Again, the precise route is less relevant than the photos, but in short I cycled from the University to Galgate, along the Branch canal to Glasson, wandered around the village then returned to Lancaster along Ashton Road (the A588).

Somehow, that took 1 hour 45', (though the bike was stationary for 37 minutes) and involved a minor altercation with a distinctly mute swan (it you don't like people passing, don't nest there). I travelled 18.6 km (11.6 miles) at an average of 16 km/h (10.1 mph), peaking at 36 km/h (22.5 mph). If it matters.

I planned to take advantage of the good weather by following a long route home from work: via Littledale and Caton, which would be something like five times the usual distance.

I started by heading towards Galgate – the absolute opposite direction from Caton – in order to go around the worst of the steep-sided ridge bordering the Conder Valley. Kit Brow Lane is a good compromise between steep ascents and an excessively circuitous route; I could have cycled via Five Lane Ends and avoided almost all hills, but that means going most of the way to Dolphinholme!
That led to Long Lane and a gentle, bluebell-lined road to Quernmore, where I stopped to take a couple of photos of the busting metropolis: yes, the post office and the parish noticeboard.

Luckily, I made a further photostop at the end of Rigg Lane, as I wouldn't have been pleased to climb the steep Littledale road then discover that my camera batteries and the spares had failed. Instead, I dropped back to Stock-a-Bank and straight back to Lancaster. I'm sure I'll try the upland road to Caton again soon.

The first shows details of Williamson Park, Lancaster in May 2005: mainly fresh spring leaves, whilst the second is simply a single photo of shadows cast in my living room.

The third is a photoset I uploaded a couple of months ago, but neglected to mention (for the search engines as much as for human visitors). It's a trip I made to the Ingleton Waterfalls in April 2006, on a day following a week of sustained heavy rain. The rivers were full, meaning the waterfalls were spectacular – the photos are well worth seeing, though I say it myself.

... I've seen that somewhere before. Oh yeah; it's one of mine.

<sigh>

Do I really need to remind people that web-published content has the same protection in international copyright law as print publications? Just because something is on the web and prominent in Google searches it doesn't automatically follow that it's in the public domain, available for unacknowledged reuse.
Every one of the Ministry's pages displays a visible copyright mark, and there's another in the <alt> tag of each photo. It's not ambiguous.

Don't misunderstand: I certainly don't have some inherent objection to people republishing my images, and when asked I've almost always been pleased to grant permission. However, I do demand the courtesy of a request, and permission should not be presumed, particularly when the intended reuse is a commercial website. Crediting one's source is also an obvious requirement.

You'll notice I don't publish under Creative Commons licence, as I don't see the benefit of it. Standard copyright allows reasonable fair use rights; at best, Creative Commons is a preapproval statement outlining what the content owner is prepared to permit beyond fair use. I don't provide that preapproval, not because I won't give permission when asked (I almost always will) but because I'm genuinely interested in other people's projects – if someone wants to do something novel with my content, I'm curious.

[Update 12/02/08: The site owner opted to remove my image, rather than retain it alongside a credit.]

Hence, I merely cycled to Morecambe, along the promenade (surprisingly busy) to Heysham then back via the bypass and north bank of the River Lune. It was a familiar route which I've photographed before, so I'll only publish a few of the photographs.

I didn't have a particular destination in mind, but being 5½ km south of the city anyway, it made sense to continue in that direction. I headed to Galgate via Green Lane (which used to be my daily route home in the mid-90s, so it was good to note the changes) then inland to Dolphinholme.
I pass the tiny village quite frequently, but this time I stopped to photograph the church and the 19th Century mill complex of Lower Dolphinholme. The latter was difficult, as the low winter sun was already being blocked by the steep valley sides; I think I'll have to return in spring.

From there, I followed unfamiliar narrow lanes to Street, then my usual route to the brow of Harrisend Fell. After locking my bike to a signpost, I climbed the fell on foot in order to eat my lunch sitting on the heather, admiring the view across the Fylde to Blackpool and across Lancaster to the Lake District. I really enjoyed that, and I'll remember it for a long time, but I'll have to: unfortunately, I was facing straight into the sun, so took no photos.

In hindsight, I'd limited my options by coming this way.
I could go on to Oakenclough and around to Scorton or Garstang, but that's a surprisingly long way, and I'd soon be cycling in the dark and, more to the point, cold: I'd brought lights, but only a thin jacket.
I could head inland up Wyresdale to Abbeystead then back to Lancaster via the upland road past Jubilee Tower. That was even further & colder, and all those hills were a bit daunting – I wasn't out for that sort of ride.
Or I could head straight back to Galgate and the A6 to Lancaster, passing Dolphinholme and the University again. Boring, perhaps, but that's what I did.

I usually head out along Ashton Road and return along the riverside cycle track, so for a change I reversed it, heading to Aldcliffe and the river first. Luckily, it was the right decision (I wish I could say I'd carefully thought it through), as the last of the sunlight was photogenic and there's little to photograph along Ashton Road! As the accompanying photos show, the light really had gone by the time I'd visited Glasson, so it'd have been a waste to ride back along the river. Worth remembering.

The first section was very familiar: to Hornby via the Crook O'Lune. Crossing Loyn Bridge to Gressingham is also part of a route I've frequently followed (and described), but instead of simply returning to Lancaster via Halton, I turned north-west, crossing the ridge into the Keer valley and rapidly dropping down (remember the ascent I mentioned?) to Capernwray and Borwick. Apart from Hornby, I stopped in each of the aforementioned locations to explore on foot, but one of my intentions, to possibly improve on photos taken on earlier trips, somewhat failed: I'm only publishing six of the 52 photos I took today. Hazy autumn sunlight is deceptively harsh.

