Day Five

25.03.2008 - Lancaster - Langholm

Potential route:

http://www.bikely.com/maps/bike-path/LEJOG-2008-DAY-5

Finally caught up with the blog. Was feeling pretty gone on the first two days but that was what I expected from Cornwall and Devon. As we crossed the county borders the terrain got flatter and we seemed to have caught our breath and found our legs.

Anyway, I hope all readers had a good Easter break and keep tuned in for more adventures of Angus, Ben, Dan and Hen. The four moving shadows, at least when the sun is shining.

(...)

After a gigantic breakfast at the luxurious 4 star Lancaster House Hotel - courtesy of "the Imperturbable", Angus told many hilarious stories of his times
working as a roadie/sound and lighting engineer for a wedding band in Ireland. These memories rushed back to him as Abba or something in those lines was
pipped through the breakfast room. As the chorus played Angus mimicked himself at the mixing desk, lighting and smoke machine console, moving his protruding
thumb and index fingers, tapping the table in time with the music and saying "Yellow, yellow, green... Yellow, yellow, green..." then with the other hand he
released some imaginary smoke by pressing another imaginary button. Then remembered how the bass player reprimanded him when he got the colours wrong. "Not
blue! Green!" He shouted the bass player's telling off as we laughed.
Then he proceeded to describe the gypsy weddings - very lavish affairs - where some family feud always broke out, usually at the car park but sometimes in
the reception room.

He recalled a massive brawl. As soon as it started the band leader who was also the lead singer shouted retreat orders in angry desperation, which they did
in great haste, carrying all equipment off the stage while the fight consumed everything before it, like a furniture eating monster.

Then at his request Ben the Languid and I described our worst jobs ever but none could match Angus the Brave's tales, who went on to become a lawyer.
Coincidence? Haha.

We then had our first clean-up of the trip. The chains became so gritty we were having problems shifting gears so left Lancaster with squeaky clean moving
parts.

The approach to the Cumbrians was awesome. With the Pennines now for the third consecutive day still to our left, both mountain ranges covered and sometimes
caked in snow.

At one point we had a good view of the sea to our left and the Cumbrians sprawling from North to North West. And up there, somewhere, was Kirkstone Pass,
which would lead us through the mountains.

After crossing the M6 due northeast and again further up due northwest, the Cumbrians looming bigger and bigger, we joined the A694. The ominous sign read
something in the lines of "A694 360 casualties in 5 years, please drive carefully". It was a busy road and it lead us into the Lake District National Park.
On my first visit, a couple of years ago, at least, there was very low cloud. At the time I was looking forward to seeing Ireland from the top of Scafell
Pike but there was no more than 50 metres visibility on that occasion. Today was a different story, although there would be no Ireland to search for in the
horizon - we would not be going that high.

Angus picked up a slow puncture and those not engaged in replacing the inner tube procured some Kendal mint cake. I had every intention of bringing some back
to the office but it seemed like everything we got that was edible disappeared very quickly. And it did taste good. I assure all readers. Sweet and non-sweet
toothed alike.

Once in our saddles Angus began to recall the legend of Donald Campbell, an action man who broke many land and water speed records, some in the Lake
District. I found many interesting tales about this man, including the recovery of his body from the depths of Lake Coniston, decades after his boat
disintegrated at high speed, while he reached 300mph. The rescuer was inspired by a Marillion album singing Campbell's feats. He is now buried near the lake.

We got past Kendal and had a lovely gentle ascent - we would encounter many such the next day - then before Windermere found a handy shortcut in the town of
Ings heading north west.

As we headed up and got closer and more personal with the snow, a fighter jet flew by our right. Another flew by our left, just before Kirkstone Pass,
turning then right into the pass where it flew out of sight. To me it looked like it would have crashed into the mountain side but it described a gracious
albeit noisy curve and off it went to admire the beauties before us. Then a Spitfire followed. I don't recall ever being so closed to these powerful aircraft
in flight.

We made the pass with good legs and had a celebratory lunch in the cozy Kirkstone Pass Inn. And one of the patterns of our journey once again reared its face
when the waitress fumbled Henry and Ben's Spotted Dick desert and we were held for another 20 minutes or so. Not a bad desert it was.

We left snowboarders and kids with plastic sledges on the pass and proceeded with the help of geography and gravity to the valley floor. Ben was aiming for
the mythical 50mph. On the level I saw a brave girl cyclist starting off in the opposite direction. And what a brave woman she was going up the hard way. On
our route we had 1 chevron, indicating accentuated inclination. She had four chevrons to deal with. At least all avoided "The Struggle".

This turns out to be a very effective notation, the chevron (or "greater than" sign or arrow head) pointing the upwards direction, so the cyclist and
hiker may take stock. It does not make that much difference to the driver, unless the road is icy or very wet.

The night before in the sauna we were advised about the infamous double chevroned climb - "The Struggle". And a fellow guest took great offence when I called
the Cumbrians "bumps". He assured me that we would be climbing 400 metres to go over Kirkstone Pass so afterwards, before bedtime I revisited bikely.com and
plotted the route. It did turn out to present 1000m ascent in total, from end to end. We discussed it in the morning and unanimously chose to take it,
instead of the flatter option coasting around the east.

And we left the Cumbrians behind. Carlisle was now in the sign posts and we took a pleasant country lane into town, parallel and west of the M6.

In Carlisle we got directions to reach the A7. They included a skirt around a chimney that "we could not miss". Indeed it was gigantic. And I was surprised I
missed it on my first visit to town. Nearby was a McVities installation and the air carried the freshly baked biscuits. After our tea stop we made it to
Langholm without incident crossing the border into bonnie Scotland and doing the last 16 miles at the greatest average speed of the day, which is turning
into a habit. We call it Angus' Guinness legs.

We stayed at the Border House, where our host Dennis guided us to the pub to we could get "fed and watered". Not before playing at my request some music on his
acoustic guitar. He went for a ragtime. Truly awesome. I had never heard ragtime played on the guitar.

Langholm is a cracking town. Opposite the pub we had dinner the local brass band was rehearsing. A musical evening all around. The last sight of my waking
hours was Henry surrounded and wired by gadgetry - iPod, HTC handheld phone and vaio laptop, reading up on John O'Groats and discovering in Wikipedia that
"The town takes its name from Jan de Groot, a Dutchman who obtained a grant for the ferry from the Scottish mainland to Orkney, recently acquired from
Norway, from King James IV in 1496."

To which I add, also from Wikipedia "The local football team is John o' Groats F.C. who recently reached the semi finals of the Highland Amateur Cup but lost
out to Point F.C of the Western Isles."