HCW Day 3 Carlisle to Whitehaven

 We had decided to start early at 7:30am, today being the longest of our planned days at 70 miles. We woke up to rain and got as far as wheeling our bikes down the hotel corridor before changing our plan and staying for breakfast. One cooked brekkie later and we departed the hotel with the rain having already stopped. Being on the road we had rather lost track of the days and it transpired that eating at the hotel was a good plan, since it was Sunday and we didn't pass any open cafés until lunchtime.

Sculpture to commemorate the formation of the RSPB 

We picked our way out of Carlisle, getting the most lost out of our whole trip when we blundered around Carlisle hospital trying to find a nonexistent path to route 72.

Having escaped the clutches of the city, we headed along the Solway Firth, where the beach scenes reminded me of the ubiquitous Jack Vetrianno prints that were everywhere in the 90s (or the late 20th century as the young people now describe it). He sadly passed away in March of this year.

Apparently the singing butler sold over a million prints since 1992

Solway firth, with it's numerous sand banks

We headed West across the pancake, nay rabbit-flat terrain. Across Dykesfield, which spends much of its time underwater. What I assumed to be the Dyke was actually a disused railway, raised up to prevent flooding.

I wouldn't attempt it!

Railway on the left, Solway firth on the right.

We finally arrived at Drumburgh, a coastal village with a "castle" - actually a fortified farmhouse to provided refuge from the border reivers. Apparently they would wade across the firth at low tide on the sandbank know as the Wath. Apparently they were easy to spot and the village inhabitants would take refuge in the farmhouse. By all accounts it was common for raiders to drown by getting stuck in the Solway sands.

A castle designed to disappoint American tourists 

I wouldn't fancy making that crossing on a raid

Riding on to Bowness on Solway, where we posed for a photo by the sign for Rome, before taking a cheeky shortcut south, the first of a few that shaved over 10 miles off our planned route.

Hmm, cycling to Rome. Sounds like a good idea...

...No.

Our next diversion cut out the loop to Silloth - a popular Victorian seaside destination until the Beeching report did for tourism. The old coastal railway must have been pretty special, with the industrial towns giving way to picturesque views across the firth to the Scottish hills. Apparently Silloth is home to the largest village green in England - tempted as we were to view a patch of grass, the reduced mileage was too inviting.

This floods apparently, even though the sea in nowhere to be seen

Continuing South, we took a brief detour to the Lowther Arms - a community owned pub for a spot of light lunch. Just sandwiches Tracy said, although I knew that she would choose a roast dinner if one was going. No roast available and no sandwiches that took her fancy she decided to order the small Haddock. She forgot the word small when the waitress took our order, so she ended up with a big slab of battered fish on a mountain of chips. I helped her out by eating most of her chips, kind-hearted husband that I am. It meant that the next hours riding was challenging, as all we wanted was a Sunday afternoon nap.

South on the coastal path through Allonby bay to Maryport and we seemed to be stuck in a glitch in the matrix. Our view was on constant repeat - grassland and sand dunes to the left, wide beach with a few people and the distant sea on the right. It turns out the bay is absolutely huge and it being quite remote, never seems busy.

Stuck in...

...a loop...

...but looking back from Maryport you can see how big the bay actually is.

We climbed through Maryport golf course, putting at least one golfer off his stroke. A father on his mountain bike passed us coming down the hill, his son perched on the handlebars, his daughter spread across his arms and the crossbar. I marvel at the efforts some people will go to in order to remove their genes from the genepool.

The sculpture is made from Iron ore mixed with resin. Ironically, the iron ore had to be shipped in from Europe

We continued to ride south, another old railway taking us all the way through Workington, whilst providing only a 5 second glimpse of the town centre. The view was the common sight of a Greggs and a neighbouring Costa. Greggs for all your pastry needs and Costa if you're too good for Gregg's. You'll see this pairing in most towns in the UK.

We finally arrived at Whitehaven, took a brief celebratory selfie before heading up the steepest hill of the day to our hotel.

I do love a wind turbine. Trump's a moron. 

Whitehaven quayside 

A reluctant selfie

We ventured out a bit later and ate at the local spoons. I'm not proud, but it is so cheap. We chatted with 4 guys from our hotel who were heading out on the Hadrian's Cycleway and into storm Floris the next morning. They were a bit nervous, but although they might get a bit damp, the tailwinds will speed them along like Olympians.

Tracy's wall collection:

Morrisons supermarket wall

Hadrian's wall

Barn wall

Farm wall

Choose your favourite.

Distance covered: 58 miles 

Elevation: 1540ft

Tracy whinge factor: 0/10 she is a delight when there are no hills to climb 

Cake of the day: Unfortunately a cakeless day, but depending on your point of view, she had two yesterday.

We are riding around Ireland next year. We have learnt that we will need more training beforehand. We were a bit blase this trip, thinking that it would be easy after LEJoG last year. It wasn't - the Pennines were more challenging than anything we did last trip.