After visiting a probably-private part of Borwick Hall's grounds, I went on to Warton. Again, I locked my bike to a fence and wandered around the Old Rectory on foot, then took a brisk stroll to the top of the Crag but, again, only one photograph is better than I'd taken before.

Which, in a sense, is gratifying.

I'd spent family holidays in Benllech as a young child and visited the Holyhead area in my teens, but hadn't been back for over two decades, and this was my first ever visit to this out-of-the-way corner of the island. I was on Anglesey for a housewarming weekend near Llangoed and, as a non-drinker, would probably be the only member of the party interested in doing anything before midday, so I anticipated opportunities to see a little of the island by bike. However, due to a, er, 'misunderstanding' I'd been unable to take my bike, so was disappointingly tied to the immediate area.

I don't think I had a specific destination in mind for a walk on the first morning, but Penmon Lighthouse with a view across to Puffin Island would be preferred, if within walking range. I'd seen a map, but wasn't carrying one, and hadn't memorised specific road/path junctions, so guessed my way across the peninsula, taking routes which seemed to be going in the right general direction. I didn't know the distances, either, so stuck to the tiny rural roads, on which I could walk quickly – I didn't want to get bogged-down on a circuitous footpath, and particularly not literally.
Hence, I accidentally found Penmon Priory within ~45 mins (not having previously known that such a place existed) before finally identifying a direct route to Penmon Point and the lighthouse. I didn't stay long because, frankly, there wasn't much to see and because I needed to retrace most of my wandering outward route, since I at least knew it'd get me back to Llangoed within an hour.

Later in the day, A&A needed to drive into Beaumaris for wine, so I took the opportunity to see the town. There wasn't time to go into the castle or visit outlying areas, but I did take a few photos.

Studying my mother's collection of maps, most published in the early 1960s, I planned a round trip to Bala, hoping the road network hadn't changed too much in the last forty years. I had every intention of deviating from the planned route as photo opportunities presented themselves, so precise roads didn't matter; within the first ten minutes we'd left the main Mold-Ruthin road to follow the more photogenic Moel Famau track. I was tempted to stop and explore Ruthin, too, as we'd planned back in December, but I was very aware that it's a long way to Bala, on a slow road, so I wanted to get that out of the way.

The road was indeed as tedious as I remembered from trips to Aberystwyth in the early 1990s, so we were glad to park the car and walk around the town for a while, visiting a couple of commercial galleries and junk shops – literally junk; I wouldn't dignify the stock as 'antiques'.

After a quick look at the lake, we headed to another, the Llyn Celyn reservoir, walking down to the shore for lunch in an idyllic, if artificial, location.

A short distance after the lake was the turning I'd planned to take, back over the moors (hopefully...) to the Vale of Clwyd. However, my mother wanted to stay on the main road as far as the next hilltop, since the view seemed promising. It certainly was: the ground fell away abruptly, into the Vale of Ffestiniog, creating a huge waterfall – very well worth seeing, and I was surprised I didn't already know about it already.

We also had a good view to the west coast – I hadn't thought that we'd come this far on a day trip. Since we had, it seemed to make sense to go on rather than risk an upland road which might have ceased to be a through route since the map was published. Instead, we passed through Blaenau Ffestiniog and over Crimea Pass, somewhere I don't think I'd been before.
Just before the tiny village of Dolwyddelan, we passed the well-preserved (actually heavily renovated) keep of a castle, another feature I hadn't known existed, which was a good opportunity to stop after traversing annoying roadworks over the pass. Signs in the car park indicated that Dolwyddelan Castle is publicly-accessible so after buying tickets from a farmhouse, we climbed the hill. See the photos for detailed comments; I'll just say I recommend it if you're in the Ffestiniog/Betws-y-Coed area.

Returning to the car, we went on towards, yes, Betws-y-Coed, but turned away from that familiar town before reaching it, instead rejoining my intended route over the Denbigh Moors then the coast road 'home'.

I'll review the bike's performance in a few weeks [nearer seven months, as it happened], but I'll just say that the ride to Tunstall, ~7 km from Kirkby Lonsdale, took longer than normal but felt easier; it's that type of bike.
I've passed the tiny village innumerable times, but never left the main road to investigate the isolated Church. As the accompanying photos show, it's a pleasant enough building, but it's more significant for its literary association, being the inspiration for 'Brocklebridge Church' in Charlotte Bronte's 'Jane Eyre'. The Brontë sisters attended school in nearby Cowan Bridge, so it seemed logical to go there next, if not quite by the same route – presumably they followed footpaths across fields whereas I had to cycle via Burrow and surfaced roads.

Not having planned to visit, I didn't research the location of the School for Clergy Daughters in advance, and didn't go hunting, instead heading straight on towards Leck Fell, on the western flank of Gragareth (the highest point in Lancashire). This is one of the very few upland valleys on the south-western edge of the Yorkshire Dales that I'd yet to visit; in fact, I think it's the last, and I've now explored all nine access routes to the moors between Ribblesdale and Barbondale.
Climbing 300 m within ~3.5 km (and not as one gradual ascent) could have been exhausting on a humid July day, but it was easier than usual: the lower gears of my old bike had been inaccessible for a long time, so it was a novelty to be able to use those on this new bike. Still, I was very glad to reach the top near Leck Fell House, sitting on the edge of the moor for a while to take in the view and a banana.
The descent was somewhat easier, though I was uncomfortable about riding at full speed on an unfamiliar bike, on an unfamiliar road (with patches of loose gravel) in an isolated location, so stayed under 50 km/h.

