Roland Ladley's Blog, page 16

There will be no kites …

It’s difficult to write about the pleasures of spending our final few days in Doris without feeling a punch in the gut for the people of Afghanistan. I only spent a short time there and, I guess like everyone, I have no idea what the solution is. But abandoning the country to the Taliban seems like the worst possible option … especially as for a few years we appear to have managed to find a workable status quo with the minimum cost to the West. both in terms of $s and lives. To be clear this is not about religion. This is about men using faith as a weapon to subjugate a population for their own benefits. It’s about power. It’s about misogyny. Like the hard-right Christians hiding in plain sight across the world, it’s about men getting what when want – money and power – using a belief system to terrorise people with. In central Asia, Afghan women will be prevented from studying and working. They will not be allowed to shop without an escort. They will have to wear full covering. There will be no more music, no bright colours. There will be no more kites. 

I do not, by the way, have the answers. I just feel deeply sorry for the poor people caught up in the fight. And it seems, once the Taliban capture Kabul – which they will without a fight in the next week or so because the security forces are abandoning their posts without allied support – Afghanistan will become a pariah state, lost for the next who knows how long?

And this is happening at the same time as the Earth records its hottest July on record. I’m not going to add anything to that.

is there a more depressing place than Gretna shopping village?

We were thinking about stopping in the Pennines for a few days, but with all of the campsites we spoke to booked for the weekend, we decided to head south to our ‘in the bag’ site (£10, no EHU) by the Severn. After a pop into ‘Gretna Shopping Village’ (two hours of my life I will never get back) it was a six-hour journey homeward which passed without incident. On Friday we cycled in Thornbury; yesterday we walked the six-mile circular route though Berkeley deer park with a picnic, and today we’re going to do some admin before heading home tomorrow. We then have a couple of weeks of seeing people (mum and Mary), admin, a wedding and final prep for our trip to the Shetland and Orkney islands. I’ll expand on that mid-week, but a plan is coming together. 

back home …

Stay safe everyone. We are struggling with how we manage wearing masks to C’s nephew’s wedding in a couple of weeks. We sense we might be the only people wearing one …    

Wild camping, yes or no?

Wild camping. Now there’s a thought which frightens many motorhomers. We’ve just finished a 6-day stint, which is easy in Scotland because it’s legal. No, that’s not accurate. It wasn’t ‘easy’. The last two nights have not simply fallen into place, but that is one of the drawbacks of not knowing exactly where you’re going to park. 

We left the Stranraer peninsula with the aim of walking around Loch Trool, in the Galloway Forest … and we did that (6 miles, 350 metres of climb). The weather was overcast, but calm, and the walk and views were fab. We had thought about staying in the car park and that would have worked, but we wanted more expansive views. So we headed north into the hills with two ‘picnic sites’ in mind. The first was perfect. A small gravel area well off a little used road, next to a river. But there was a van there already and we wanted complete solitude. So we headed further into the hills and found the second car park. The views were ace, but the car park was small and not level. It wasn’t right. So, what to do now?

Loch Trool

We headed south, back towards Newton Stewart, with the aim of stopping anywhere roadside which was suitable. We were both tired after the walk and it’s fair to say we both got a little frustrated – it was our first night in over 4 weeks we’d not managed to go straight to a camping spot. Time was eating away. And we both wanted to rest. Eventually we stopped in an RSPB car park by a river (we’re members). It was fine, but lacked views. However, we managed to find a couple of silver linings. The stop was by a pretty river. And we felt safe enough to leave Doris the following morning and walked up to Middle Loch (5 miles, 150 metres of climb), which was as deserted as anything. 

Middle Loch … not sure where the outer ones are

One unperfect stop. Next we headed for a place we’d seen before where, for a donation, there was free water and a place to empty your tanks. The car park wasn’t special, but once empty we’d be set for some more wild camping, if it came to that.

And that’s the downside of wild camping. You have to watch your ‘levels’. It was a big problem for us in the early days, especially on the continent when we tried to wild camp all the time for both tranquility and cost reasons. Now, not so much. But it’s worth expanding on. 

