Having had my main event for the year cancelled, I wondered how to make use of the fitness I’d been working on for the previous 12 months. As I’m already involved in next year’s LEL as a controller (at Moffat), I thought I’d offer my services to check the provisional 2022 London-Edinburgh-London route for Danial, the organiser & Nick, who’d worked on the new route. They thought it was a great idea and supplied the most up to date gpx files.
From these, I created a daily schedule based on a realistic average speed with brief, budget hotel stops at the end of every day. I wondered if I was being too conservative at times, and then at others I thought I’d be over-stretching myself. I thought I was quite generous with the stopping time, but that was fine, because extra sleep is never a waste on such a long ride. So I stuck to the plan – I could always adjust it if necessary.
I started from home early on Saturday 25th September in warm dry weather with a tailwind, hoping it would last, but knowing that, being Britain, there was no way it would. I opted to ride through central London – well, actually Komoot suggested it, and with good reason. London’s better cycling infrastructure seems to run to and from the centre as far as I can tell, but even so, it still felt chaotic on a Saturday morning, with bikes, pedestrians and motorised traffic simultaneously vying for road space regardless of traffic signals.
After a run through some parks, past Buckingham Palace and Trafalgar Square, l was soon onto the Embankment and then being squeezed through the city and spat out the other side with my Garmin struggling to work out where I was because of the high buildings all around. Once into the East End things calmed down a little. There was better signage and path separation, and soon enough I was on paths that lead me out towards Loughton and the location of LEL’s start – the Davenant Foundation School.
There was traffic gridlock in Loughton and much angry horn-tooting as drivers queued for fuel at the garage not far from the start because of the fuel ‘crisis’ (panic). These queues backed-up traffic a ridiculously long way and made drivers rather less well tempered than normal. I had several close passes on the narrow lanes riding out into the Essex countryside. Once past Theydon Bois though all became peaceful again.
I breezed along through rolling countryside with a full stomach and the wind at my back. The schedule was looking good. My next planned stop was a Travelodge at Spalding,167 kms away. In the sunny skies above I saw a Spitfire having a mock dog-fight with another aircraft as I passed close to the RAF museum at Duxford. Before long, I’d passed by Cambridge and rolled through old St Ives, and was at the gates of St Ivo’s school – the first of the official LEL controls. I had a quick sandwich from my bag, updated the dot watchers with a pic and I was off again.
Heading north from St Ives, the landscape gradually loses its elevation and becomes flatter. The sky seems to expand and roads straighten out. Ditches appear to the side of the tarmac. Welcome to the Fens ! As the sun started to set, I was treated to a steady tailwind and my average speed started to go up. Bowling along at over 30kph with relative ease was fantastic, so I made the most of it.
There were points on the stretch to Spalding that were eerily reminiscent of the Netherlands, and ridewithgps even labelled the next day’s start point as ‘South Holland’. It all makes sense though when you realise that Dutch engineers helped drain and reclaim the area from the late 16th century onwards.
A quick pic in the dark outside the school in Spalding, and then I was off to the Travelodge. After a shower and a foul and lazily-served meal at the local Frankie & Benny’s (really – what was I thinking !?), I was in bed ready for another early start the next day.
On the road again well before dawn, I grabbed a McDonalds and then carried on northwards through misty fenland roads. They were straight, flat and only occasionally interrupted by ninety degree bends. They lead me on through lowland Lincolnshire and towards the Wolds. Hills in other words. They say that the body is an adaptable organism, and with the onset of the first climb in 12 hours, my body had apparently adapted itself to being blown along with little, to no effort – to the exclusion of everything else. I nearly popped a valve trying to get up the first hill – a relatively modest one at that, it has to be said. After a few stern words with myself, I calmed down and started to tap out a sustainable rhythm on the pedals. I’d put out the same effort, but I’d be going slower from now on, and I just had to deal with it.