After a brief diversion to attempt a photo of Kirkby Lonsdale that I've been failing to capture properly for a while (and failing again, really), I crossed the River Lune at Devil's Bridge and headed back towards Lancaster along the northern edge of the valley, making one more stop to supplement/replace photos I'd taken in Halton on earlier bike rides.

In total, I covered 70.3 km (43.7 miles) in 3hrs20', giving an average speed of 21 km/h (13.1 mph) and reaching 47.8 km/h (29.7 mph) at least once. Every ride is different, with different gradients and differing numbers of photo stops, so it's difficult to compare this to previous trips and hence my old bike, but it felt slower – my legs could have pedaled harder, but the bike didn't respond quite as I'd hoped.

As usual, I caught the train to High Bentham by 11:30 and cycled across to Ingleton, then followed the Ribblehead road to the start of the most direct Ingleborough path, just outside the village. Safe bike parking was a problem, but I found a secure fence post some distance from the road, inside Skirwith Quarry. If anyone's counting, this was 8½ km (5¼ miles) from Bentham station, and took 27 minutes.

I started the walk at 12:10 by passing Skirwith Cave, a disused show cave, now with limited surface expression. That was a common characteristic of the walk: several potholes are unremarkable small holes in the open moor, and less than photogenic above ground.

Joining the main path, I realised the day was hotter and even more humid than I'd anticipated; fine for cycling cooled within one's own flow of air, but more sticky on foot. I wouldn't be walking quickly.

I left the path at Crina Bottom, heading straight up the slope to the crest of Ingleborough Common/Dowlass Moss. My next realisation was that in the absence of any tracks or landmarks, it'd be difficult to find specific pot holes – or any potholes, as I couldn't distinguish grassy hollows from level moorland from more than 20-30 m away, never mind spot the cave entrances themselves, typically less than 2 m wide. As the accompanying photos show, I found a few, but it was a little frustrating to be unable to identify them. In hindsight, this may have led be to take foolish risks, precariously balancing over vertical drops to get good camera angles. If I'd fallen, no-one would have known where to look for me.

I eventually rejoined the Ingleborough path somewhat disappointed. From long experience, I'm very aware how difficult and hence slow it is to walk across nominally flat moorland; meandering wildly and stopping frequently, it had taken me two hours to travel about a kilometre, with very limited success. I had a quick look at Quaking Pot, a hole I could find and the entrance of which I could readily access, then I climbed Ingleborough itself, if only as an opportunity to stride along a decent path again.

The summit was rather crowded (I even met work colleagues, who were attempting the Yorkshire Three Peaks route) and the views slightly masked by dense haze, so I made one complete circuit of the plateau edge, then returned to my bike. For the record, the decent took ~55 minutes.

After a 15-min break for a bottle of Coke and a banana, I cycled home by 17:35, taking 1 hour 48' to cover the 41 km (25.5 miles), at an average speed of 22.7 km/h (14.1 mph) (23.8 km/h until the final climb from Moor Lane Mill!).

I used the opportunity of the train ride to Bentham to plan my route. Like most hills in the area, the western side of Kingsdale has a distinctive profile, determined by interbedded Carboniferous gritstone and limestone. A short slope rises steeply ~100 m to a level area dotted with sink holes, then rises more gradually (~200 m over ~750 m) to the foot of a second very steep slope, which rises ~50 m to the top of the ridge; an ascent of ~300 m overall. I planned to leave my bike somewhere on the valley floor, walk along the lower 'terrace' all the way along Kingsdale, exploring the main potholes named on the OS 1:25,000 map, then climb to the the ridge and walk back via the summits of Gragareth, Great Coum and Crag Hill.
In hindsight, that was too much, and is two separate walks, but based on that initial idea I decided to park by Yordas Cave, about halfway along the valley, and walk back to the mouth of Kingsdale before climbing the gentler slope at the end of the ridge (rather than go straight up the steep side). I'd follow that past Gragareth's trig. pillar to the head of the dale, look down over Deepdale and Dent, then follow a rough track and surfaced road back to my bike.

The optimum route from the station to Kingsdale (yes, I had consciously considered that) passes through Ingleton and Thornton in Lonsdale, so I made a slight diversion almost before I'd really started: I went into Ingleton to use the public toilets, check for photo opportunities, successfully avoid being rude to a christian evangelist, and buy a little more food for the trip. Another brief stop in Thornton was planned, as I knew I wanted to photograph the church where Sir Arthur Conan Doyle was married.

The climb to the mouth of Kingsdale was the only strenuous part of today's ride, and not too bad (160 m in 2 km) though the road up the valley from there was steeper and much longer than I remembered.

There were quite a few cars and vans parked near Yordas Cave; I was briefly concerned that I'd stumbled across a popular picnic site or coincided with a rambling club's excursion, but I think most visitors were cavers, and I encountered very few people on the surface all day.

Yordas Cave (incidentally, it is 'Yordas Cave', from Old Norse 'jord-ass' ('earth stream'), not 'Yorda's Cave' – no apostrophe) is only a couple of minutes walk from the road. A cursory web search about Kingsdale had informed me that one can go in, so I'd made a point of bringing my bike's headlight. However, I hadn't checked the state of the batteries, so even after waiting about five minutes for my eyes to adjust to the small amount of daylight from the entrance, I ended up exploring the huge main chamber by touch and hearing – luckily the stream bisecting the cavern was audible.
Abandoning that part of the walk, I followed the gorge up through Yordas Wood to the other end of the cave, where Yordas Gill vanishes underground. It's quite an attractive area, and if anyone plans to visit the cave, I'd recommend making the extra effort to continue uphill a little.

