the Lake District to Carlisle. If we are honest, we do not have a huge amount of faith in DiscoverAdventure to plot us the most rewarding route and so, local boy, Craig took us on a slightly wider loop, taking in winding country lanes and picture-perfect villages. This is the sort of riding I do at home and I absolutely loved it.

Over-the-head photography by John

We weaved on through the lanes, and went through Lancaster. What a beautiful town. I would have loved to have stopped for a look around but this tour is not about that. Instead I made a mental note to bring my family back here to see Lancaster, Shap Fell, Sizergh Castle and Arnside. We also cycled around Morecombe Bay. I thought about the awful fate of the cockle pickers who were killed a few years ago on the treacherous sands as we passed along into a strong wind. We stopped occasionally for photos and a puncture repair, but ploughed on for 40 miles before we had our first coffee stop.

Puncture repair team

Craig took us to Arnside, to a coffee shop overlooking a beautiful estuary, famous for its rapid tidal surge, The Arnside Bore. One of the locals stopped Vajrin and asked him about the ride and by the second sentence, Vajrin was saying, quite audibly to the rest of us on the opposite side of the road, "My arse is completely raw." Chafing can get you fixated like that.

Coffee stop at Arnside

The Arnside Bore?

Riding the Arnside Bore

Then followed more wondrous countryside until just outside Kendal when we hit a horrendous dual carriageway with rutted tarmac and a dreadful headwind. I rode point to try and keep the group moving. I am convinced I saw a red car on its side on the verge just outside Kendal and I pointed it out to the group but at the end of the day no-one could remember it and I wonder if I dreamed it.

Kendal was a lovely town apart from a one-way system that allowed cyclists to ride in the opposite direction to the traffic, meaning we went all the way down the road saying, "Excuse me, excuse me, excuse me", as people stepped out in the road every 5 metres. John and I peeled off and bought some Kendal Mintcake and asked a passer-by to take a cheesy photo. The passerby has just lost 4 stone and is thinking of doing LEJOG.

Kendal Mintcake

And then it was Shap Fell. It was almost interminable. Timing one's effort was tricky as you could never tell how much more hill was around the corner. We needed to get over the other side and reach Shap for lunch but were running quite late at this point after our wider morning excursion. I rode with Craig, each helping the other out at difficult moments. The road was not too steep, but was windswept, rutted and popular with motorbike riders who roared up it at at least 90mph.

Approaching Shap Fell: me, Craig, Philip (on-board photo by John)

Craig and me heading up Shap Fell

The experience on Shap Fell will live long after this ride. The top was beautiful and the effort to get there was really worth it. Cycling is wonderfully rythmical exercise, but on a long hill like this the quads burn, the hamstrings grab, the calves tighten, the arms strain and the neck aches. Controlling one's breathing is essential. Coming down the other side is a completely different affair. The wind screams in your ears, the rough roads send thumping shocks through the hands and arms, the legs feel as if they are on fire, with the uphill efforts still contained, as they turn over faster and faster, and your head placed over the handlebars means the road rushes past your eyes in mesmerising fashion. It is truly exhilirating.

It's a horse you need, John ...

So wide was our little breakway group's detour, that we arrived at lunch just as the slower group was leaving. We were 45 minutes behind when we set off, but Craig set a furious pace after lunch on the mostly downhill route into Carlisle. With fortunate timing, we dragged each other at 30mph for miles and miles until we passed the others as we entered the town. After such an aggressive 97-mile ride, it was imperative to jump into the freezing cold bath straight away for 15 minutes of ooh-ooh-aah-aah shock therapy, a massage and a stretch before a phone call home lying on the floor with my legs in the air. This treatment works wonders and I have no soreness for tomorrow. Nor do I have any dignity, but I am among like-minded souls.

I have only been to Carlisle once before for work, and my only real memory of it is having a lasagne that was soggier than the beer that accompanied it. We are staying in the worse of two Premier Inns in the town. The gruel served in the windowless basement of this glorified prison left me longing for that soggy lasagne.

Carlisle, however, marks a major milestone. We are now past halfway and have 515 miles in the bag at an average of 86 miles a day. We could see Scotland as we approached the hotel, and tomorrow we will all regroup and cross the border together. My body is holding up and I am surprised how I am coping. I expected to be in a lot of discomfort by now. I have tired legs but this is offset by the extra strength they have acquired. I have a slightly sore neck and a constant tingling in my fingers from the vibrations of the road but, other than that, all is tickety-boo. My sister saw me yesterday and looked shocked at how skinny I have become but this won't last forever at my age, nor with my love of Millionaire's Shortbread. And the group is fantastic. I am hoping I have made some life-long friends. We are all quite different characters but have developed a bond through dependency and pain. In my experience, in a large group there is always one person who is really irritating. There is no-one here like that which leaves me thinking that it might be me.