£3.20 for apple, carrot, and tomato soup and a mug of tea, cyclists cafe, Greystoke
£14.15 for steak and ale pie and pint of Brampton ale in The Golden Fleece, Irthington
I discovered that the Keswick YHA Hostel had a first floor balcony as well as ground floor veranda running the length of it, alongside the river. The morning was crisp and bright, so sitting on the balcony with my first cup of tea for the day seemed the thing to do.
My eyes had been bigger than my stomach the previous evening. As a result I had a tin of rice pudding to eat up (there was no way I was carrying that in my panniers). I decided it would make a second breakfast after eating my porridge pot and checking out of the hostel, so I sat on the veranda eating from the tin whilst chatting to my brother on the phone about arrangements for meeting up that evening.
The traffic free route out of Keswick (NCN 71) was on an old railway track. As it was a Saturday morning there were lots of families out riding, with children wobbling about as they approached me or stopping dead in the centre of the track when I rang my bell and called "passing on your right" from behind. I wasn't annoyed though, as it's always good to see parents getting their kids out in the fresh air on their bikes.
The trail was stunning, crossing rivers and gorges on iron railway bridges, going under roads through brick tunnels, and, at one point, enjoying aerial views from a wooden tree-top walk / cycle way.
I joined the Coast to Coast route for a while and saw fellow touring cyclists for the first time in the whole trip. In fact, there were lots of cyclists out in the sunshine, making the most of it as the weather forecast was for bad weather to be coming in over the next day or two.
I'd done the Coast to Coast myself a year before, and began to recognise some of the place names. To be honest, I didn't really remember any of the roads or trails. One single track country lane begins to look, smell, and feel pretty much like another after a fortnight of riding them. When I saw signs for Greystoke I recalled that there was a famous cyclists cafe there however, and decided to stop there for lunch.
If you're ever passing Greystoke on bicycle or foot, do pop in. I sat in their sunny warm garden enjoying a fabulous bowl of soup with gluten free bread and strong mug of tea. I could even have had gluten free sticky toffee pudding, but the soup had filled me up. They have organised things perfectly for cyclists - bike racks where you can keep an eye on your bike, large selection of cakes, a bike barn where you can take cover from the weather when the cafe is closed (with thoughtful things like blankets and hot water bottles), plus amazing views of Greystoke house where Tarzan came from. The last bit isn't necessarily cyclist specific, but it's still a lovely feature.
The roads between Greystoke and Carlisle were quick rolling and like a giant's BMX pump track; if you keep pedalling in a big gear as you go down, it brings you back up the other side ready for the next short descent.
As I approached Carlisle there was a delightful traffic-free section along the river. I had to negotiate large groups of ramblers who, despite me ringing my bell several times and calling out "cyclist coming through", seemed most put out that I should be coming along on the shared use path. Cycling mid week is so much easier.
I called my brother when I got in to Carlisle city centre as I was ahead of schedule. He'd promised to be at the campsite with the campervan all set up, along with tent for him and Liz; I therefore didn't want to get in too early! They were at the Carlisle services, so our timings looked good. I found my route out of the city on part of the Hadrian's Wall Cycleway that I'd be taking all the way across the country to Newcastle. I actually got out of the city without getting lost - after two weeks, I think I was starting to get the hang of this cycle touring thing.
I spotted a big banner advertising the start of the Tour of Britain in Carlisle. It was starting from the city two days later. I knew I couldn't afford two rest days in order to see it, but thought it reassuring that I'd been cycling in a part of the country considered challenging enough for professional cyclists. I bet they're not taking the Sustrans routes though!
I hadn't printed off very clear directions or maps for the campsite, so just headed for the village on the address, Irthington. When I asked a few locals where Bleatarn Farm was, none of them knew, but sent me off in various directions. Eventually I phoned my brother, assuming he was at the campsite by now, and found out it was right next to Carlisle airport. I'd seen signs for this so headed back in the direction I'd come, having visions of being kept awake by helicopters and light aircraft.
I was actually more likely to be kept awake by large trucks as there was a Stobart festival on at the airport. This was not what I was expecting when I'd booked the family farm campsite, set into part of Hadrian's Wall, but knew we weren't going to go looking for another campsite now as I ended up arriving at 6pm. My brother and his girlfriend walked out to meet me on the farm road; it was lovely to be greeted in after a fortnight of arriving at new places in the dark, at the top of hills, in rain, or after getting lost. I rode off again as I wanted to cycle every single yard of this trip, rather than walk back with them, however.
Once at the campsite it was obvious that there were several Stobart festival families there, and the site was full. Fantastic hot shower and clean toilets though, so I was happy. We went to a local gastro pub, The Golden Fleece, for a meal and a pint whilst catching up with each other, and discussing the weather forecast for the following day. Storms were going to blow in, so I decided to have a rest day in Carlisle rather than battle against the elements. We returned to the campsite full, happy, and relaxed ready for a good night's sleep in the campervan (me) and tent (Vaughan and Liz).
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