The Lincolnshire Wolds looked rather nice in the light of an early, misty dawn. Rolling landscapes were back, as were historical sites such as closed RAF airbases and an English civil war battlefield, along with standing up on the pedals to get up the steeper hills. The jacket came off as both the day and I warmed up, and I approached Louth – the next control. I was starting to think about food shopping, but despite Louth having plenty of shops, there wasn’t much going on when I reached it early on a Sunday morning. I took another pic and off I went. Next stop, the Humber Bridge, or some food somewhere – hopefully !
Over 30kms later at Great Imber, I finally found an open village shop. I stopped and wolfed down some food, including that most British of lunch fayre, a Chicken Tikka sandwich, and pocketed some snacks for later. I wasn’t half way into the day at that point and needed calories. More rolling landscapes followed but soon I was in for a surprise at the base of the Humber bridge. The path was gated shut ! Whilst picking up my jaw from the floor, I noticed a manned Highways Agency car sitting on the slip road nearby. A quick chat with the rather laconic occupant revealed there was a path across the Humber on the other side of the road – hurrah ! Of course there was…
Crossing the Humber was breezy but not crazily so. On the other side I had to divert around a rather randomly placed NHS Covid Test center, but was soon up the road and at the gates of the Hessle control: a snazzy, bronze-looking High school. It looked as if they’d only just finished building it – it was that new and shiny.
Out from Hessle I was onto Yorkshire roads. More rolling hills and arable landscapes lulled me into expecting a lazy afternoon until it gradually dawned on me, north of some Dalton or other, that I was struggling a bit. It turns out that the road ever so gradually climbs up to Huggate: 140m of elevation in about 12km – the ultimate false flat. It was horrible. Combined with the fatigue I’d started to notice, I really found myself grovelling along and also suffered the indignity of being overtaken by an aloof tri-athlete in full TT mode.
Soon this horror gave way to the rather wonderful hidden valley that leads out of Thixendale. It climbs up more steeply (100m in 5km), but feels a whole lot easier and charms you whilst working your legs. 10km after reaching the top I was in Malton – self proclaimed Food Capital of Yorkshire. I have no idea why. Another quick pic outside the school, a crazy wiggle out of the housing estate next to it and I was on my way to the final stop of the day – the Travelodge at Scotch Corner services.
First I had to traverse the North York moors though – something I hadn’t twigged when I started looking at the route. I have to admit, it came as a bit of a nasty surprise. It’ll (hopefully) teach me to look at any route in detail before I ride it next time … I was sucked into a complacent frame of mind by the lazily undulating valley roads that lead to Helmsley. What’s that dark, brooding ridge in the distance I wonder ? I probably won’t be going over that – nothing to worry about …
When I rode through a Helmsley in full Sunday afternoon, tourist swing, I started to get vague flashbacks of previous trips I’d had in this area and the knee-mashing gradients I’d had to grind up. Sure enough, after a steadily steepening B-road climb out of Helmsley, the fun started. The next 15km was up and down several short, steep climbs with the predominant trajectory heading skywards. I got off at one point in a cloud of disgust and self loathing as I ran out of gears, instead walking up the short climb to the pub at Hawnby. Dusk started to gather as I finally got up onto the moor and had to dodge sheep – the wooly-headed creatures displaying their usual reckless impulsivity to suddenly want to be the other side of the road as I approached. I was particularly careful now, having already somehow contrived to hit two (smaller) animals on the ride so far.
Although it felt like an age, I was soon topping out the climb near Osmotherly. All that was left of the day was a quick blast to my hotel at the Scotch Corner services, and then a shower, food binge and sleep. Despite the name, it’s nowhere near Scotland – that would be tomorrow’s target. I’d made good time that day and decided to start off an hour earlier than planned in the morning.
Good job I did opt to start early. Day three was going to start out wet apparently. Out on the road again by 3am, I made the obligatory detour around Whorlton, because the bridge LEL usually uses to cross the Tees before Barnard Castle, is undergoing long term repair work. So I rode up to Winston and joined the A67 Darlington Road – presumably the one travelled for the infamous eye test – before dropping down the hill to Whorlton itself and rejoining the old route into Barnie. It was dark and wet. A quick, and utterly pointless photo outside the school, and I was off again. Next stop Alston, via Yad Moss, the thought of which, I have to admit, was making me a bit nervous in this weather.
