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.

Back to the mainland

On the way to the Glen Lough campsite, I rode part of the TT course. Preparations are well in place, with "road closed" barriers ready for action, and various types of cushioning placed on lamp posts, walls and other motorcycle-unfriendly objects along the route.  I still wouldn't fancy crashing into any of them, even on a high-speed bicycle.

Preparations were at an advanced stage at the campsite too.  The grass had been cut.  This one was relatively busy with two other campers besides me.  Reception was closed, so I slid my camping fee under the hatch shutters, and made extensive use of the facilities, including a very welcome drying room for my washing. 

A bit of a grey dawn saw me boarding the Manannan at 7am and rushing for a power socket to charge everything.  Otherwise I would be forced to go to a B&B purely for power, or maybe pay a fiver for an electricity hook-up for my tent.  Manannan is a high-speed catamaran, although progress is so smooth that it doesn't feel that quick.  The on-board café wasn't serving bacon "for maintenance reasons" but was doing a great trade in boiled eggs. It was quite entertaining watching people improvise with hot boiled eggs, without an egg cup, and just a plastic teaspoon to crack them with.  I had two breakfasts, partly due to boredom.

Ruminating some more about the Isle of Man, it occurs to me that most of the accents I heard were  from north west England (including the locals).  I suppose the IoM is probably their local island holiday resort, much as the Isle of Wight is for Southerners.

Goodbye, Ellan Vannin, and thank you for your hospitality.

As we entered the port of Liverpool, a medium-sized container ship, with probably 600 containers aboard, was being guided to the dockside by a couple of tugs.  It isn't till you see a single container forming the entire load of an articulated lorry that you realise the size of the ships.  And it's a mystery why they don't topple over with all that weight stacked above the deck. It was the invention of the container that led to the painful transformation of the docks, making many dockers and most of the warehouses redundant.

Back to Douglas

I was away by 8, but stopped immediately as the leisure centre cafe was open.  The north east of the island is different from the south - it seems off the tourist track, and less hilly.  Very quiet roads, even the main A3 from Peel to Ramsey.  Although I was near the sea, I only got a few glimpses of it until the Point of Ayre, the most northerly point, where there's acres of sea in most directions.  Although it's still sunny, there is a fresh easterly wind today, not a helpful direction.

Point of Ayre

Ramsey

Just over half way and I rode into Ramsey, along a deserted promenade. Ramsey has a beautiful situation with the river winding through the town, so it was strange to see the prom so empty.  The town itself was bustling though, and I found a nice cafe for lunch.

Maughold Head

After Ramsey, the hills returned with a vengeance. I was back in the 'south'.  Mind you, it was my own fault for not sticking to the (very quiet) A2 Ramsey to Douglas road, which largely follows the Manx Electric Railway, so it's flattish.  I went up to Maughold point (a bit pointless, but more acres of sea and a nice lighthouse.  Then a couple of beautiful, horrid glens, one with a full 100m climb requiring bottom gear all the way, so over 20%.

Laxey was my tea stop, famous for its giant waterwheel, called The Laxey Wheel.  "One of the world's greatest monuments" - it is pretty impressive, maybe 100ft in diameter, dominating the valley with the big fells behind it  Laxey also has a tea room, where I'm sitting in the sun writing this, and watching the trains go by. It's a veritable Mecca, or should that be Clapham Junction, of trains.  There's the Manx Electric Railway which goes from Ramsey to Douglas, the Snaefell Mountain Tramway, which goes to, er, Snaefell, and the Mines Steam Train, which goes up the valley to the mines, somehow connected with the Wheel. If I find out how, I'll let you know.

As you can imagine, with all that going on, Laxey is a tourist hotspot, with tearooms and gift shops all over. But hardly any tourists, yet, so it's rather nice.  As I left (down the glen)  I discovered it also has a nice beach, a separate village, which adds to the attraction.

A few more climbs, a few more miles, and I was coasting into Douglas and along a mile or so of promenade.

I've found it difficult to get the measure of the Isle of Man.  It's main industry seems to be tourism, which it does well. They are obviously proud of their heritage, and  there's quite a bit to interest tourists, and of course the TT races are massive.  The campsite owner at Peel was dreading TT week: his site will go from a single tent (me) to three large fields full.  Dozens of temporary campsites open just for the races.  I was a bit disappointed that I didn't discover any hidden gems, as in Scotland.  All the attractions are well publicised, so you know what you will get.