You have five issues. First is electricity. For that we’re fine. Clearly it depends upon how much you use, but with 200 watts of solar panels and 200 amp hours on Li-ion batteries, we can stay disconnected forever. Second is gas. But that’s an issue whether you’re wild camping, or not. You need some. Third is water. The mantra is to fill up whenever you can (we have a 110 litre tank) and use sparingly. Our tank will give us a week. And you can always buy water from a supermarket. That’s not a cheap option, but there should be no reason to run out. Fourth is grey water – that is, the stuff you throw down the sink. We work on the open-tank principle: a lot of campsite owners ask you to ‘throw it in the hedge’ … and that’s what we do.

Finally is black waste … the biggie. If you’re eating, you might want to come back to this. I’m of the strong opinion that the only way to dispose of black waste is down a loo (or equivalent). In an emergency, some people will go into the forest and dump it … it can be used as manure, after all. But I couldn’t do that. And the law is clear: it’s illegal. We have two cassettes (one in, and one triple wrapped in the boot), and when we’re wild camping we put nothing unnecessary down the loo, not even flush water. Instead we spray the pan with disinfectant and (and this is very German) we have a sealed container for paper. With that we can guarantee to last 6 days. This time we could have made 7.

However, the carpark ‘with amenities’ black tank was closed. Bugger. Two imperfect stops. We knew we had one more night before panic set in, and so, having stayed in the carpark (there was fresh water), today we’ve come onto a small campsite and emptied everything ready to go again. Clearly for non-motorhomers who prefer hotels or apartments, this is never an issue for you – it’s not one you ever have to think about. If it’s a worry, that’s a good reason to holiday as you do. However, have you seen the views we’ve had over the past 5 weeks?  

There is something special about wild camping. The two nights on the beach at Ardwell were among our best ever stays, certainly in the UK. We’re beachside in a campsite at the moment, but we’re still 50 metres from the shore, rather than 5, as we were at Ardwell. And I have to be honest, there is something special about staying somewhere legally for free. No wonder more and more young people are buying old panel vans and converting them. Bravo, I say.

We’re heading homeward, slowly. We might be home by the weekend. Maybe next week. Whatever, please stay safe. And if you’re not vaccinated, I can’t implore you enough to get on with it. My brother would almost certainly be alive today if he’d been jabbed. And I think he’d have gone for that option.  

The rain came eventually

We made the decision to ‘wild camp’ for a couple of days, having spent the first three weeks in the 5-unit-only certified sites and locations of the two big UK clubs: Caravan and Motorhome, and Caravan and Camping. And we headed for the coast.

Girvan lighthouse

Our first stop was Girvan, right by the sea, in a beach car park. You know when you get somewhere whether or not you’re going to feel safe. We have stayed in some pretty rough spots, but there is an imaginary line you draw in your head. Say in a car park in Italy when you’re not quite sure, but you need to get your head down. Then I leave the keys in the ignition, make sure Doris has an escape route and we sleep lightly. But we have never been threatened, nor has anyone (touch wood) tried to break into our van. I know of people where that has happened – usually youths slapping on the motorhome’s side – but the incidences are small. And there are a lot of vans wild camping out there across Europe.

it felt safe …

Anyhow, Girvan felt safe, and it was. It had rained most of the day and it continued to rain as we parked up. As a result we didn’t get out of Doris – and I think our bodies enjoyed the respite. The forecast told us it was going to be a stormy weekend with localised flooding, so we were keen to make sure we parked somewhere which wouldn’t flood. By the sea is normally a good spot (notwithstanding Boscastle, clearly). 

However the next day was calm and before breakfast we walked down the beach the two miles to the town’s harbour, and then headed for the Mull of Galloway, the anvil-shaped peninsula off Scotland’s southern coast. And Mrs Sun shone. Inland Ayr seemed dodgy, but apart from a brisk wind, it was lovely. We stopped for lunch, beachside, I went for a run, and then we headed down to the southern lighthouse for another night’s stopover. 