The climb up the Tees valley kicked in shortly after Barnard Castle and went on and on … and on. It wasn’t a hard slog, rather a steady one. Once through Middleton on Tees, the landscape started to change – well, I suspect it did, I really couldn’t see much of it in the cloak of cloudy wet darkness I was riding in. The rain started to get heavier and the wind started to pick up. I decided it was time for the jacket, even though up until that point I really hadn’t felt that cold. Car lights started to appear above me in the distance and I watched them traversing zig zag patterns across the gloom as they came towards me. As I reached the top of the moor, I started to be able to see the landscape as dawn broke. The wind and the rain were really picking up as I reached the top with cold water being pushed horizontally into my left ear. A not altogether enjoyable sensation.
After topping the pass, I started to feel the cold and the bike started to shudder on the descent due to my shivering. There is no cover at all up there – nowhere to hide – so I resolved to get off it as quickly and safely as I could and try and find somewhere warm in Alston. After a quite sketchy descent, I was in the town. I nipped into the Co-op for a coffee or something hot to eat, but they didn’t do either ! Fortunately they were able to tell me that the Texaco garage on the main road sold coffee and hot food. I was saved ! I spent a good half an hour in there instead – eating, warming up and dripping on the floor.
I didn’t bother to stop and take a picture of the control in Alston. The phone was wet and steamed up, so there was no point trying and I needed to keep moving to stay warm anyway. I decided to take a picture at Brampton, the next stop, if I could. The landscape was rather bleak but beautiful leading out of Alston – moor land interspersed with valleys gushing with streams of white water. It was all rather undulating, but I’d expected that and the hills were nothing to trouble my legs that much. If anything I welcomed the variation because I could change position and stay warm with the effort.
Brampton came and went soon after. The route to the school avoids the centre of town and I was at the school gate in no time. I took a quick pic, topped up with a gel and cracked on towards Moffat. The next stage was rather flat and uneventful. I was in and out of Longtown in due course, which is not as long as it might want you to believe. And then, finally, I was into Scotland.
The border roads here are challenging and slow going. Up and down, left and right, and the road surfaces are sub-optimal if I’m to be polite. There are potholes galore amongst chip-sealed tarmac and gravel outwash. The heavily forested landscape is not much to write home about either – entrenched and blasted wasteland, and blandly uniform forestry. Don’t expect to be inspired, this land is here to be worked, not to provide picturesque beauty. That comes a bit further up the road.
Moffat was as buzzing as Moffat gets on a weekday afternoon. There were plenty of people about and I stopped to stuff food into my face at the garage at the end of the square. Drivers chatted and gawped but I didn’t much care, I had the Devil’s Beeftub to get over and I was damned sure I was going to be ready for it. The sun had started to make an appearance now but the temperature had dropped and I was keen to get over the Forth bridge before sunset.
I needn’t have worried, even on a full, burpy stomach, the Devil’s Beeftub was a pussycat. A nice uniform gradient was easily surmounted and once over the top there was a lengthy and rapid descent along the Tweed valley that went on for ages and pushed my average speed back up quite nicely. I was making fine progress when I had to turn left at Broughton to go around the Pentland Hills on my way north. There was a bit of up and down as the route crossed valleys but soon I was back on another fast road – the A70 – and another fast tailwind-enhanced descent. I barely had to pedal for quite some time but was roaring along at a great pace. I got so into this that I then missed the left turn near Kirknewton. I realised my mistake when I noticed the ‘Welcome to Edinburgh’ sign. But I wasn’t supposed to go there just yet … was I ? Indeed I wasn’t. Backtracking after checking the Garmin had me annoyed I’d wasted that time and then finding out just how much wind there was. The ride back south tomorrow would be challenging.
The trip to the Forth bridges from this point involves crossing arterial roads, railway lines and various flavours of commercial estates – some industrial, some retail. During rush hour that meant plenty of motorised traffic. There were bike paths around, but they’re easily missed and I made the mistake of sticking to the road whilst crossing the A89 at Newbridge. It would’ve been safer and a lot more pleasant to cross straight to the other side at the lights and get on the path.