It's been an enjoyable two days. Tomorrow morning I'll be on the 7:30 ferry back to Liverpool, and my campsite is a few miles out of town, so it will be an early start.

The Isle of Man

The IoM ferry, Manannan, takes about three hours to get to Douglas, arriving at 10pm.  It's not a patch on the Scottish Caledonian MacBrayne ferries, and about 5× more expensive, but it's the only ferry company sailing to the isle of Man.  I bought a meal (first proper meal of the day, tut tut) and a beer, and received my change in Manx currency. Exciting!

As we sailed across a perfectly calm Irish Sea, the north Wales coast kept us company, behind a forest of wind turbines. ln the haze to the north, I thought I caught a glimpse of the island of Sodor, but I couldn't be sure.

A few hours later, we watched the sun set over the looming hills of the Isle of Man - Ellan Vannin in Manx.

I'd booked a B&B in Douglas, and set off this morning along the prom.  Douglas is built around a very large semicircular bay, and it was looking lovely in the morning sun.  As soon as I left Douglas, I was on the glorious Marine Drive, several miles of traffic-free road high up overlooking the beautiful rocky coast, with just a few seabirds and dog-walkers for company.  I think they were gulls, but it's hard to tell the sex from that distance.

Douglas

Entrance to Marine Drive

Strata!

After that I crossed a couple of glens - not at all like Scottish glens which tend to be massively long and wide. Manx glens are narrow, steep sided, wooded and dark - a perfect home for the famous little people who are said to inhabit the island.  This gave me the chance to ride up some short but very steep hills.

There was a lot of poop-pooping in the distance, and at Ballasalla I encountered the IoM Steam Railway, which goes from Douglas to Port Erin in the south.

Fort with cannons, built by Henry VIII

Castletown

Port St. Mary

Manx flags at Port St Mary

The Calf of Man

Port Erin (just out of shot)

Peel Castle

There are three biggish places in the south, all nice: Castletown (lunch stop), Port St Mary and Port Erin, these two separated by a neck of land which leads down to the Calf of Man, a small island to the south.  Mostly very quiet roads with  great views of the coast, and not too hilly.   But after Port Erin there was a massive, brutal hill, 350 metres of it.

I was in need of cake. Took a risky detour, nearly 100m downhill just to get to a possible cafe at Niarbyl.  Would it be open?  I was rewarded by a huge slice of coffee cake, and then a bill for £4.95 for the cake alone.

4:30 and I didn't have anywhere to sleep tonight. I was banking on Peel, one of the three big towns (the other is Ramsey), on the opposite side of the island to Douglas.  It was supposed to be all downhill, but there were a couple of devilish glens, no doubt put there by the little people to test me.

Peel is nice. A smaller bay than Douglas, but a working harbour (lots of pleasure boats too) and acres of sand.  Facing west, it gets the evening sun too.  The only thing against it is that it's built on a hill, like so many places in the IoM.  I struck lucky with the Peel Camping Park: I am the only camper tonight so I have plenty of space.

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.

Here Be Dragons

It's time to set off into the unknown again:   This year I will be starting at the Mersey and riding into Wales.  My prior experience of Wales is limited:  distant memories of Snowdon, the Ffestiniog railway, and rain.   A lot of rain.  There are loads of famous places that I'm looking forward to visiting, although Snowdon is not on my cycling itinerary, I'm pleased to say.

The bike is clean, there is a pile of stuff ready to be packed into panniers, and I have a train ticket to Warrington.  Weeks of looking at maps of coastlines, cycle tracks of unknown quality and various types of unreliable sleeping places back in January have got me to my usual level of preparedness, which is a calculated balance of knowing what my options are, but not knowing what I'll be doing each day, or where I'll be stopping each night.

And more importantly - not knowing what I'll discover along the way.  That's always the best part for me - the unexpected surprises that greet you on a regular basis: views, people, cafes, weather, bits of nature or endearing aspects of the locality.    I will be reporting back with a few photos on the blog regularly - do come back for an update.   Even better, if you would like to subscribe (see the box on the right hand side) you will get an email each day that I write something.