Yorkshire - Dales Days
by Richard Sage
It had been a long week. In fact it had been a long 3 months! Very busy at work and decisions about a new job and relocating the family (to Cheshire, good biking country) had all taken their toll. I needed a break. What better than to head for Dent for a weekend in the hills?
I know the Dales well, having pushed, carried and cycled much of it over the years, in weather conditions varying from bright sunny dehydrated days to short, crisp frozen days. However, I'd never been to Dentdale. Time to put that right. Armed with my two trusty volumes of "Mountain Bike Guide to the Lake District, Howgills and Dales" by Jeremy Ashcroft - wonderful guides, generally fantastic routes - I set off.
I'd arranged to meet Alison, Jon, Mike and Dominic at 7:30 in the George and Dragon in Dent. Weather was lovely and the West-facing Dale was basking in early evening sun when Mike rolled up. He never goes anywhere without his GPS telling him which way to turn and he'd made it easily from Cambridge. However, he couldn't find the pub which, for those of you who know Dent, illustrates Mike's navigational challenges as you simply can't miss this fantastic hostelry in the centre of the small village.
By the time Jon, Alison and Dominic arrived at about 9:15 I was less than sober having tried all the beers from the local Dent brewery. The pub had agreed to serve dinner a little late for us so that we could all eat together. The meal was fantastic and we plotted our routes for the two days. The weekend was shaping up well.
For Jon, who's a lapsed cyclist, and Mike, who has stamina rather than a turn of speed, we decided on a steady route.
We put two of the routes from the guide book together for Saturday. I said that Mike never goes anywhere without his GPS (or if he does he gets lost), but Dominic is even worse. The first half hour after a full English breakfast (can you cycle on anything else?) was spent plotting and downloading waypoints from his laptop onto his GPS, and onto Mike's. I confess that I've had a GPS for years, and always use it to tell me where I am (can't beat a ten figure grid reference when it's misty and you're lost on some moor) and, as a boys-toy, to tell me how fast I'm going, how far I've been and how many rashers I had for breakfast, it can't be beaten. However, I've never managed to work out the technology to download waypoints, so Dominic did it for me.
We set off down the Dale. Five mountain bikes, three GPS's (essential resilience and back-up), one guide book, one map, four heart monitors (we did get bored of the "so what's your heartbeat?" question after a while) and a cheese sandwich.
The GPS's told us to turn left into Gawthrop. Thank goodness I had the map and some sense. Even then it took me five minutes to persuade my intrepid colleagues that the route would be much better anti-clockwise (as in the guide, easier ascents, better descents) rather than clockwise (as Dominic had plotted it using the technology). After five minutes of persuasion and fifteen minutes to work out how to reverse the routes on the GPS we set off again.
Over Barth Bridge and right up a track onto the fellside. Dominic was soon up to his knees in a bog so we knew we must be on the right route. Over the top at a col and then a lovely descent on tracks and open moorland down towards Sedbergh. We stopped at the junction of the A684 to tell some jokes (remind me to tell you the one about the vicar, the young couple and the decorating) and watch some lycra clad roadies roar past and then, still laughing (the jokes not the lycra), we set off for the A683. I like road biking on my road bike, but road biking on a mountain bike always seems a drag, particularly when the motorcyclists keep roaring past. We were pleased when, after a minor mechanical problem on Dominic's full suspension bike, which is engineered more like the Forth Bridge than a cycle, we arrived at Handley's Bridge, which gave us a welcome exit from the road and access to the fells again.
Down a slope, through a ford and then a carry up through some woodland to the fellside. Through a farm and then a farm track contouring round a deep valley. Great cycling but a little cold by this time. The glorious weather we were expecting hadn't materialized and I for one was wishing we'd come through Sedbergh and stopped at a café or bakery to stock up on a few carbs. Still, that to look forward to as part of the route back.