Leaving the wood, I readily found a path seeming to head straight up to the top of the ridge, but not the one I wanted, across the slope. There had to be one somewhere; it was marked on the map and must be used regularly by cavers. I'm afraid it defeated me, and I wandered straight across the moor, navigating by dry stone walls until I jumped one and suddenly found myself on the proper path. I still don't know how that happened, but I suspect the problem was the similarity between the OS's depiction of a 'path' (a dotted fine black line) and a 'line of shake holes' (a dotted fine black line).

Somehow I missed the first named pothole on my route, Jingling Pot, but the next was impressive. Rowten Pot is a relatively large feature containing a small tree-covered shelf beside a deep open shaft. I walked around the perimeter, then found a way to descend at least as far as the shelf. That was good in itself, but I managed to find my way into a horizontal cave. For once I regretted walking alone, as despite my enthusiasm, it would have been too foolhardy to explore further. I took a couple of photos and sat for a few minutes to absorb the sounds, smell and appearence of the softly-lit rock, but then returned to the surface.

Despite there being several named potholes within the remaining two kilometres to the end of the upper ridge, and hence the start of the second part of my walk, the only notable surface feature I found was Kail Pot, a large, er, hole in the ground. Unfortunately, the sides were vertical (it was fenced-off to protect sheep) so I couldn't explore. I think I'll have to go back, with the specific intention of lingering to find other holes off the line of the main path – today I was a little too aware that the walk was taking much longer than I'd expected, and I still had a long way to go (not to mention the ~40km bike ride afterwards).

Crossing to the dry stone wall on the ridgeline and county boundary (the second phase of the trip couldn't have been more straightforward: follow a wall for 7 km), I diverted to follow a line of large sinkholes, one containing a cave mouth, to a small copse (itself unexpected on open moorland) containing another well-known pothole, Marble Steps Pot. This was attractive, especially surrounded by vegetation, but again the sides were too steep for me to (safely) investigate.

The ridge walk was, well, a chore, despite the excellent views. As I said above, this trip was taking far longer than I'd anticipated. It may be that I'm too used to judging distances as a cyclist – 7 km might take 20 minutes by bike but an hour at a strenuous walking pace, and that's on flat tarmac, not undulating moorland. After visiting the trig. pillar at the nominal summit of Gragareth, ~100 m off the path, then returning to the wall, I had to reconsider. Even without measuring on the map, I could see that most of the intended route was ahead of me (I measured it later; I'd covered 8½ km with 14¼ km still to do, the final ~5 km on a road) and it was time to mention the cycle ride home. It was too much, so I cut the walk short by scrambling directly down the valley side to the lower 'terrace', straight across the moor back to Yordas Wood and my bike. I'd walked almost exactly 10 km overall. Next time, I'll probably pick-up the route at the same point on the ridge.

The ride home wasn't too bad, taking 1 hour 52 mins. I didn't think to check the distance from Clapham to Yordas Wood, thereby providing the distance from Yordas Wood to Lancaster, but I rode 53.8km (33½ miles) in total, at an average speed of 21 km/h (13 mph) and reaching 46½ km/h (29 mph) at least once.

I'd like to stress the importance of getting as much right with a photograph as possible via the camera, 'in the field' – post-processing can be laborious and even fruitless if the raw image fails to contain the necessary data – but this is a useful summary of the main enhancement techniques. It's written with especial reference to Photoshop, but the principles are more generally applicable.

I selected Knott End-on-Sea, somewhere I'd been planning to revisit for a while to supplement/replace photos taken in 2005, as my camera batteries had failed in the middle of that earlier trip. The village is just across the Wyre Estuary from Fleetwood, at the north-western corner of the Fylde, itself a near-featureless low-lying plain. Apart from hills on the horizon, there aren't really any long-distance views anyway, so I wouldn't be missing much.

The first stage was straightforward: from Lancaster to Pilling via Cockerham. I was tempted to turn back there, as I had last time I considered this route; I don't cycle in sunglasses, and the haze-diffused sunlight was literally painful. I'm glad I went on, as crossing the width of the Fylde in light mist was an odd experience. I could see a couple of kilometres, but there were no landmarks visible in any direction until I approached Pilling and Damside Mill faded into view, yet that didn't seem to get any closer for several minutes, as if a mirage. Evidently, I can't really describe it.

Though Knott End was the furthest point on my intended route, Pilling was the main objective, to take photos of the windmill and church, plus anything else I might discover, such as a unicorn.

Unfortunately, the effect of the haze was greatest facing the sun, so my photos of Fleetwood from Knott End ferry quay / slipway weren't as clear as I'd hoped and the Blackpool skyline was totally hidden. I did have a good view out to sea, though, so watched the Irish Sea ferry approach and enter the mouth of the River Wyre, fully loaded with cars and lorries. It's extremely rare for me to just sit and watch the world for half an hour or so; even on mountain tops I only stay long enough to absorb the view before moving on. Sitting on the sea wall today was surprisingly relaxing.

I didn't want to retrace my outward route exactly, so took a different road out of Knott End, to have a look at Preesall windmill (now part of an industrial estate and not exactly photogenic) then, back at Pilling, headed east towards Garstang via Winmarleigh. Rather than join the A6, I followed the parallel minor lanes north to Forton, admiring the fresh growth in the hedgerows. From there, I did join the A6, and headed home.