Soon after that I was into South Queensferry and watching the Garmin’s track like a hawk. At the roundabout over the disused road that comes from the old Forth road bridge, I dithered as I tried to work out how to negotiate the track and the temporary cones that were redirecting nonexistent traffic onto the bridge nowadays. It made little sense, but I just headed for the path anyway, and soon found myself on the bridge.
What a splendid view there was from it ! The sun was gradually sinking to my left over the busy new road crossing, whilst to my right was the iconic red Forth rail bridge. Over the other side of the estuary I cycled past roads leading to the dockyard at Rosyth – ships and cranes picked out in the setting sun. All that was left of the day for me now was a ride up to the control at Dunfermline High School and a ride back to the hotel which I’d passed on the way up.
After skirting the edge of Dunfermline and then riding along a bumpy country lane for a mile or so, I threaded my way through a subway underneath the railway line, and there it was. The new control at Dunfermline High School is another rather splendid, recently built school building. End of day football practice was going on in their extensive all weather sports area. I propped the bike up against the school sign, took another control pic and returned the way I’d come back over the bridge.
It’s a slightly different route to get you back over the Forth, for the good reason that you’d normally cross back using the other side of the bridge. Not today though. On the second (and only other) estuary crossing on this trip, here was a second diversion. As there was nothing but buses and pedestrians crossing the bridge, it was easy to cross back over to the other side and retread my steps from earlier. I carefully threaded my way along the bike paths and smaller roads before getting back onto the roundabout and reaching that night’s stop at the Premier Inn.
I dried my clothes out the best I could, but my gloves had started to smell like a pond. Still, the ritual washing and drying of my shorts carried on as it had every night, and so far I had no issues down there. There wasn’t much to buy for breakfast around the hotel, so I ate a massive dinner and pretended that would do for breakfast. I’d be cycling through Edinburgh in the morning after all – somewhere would be open in such a big city, surely ?
Up well before dawn again, I worked my way through South Queensferry and found myself on some surprising cobbles. After being bounced around on them, I then had to ride up a stinker of a hill which I presume was the now bypassed route in and out of the town. Over this and I was riding alongside what had bypassed it – the A90. At the end of a descent there’s a point at which I really had to work out where I was supposed to go. The fast traffic on the dual carriageway to my right was a pretty good clue that it wasn’t there. Zooming in and out on the Garmin’s map soon got me on the right track – left and into Cramond and onto the suburbs of Edinburgh itself.
Riding through cities lowers your average speed, and even though it was before rush hour and I was riding along the paths of disused, sunken rail lines and well away from the stop/start road system, I was going slower than I’d wanted. I’d anticipated this, but it was still annoying me because I had far enough to go and I knew there’d also be a headwind the whole way and more wet weather. It was also surprisingly cold. At a garage I found open, I stopped for breakfast sandwiches and food for the rest of the morning – and put all my layers on.
The centre of Edinburgh was lively, even at that hour. The route took me through the centre of the city, past Waverly station, Holyrood, and then up through the park and out back into the suburbs. Climbing out through Liberton I didn’t turn off up Kirk Brae and instead was confronted by a locked housing estate gate and had to backtrack, wasting yet more time. But not long after I was out, crossing Edinburgh’s bypass and on into the countryside.
Another silly routing error had to be corrected as I rode through Bonnyrigg, but after that all there was for miles was gradual climbing through the Moorfoot Hills and the valleys that lead to Innerleithen – reputedly the wettest part of Britain. It wasn’t wet as I rode through it, but was incredibly cold for this time of year. The rising sun to the east was shielded from me by the high surrounding hills. By the time I was descending past the Golf course outside Innerleithen, it even looked like there had been frost on the grass overnight.
A quick pic outside the school at Innerleithen whilst trying to not look odd or suspicious during a busy Primary school drop off period, and off I went again through a housing estate and onto another disused railway line bike path, over the river and back onto countryside roads – this time Traquair forest. More forestry roads lead me up and down through gathering rain showers now and drizzly wind. The area was living up to its reputation after all.
