"The Esk to Esk" another version of the Coast to Coast by us.

The sunny clear day that had stayed with us all of the way up the M6 started to turn a little grey as we approached the high fells of the southern lakes. The possibility of a wet start didn't in any way dampen our spirits and the atmosphere was good as the underpowered mini bus crawled slowly along the undulating A595 to Ravenglass.

At the sleepy village we met up with the rest of our party who had cycled there the previous day. Chris Yates had led the brave quartet including Phil, Hugh and Harry a right merry route through fields and streams before finally blowing their heads off on the relentless climb of Ulpha Fell after 120 miles. Chris has written something for this part of their journey but over the next couple of days the tale of this amazing pilgrimage took on a slightly different slant. Whilst Hugh is far too polite to reveal any possible discrepancies in the Yates method and Phil is happy in most situations, Harry wasn't for letting it lie. Chris Yates has now been firmly branded as "Tosser Yates". As a fellow "Tosser" and having being publicly slammed at Newton Stewart some years earlier for similar route planning crimes, I congratulate Chris on this rise to stardom. It is a title that has to be earned through shear adventure driven stupidity and can only be granted by a wizened old bike rider whose head has become very unhinged. "Tosser Yates". A living legend.

After collecting pebbles from the mudflats of the Esk Estuary and having a dimmock attempt to take our photo on the sands, we set off east in search of a new adventure. It wasn't long before we found it either with the Hardknott pass rearing steeply skyward at just beyond 10miles covered.

The Hardknott is a climb of some status amongst cyclists. Its severe gradients and narrow twisting path create a whole variation of problems, not least that of keeping the bike moving in a forward direction. It's tarmac over the years has melted in warm weather and the weighty motion of braking vehicles has helped it to slide downwards in ripples and undulations similar to those left on the sands after the tide has gone out. This road is slowly flowing down the hillside like a tarmac glacier. Although the traffic is generally light, it only takes three or four vehicles going in either direction to create complete chaos. Inexperienced drivers, back seat driving in-laws and a fear of rolling backwards or forwards make the car drivers using the road look complete arses. About half way up the climb a lady driver was attempting to reverse her people carrier before having another go at the steep hairpin before her. It took her several attempts and the smell of burning clutch and screaming engine filled the air with a rage of gasoline panic. The cars coming down face different problems as the road disappears underneath the bonnet, completely invisible to the driver as the car lurches down the 33% gradients. As if the climb wasn't difficult enough as it was for the cyclist you have the "desperate for self preservation" motorists hissing at you for daring to be in their way. If you are fit enough to roll up the climb at a steady pace then you can stay focussed and work your way around the struggling vehicles without too much difficulty. However, if you are struggling with the savage gradients and your head is hung low, tongue dragging on the floor and the sweat pouring into your eyes, your awareness is somewhat impaired and the whole experience can be a difficult one.

To be fair to our group, everyone handled the 1.1 miles of torturous climbing extremely well. There were one or two stops for people to let vehicles past and catch a breath but nothing like the walking that Harry did the last time we climbed Hardknott in 07. This was a pretty fit group and a little further up the road we crested the top of the Wrynose in similar good shape. As we began to descend the Wrynose down the "wall of death" that charges insanely downhill for the best part of two miles, we were showered with verbal abuse by a gentleman from the North East who seemed to think we should ride behind him. He might well have wanted to fight, but at the speed we dropped under the Horse Crags and down into Little Langdale it was unlikely he was ever going to see us again.

Ambleside was busy but we weren't stopping for a chat, there was another big climb to come and almost the moment we turned right onto Kirkstone Road, we were onto the 3 1/2 mile climb of "The Struggle" as it is aptly known. It's not actually that bad and its gradients are gentle compared to those of Hardknott and Wrynose. At around the halfway mark Phil made as much of an effort as I've ever seen him make to stay in contact at the front. But as we crested one of the ramps the visible remains of the climb up to the Kirkstone Inn were enough to send him into reverse. By the summit the gaps had grown considerably and the climbing was beginning to take its toll on peoples legs. However, it was a good effort by Hugh who was still carrying two panniers on his heavy touring bike.

Hampered by yet more dawdling traffic down the Pass to Ullswater we never really got a good run at the descent. Even though our computers clicked over the 50mph point we all felt that had the road been a little more clear will's top speed of 52mph might well have been a lot closer to 60mph. Our run around the lake to Pooley Bridge was further hampered by impatient and inconsiderate motorists who refuse to wait like they would have to for a tractor, a horse, a truck, a milk float etc. By the time we had ridden out of the lakes it was a relief to leave it behind. Such a beautiful place but far too busy to be enjoyed from the saddle of a bike.

Crossing the River Lowther and into the Eden Valley the roads were almost deserted, as if we'd gone to a place where the guide books hadn't yet found. The group was riding well and Dave Burton was happy to come to the front and press hard on the pedals. A little before Kings Meaburn comes the drop to the ford crossing of the River Lyvennet. Twelve months ago I wrote about Will sliding along the algae covered concrete that runs through the river for about 30meters. Once again Will took to the water as did Greg and Hugh. I knew what might well happen so chose a position on the bridge above the river for a ring side seat. Whilst the first three seemed to have little problem with the slippery surface or swift flowing waters of the river it was left to Harry and Dave to entertain. Harry went down first with Dave dropping an instant after just behind him. Twelve moths earlier Harry had made the right decision to choose the bridge, this time it was some misplaced bravado that was to be his undoing and in turn lead Dave like a sheep through the sheep dip.

