The Wirral

Now, where were we?  Oh yes, Birkenhead.  The commuter ferry across the Mersey turns into a tourist cruise around the docks during the working day, so I took a train across instead.

The Wirral is a rectangular lump sticking up, with Chester at its base. All the sides are different.  From Birkenhead to the north east corner at New Brighton is all along a very wide promenade with interesting views across to the docks.

New Brighton seaside didn't live up to my expectations unfortunately. Apart from a fort right on  the corner,  it seems cut off from the sea by big concrete sea defences. All the houses are away up on the slopes of what must have been the shore line before the sea retreated.

Along the top was nice cycling, still along a concrete track which looked as if it could get inundated at high tide.  Much quieter though, and with the occasional patch of deep sand, impossible to ride across.

Non-cycle track at
Hilbre Point

Memorial to Sustrans
worker Simon Wallis,
 in West Kirby

At the north west corner, Hoylake I rode down a long road of expensive looking houses to Hilbre Point, only to find a track that definitely wasn't for cycling, so a road detour took me to West Kirby where I joined an old railway line running down the east coast.

Along the way, there's a very picturesque village Parkgate, a perfect seaside town except that the tide went out a long time ago to be replaced by marshland.  All the towns down this side of the Wirral used to be thriving ports, but they have kept their charm and still seem to be thriving.

Next stop, Neston, where my Auntie Margaret used to live, and lunch.
Looking around the centre, I noticed The Elephant Bank - "best pizzeria in Britain".  It looked a very cool place, just right for me.  I was shown to a very cool table, well away from the window, and dined in style, listening to impossibly cool music, which I haven't got time to describe here. Besides, I didn't recognise any of it. Auntie Margaret would have loved it.

Parkgate

Best pizzeria in Britain

Leaving Neston on the Marshland Greenway, I had good views across the Dee Estuary to Wales. Halfway along a nice cycle track, I'm pretty sure I passed Chris Boardman coming the other way.

Suddenly I was in Flintshire!  Wales!  I could tell because the other side if the sign wsaid Welcome to England.  The Welsh eelcome was more...understated.  Another country to explore.

Don't start from Warrington

If you're planning a trip round the coast, I wouldn't start from Warrington.  Granted, it has advantages: less than 2 hours from London, and a good Wetherspoons if you have a long time to wait for your train.

But...the 'coast' between Warrington and the Wirral is not designed for tourism.  It's heavily industrial: nice if you like chemical plants (and there are some who do!).  There are also a lot of busy roads squashed in near the coast, so ride planning involves zig-zagging, with a quite a bit of speculative use of tracks rather than roads.

It all started well.  Great weather, a smooth ride into London; the train arrived at Warrington early, and I set off within five minutes.

Within ten minutes I was lost - well, not lost exactly - I knew exactly where I was: in an old industrial estate criss-crossed by lethal old railway tracks.  There was just no way to get to the bridge over the river, that I could see very well through the six feet high locked gate.

After a long conversation with a local, he had given me three options to try, and I'd already forgotten most of his helpful directions.  Eventually, down a promising road, which was closed as they were still building it, then onto a footpath, carry the bike over a railway footbridge, and I was off! 

I thought it would be nice to ride down the Manchester Ship Canal to see all the big boats taking wares to foreign lands, but I was doubly disappointed. Not a single ship, not much of a view of the canal, and a dreadful surface to ride on, so you had to devote 90% of your time to missing potholes.  At least it was quiet.

After five miles, a bridge across the Manchester no-ship canal, and I was in Runcorn, where I attempted another cycle track to avoid a main road.  This didn't go well either.  I think the area was being redeveloped, and the dirt track petered out several times, necessitating detours onto other dirt tracks.  It was all good fun but rather slow, and not very coastal.

After the river Weaver, things looked up.  Frodsham was a nice market town (and an excuse for a late elevenses).  After bypassing few more coastal oil refineries and the M53, and a failed TWELVE MILE detour to visit the famous Eureka Cyclist's café (it was closed), I entered The Wirral. 

The Wirral is properly set up for cycling.  There's a Wirral Circular Track which follows the coast. It's scenic, and quite well signposted.  Within minutes I came across a divine view at Eastham Ferry.

