See You Later Navigator

Val loves Maps - She pores over them, digests the information and regurgitates it as forward direction for our trusty wheeled steeds.

 Navigating off the end of Scarborough Promenade

Sometimes the Locals point us in several different directions.

Most of the time we're on track - there have been exceptions, one time in Czech Republic,  the wrong valley and a 30 Kilometre correction to our course.

She has eyes like a hawk when it comes to ferreting out a partially obliterated cycle way signs. Many a time a loud “Hoi” or a frustrated shout, to alert me to a missed sign - she has even had to chase me to get me back "on track".

Cycleways have a habit of starting off in great fashion and leading you onward with increasing confidence, then dropping you off in the middle of either;

Chaotic Traffic,

A dead end road or street,

Or

The Middle of Nowhere.

The National Cycleway system in UK is getting pretty wide coverage under the auspices of Sustrans (Sustainable Transport Systems) promoting cycleways within towns and cities to link with rail, working with rail companies to get motorists onto trains and in general encouraging people to get out on their bikes and out of their cars.

The more fancy Route Signs are quite artistic.

Ever since dropping off Hadrian's Wall and hitting the East Coast at South Shields, we have been heading South on National Cycle Route 1 and while for the most part it is reasonably signposted, there have been 3 or 4 occasions when even eagle eyed Val, and me as inferior backstop, have missed the vital indicator. 

This led us to doing one long leg of the coastal walkway, which meant unpacking our panniers to get over stiles and unpacking and lugging our five panniers up a hundred steps, which in this particular instance made it hard to appreciate and admire the workmanship of a high beautifully constructed Victorian Viaduct, crossing high above us as we struggled away. Did any of the passengers on the 5.30 commuter train see the drama enacted far below.

 Dang - 100 Upsteps at the Viaduct

Coastal Walkway De-Panniering

Val's bits

Yorkshire is indeed a beautiful place. The Yorkshire people are very proud if their county. They sell Yorkshire milk, Yorkshire meat, Yorkshire cakes, 

and pies and teas and beer. 

On the floor of a small shop I spied a collection of brown envelopes, loose and of varied sizes, and yes, they were Yorkshire envelopes.


Anxious moments.

In the middle of a long flight, middle of the night, Don announced he had lost track his hearing aid.

Escaping from the challenging climate of Ayrshire we took a train to Haltwhistle, on Hadrian's Wall. When changing trains at  Kilmarnock  we had just ten minutes. And there was on lift to take us under the track to the next platform. Bikes are very heavy when fully loaded. We bumped them down the stairs. In the process Don twisted the chain and froze up his bike. He could not push it at all. Anxiety levels grew as he prodded and poked. With moments to spare we carried the bikes up, one at a time.

A Poem.

When it rains and it's cold

I try to be bold.

When the wind blows with rain

its a pain, (to keep going)

But when it hails as well

all I can see 

is the sign of the next B and B

Waking up in  warm tent, hoping it is not time to get up.

The George's.

George (I chose this name for him) came biking swiftly towards us, a cheery wave and a smile from under his neatly trimmed grey beard. 

Ten minutes on he sped towards us again, or was his helmet blue this time. 

Another spell and there he was once more, maybe his teeth are more pronounced ??

And here he comes again, greying beard, twinkly eyes, lovely lycra and a chirpy grin.

What I think is that some sixty years ago, on the lonely Yorkshire moors, successful experiments were made, and the sporty Yorkshire man was cloned.

In Lincolnshire tests resulted in a chubbier version, less desirable in lycra and more suited to ride a mountain bike.