Winding my way through one forested valley after another was not as monotonous or slow as I’d experienced on my way up to Moffat. The scenery here seemed more varied and less bleak somehow – despite the proximity to the northern route, the headwind and constant rain. Funny that – maybe it was my state of mind rather than the landscape itself ? Whilst contemplating such mental foibles, I rolled up to the entrance of the Samye Ling Buddhist centre, took a pic, stuffed a chicken caesar wrap into my gob and then set off.
The route back into England was more rolling, but somehow easier than the one on the way up – and more scenic. I sped along looking out for the ‘Welcome to England’ sign. I’d been told ‘if you blink you’ll miss it’. I must’ve blinked because I missed it. Climbing up from a river however I was welcomed to Cumbria. I’d crossed the border. I rejoined the northern route just north of Brampton which I was soon rolling through just before the end of the school day. This time I didn’t bother to stop. It was still wet and windy and I wanted to get to Yad Moss in daylight and onto that night’s return to Scotch Corner and sleep. Fatigue was building and today was turning out to be a long one.
Alston couldn’t come soon enough. The rain was getting heavier and I was starting to feel the cold again. Back in the Texaco garage that saved me the day before, I was joined by two other shivering cyclists who were doing the Coast to Coast and were about to stop for the night. One said, with justifiable pride, they’d just ridden from Penrith. I didn’t want to burst his bubble, but did happen to mention that I had to go over Yad Moss to get to my sleep stop for the night, at which point they noticed I was wearing sandals and the conversation sort of dried up. Can’t think why. I was also rather inelegantly shoving a flaky cheese and onion slice into my face at the time, whilst taking hasty swigs of coffee. Maybe that had something to do with it ?
So, Yad Moss one day at dawn and then again at dusk the next. I certainly choose my times. I hadn’t been looking forward to this as I was expecting a headwind the whole way. But it seemed surprisingly easy. I was in the lee of the wind and the gradient wasn’t that bad – more straightforward than I’d expected. There were hardly any cars up there either, and once over the blustery top, it was downhill all the way following the Tees valley to Barnard Castle which I reached only ninety minutes or so later.
At Barnie there were restaurants and pubs oozing food smells and warmth. Frustratingly though, I had another hour and twenty minutes until I reached Scotch Corner. The A67 diversion avoiding the bridge at Whorlton adds time to this stretch, but at least the A-road was practically empty when I was on it.
I attempted a quick turn around in order to get into bed as early as I could to maximise my sleep, but food shopping, chain lubing, shorts washing and soaking in a hot bath, along with eating an extensive pile of food, certainly adds up. I was in bed by midnight – just. I decided to start later than planned in the morning just to make sure I got enough sleep.
I left the services just before 7am having fuelled up with a Costa coffee and pastry, and shoe-horned some sandwiches into my musette for later. The morning was dry and bright, but cold and breezy. I soon had all my layers on again. Heading south on the return, the route skirts around the edge of the North York moors, and although it was hilly and rural, I was soon back in Malton – Yorkshire’s food capital of course. The return route takes you down the High street. Great I thought, maybe I’ll get to learn why Malton is so foody ? After passing a Costa and some of the other usual suspects, I was none the wiser. I didn’t stop.
Not far beyond Malton I remembered, was the charming chalk valley leading to Thixendale, a leg masher of a climb out – and then the hideous false flat going through Huggate onto some Dalton. The chalk valley came and went at rapid speed, and at the first sight of the steep climb out of Thixendale, I had a brain wave – why not walk up it whilst eating the sandwiches ? It wasn’t much slower than riding it and I got to eat my lunch. I was embarrassingly pleased with myself for doing this, but it worked out well and saved me from wasting time by being stationary.
The false flat in reverse was a hoot. The headwind I’d expected didn’t amount to much, or barely dented the effects of gravity anyway. I kahooned it along at a great rate for quite some time. Then over the Wolds and through some Burtons I flew and I was back in Hessle and at the foot of the Humber Bridge in no time. One side was still closed but I’d expected this and just got on with it. Next stop after the bridge was Louth. There were more hills to negotiate but none are that steep and they helped me vary my cadence and position which, at this stage of the ride, was becoming more and more welcome. I’d already adjusted the saddle twice to relieve pressure on certain areas and changing riding position gave further relief.
