Lake District to Alston

Date: August 15, 2010
Route: Chapel Stile to Alston
Distance: 52 miles

I woke up this morning when Joshua tapped me on the shoulder. I had zipped up and cinched in my mummy bag so tightly that only my nose and mother were exposed. Underneath, I was wearing two long sleeve shirts, pants, hiking socks, and my hat. Beneath my hat, I had shoved ear plugs deep into my ear canals.

I don't want to give the impression that I'm a light sleeper, because it simply isn't true. I can sleep in cars, airplanes, and buses. I can sleep on all sorts of beds, the ground, and on hard planks of wood. I fall asleep swiftly, and once I'm asleep, I can tune out the sounds of thunderstorms, Joshua getting in and out of bed, and the sounds of small warfare going on outside our bedroom window. It's a serious gift, and I am seriously grateful.

That said, I have found something through which I cannot sleep: the snorts and fits of a receding palate. Last night after we had returned from Ambleside, we saw that a family had pitched their enormous tent right next to ours. In comparison, ours looked like it might be a little seedling that theirs had planted. Just as we set down our bikes, we heard the high pitched squeal and howl of a baby getting ready for a good late afternoon cry. Joshua and I made eye contact, and in that moment, we saw our night flash before our eyes.

The baby didn't wake me once. As far as I'm concerned, the baby slept like... Well, a baby. Its father, however, snored like a teamster. I know this because, even though I had ear plugs, a hat, and my sleeping bag encasing my head, I could still hear him. As I lay awake, I contemplated the misfortune of his wife.

When I woke up this morning, I told Joshua that I had a plan. Should he ever develop a snore, we would immediately seek medical attention. He would go to a specialist, and whatever surgeries they recommended - tightening the palate or shifting the deviated septum - he would get. We would put him on a diet, and we would give him breathe right strips. If worse came to worse, he would wear a ventilator. In the mean time, I would wear the best ear plugs money can buy, and we would drown out the sounds of his great, gurgling snores with the sound of a thousand fans and calming music. If that didn't work, I would work up some kind of muffling, music playing contraption that I could strap around my ears.

After I told him all of this, I patted him on the arm and said, "so I wouldn't have to leave you after all." He looked a little confused.

Once we had packed up our camp, we hopped on our bikes and headed out of Braysbrown Farm at 8:30. We had planned to make an earlier start, and rolling out of Chapel Stile on our way to Ambleside, we felt pretty self-congratulatory. Everyone else was still wiping sleep from their eyes, hopping in their cars, and driving up to the bathrooms just to have a little piddle, brush their teeth, and smooth back their riotous hair. Not us. We're biking bad-asses, and today, we're going to take on the bad-ass biking world.

As soon as we change Joshua's front tire. Forty-five minutes later, we had learned two things: number one, don't get too self-congratulatory (you're just asking for fate to intervene), and number two, tire patches go orange side down and black side with the orange ring up. You might be wondering: umm... Haven't you guys already patched a few tires? Well, yes, if you're asking, we have, and before you ask, no, they were not patched correctly, and yes, that's probably why we have to pump up our tires twice a day, because, yes, they all have slow leaks.

Oh. So now you're wondering how we figured out that we were doing it the wrong way? Well, the answer is very simple, really. Ellie read the directions in the patching kit, and Joshua realized that sometimes, when you're teaching yourself how to do things and no one has ever shown you how to do them, it might be a good idea to maybe look at the directions.

Some people might let an hour-long tire ordeal get them down, but not us. While we weren't feeling quite as bad-ass, we were still feeling pretty chipper. Once we cycled through Ambleside, we turned right onto the road leading for Kirkstone Pass, and yes, since you're asking, we are aware that the word 'Pass' usually means that there will be a very big hill, which there was.

Almost immediately, the road went straight up hill. Signs warned us: 20 percent grade! Dangerous while wet! Driving conditions in winter may be impossible! One sign simply named that which we were about to undertake, 'The Struggle.' For the next twenty minutes, we heaved and pulled up the hill in lowest gear.