Through Port Sunlight Park, South Tranmere, past the Hotel California pub, and I was in Birkenhead!  Liverpool was gleaming in the evening sun. I caught a ferry 'cross the Mersey.  Well, I had to really.  The ferry to the Isle of Man goes from Liverpool, not Birkenhead.

So, not a perfect start to the trip.  But it was eventful, and there's plenty of room for improvement.  Please come back tomorrow - I guarantee a more scenic report.

In conclusion

What a great week and a half!   The highlights for me were many:    Completing the Scottish coast was the big one I guess, but that was expected.   The Morecambe Bay coastal trail in all its glory was wonderful too.  And then there was revisiting St Bees and Ravenglass.  I confess to being a bit tearful at some of the golden memories of being there with two excited young boys as the train chuffed off.   Can you believe that camping was a highlight?  The freedom, the peace - watching the sunset from my tent.   And the early starts, with no-one about except the birds.  The weather was unexpectedly good too - dry throughout; cool mornings at the start of my time, and very sticky afternoons at the end.  And there things that make such an adventure memorable every year - nice people you meet, cafes, peculiar things and special places you discover.  I always enjoy the slight frisson of taking a calculated risk: not booking accommodation, or setting off down a dodgy track.   I would be less inclined to do this if I was with other people - but usually it works out one way or another.

Regrets:  I've had a few... I'm not sure I did justice to the first few days around Ayrshire and Dumfries & Galloway.   Was I too focused on "getting there" rather than "being there"?  I could have lingered in some of the towns a bit more, to get a feel for them.  Maybe it takes time to slow down to that pace of life.   The problems with the blog app were extremely annoying: having to split the photos and the text makes the blog less interesting, I think; and quite often I would have to spend an hour and a half or more typing and re-typing a blog post after it was mysteriously lost - time which I couldn't really spare.

This year I've definitely 'progressed' from the wilderness of the Highlands, to very heavily populated places, and to my surprise, quite liked them.  From Ullapool, where the journey home took four hours on a bus then an overnight train journey, to Warrington where you are whisked home in a little over two and a half hours.

I'm sorry if I went through your favourite place & didn't write about it glowingly.  One drawback of a coastal ride is that it's one dimensional - you pick a line through a place and don't always see the highlights.  I hope you enjoyed joining me on the journey.  Thank you for your comments, if you commented - it's encouraging to see them.   I've just got to do a bit of washing now, and then I'll post some mileage charts and some maps of where I went.   Au revoir, as they don't say in Liverpool!

Liverpool and beyond - pics (beyond)

Liverpool and beyond - pics (Liverpool)

Liverpool and beyond

I had 35 miles to do in eight hours.  The challenge would be to avoid too much time sitting around in bars. Or so I thought.

I set about some serious dawdling.  That's easy in Liverpool: there's so much to see.  Almost immediately after leaving Crosby, the sea front changes from prom to fenced-off docks.  The next several miles near the shore are a mess of docks and fast roads, so I escaped onto the Leeds & Mersey Canal, which neatly bypasses Bootle, bringing you out on Liverpool's dockside, which is now very spick and span, warehouses transformed into expensive apartments.

There is a lot to dawdle over, with a mix of heritage, grand buildings, shopping, and modern visitor attractions.  It's a nice place to be, and you could easily spend a day exploring, if you didn't have a bike to look after.

The dockside continues out of Liverpool to the south, on un-reconstructed cobbly paving, so dawdling is in fact essential to protect your sensitive bits.  I found myself, surprisingly, on the Trans-Pennine Cycleway to Bridlington.  Met up with another cyclist and we chatted for several miles, gradually increasing the pace until I was glad when he had to turn off.

I had sort of planned a late lunch in Garton. My notes said "plenty of pubs and cafés", which was true, but they were mostly boarded up, closed, or weren't the sort of place I'd dare to go in. After several hot circular miles, I found an Asda - not what I'd imagined, but it was Ok.

I hope there was a good reason for the big detour inland that my route then took.  It may have been avoiding Liverpool's John Lennon Airport, or the Halewood car factory, but it seemed a very long way round.  Eventually, back on the waterfront, joining the disused St. Helens Canal.  And - relax. 