Doris is big. Not huge. Just big. And, typically (and we’ve done a few), the road to the lighthouse was single track with passing places. As we got within sight of the end I thought the carpark looked too full for Doris to turn around in, but C was feeling adventurous … and we made it. And there was plenty of room. There had been some internet discussion about whether we could stay there – but there were no signs saying we couldn’t, and in Scotland that means you can. So we did. And it was lovely. And windy. But we were not alone – there were five other vans with us – and it was cosy being buffeted about.

windier than it looks

We moved on Saturday to a beachside carpark at Ardwell where we were met by ‘no overnight parking’ signs, and a row of campervans. I asked one of the crew of the likelihood of being asked to move on and was told ‘no’. So we parked up, put on our walking gear and did 8 miles coast-to-coast (east to west). It was fab. Mrs Sun was kind, the views fabulous, and we had a picnic sitting in a cove – we saw no one. And that’s the thing about this part of Scotland. It looks and feels like Cornwall … but there’s no one here. Today we cycled from Ardwell to Portpatrick (coast-to-coast; 25 miles) and, even though I couldn’t see much through the sheeting rain, the same must be said. It’s idyllic, as is Cornwall. But here you have it to yourself.

just like Cornwall?

Typical of our recent luck, the rain stopped briefly when we got to the lovely harbour village of Portpatrick and we found a picnic bench and enjoyed the views, which were fab.

the rain eventually caught up with us …

It’s still raining as I type this as we plan our next move. Probably off the peninsula and back into the forest? Who knows? And that’s the beauty of travelling in a van.   

Stay safe everyone.

Loving it …

The huge birthday celebrations turned out all right in the end. Loch Doon campsite and the pitch we found was perfect. And, as you can see from the pictures, C had lots of cards and two cakes – not one. OK, so the fayre wasn’t brilliant, but the location was. Loch Doon in a long, slither of a lake in the Galloway Forest and for the last three days we’ve been milking it dry.

pretty perfect two cakes

For C’s birthday lunch we had bacon and eggs banjos … something we avoid even though we love them. I then ran for 40 minutes with the birthday girl having a day off, following along on her bike. The weather was great and the views magnificent.

magnificent

Before I talk about yesterday can I make a huge play for the this part of Scotland. We’re 50 miles as the crow flies from the Lake District and, I would argue, the scenery is as good, if not better, than Cumbria. OK, so the hills aren’t quite so pointy, but that’s the only difference. There are lakes and forests and walks and cycle rides and lovely valleys and deserted moorland and … very few people. Sure, you don’t get Beatrix Potter tat, mint cake, the Pencil Museum, and lakes full of pleasure craft – all of which, I have to say, I’m not missing. But you do get ospreys, genuine wilderness and very few people. For me it wins every time. Oh, and you can cycle through the forests for miles. Our bikes (did I tell you how good they are?) manage the forest tracks, but it would be heaven for mountain bikes. Not seen many of those.

resting after a bit of a hill

So, yesterday. Thirty miles on our bikes, a lot of it uphill. The ride across the moors was fab, the second bit on tarmac up a long, forested valley was magical (and thigh burning), lunch in the forest to avoid a squall was great, and then the long route home through the trees where we saw three people, was the best. What a day. 

And today we ran first thing and took the bikes into the hills to a small, delightful loch where we ate our picnic and enjoyed the presence of Mrs Sun. We were going to cycle back to Doris, but C suggested we cycle to the end of the loch. Which we did. Then back home in time for crumpets. Fab.

The weather turns tomorrow and we’re set for a wet and windy weekend. I think we’ve decided to wild camp for a couple of nights … because we can. Normally, in Scotland, we wild camp whenever we can – we are close to being experts. That’ll be something different.

Finally, stay safe. Good news that the covid numbers look like they’re coming down against everyone’s predictions. Hopefully we’re close to beating this nasty disease. You still don’t want it, so please look after yourselves.