I'd covered 63 km (39 miles) – further than I thought; the roads across the Fylde may be flat and fairly straight, but they're not short, and I did follow a rather circuitous route back from Pilling. Not counting photo stops and time at Knott End, the ride itself took 2¾ hours, at an average of 22.5 km/h (14 mph). If it matters, I reached 40.5 km/h (25.2 mph) at least once.

As usual, I got the lead-in out of the way as quickly as possible, by blasting straight down the A6 to Garstang at ~22 mph. Having studied the map, I thought I'd discovered a shortcut from there to the lanes south of Scorton: a ford across the River Wyre. However, I was extremely lucky that a Land Rover was crossing the river as I was about to start, demonstrating that the water was about a metre deep. Some ford.... There was a pedestrian bridge and footpath along the riverbank to the next surfaced road, so it wasn't quite a dead-end, but I doubt I'll try it again.

I had considered going on to Bleasdale and back via Oakenclough, but after stopping to talk to a horse (what?), I changed my mind: I'd stay west of the higher ground and simply head back to Lancaster via Scorton and the Dolphinholme/Galgate road.
Within a couple of kilometres I modified the plan again: since I wasn't cycling so far, I'd take the opportunity to stop and climb Nicky Nook for my first time. I was just scouting the route, really, as the weather wasn't great for long-distance photography of the views: hazy yet very windy. I'll return some other time.

The next stage was something of a mystery. The idea was to join the familiar road at Harrisend Fell, but the lane seemed to go on for several kilometres longer than expected, through farmyards and another ford. It looks so straightforward on the map. And I was bleeding; I'd caught the inner side of my elbow on a barbed wire fence.

The onward road was straightforward, passing Dolphinholme on the way to Galgate. I made another diversion there, though, following Chapel Lane, the 'back way' to the University and home from there, rather than face the wind on the exposed A6.

I'd been out for three hours, of which the bike was moving for two (and two minutes). I'd covered 40½ km (25 miles) at an average speed of 19.8 km/h (12.3 mph), exceeding 45 km/h (28.2 mph) at least once.

I'm rather inspired to try the same thing elsewhere. Will investigate.

[Via BoingBoing.]

Sort-of: though there was no low cloud this time, today seemed particularly humid, with dense haze limiting visibility to only a couple of kilometres. On past occasions, I've noticed this to be a coastal effect so, hoping it'd be clearer inland, I caught the 14:45 train to High Bentham after lunch.

I cycled straight to the Old Hill Inn, where the Three Peaks route joins the road; the obvious starting point. However, I couldn't find anywhere safe to park the bike, so dropped back to Chapel-le-Dale and a secure fencepost in the church car park. That added about a kilometre to the walk, but I'd be able to return via a different route, passing several pot holes and adding a little variety.

Passing the Old Hill Inn again and following Philpin Lane, I reached the open moor behind Bruntscar Farm and finally started the 'proper' walk at about 16:15. If only the National Park Authority could install cycle parking at that point....

Despite the humidity, I found the steep climb to the Whernside ridge fairly easy, though I wasn't rushing. Somehow, the next section, the gentle ascent along the ridge to the summit, was less pleasant, largely because the destination was constantly visible (though one constantly wonders if it's a false summit and whether the hill continues to rise beyond the apparent horizon), unexpectedly far away. It's only 1.2 km, according to the map, but felt further! Hillwalking doesn't only require physical stamina....

I reached the summit shelter at 17:35. Though I wasn't remotely tired, the ascent had taken much longer than anticipated, as the humidity didn't encourage rapid movement. Given the time and the fact that the end of the walk was merely the start of the 20-mile bike ride home, I realised I'd have to reconsider my plans. After stopping to take a few photos and have a drink, I studied the map.
Continuing along the path to the Ribblehead Viaduct and back to Chapel-le-Dale along the valley (which I think is called 'Chapel-le-Dale' too – anyone know? It's not named on the OS map) looked considerably further than retracing the route I'd already followed, so I did the latter. Similarly, the path across fields from Bruntscar and a steeply undulating track to Chapel-le-dale looked as if it'd take rather longer than following the tarmac'd Philpin Lane back to the main road, so I decided to retrace that part, too.

As I started back down, I finally caught a glimpse of Pen-y-ghent – as the sun began to drop, the mist was thinning. Whilst remaining appreciably misty, the view across to Ingleborough was drastically clearer than before; not really enough for decent photos, but adequate to prove there are some very impressive views eastwards from Whernside. I'll have to visit Whernside again some time, in reliably clear weather if that exists.

Back at the bike by 18:45, I had another drink then set off.

I think I've identified the easiest route back from Ingleton, avoiding almost all the steep slopes at the particularly 'lumpy' junction of the glacial valleys now occupied by the Rivers Lune, Greta and Wenning. At the crossroads where the Chapel-le-Dale road joins the A65, go straight on, past the Mason's Arms, ostensibly towards High Bentham via a narrow lane. About halfway there, turn right after Langber and follow the remarkably straight lanes directly to Wennington. It's not immediately obvious on the map (which is why I hadn't found it until actually visiting the area), but this route follows a ridge, undulating no more than 25-30 m all the way.

Having had a decent lunch made a major difference on the ride back. Most of my trips are fueled by breakfast, 2-3 cups of tea then a very light snack before heading out for 4-6 hours and ~60 km. I suppose I shouldn't be surprised that the final 10-15 km tend to be rather hard work. Today, however, I felt fine all the way, if a little bored on the long, familiar sections I don't normally notice – zoned-out exhaustion does have at least one benefit.