Some of you may remember back to Glendalogh when my body chose a most opportune time to remind me that I am a woman. Never one to let the moment pass, my body chose half way up 'The Struggle' to remind me that, yes, indeed I am a woman, and I would like a bathroom now, please.

There wasn't a bathroom, but I hopped over a stile, ran through a field, and chose a scenic spot beneath some trees and away from any one's view. Anyone, that is, except for a whole heard of cows that stopped chewing long enough to look over at me while I did my business. A couple of them even pawed the ground, which made me very nervous indeed.

Safe from a stampede and other womanly accidents, we continued up the 3 mile long hill. Did I mention that we ascended nearly 500 meters in that distance? Well, it's true, and although we had to hop off and push our bikes up most of it, when we reached the top, I felt very, very bad ass. People clapped. People stared. We took a picture next to the warning signs, and then, we started the long cycle down.

From the Pass to Penrith is about 21 miles, and the first 6 are pretty much down hill. As we descended into the valley, we were greeted by even more beautiful views. Here, fields and lakes were cupped on every side buy wrinkly, soft mountains that reach up to the sky, and the weather was phenomenal. Above, everything was shining and blue, and below, the grass and lakes sparkled with it. Even the buildings looked tinged in buttercups and roses. The sheep were munching happily, warming their backs in the rays, and the English came out en masse, stripped down to their white, white skin and worshipped the Sun (who so rarely deigns to visit).

Riding into Penrith, we decided that we like the Lake District a lot, and we would like to return. One little hike and another little bikeride are not enough to explore a fraction of it. After 30 miles of cycling, we entered the historic market town of Penrith and headed for the Tourist Information Office. Although our maps and guides gave us a route through the Penine Mountains, none of them indicated whether or not we would be able to find camping once we got there. The man in the office was very helpful, and we exited the building armed with a whole list of campsites between Penrith and Allenshead.

For lunch, I went off to find a shop, and I returned with a bagload full of food for lunch, dinner, and breakfast. Absolutely starving from our morning trek, we wolfed down four baguettes, a round of Laughing Cow cheese, a punnet of strawberries, four apricots, a tub of couscous, a tub of pesto pasta, and a really disgusting candy bar called a Crunchie. Joshua strapped the rest of the food to his bike, and we headed out.

Feeling like I had a bit of a food baby in my belly, I climbed the hill out of Penrith slowly, but after about a mile of climbing, lunch was a memory, and I felt much better. Descending through Edenhill Valley, we passed bucolic farms and hundreds of sheep and cows. Feeling a little high from all of the sunshine, Joshua and I raved the entire time over how pretty everything was, how nice the weather was, and how the hills didn't even seem that bad when the sun is out.

Riding through Langwathby and over streams, we had a perfect view of the climb to come. The Penines run down the middle of England, and their bumpy terrain serve as the country's backbone. While our guide book had hemmed and hawed about how difficult the pass would be, the view from here didn't look half bad. After the climb out of Ambleside, we felt like we could do pretty much anything.

After a little detour on a very bumpy off-road section, we began the climb in earnest, but since North Englanders have the sense to build roads with switchbacks up mountains, our 2 mile climb wasn't bad at all. Finally, we feel like big strong cheeky bulls again. At Hartside Pass, we took a break in the parking lot of the highest cafe in England, and as we looked out over the fading English countryside, we felt very proud of our day's accomplishments.

The last 6 miles led us gently downhill, and in Alston, we found a Caravan Park (which actually looks a lot more like a trailer park) that would let us set up camp. We pitched out tent quickly, and then I headed off to take the creepiest, scariest shower of my life.

The building that the showers are housed in can only be reached by a tunnel. This tunnel is formed out of what must have been a huge sewer or septic tank, and the walls are rusty and curved. Inside, the building looks like an asylum with frosted, grated windows, and peeling blue walls. The women's bathroom has the most rudimentary plumbing. I'm pretty sure I could have installed the sinks, toilets, and showers, and that's saying a lot. I have zero experience being house-handy.