It came right in the end

Well, there’s a thing. We finished up at the Annan site (the one overlooking the Solway Firth), with a 22 mile round cycle trip to Carsethorn Castle. The route was flat which, for some reason, tired us out. The good news was that whilst we only expected a peak at the ancient, moated castle, the grounds were free to enter and we had a good look around. It was fab. The bad news was my combination bike lock broke with my bike still attached to the stand … and no amount of coaxing was going to free it. Thankfully I’d unknowingly secured it to where the rear carrier meets the frame and I was able to take the carrier off and leave the chain in place. I spoke to the staff about leaving the lock behind and then we cycled down to the water for a picnic. 

bring me a shrubbery!

The route back was tiring for some reason – there was no wind to slow us, maybe it was just where we found ourselves? – but the Olympic highlights cheered us up. Hurrah!

We’d booked into a site near New Galloway, in the Galloway Forest, thinking we could walk and run from  there. On arrival we realised the lovely little site had no access to the forest and only a good slab of A road to start a cycle. It’s fair to say we were both a bit disappointed, although we only have ourselves to blame as we could have checked; we shortened our stay to just two nights (we’ve booked a lochside pitch next where we can walk, run, paddle and cycle in the forest, we hope). In the end (and surprisingly) today the whole place redeemed itself. 

We cycled down to Clatteringshaws Loch (5 miles), had a lovely coffee and cake from the visitors’s centre, trekked up a pointy hill (4 miles; 200 metres of climb) to get panoramic views of the whole forest and lochs, and then cycled back through the forest on ‘Forest Drive’, an 11 mile gravel track which our bikes lapped up (have I told you how good they are?). We stopped for a picnic mid-forest and then cycled back home on a road next to another loch, back in time for tea and medals. And the weather was fab – Mrs Sun, clouds and a perfect trekking/cycling temperature. Fab.

Tomorrow is C’s birthday. She’s a bit older than me and I guess that’s all I’m allowed to tell you. I have absolutely no surprises for her, but we do have some presents and some cards. Hopefully the lochside campsite will be as good as it sounds and we can have a really lovely day.

Finally, and for the record, the kitchen sink main drain broke a couple of days ago. The thing about motorhomes is that, where possible, everything is made from plastic to keep the weight down. The problem is, plastic degrades over time and our sink was leaking and I over-tightened the drain … and it snapped. So I’ve replaced it with a domestic set up (am now a plumber). It’s much sturdier, easier to keep clean, looks fab, but doesn’t have a built in u-bend nor an overflow attachment. The latter two are not problems for us at the moment, but I do need to sort them ,,, in time.

Stay safe everyone. And remember, if you want access to Prince Charles you have to pay the Tory Party a donation of £250,000, which goes in their coffers. Then it’s guaranteed. [This is from a Financial Times article of a couple of days ago.] Now I don’t know about you, but I think that’s probably not ethical. What a country we live in at the moment. Thankfully our Olympic athletes are inspiring us, because our government a falling way short.  

We made it to Scotland

We’ve left the Pennines and the Dent Valley and headed off for the south Galloway coast. We were unsure whether to drive into Cumbria (too busy), across to Northumberland (coast might be busy) or into southern Scotland. In the end the latter won. It’s not an area of coastline we know that well, although we have been here before. But without any real feel, we sense it will be the least busy option. And, at the moment, being around people is not (are not?) what we want.

It is fair to say that we fell in love with the Dent valley. We cycled to its head on Monday, past a couple of viaducts which, apparently, take England’s most scenic railway from Settle to Carlisle. Just the other side of the valley is the famous Ribblehead viaduct which we have visited before and could see from both of our recent mountain ascents. My brakes failed on the way down (metal on metal) and I had to switch pads from front to rear (I have just been into Halfords to get a replacement set), so that was a moment. On Monday we had more of a relaxed day. I ran and then we cycled down the valley one side, and then back up again on the other.