In Louth at the end of the school day, there was plenty going on and more traffic than I’d like. On the way out I then made a stupid error and stayed on the A road which had a sign stating how many people had been killed on Lincolnshire roads the previous few years. How encouraging ! It was only after many close passes and cycling past the entrance of the Cadwell Park motor racing circuit that the penny dropped – there was no way the official LEL route would take riders on such an unpleasant road. Sure enough, I was riding on a road parallel to where I was supposed to be. The scale I’d moved to on the Garmin shaded the route and this A-road almost the same. I got off at the next opportunity and revelled again in the peace and quiet of the country lanes.
More rolling Wold-scapes, RAF memorials and disused air fields came and went as I approached dusk and the dreaded Fens. The anticipated southerly wind hadn’t bothered me anywhere near as much as I’d expected all day, but I was sure it would on the flatlands of the Fens. Rolling back down the last hill, I was confronted by a flat expanse, and stopped at Mareham le Fen to have a quick snack and put some layers back on.
Fifty flat kilometers later and I was back at the Travelodge at Spalding. The headwind turned out to be more of a crosswind that, more often than not, worked in my favour. Result ! Despite my headwind fears, I’d made decent time. I ended the day with a quick minimarket sweep and fish & chips before going through the evening washing, chain-lubing and food eating ritual.
The next morning I made sure I was fuelled up at the McDonalds and put some more in my musette. Ten minutes spent eating and drinking here would serve me well later. The wind direction had changed overnight, so today there definitely would be a Fenland headwind. I’d checked and re-checked the forecast but there was to be no escape. I just had to put up with it.
The Fens are flat and lack the shelter of trees and hedgerows. From Spadling to St Ives it was pan flat and shelter-free. I resolved to keep my head down and cadence up, and to not look at any numbers on the Garmin. I just had to keep going. Apparently I managed a paltry 50km in 3hours before I reached the end of the dead straight road that leads out of Whittlesey. After that, paradoxically, the hills started and the average speed crept up as I was soon amongst the shelter of hedges and trees. Picturesque St Ives came and went and then I was on the long bike path to Cambridge. No cars, smooth tarmac and enough shelter – what’s not to love !?
The route turned off at Girton – not what I’m used to having been on it before on another audax. As soon as I crossed the A14 I could see why though, as there was no need to get over a crazily busy roundabout junction to cross it. Instead the more cyclist-friendly version gets you across on a junction-free bridge. In the centre of Cambridge I stopped outside the CUP bookshop, sheltered from the wind, scoffed a McDonald’s leftover and then scurried back into the bustle of pedestrians, rental scooters and other cyclists. Out on the other side of the city, the road surface took a turn for the worst – indeed it was actually worse than some of the border roads I’d moaned about south of Moffat. Potholes, bodged patches of tarmac and gravel all over what was supposedly a cycle track on the bus lane. I was glad to get back into the countryside and smooth tarmac soon after.
Heading south I started to skirt alongside the M11, crossed under the A505 and was seeing places I’d only ever seen signposts for on my many trips from Norwich to London in my youth. I went past Audley End House, Saffron Walden and Stansted Airport at a reasonable pace, despite the rolling landscape, constant headwind and occasional shower. Great Easton appeared and I stopped for a photo outside what I imagined would be the control – the Village Hall. But I was mistaken, the control is going to be the school on the way into the village. At least it’ll be signposted on the event itself.
From then on it was a case of (almost) retracing my steps through Essex towards Epping Forest and the end of the route at Loughton. The traffic became more frequent and less patient, but soon I was turning right into the housing estate that contains the Davenant Foundation School in Loughton. I’d done it !
After several poor attempts at a selfie in front of the sign, I gave up, swung my leg back over the saddle and headed off through central London and that night’s hotel in Winnersh. Riding through a wet central London in rush hour was simultaneously crazy, entertaining and scary, but it seemed oddly fitting after the week’s riding I’d had. I’d confirmed the new LEL route works – and I’d completed it in time. Mission accomplished!
adultmale 