Tan Hill - where on earth did that come from!

Day 12 - Monday 11th August: Little Stainforth to Bowbank - 56.58 Miles and 1951 metres climbed.
I think today will rank as one of, if not THE best ride of my life (to date). I had expected great scenery, but what I rode into was really breathtaking (in every sense).
I set of from Stainforth in the usual mix of wind and rain but with spitits high - I was excited about the route today. After my breakfast climb fix I found myself back in Geography fieldtripland, this time courtesy of Selside. God only knows what we did at Selside as there is nothing much there, sheep notwithstanding, but it was nostalgic nonetheless. After a mile or so I approached a T-junction and had my first "oh my god!" moment of the day as I turned a corner and saw Ribblehead viaduct. It stands magnificent to your left at the head of Blea Moor.
As I turned East heading towards Hawes, the road and the scenery to my left continued to give me many of these moments - where I continually let out gasps or just giggled to myself as to how spectacular the views were (cycling on your owns sends you pretty close to the sanity edge ). Climbing up through the remote moors at Far Gearstones then across to High Houses was, so far at least, my favourite stretch of road.
Hawes was very 'James Herriot' and seemingly the home of Wensleydale cheese. For me though it meant the start of the climb that I'd been fearing most - Buttertubs Pass (I know it doesn't sound too fearsome but if you look at a OS Landranger and the see how friendly the contour lines get to each other you'll see why it's scary). My concerns weren't altogether unfounded but, by now, my climbing legs (and/or lungs) were joining me for the trip so I got to the top without too much bother* (*please note that this is relative - too much bother would have been a heart attack or something, and the fact I didn't have one meant I had climbed well!) I stopped at 'Fred's Bench' near the summit to take in the views behind me. If, at the end of my innings, I were to have a bench, then one alongside Freds would suit me fine.
The downhill was fast and winding (new record of 47.8mph) and at the bottom I met another another cyclist who had set off from Catterick. We chatted as we cruised through Thwaite and Keld whilst comparing routes (he hadn't taken on Buttertubs). It turned out we were heading in the same direction for the next stint which I found out when he let out that he "only does Tan Hill once a year". He said this in a very matter of fact manner as if to suggest we both knew what we were in for - but somehow, when I was planning my days ride, it hadn't jumped off the page (perhaps I had been too preoccupied with Buttertubs) so I wasn't expecting another mountain - let alone one as hard as this.
Tan Hill pretty much smacks you straight in the face from the start - with a twisty half a mile of 25%, then it 'flattens' out to 15% for a while before a few more steep bits towards the end kick destroy whatever remaining good feelings you might have had. At the top you find yourself alongside Tan Hill Inn, the UKs highest pub allegedly! The landscape at the summit is a bit like the surface of the moon.
A strong Westerly made my ride down to North Stainmore (a quite desolate place) rather hard and made me nervous of how I would cope in a couple of days time when I was to head West to Dumfries with stronger winds predicted. The rest of the ride was not notable but for the continually amazing views and for the fact that it felt like I had conquered the Dales. I arrived at Bowbank campsite in good spirits but not before I had had my pants scared off me by some jets practising their low valley manoeuvres. Tomorrow I was to head for Kielder, our last day in England.
PS - There was one other notable event on my little pootle from North Stainmore to Bowbank - I had finally passed the halfway point!