Yesterday the weather broke, but that didn’t stop us trekking up one of the side valleys (10 miles and 420 metres of climb). It was lovely, even with the wind and showers. We stopped for lunch on the path – just sat where we were – and then had to cover ourselves with our picnic blanket to see off a  hailstorm. Thankfully we were able to find a copse to hide under when the thunderstorm came next. We’d seen almost no one on the mountain, except a man and his daughter … thankfully, unlike the Snowdon women, they weren’t in the news today for getting hit by lightning. But it must have been an opportunity.

We’re going to do this coast in detail, we think. And then head home towards mid-August. We have people to see and a wedding to go to. 

our latest view

And we are enjoying the Olympics. I think we’d both like to see more sport on the BBC’s evening round up rather than the family interviews, but I guess many people want that. Of course it’s been fascinating to watch the armchair pundits have a go at Simone Biles for pulling out of her events for ‘mental health issues’; oh, and Piers Morgan having a go at people celebrating getting a bronze and silver, rather than anguishing over not getting the gold.

The Simone Biles thing, which has really rocked the US as I understand it – she is a poster girl of theirs, sums up the culture war which is ding-donging here and in the US (including here: the National Trust and the RNLI among others; in the US: anti-vaxxers in the Republican Southern states causing an upswing in covid numbers). I’ve played  bit of competitive sport and if individuals want to bow out because of the pressure they feel under, even if they’re world class, then they get my vote. We don’t own them and they owe us nothing. For highly technical sports, like gymnastics, where one mistake could cripple you, then absolutely over to the individual.

Of course those pundits here having a go have probably never worn sports gear since compulsory PT at school. As for Piers Morgan … well, he gave in when confronted by his weatherman on GMB, so he’s hardly one to talk about mental resilience. Fool.

Enough. Respect to every athlete in Tokyo – winners and losers. They’ve all managed something which was always way beyond my abilities. 

Stay safe (we’re back in a country where facemasks are compulsory. Hurrah.).  

On the same page

We’ve moved to ‘Dent’, apparently a Viking stronghold in the day. Now it’s a sleepy village in a beautiful valley brought begrudgingly to life by bucket loads of tourists. Having said that, it’s not too busy. We ran yesterday and today climbed Whernside, the tallest mountain in the Dales (not Ingleborough as we previous thought, although with Pen-y-Ghent they make up the Yorkshire ‘3 Peaks’). At 750 metres it is technically a mountain, I think (the US tell me anything about 1000 feet is a mountain).  It was much less of an issue for us than when we did Ingleborough earlier in the week, which is 20 metres shorter … but we tried that climb in 29 degrees, rather than the 22 of today. And the walk in 10 miles, not 7.5 miles today. 

The climb was delightfully peaceful until we reached the top when we hit the M25 of walkers, many doing the three peaks for charity (25 miles and 5,000 feet of climb – bless them). It was the best of both worlds. A good chunk of tranquility and then a frantic episode of lots of walkers getting to the top. I love that. I love seeing all shapes and sizes and colours out and up a hill for the day. But I also love the silence …

… which allowed us time to reflect on where we are and where we’re going. We got news of pals of ours selling their place in Lincolnshire and moving to Dorset (he’s a sailor). All our other friends are heading for some form of retirement in homes big enough to entertain all of their family, and more. You know where this is going. Thankfully, we both came to the same conclusion. Travelling is what we do. Experiencing things, walking, cycling, meeting new people, seeing new places … that’s for us. Big house means a big investment of time. And we’re not ready for that (yet). So that was a relief.

I also got round to thinking about the plot for book 8 in the Sam Green thriller series (the second and final chapter of The Belmonte Paradox). So that’s coming together. I’ll start writing that in September.

And I also tried to not think about politics, although talking to my mate Richard this afternoon we both got round to the fact that we believe climate change is no longer creeping up on us like a sniper, but the recent floods/typhoons/wild fires/record temperatures are a precursor to something much more unpleasant, which is going to hit us much sooner than we think. Like a tank. 

Thankfully we have Boris Johnson in charge. He and his backers won’t shirk from their responsibilities. 

Stay safe everyone.