Through a ford where rocks had to be thrown into the water to see who could soak the cyclist crossing the river, we eventually dropped down to the River Rawthey at the bottom of the valley. At the footbridge over Cautley Home Beck we stopped to chat to some walkers who were coming down from The Calf and looked back up to the waterfall at Cautley Spout. The Cross Keys pub across the river looked attractive but we decided to push on to Sedbergh, following a bridleway by the river to the road at Thursgill and then into Sedbergh. "Only a couple of miles and all downhill" we kept saying, but somehow it seemed further. On top of that the walkers somehow seemed to keep pace with us!
Sedbergh must be the town of a thousand bookshops, second surely only to Hay-on-Wye? I think we could have found copies of almost anything rare, second-hand or out-of-print, but all we wanted was hot chocolate, scones and flapjacks, all of which were provided at the bakery and hungrily consumed in the bus shelter across the road.
Refreshed we set off for Dent via Millthorpe and the pleasant track to Gate Manor. We couldn't resist the ford through the River Dee, even though the footbridge right beside it would have kept us dry. I realised we'd made a mistake as the water came over the chain ring! Joining the Gawthrop road we made our way pleasantly back to Dent, well, more accurately back to the public bar in the George and Dragon.
A few pints, a bath, a few more pints and a very pleasant dinner later we got ready to crash out ready for another ride on Sunday. The evening was only slightly marred by the enthusiasm of the "winner-stays-on" player on the pool table who we really couldn't be bothered to try and displace, so we took our 50p off the table and put it over the bar instead.
Sunday broke a glorious day, bright sunshine, and we decided to do the Craven Old Way out of Jeremy Ashcroft's book. This was a treat. A lovely start on a quiet Dales road winding up the valley following the River Dee for about 5 miles was pleasant, with time to chat and enjoy the scenery. The only thing that was a little disquieting was the party of cyclists we spotted on the road running parallel on the other side of the river. Not wanting to be overtaken by them when the two roads joined at Cowgill we deployed the old cyclists trick of loitering so that they got there first and were able to speed away, saving us the indignity of being overhauled.
The sting in the tail is the steep climb up and under the viaduct at Dent Head Farm. My approach here was to use the granny cog and weave about the road to make the gradient less steep and, deploying that trusted technique, I was up. The GPS must have recorded an extra mile or two as I traversed backwards and forwards across the road, but I made it without blowing up the heart monitor.
At this point we had a choice: the wet and boggy track across Gayle Moor or stay on the road to the B6255. No choice to make really, the road had it. Descending the B6255 to Ribblehead viaduct is a pure pleasure, freewheeling for 2 or 3 miles down the hill at 30mph. The problem was, where we freewheeled at 30mph the motorcyclists shot past us at about 90mph! Having a hot chocolate, a recurring theme in our cycling days out, at the van at Ribblehead, I overheard some leather clad biker say "did you see those morons on the push bikes as you came down the hill?" I'm surprised he saw us at all the speed he was going. Resisting the temptation to push his bike over we set off under the viaduct and up the track towards Whernside. Carrying the bikes was tough, particularly for Dominic and Alison's full suspension frames, which don't fit on the shoulder like a more traditional shape. We puffed our way up, stopping to look at the wonderful Victorian engineering that carries Force Gill over the railway, pushing straight on as the walkers turned left for Whernside.
This section of the route was a delight. Tough carrying but beautiful surroundings and, once the top was reached, a steady ride and then a technical descent that saw two of us going over the handlebars. Unfortunately one of the two was me and, as I arced gracefully through the air, I thought of the shoulder dislocation I suffered last summer from a similar accident. No problems this time, just dented pride. Coming down and off the rocky track and onto a gravel section we met a couple of cyclists coming the other way. Frankly I didn't envy them the climb they were about to endure!
Back in Dent, settled on a table across the road from a café, more hot chocolate and scones. Reflecting on a couple of excellent days and thinking how relaxing life in the saddle can be and what a pleasure it is to be in the hills (and the pub) with good company.