After a shop stop at Brough we undertook the ascent of Tan Hill. Young Chris was now the last man and a long way behind. By the time we had nurtured him up to the pub, that as we know has recently been fitted with new double glazing, Greg was just finishing his third pint of Guinness. It's pretty wild out there with miles and miles of very bleak looking moor land as far as the eye can see. The evening was very still and the setting sun had cast heavenly rays through the clouds spreading across the hills and valleys to the west. It was a glorious scene and a moment in time that signified the whole reason to be a cyclist.

With 10 miles to go I attacked down Arkengarth Dale with a view to soloing into Reeth alone. Phil initially came across to me but I dropped him pretty quick as I plummeted down the valley. With five miles to go I could see Wills light flashing not too far behind. I knew they were chasing hard so kept up a good rolling pace to make it difficult for them to close the gap. Phil and Harry were being towed along by Will and Greg furiously trying to chase me down. Will tried to get Harry to give them a turn but he wouldn't come through, his ripe old age being his excuse. Not a good enough one and Will takes him off the back and accelerates away. Phil manages to jump across but not for long as I press on again and finally, three miles out I manage to go clear again and ride into town alone. Dropping international stars like Greg Newton and Will Wright has got to be my best win this year so excuse me whilst I big it up a little.................Losers.

The Black Bull at Reeth was fine with good rooms and a good atmosphere. Danielle and June were already there and most of us had opted to carry our evening wear and clean kit for the day after in Junes car. The meal was good and amongst friends we quaffed some bottles of wine and a few beers before getting a good nights sleep.

Monday morning presented a different picture out of the window. Low, misty cloud and wet roads had everyone searching for their capes. The breakfast was good and we were soon on the road. "How far before the first hill?"......silly question, "just try to keep your breakfast down". Whilst the general trend is downward towards Richmond, the back lane through Marske has one or two nasty ups and downs. The rain didn't actually come and after the first hill we were forced to remove our capes or become boil in the bag cyclists.

Beyond Richmond and the lanes flatten out for about 35miles going eastward. The rising north easterly wind and wet, dirty roads made it a bit of a miserable trek. We kept the pace high and the group stayed tightly together as we passed through Appleton Whiske, Rudby and Ingleby Greenhow. Dropping to the back of the group I caught a glimpse of something too nasty for words. Harry has worn these shorts before and knows the state that they are in, however, it would appear that the shelled out value of these overpriced pants far outweighs the embarrassment and appalling bad manners of showing your arsehole to all and sundry. Whilst I was able to position myself forward of the offending anus some of the tired legs in the group were beginning to struggle and their view wasn't a light at the end of a tunnel.

Despite a good effort, Mike's lack of recent cycling was becoming very evident. With the North Yorkshire Moors looming into view and disappearing into the clouds, it was no place to be in a bad way. Mike and Dave took the road to Castleton to follow the Esk valley to its estuary at Whitby. Whilst it represented a slightly shorter route and perhaps doesn't gain some of the height of the moors, it is by no means a flat route as it traverses the steep sides of the Esk valley.

Meanwhile, climbing into the cloud and up to Rosedale Head, like gorillas in the mist, the rest of us hoped to find a cafe at Rosedale. It was pretty unpleasant high up, cold and with visibility down to only a few feet. Harvey was in good spirits despite being a little off the pace and myself, Harvey and Phil dropped into Roesdale like skydivers. coming out of the cloud at 45mph the temperature increased and in the village awaited a great little cafe.

Climbing out of Rosedale is a steep tough climb back up onto the Moors. However, it is not as tough when you've been revitalised and even the cloud up on the moor tops had shifted sufficiently from the east to give us good views. the drop back down to the Esk is very steep and sudden. From here you might think that the climbing is over but it isn't. Several quite steep climbs interspersed with a variety of smaller inclines make it a very tough finish to the ride. The ford crossing just before Grosmont was surely too much for any cyclist. Deep, long and swiftly flowing it was impassable. However, Greg was the only one to prove that wrong and sailed through with seeming ease to cheers and whoops from the rest of us lining the foot bridge.

The constant up and down was taking its toll. Harry told us that he was 60 again and pulled faces as we avoided the "Whitby - 4 flat miles" sign for a second time. It wasn't long though before we came into the town from the north bank of the river and finished at the end of the pier. After casting our stones back into the sea the ride was drawn to a symbolic close as we headed to the bus and for some well earned fish and chips.

At 89 miles and 79 miles neither day had been too long although both of the routes were quite tough. The organisation was excellent and everything went according to plan. It's a good buzz when we do that sort of stuff and very reminiscent of many of the rides we've done in the past. It brings out the best in the club and the riders who take part. Those that don't only miss out.

Many thanks to Will, who as usual funded a good chunk of the expenses. Thanks to June and Dan who came up and took some of the bikes home on Monday night. Thanks to Mike for sorting out the maps. Thanks to everyone for turning out and making it another successful trip.

Chris Riley.