Back to England

Nice lanes led me quickly into Carlisle, a huge place by my recent standards.  I was planning to stay in a hostel, but they were full. Fair enough, it is Saturday night.  I went to one of the many Wetherspoons to consider my options.  Carlisle is a nice place. It's got grand architecture and generously wide roads. A lovely cathedral too.  And Wetherspoons.

As it's another nice night, I decided to camp again.  Found a place a few miles out of town. Phoned - they answered!  Just pick a spot, leave £5 in the honesty box.  Arriving, I found there was a wooden sort of clubhouse with the showers etc plus a sitting room and dining room. I think they do breakfast, which would be great.  They have heated towel rails, do I can dry my washing, and power to charge my phone.  Everything I need except wi-fi, but I'll go to bed happy.

- the next day -
All good. Washing dry on towel rail, cup of coffee while packing the tent, £6 in honesty tin, very well spent thank you.

I was following the Hadrian's Wall cycleway, not that you could see the wall - down to Port Carlisle, similar to Port Glasgow I guess, with a matching disused railway, but no M8  and just a few buildings.  I passed a worrying sign warning of tidal flooding, but with acres of mudflats (with their own warning signs) in view, I decided to risk it.

Lovely riding along the Eden estuary, still heading north west, until I reached the turning point and realised there was a strong southerly wind.  Just round the corner there was a massive radio aerial setup, apparently a Very Low Frequency transmitter.  I think it's for maritime communications, perhaps with the you-know-whats from you-know-where.  Sorry, can't say any more - you never know who's listening.

Twenty miles passed.  I was thinking about breakfast, but all the villages I'd pinned my hopes on turned out to be a farm and a couple of houses.  And it was 8.30am on a Sunday.  The next place justifying big letters on the signs was Silloth, 12 miles.  It didn't fill me with confidence- after all, Silloth doesn't sound like the sort of place to have a 24-hour Gregg's, or even a café.

But after only 30 miles, in Abbeytown, I found Harrison's Stores, which had a coffee machine, sold cake, and was open.  My confidence in England was restored.  Then I noticed pots of Oat So Simple, porridge with honey.  There was hot water, but no spoon.  "We have some plastic forks" offered the shop girl, trying to keep a straight face.  Well, it worked well - a delicious breakfast eaten in the street outside Harrison's. 

I went the long way round to Silloth, which turned out to have plenty of tourist amenities but also a very long road paved with cobblestones, not very cyclist friendly.  From Silloth the coastal road was quite busy and I struggled against the wind, until a customer let path took over at Allonby, leading me across the dunes and finally on a very long and deserted promenade into Maryport.

Maryport is a working fishing town with plenty of pubs (it was lunchtime) but I settled into the excellent Harbourside Café, and watched the tide flooding into the harbour.