The cold wind had died down somewhat; the track was pleasant, with rising ground and an area of shakeholes to the north. Soon there was a sharp drop and a steep push up, and suddenly appeared the old lime-kiln on Cotter End at 1,650 feet, with Cotterdale Beck 700 feet below. A steep drop indeed—steep enough to make me think twice about riding. But twice nothing is still nothing, so gripping the brakes firmly