Approaching Caton, I noticed that the fog was begining to gather again over the river, becoming quite dense before Lancaster. It was lucky that I decided to take the 'shortcut' (a rough track, so probably not actually quicker than the main road) from Denny Beck past HMYOI Lancaster Farms to Williamson Park, as I didn't have lights and I wasn't happy riding in fog and the associated early twilight. By the time I reached the Park, the fog was so dense as to hide the dome of the Ashton Memorial from only ~50 m away.
As I subsequently saw on the TV news, the North Lancashire coast had experienced this fog for most of the afternoon; I'd made the right decision to head inland, rather than complete another ride I'd planned, to Knott End near Blackpool.

I'd been out of the house for six hours (14:35-20:35), cycling 53 km (32.9 miles) from Bentham to the Old Hill Inn then back to Lancaster at an average speed of 21.9 km/h (13.6 mph) (22.7 km/h until I took the 'shortcut'....). The bike was in motion for 2:25 hours; if anyone's interested, my maximum speed was 50.1 km/h (31.1 mph), presumably on the steep descent into Ingleton.

That was the plan, anyway, rather defeated by the weather: totally cloudless and warm (for April, anyway), but humid, with a thick haze limiting visibility. It seemed pointless to climb, say, Bow Fell for the views if one couldn't see more than a kilometre. So I went to work....

A couple of hours later I saw sense and decided to go for a bike ride anyway – I'm not paid to sacrifice leave.

My chosen destination was Hutton Roof Crags, an area of limestone pavement north-east of Carnforth. That's within cycling distance, but I avoided the familiar lead-in by catching the train to Silverdale by 14:33. From there, it was an easy ride past Leighton Moss and Yealand Redmayne to Burton-in-Kendal. I stopped there to take a few photos of the Georgian main street, then went on to the outskirts of the village and the lane towards Newbiggin/Hutton Roof.

There's a layby and information sign at the head of the pass between Hutton Roof Crags and Farleton Knott, with footpaths leading to each summit. Parking my bike, I planned to visit both; according to the map each path was only 1 km long.

I began with the northern route, towards Farleton Knott via Newbiggin Crags and Holme Park Fell. The former was particularly photogenic, even in the haze, but immediately made me realise the impracticality of my plan. Walking across limestone pavement, taking due care of the fragile environment and my own safety, was a slow process, and it took a long time to reach the summit. I stopped for a drink and to peer at vague hints of nearby hills, but then returned only as far as my bike. I'll have to visit Hutton Roof Craggs on another, hopefully clearer occasion.

Studying the map again, I concluded that I'd save scenic cycling routes for another day too, so simply dropped back down to Burton the way I'd come then followed the main road to Tewitfield and the northernmost navigable point on the Lancaster Canal. I made another photo stop there, then returned to Lancaster by 18:00 via the Kellets and the familiar 'B' roads. I'd cycled 36 km (22.4 miles) in 1 hour 50 (average 19.5 km/h, peak 48 km/h).

As usual, I caught the train from Lancaster to Clapham Station, then crossed to Austwick by bike. Parking above Town Head was straightforward – it's worth noting that there's a secure bench situated just off the start of the main footpath to Norber.

After a few minutes of walking I reached the famous Norber Erratics, huge sandstone (greywacke, in fact) boulders perched on tiny pedestals of limestone. Frankly, those erratics I found were slightly disappointing, but there were several young families and picnickers around, so I didn't linger as long as I might have, and I suppose I could have missed the best examples.

My plan involved crossing to the western side of the hill, straight over the summit plateau of limestone pavement. There were no paths, so I was a little nervous about damaging the fragile landscape or myself by stumbling into deep, sharp-edged crevices. If I did the walk again, I think I'd revise this part of the route; I wasn't pleased (with myself) about having to vault a dry stone wall, either.

Once I was on the western side of Thwaite Scars, the route became easier (and more legitimate) and offered the expected views over the landscape I crossed almost exactly a year ago. It was particularly good to see the features I'd visited on that occasion from a different angle, even obtaining the exact reverse angles of earlier photos. Choosing my spot carefully to avoid disturbing nesting ravens, I sat for a while to study the view and watch distant walkers & cyclists on the more popular path.

Traversing the cliff edge, I soon joined the (ex-)green lane of Long Lane, climbing back over the hilltop to Long Scar and the head of Crummackdale. I recommend that easy track to everyone, for the panoramic views over an unearthly limestone plateau backed by two of the Yorkshire Three Peaks (Ingleborough and Pen-y-ghent), with the dramatic cliff of Moughton Scars overlooking the gentler Crummackdale valley, the latter almost lush compared to the utterly bare limestone. Unfortunately, it's understandably popular, including with off-road cyclists, so I was quite glad to leave the main path and crowd at Sulber Gate, heading south-east along the Moughton Scars cliff edge, alone again. Not to be antisocial about it, I simply don't enjoy walking alongside groups of 15-20 people who've loudly brought their daily concerns and mobile phones to the countryside.

As a regular (on-road) cyclist, I'm always slightly surprised how long it actually takes to walk modest distances over rough ground, which means I've wasted previous walks by impatiently striding past the very sights I'd travelled to see. It's not as if I need the exercise, so I consciously stopped myself a few times, taking in the view, investigating the limestone pavement, and thoroughly enjoying myself.

I stopped for lunch in the cliff edge, dangling my legs over the ~20 m drop before casually glancing across at the neighbouring and heavily fractured limestone exposure. Ah well; if it was going to collapse, it would have done when I first sat down.