Or not.  It was closed, just before a mega road junction, with no obvious diversion.  I was just about to take my life in my hands and join a junction of two major trunk roads, when I saw a cyclist coming the other way down a closed-off track.  So I went that way. It was better, but still bad. It led to the centre of Widnes, and a busy A road towards Warrington, my destination.  After several stressful but not dangerous miles, I found my way back to the canal, and REALLY relaxed for the last few miles to the station at Warrington.  It's only a bit over two hours to London from here: a mark of how far I've come since Glasgow, three hours further on the same line.

Tickets collected, four hours till the train, exhausted: there was nothing for it but a night on the town with the young things of Warrington.  But not too much to drink: I have to ride home when I arrive in Euston at 23:34.  Possibly in the rain.

With hindsight, I should have caught the train from Liverpool.  The next bit wasn't coast really, and it was a lot of hassle.  Lesson learned, perhaps.

** Post script **

The adventure wasn't quite over.  I lasted three hours in the pub with unlimited coffee/tea for company.   I can confirm it was unlimited, but not quite sure if it was tea or coffee.   

When you take a bike on a Virgin train, you put it in a compartment near the engine, which has to be specially unlocked by the guard.  It usually works well but this time, the guard came and unlocked for me to load my bike on, and while I was propping my bike up, he promptly locked the door, with my panniers still on the platform.    I sprinted down the carriage to the other door, pushing aside all the other passengers who were getting on and stowing large cases here and there, and managed to retrieve them.

From there onwards, it was straightforward.  Two and a half hours to Euston; flying through London's empty streets at midnight, aided by a following wind and a lot of green traffic lights.  Arriving at Twickenham, I went into a nearby phone box and changed out of my Coastal Adventurer costume, and turned back into plain old Simon.

Breakfast Deal - pics (Southport to Crosby)

Breakfast Deal - pics (Preston)

Breakfast Deal

I'd met another group of cyclists coming into Preston on the rather nice Preston Guild Wheel cycle route, and the offered directions to my hotel, which I politely declined, having the combined power of Garmin and Google Maps on my phone.  But it was getting dark (that's my excuse anyway) and I got a bit lost, ending up on the wrong side of railway lines and making a few extra hills to go over.  The landlady was very friendly: perhaps she took a shine to the smelly, exhausted cyclist in fromt of her.  But it's probably  just Lancastrian friendliness.

The kitchen was broken so there was no breakfast, just a help yourself cereal and toast offering, which suited me fine for an early start.

As I left, I cycled past Rob's family's old place.  Someone else lives there now, and it looks different from when I last visited around 1979.  The chap two doors down remembered them though.   I was quickly out into countryside, spinning along the lanes, and passing Rob's old school on the way.

I'd done twenty miles before I saw the sea: heading out along the Ribble estuary there are several miles of salt marsh between you and the estuary.  When I did see it, I could still see Blackpool across the river, the Tower and The Big One rollercoaster clearly visible.

Nine o'clock and I was in Southport, looking for food.  Southport is a bit like St Anne's, town well separated from the promenade and the sea by sand dunes.  There's a very long pier, which didn't reach the sea when I was there.

I had to go into town to find a café.  I quite liked it, with its wide, tree-lined main street.  Nice café - the Poundbakery, whose baps were averagely sized but their unique selling proposition is Tasty Baking at a Tasty Price.  A pound an item for a la carte breakfast, but I chose the Breakfast Deal, which works out at 5p an item, if you count each baked bean separately.

Cycling down a smooth esplanade in the sunshine, wind behind you, Breakfast Deal inside you - life is good.  After more sand dunes, you're approaching Formby on a track through scented pine woods.  Ahhh - it's like taking a Badedas bath.  Formby and environs is nice: new houses, pine woods and golf courses, all near the Merseyrail services if you need to go into the office.

It was another fifteen miles until I saw the sea again, at Crosby.  On the extensive sandy beach, loads of life-size  human figures, spaced out randomly and at different distances from the sea.  An Anthony Gormley art installation. Some were chest deep in water.  There were a few (real) people walking on the beach, making it more surreal.  And the real people would almost always interact with the figures they passed, often touching them.

In front of me was the Mersey, and I guess the Wirral across the water.  Liverpool was just round the corner.

Blackpool - pics 3 (St Annes & Lytham)

Blackpool - pics 2

Blackpool - pics