Still doing things

I am not going to complain about the heat. I am not. The humber of times I’ve ranted about the state of this country’s weather – and now it’s perfect – I am not going to complain. Although, it is fair to say it is pretty blooming hot. But we have tried hard not to let that shape our days. 

We’re now at Clapham. No, not the train junction, although there is a station, but a small dales village just off Ingleton, a bit of a limestone lump which I had my eye on the moment we arrived. 

We had hoped to take Monday off to recover from back-to-back runs and cycles, but we got to the lovely CL early and C said, ‘why don’t we take the bikes out with a picnic?’ So we did. It was five miles uphill to Bowland Knotts, the highest point of Bowland Forest and just short of the reservoir which we had cycled to previously from the other side. It’s all moors and little forest, but it is lovely and, at the top, we managed to find a bench and sat and had lunch … just as a bunch of Gurkhas arrived on their bikes and took selfies before leaving us to our peace.

[image error]

Tuesday we cycled to Settle and then up to Stainforth Force, a Dordogne-eqsue waterfall which was packed with youngsters jumping and diving in from not an unreasonable height. I didn’t have my gear and was worried about being the ‘old bloke’ who joined in, but couldn’t resist. I didn’t dive, but jumped in my shorts, quickly got out and C and I disappeared a distance to eat our lunch. We then completed our ride over the moors (another 23 miles) in pretty spectacular weather, and settled down to our usual routine of a bit of TV, a film and bed. 

I was/we were putting off Ingleton (720 metres high) for the weather to pass and we woke Wednesday with it overcast, but warm … and with an outlook of much the same. So we went for it. There are plenty of access points to the mountain, but we chose to leave our bikes at the entrance to Ingleton cave (which was a mile from the cave – and cost £1 each). Well the next 5 hours were both special and hot. First, Mrs Sun wasn’t shy and soon burnt away any cloud. And the wind remained very light. The walk we chose took us through a Petra-like gully, up past Gaping Gill, a pot hole big enough to lose an apartment block (where we were able to wet our heads in the stream) and then onto the mountain. 

Thankfully there were few people as mad as us, although we did come across a couple of youngsters doing ‘the three peaks’ – 24 miles, three mountains over 2,000 feet and all within walking distance of each other. The final ascent was up a ladder (a series of stone steps) much longer than Jacob’s Ladder on Pen-y-fan. And by the time we made it to the trig point we needed our lunch. We came down a different way which took us across a fab limestone plateau, and, 10 miles later, we made it back to our bikes. Phew.

Actually, both of us were in good form. We had kept ourselves hydrated and wet our hats (which we wore continuously) as and when. And today we’re both OK. I’ve actually been for a run back up to where we left the bikes as I dropped a padlock there. But, for the rest of the day, we’re doing nothing. 

We’re looking to cycle tomorrow and then head off on Saturday. Exactly where? We’re not sure yet. That is a job for today.

Anyhow. Stay safe. We’re both trying very hard to keep away from the disease.   

Loving the weather

I think today is the first day that I felt we have broken clean. I don’t know what’s stopped me (it’s been a week), but after a run, a short cycle-shop into town, and then lunch sat outside on our makeshift patio, I felt at one with what we were doing. I said to C, we could have been on the Adriatic. It’s around 30 degrees, the views are lovely and our current position has a really good holiday feel about it.  Fab. We are so lucky to be doing this.

Anyway, have I recently told you about our bikes? No? Well yesterday we cycled (another) 30 miles up and up to a Stocks Reservoir in Gisburn Forest (as In Guy Gisburn from Robin Hood). It was fantastic to be out with Mrs Sun doing her bit. And, whilst there were plenty of hills, some quite steep, the bikes handled the whole thing with aplomb. It seems there is nothing we can’t throw at them that they don’t take in their stride. They are now 8 years old and, yes, we’ve had to spend £600 for two new batteries – and I have kept them cleaned and well oiled – but I think that’s all money well spent. We have another route planned for tomorrow. Oh … and the noise from my chain wheel has gone. A result all round. [And, as a reminder, we do have to pedal. We were both knackered when we got back.]