I descended the cliff, rather more safely, via the footpath at Capple Bank, then followed the valley floor ~4 km directly back to Norber Brow and my bike. Only another ~38 km to ride home....

I reached home at 17:35, having been out for 6 hours 50'. My bike had been moving for 2 hours 10', covering 44.75 km (27.81 miles) at an average speed of 20.6 km/h (12.8 mph), peaking at 44.4 km/h (27.6 mph) at least once.

Nearly forgot to mention: I was carrying a camera....

The plan had been to catch the train to High Bentham, cycle the short distance to the Great Stone of Fourstones on Tatham Fell, then return to Wray via Lowgill and the rural lanes east of Roeburndale. After that easy, mainly downhill section, the ride back along the Lune Valley to Lancaster would be flat, discounting minor undulations.

The slight problem was that under the winter timetable the first train of the Sunday service to Bentham was scheduled to depart Lancaster after 16:00, leaving me with mere minutes of daylight. Somewhat impractical, so I decided to complete the whole trip by bike.

Leaving home at 12:30, I took a shortcut along the canal towpath to Caton Road then followed the main roads virtually non-stop to High Bentham, sustaining 20-22 mph for extended periods, though I deliberately avoided tiring too quickly – this was merely the necessary lead-in. I did make one diversion, to Tatham, as I wanted to improve on photos I took of the church a while ago.

The Great Stone was nearer High Bentham than I'd thought; if you're tempted, it'd be an easy walk from the railway station. When I passed this way last September, I went on to Slaidburn without visiting the Stone itself, as I could see from ~100 m away that there were several people already clambering all over it; that's largely why I'd returned, and in February. I noticed two people already on the Stone as I arrived and locked my bike to a fence (front wheel in Lancashire, back wheel in North Yorkshire), but by the time I'd crossed the moor, a young family was approaching too, and I struggled to ignore the squeals of delight of three little Tarquins & Cressidas for quarter of an hour or so as I sat on the Stone admiring the view. Okay; that's overstating my annoyance, and once they'd left, I really appreciated the location on such a crisp, clear day. Highly recommended. See the accompanying photos for annotated views and more about the Great Stone itself.

Having rested for almost an hour, I was tempted by the relatively short distance to the top of the Bentham-Slaidburn pass at Cross of Greet, so I made that diversion rather than head straight back. It wasn't an easy ride, even refreshed, but I did manage the extremely steep final climb to the Cross without pausing; on previous visits I hadn't so much stopped as simply run out of momentum and stalled.
Incidentally, I'm glad no-one was around when I returned to my bike after leaving the Great Stone, as I jumped backwards and forwards across the county boundary at least twenty times, giggling wildly, simply because I could.

The view south-east from the Cross was good too, but as the photos show, I particularly enjoyed looking north across the Yorkshire Dales, Lune Valley and Lake District, as if from the top of the world, an impression increased by low cloud in the distant valleys. Wonderful.

From past experience, I knew this left me almost exactly 31 km (19 miles) from home, though at least my tyres were fully inflated and I was sufficiently clear-headed to avoid returning to Lancaster via Slaidburn and the Trough of Bowland. For once, the ride back from the Cross was as straightforward as I'd planned today to be. Pleasantly tired, though not exhausted, I was home by dusk, at 17:15.

I'd been out for 4¾ hours, of which the bike had been moving for 3 hours 10 mins and had covered 67 km (41.6 miles). So much for a gentle first ride of the year.
My average speed was 21.1 km/h (13.1 mph); rather faster for ~80% of the trip, but diminished by the steep and hence slow ride up to the Cross of Greet. Coming back down, though, I'd reached 48.8 km/h (30.3 mph) on the winding road.

Imagine my disappointment when by the time I reached the supermarket, the sunny morning had become cloudy, and by the time I left, an appreciable mist had begun to develop. I thought hard about appropriate cycling destinations – a high hilltop might be above the fog bank, or a wood might offer atmospheric photographs in the mist, especially if there was running water (low light allows long exposures). Yet this seemed to be freezing fog (or if not, very nearly), searing my throat and chilling my fingers even in the few minutes it took to take my groceries home. I couldn't think of anywhere both suitable and within a comfortable distance, so I regretfully abandoned the idea. Perhaps tomorrow.

I didn't stay indoors, though. My back-up plan was to tour Lancaster and take photos of the historical city subtly changed by mist, so I made a brief trip to Williamson Park to test the idea. Unfortunately, that didn't really work either.
As you'll see in the accompanying photos, the fog was already a bit too dense there, and I already knew it was much worse at the foot of the hill – I wouldn't have seen well enough to focus, never mind take worthwhile photos. Argh!

I decided to head out to the Crook o'Lune, to investigate the path up to the viewpoint at Gray's Seat. That'd provide a gentle 16 km (10 miles) round trip, and I could easily go on if I felt like it.
When starting longer rides up the Lune Valley, I tend to leave Lancaster via Caton Road and straight onto the A683, passing the familar local sections as quickly as possible to maximise time in new locations. However, as I wasn't planning to go far, I followed the canal towpath as far as the Lune Aqueduct then dropped down to the Lune Cycleway (aka Millennium Park) and on to the Crook.

Locking my bike to a fence by the viaduct – not the most secure place to leave it – I followed the riverbank footpath up to the main road, then had second thoughts. If the path to the viewpoint was accessible from the road, I could retrieve my bike from the viaduct, lock it somewhere safer, visit Gray's Seat then return to Lancaster without having to go back to the Crook.
Yet Plan 'B' immediately gave way to 'C': long-distance visibility didn't really justify a trip to a viewpoint anyway, so I might as well go somewhere else today and, having established its approximate location, return to Gray's Seat some other time.