Day 13 - Tuesday 12th August: Middleton to Bellingham. 51.54 miles and 1684 metres of climbing.
Miserable. I set off in the rain, finished in the rain and in between the rain only broke twice...for heavy rain! My route was Langdale Beck, across the moors to St Johns Chapel, then Allenheads, Haydon Bridge, Fourstones , Wark then Bellingham.
After a brief detour to take in the somewhat underwhelming 'High Force' (waterfall) I headed to Langdale Beck. As I turned off the main road to cross the moor and climb the west face of Black Hill I spotted a sign. It amusingly reads: "CYCLISTS - This route is liable to poor weather conditions at all times." I'm not sure why it singled out us cyclists in particular and not any other of the poor sods choosing to cross the moor, but it tickled me as pretty much summed up my whole trip so far. The weather had really been comically bad since I left Lands End - though note here that I use the word 'comically' in a way that should not, by any means, be interpreted to mean funny! I chuckled (the sanity edge appearing close again). I pity the next person who jokes "you must have brought the weather with you - it was glorious yesterday!" as I am likely to crack (at all times).
The climb was brutal - really, really punishing. And miserable. Perhaps it was yesterdays efforts but for the first time I was struggling. It wasn't the steepest, the longest or most technically difficult climb - but would make it into the top 3 in all these categories. Apart from that, I didn't notice much today - just a constant battle against the elements and singing to myself to keep the spitits high - generally choosing my (some say uncanny) rendition of Louis Armstrong.
To cap the day off nicely - we had to camp beneath a cluster of pine trees which, after a period of prolonged rain, drip on your tent in a manner not unlike a form of water torture. Perfect.

Day 14 - Wednesday 13th August: Bellingham to Dumfries - 74.77 miles and 1375 metres climbed.
After virtually no sleep, I set off (in the rain in case anyone was wondering) heading towards Kielder Water. I'd ridden these roads a couple of times before when I was younger (and fitter), competing in the Polaris Challenge - a 2 day MTB Orienteering event, which, until this trip, was probably the hardest thing I had done. I rode the South shore of Kielder Water then headed North through Kielder Village - reminiscing the previous rides in these hills - and thinking of some good friendships I had let go of. Clearly the moroseness of yesterday hadn't quite shifted.
But as you cut through the forest between Loch Knowe and Peel Fell you reach the Scottish Border. Just what the doctor ordered. I predictably stopped to photograph the signs - "SCOTLAND welcomes you". For those riding the opposite way England doesn't, it just factually alerts you of it's presence. "ENGLAND".
Within a few hundred metres of crossing the border I was joined in the lane by a dozen or so Swallows - and they accompanied me for about a mile. Whilst this was not the first time in the trip this had happened, (they fly the lanes as it's fruitful hunting grounds for insects - as my frequent spitting fits would validate), it felt very special, as if they were escorting me into the country. A warm welcome indeed.
I quickly reached Newcastleton where I turned off and headed into the hills. The rain was stopping as I reached the top of the pass. The road across the fell ran like a roman road - dead straight across the ridge. A car in the distance gradually got larger, disappearing once or twice as the road occasionally dipped. It was like a scene from an American road movie. I had a break at the top to take in the views, and I noticed I was above the cloud in places, though the cloud was pretty low in fairness.
After a briefish call to Melissa, who let me know all was well in the world of risk management now that I'd left it, I set off, in 'almost' sunshine heading for Malcolm's Memorial on top of a distant hill. It was the first time I'd really noticed the new colours, that had changed from the bleak greys and greens of the Dales to burnt orange and purple heathers. The climb to the memorial was long but steady and the descent, which takes you quickly into Langholm, satisfyingly similar.
I found Langholm to be a pretty town, with very Scottish architecture - the odd house having those coned turrets. I continued West towards Lochmaben via Lockerbie. As I rode past Grange Fell my second avian experience of the day was upon me. I heard a bird of prey above me but couldn't spot it. After about thirty seconds though it glided out above a cluster of trees - an eagle! Not a golden one but an eagle nonetheless. As a child I was a member of the not overly subscribed "Young Ornithologist Club". Blinding.
The sun was out by now so the waterproofs came off at Lochmaben and I rode the last half an hour very happy with the (head) wind on my legs. The ride West hadn't been bad after all - certainly not as bad as I feared when I descended Tan Hill a couple of days earlier - but Maddie had booked a hotel as a precaution anyway and without a jot of guilt (we had desrved this treat after our previous nights of misery) I skipped into town to buy some swim shorts. The evenings triathalon* was a pleasure.

* a 20 minute Spa, followed by 15 minute Steam room, followed by 15 minutes bobbing about in the pool. Repeat until done!