And then, on Monday, we might move on. But it is fair to say this pitch (for £12 a night including electricity) is among the best we have ever stayed on. Where to? Dunno. We’ll see.

I have yet to master what’s happening on Facebook. I have my own site and a Sam Green page. I do my usual daily Instagram post, which copies across to FB … and then I post a Sam Green related thing on the page. Every day, so far. I have given editing rights to Jen, who’s a bit of a FB magician, and we are going to talk about how I can get the best from the Sam Green page in due course. I think she believes I should spend time talking with other novelists and creating all sorts of exciting, author type stuff. It all sounds like a lot of work. But, as book sales continue to only plod along, I guess I need to do something.

Anyhow. Freedom Day on Monday. I hope someone’s told the virus. 

Keep safe. And enjoy the weather. 

As me anything you want about cycles …

It would be easy for me to launch straight in with a political tirade about ‘taking the knee’, Euro 2021 and political dog-whistling. But I won’t. It is tempting. But … I won’t.

our latest spot

Instead, let me tell you that Mrs Sun is with us, and has been since yesterday. And we are loving east Lancashire – we are currently in a super little spot just outside Clitheroe (the ‘roe’ bit needs ending on a higher tone to the rest of the word – think Wallace from W&G). It has taken us a couple of days to get here, but now we are ensconced with the ‘ee-by-gumers’, and we are gradually unwinding. 

We left our place by the Severn on Monday, stayed overnight at an inexpensive, but drop in site only, just off the M5, and ended up in a fabulous £12-a-night farm with far-reaching views of the Pennines. C wanted to do ‘The Forest of Bowland’ and so that’s what we did today. Thirty miles later, up a thing called ‘The Trough of Bowland’, which included a lovely picnic by a brook which led down from the moors, and we have ticked that box. To be fair, I didn’t see a great deal of forest, but it’s surprising how quickly you leave civilisation behind. And we’re not even in the proper Pennines yet. Lots to look forward to.

And, so typical of ‘the north’, everything is immaculate. The farm here, which is rambling, is as clean as an Andrew advert … the ground perfectly manicured. We’re loving it. We might run tomorrow and then walk to the river (The Ribble, of course) for a picnic. And then head further northeast where we’re advised to ‘stay on the path, and keep off the moors’ [no prizes for remembering where that quote comes from – but do comment if you think you know].

I think I may have told you about the noise my bike makes when I’m pedalling? No? Well, there’s a grating sound from the chain wheel …or the business end of the crank arm on one side. I previously stopped it by tightening up the crank arm onto the central sprocket – the bottom bracket . You’re impressed I know all the terms? Well, it’s been a journey. Anyhow, the noise got worse, so I tightened the rear derailleur, which was loose, which seemed to help. But, the last two times we’ve been out the noise has got progressively worse. I did think it might be the bearing in the main pedal hub, which would have tested my limited ability, especially as it’s near the main electric drive sprocket.

picnic …

Anyhow, as we cycled through this country’s green and pleasant land, the noise was such that I had to keep away from C as I was disturbing her ambience. We made it to the top of ‘The Trough’, turned and started to freewheel down. As we did we were overtaken by two cycling types, one of whom said to me ‘I think your crank sprocket needs tightening. You’ll need a 15 mil spanner …’, he added over his shoulder as he whizzed on down the hill. OK, then. I’ll get that sorted.

Which I tried. We popped into Clitheroe and found a cycle shop. Well, they were convinced it was the pedal bearings. (I wasn’t.) They put on a new pedal … and it wasn’t it. They then tried, with a screwdriver and a hammer, to tighten an odd looking castlelated nut . And then, they put the original pedal back on … tightened it up tight … and all was well. For now. In short they did what I’d done right at the beginning and what the man who whizzed past me said I need to do. Without the real need of a hammer and screwdriver.

It does show you that when you’re talking about anything mechanical, there are normally lots of opinions. But in my experience, take the word of a man/woman in lycra as they speed past you and hear the noise in action. Works every time.

Stay safe everyone. Let’s now become part of the statistics.