From Barra to Barrow

It isn't a recognised cycle route but perhaps it should be.  It covers some of the best scenery, and hills, in Britain.  Barra and Barrow-in-Furness have several things in common: they're both the most southerly point of their region, they both have an airport, and acres of sand and sea.  However, when a young lady from Barra died recently, everyone went to her funeral.  That is unlikely in Barrow.

From Ravenglass it's mixed riding: tracks, lanes and the main road, round the Esk estuary, past the Queen's supplier of Cumberland sausages, over a couple of angry young fells while their dad looked down on us.  On one of these deserted lanes, I came to a tiny village with a sign proclaiming "Traffic Calmed Area".  There was no traffic, so it had definitely worked.  Just a couple of very calm parked cars.

Across acres of sand and the river Duddon, I could see the Furness peninsula, the far south west of the Lake District. Past sunny Haverigg, where there is a naturist campsite... Then round a weird three mile sort of harbour wall enclosing a large harbour, except there was no entrance to the harbour.  It seemed to be a very large man-made bird sanctuary.  I asked a lady with a big camera what she was photographing.  "They're Sandwich terns."

Which reminded me.  It was lunchtime.  Lovely pint of Singletrack black IPA, just for rehydration after a hard morning.  And speaking of birds, I saw a firecrest near St. Bees, and a little egret, near the Sandwich terns.

Today has been warm: most days so far have started quite chilly and warmed up but today was the first day I started in shorts and short sleeves.  There is still the tiresome southerly wind though.

After going north again to cross the Duddon, I knew I was in Furness as every place name ended with-in-Furness.  Broughton-, Askam-, Kirkby- and Barrow-in-Furness.  Similar varied riding all day, with smashing views of the sea coming in over the mudflats, and the larger southern fells (maybe Coniston?) in the background.  By coincidence, I crossed all three of the manually operated level crossings on the Cumbrian coast railway, each with their own signalman, and one rather scary self-operated one.

The main roads were quiet, until I got the motorway-like A590 the last few miles into Barrow.  And Barrow - well, that's another story.

It was a tough day. Lots of small and very steep hills, hot and sticky against the headwind, and despite the views, the miles seemed to tick by very slowly.