The shower was pretty much a pipe with electrical tape fuzzing up the part where the water came out. I bolted the rusty lock and then took the quickest shower of my life, looking up at the sides of stalls the whole time to see if an axe murderer was about to leap over. Once I had toweled off and gotten dressed, I bolted. As I was walking out, I saw an old room with a ton of junk in it, but first and foremost, I saw woodshop implements. Things for sawing and drilling and cutting. CREEPY.

Back at the campsite, we met our camp neighbor, a gentleman from Edinborough who had just hiked from a small town on the border. We chatted for a while about camping equipment and our journeys, and we all agreed that Lands End is a tourist trap, Millet's (the camp store) is cheap, and it's the journey that counts. When Joshua went off to take his shower, I began cooking the rice, and I asked him what he does for a living. Right now, he mends railway machines, but after he got out of the airforce and the military, he just started a system of working for three years and then taking a year off. He called it constructive loafing; I called it smart planning.

Comparing seats - his, a fold up chair, and mine, a plastic garbage bag - he gave me a little inflatable seat pillow which I first refused and then gave in when I realized that it would actually be really nice to sit on something other than the hard ground. When Joshua came back, we ate rice, green beans, and baby corn with Korma sauce. On the side, we snacked on sugar snap peas, and for dessert, we ate flap jack. To wash up, I went with Joshua back to the scary place. I wasn't about to have him murdered while he was doing the dishes.

Date: August 14, 2010
Route: Chapel Stile to Ambleside and Back; The Fairfield Horseshoe
Distance: 11 miles biking; 8 miles hiking

When we woke up, the clouds were rolling off the valley, and with a little bit of sun shining through, I was feeling a bit more optimistic about the Lake District. After a breakfast of rice pudding and bananas, we hopped on our bikes and cycled into Ambleside.

Locking up in the heart of the village, we wandered into the Tourist Office to find out where to hike, and after we gave one guidebook a cursory glance, we figured we could make sense of the trail as we went. How hard could it be?

Climbing the hill out of Ambleside, we quickly crossed a stile and found a well-trodden public footpath. Following a rushing stream and a tree-filled valley, we hiked up. After a couple of miles, we emerged from a gully and found ourselves in a treeless dale surrounded by enormous mountains on either side. From where we stood, we could see our path run up where the two mountains met, and although the sky threatened rain, it was impossibly beautiful.

Tramping through fields filled with sheep, we enjoyed the valley to ourselves, and when we made it to the top of mountain, we could see miles of the Lake District on the other side: more mountains, more lakes. Atop a hilly craig, we stopped for a lunch of bread, humous, and cheese, and getting cold from the powerful wind, we trundled on.

The next stretch of trail was extremely steep, but once we got to the top, we were taller than most of the mountains surrounding us. Far below, Ambleside glittered next to Lake Windmere where a hundred sailboats glided across. The hike and the scenery were easily as beautiful as the Peak District, and we resolved to find a way to come back some day. We want to explore more.

Back in Ambleside, we wandered through the many outdoorsy shops. At first, we only purchased the most sensible items: batteries for my dead headlamp, butane for our empty stove, ibuprofen for my knee, and ear plugs. But once our sensible purchases were complete, I lusted after a super-soft, super-light Mountain Hardware T-Shirt I had found for 10 pounds as well as a blinding-bright, neon cycling windbreaker for 12 pounds. Both were on super clearance, and tired of hearing me dither, Joshua led me back to each store and bid me purchase. (Today, I wore both items, and they were totally worth it. The only drawback is that the cycling jacket is so bright that bees flock to me, thinking I'm the mother hive.)

A few pounds poorer, we figured we may as well break the bank, and we splurged on dinner at a restaurant. Joshua ordered a Rainforest Pizza with jalapenos and bright colored fruits and veg, and I ordered eggplant Parmesan. We split the two, and although they were delicious, they were unable to completely quench our formidable appetites. Heading over to a Free Wifi Cafe, we ordered a pastry with ginger and lemongrass tea, and we surfed the web while we ate.

Weary from walking and shopping, we cycled back to our campsite at 7 PM. The midges were nasty outside, so we burrowed inside our tent to escape their pesky stings. Both of us read until we fell asleep.