The five-mile ride to Caton had been a surprising effort (I really do need to build up my strength again!), so I didn't go further up the valley, with further to return, instead crossing to Halton Green then back to Halton-on-Lune.

The residents of the village recently protested against a new residential development, resulting in planning permission being frozen pending further investigation. The accusation was that a 'Benidorm-style' apartment complex isn't in keeping with the rest of Halton. Approaching the village from the east, and passing estates of ugly 1960s/70s dormer bungalows, I thought it a bit cheeky of the inhabitants to complain.
However, I stopped at St. Wilfred's churchyard and briefly wandered around the more historical core of Halton; maybe the locals did have a point.

Needless to say, I was carrying my camera, primarily to update or replace photos of places I'd been before. Some are okay, but I'll have to go back to Halton later in the year; it's worth closer examination, though not late on on a damp January evening.

I obviously took a couple of photographs, on the path from Alex Square to the perimeter road. I'm afraid I was, well, careless, and the images are blurred, but the colours alone justify publication.

This morning, however, was more typically seasonal: cold and, for once, clear, offering a crisp, almost magnified view across to Cumbria. This was sufficiently novel that I returned home for my camera and went to Williamson Park to take a few photos and simply enjoy the vista.

**** being late for work; this was far more important to me.

Another little-known area is the Cheshire plain. I've visited Beeston Castle once (maybe twice), but otherwise Whitchurch, Northwich and pretty much everything between Chester and Crewe is terra incognita to me. For a while, my mother and I have planned to explore Bickerton and the Peckforton Hills, a ridge of ~200 m high red sandstone lumps immediately south of Beeston protruding from the very flat plain (~20 m asl near Chester rising to ~80 m in Whitchurch, ~30 km away). They're clearly visible from the top of my mother's road, so I've seen them literally hundreds of times over 35 years, but for all I knew the view could have been a matte painting. Until today.

To start we (well, my mother) drove to Broxton, little more than a crossroads on the Chester-Whitchurch road (A41). We made a false start on the the walk, as there's nowhere (apparent) to park a car in Brown Knowl on the north-western side of Bickerton Hill, so we went around to the south-eastern side and Bickerton itself. We parked alongside others in a wide gateway, but discovered (on foot) that the track through the gateway led to a public car park. Which was, incidentally, rather full. It seemed others had had the same idea for their day trips. There were numerous people around, but curiously they were all rather similar. All looked more than averagely affluent, and were either pensioners in goretex or young families in clothes somewhere between 'smart casual' and 'non-technical outdoors'. The adults' hair would obviously match their working suits, whilst the children looked like miniature horsey adults. None looked like the sort of walkers I encounter in the Lake District or the Yorkshire Dales.

It seems there are a number of footpaths on Bickerton Hill, but I was slightly concerned that exertion made my mother (convalescing from pneumonia) breathe the cold air rather deeply, so we kept it fairly short: just a kilometre or so and ~60 m ascent to Maiden Castle, the Iron Age hillfort at the 212 m summit.
The weather was patchy – clear in certain directions whilst in others the landscape was obscured by haze or even curtains of rain. Hence, we had good views of the North Wales coast, Chester and Liverpool (i.e. a quadrant between west and north of the hill), but could barely see Wrecsam or southern Cheshire.

Back at the car, we headed north along the eastern side of the hills, towards Beeston. Some of the farms and cottages we passed were rather quaint, so we made a couple of photo stops and wandered around the hamlet of Peckforton.
Another stop to photograph the grandiose gatehouse of Peckforton Castle was extended when I noticed a 'public footpath' sign pointing straight up the drive – at least part way to the castle, it wasn't private property. Hence, we followed the wooded track up to the castle itself, and into the courtyard. Even knowing it to be a Victorian interpretation of a mediaeval castle in a location which had never featured the real thing (Beeston is only a kilometre away), it was very impressive.

For a number of reasons, not least the approaching black clouds, we didn't visit Beeston Castle too, though I couldn't resist one more photo stop, just as the first raindrops were hitting the windscreen. Minutes later, visibility failed in intense rain, and a final diversion, to the historical village of Christleton on the eastern margin of Chester was more than metaphorically a washout.

K. hadn't questioned the destinations when we left my mother's house, but on actually reaching Ruthin, she decided wandering around Welsh market towns would be 'boring' – great timing. Visibility west of the Clwydian Hills was better than expected, so I didn't particularly mind a change of plan; if only we could decide on a plan. The half-hearted result was somewhere we'd been several times before and which I'd rarely enjoyed: Clocaenog Forest.

Considering there was a time when I seriously considered a career in forestry, it's perhaps surprising that I dislike dense coniferous plantations, for their regimented rows of trees and consequent darkness & lack of undergrowth. More profoundly, I find the environment unsettling, somehow even threatening. It's irrational, but I just don't think plantations like humans. I've had nightmares about such places, or rather, because it's the forest I've visited most often (8-10 times since childhood), I've dreamt about Clocaenog. I've never expressed this before, and I don't think my mother & sister would understand, so we went anyway.

It's difficult to describe the exact location, as it's somewhat remote. Halfway along the B5105 from Ruthin to Cerrigydrudion, about 2 km after entering the fringe of the forest, the road crosses the Afon Clwyd (only 40-50 cm wide this close to its source) at Pont Petryal (the river is signposted, not the bridge). About 100 m further on, there's a crossroads; the left turn leads to a car park, artificial lake and some sort of estate lodge converted to a visitor centre, itself seemingly abandoned since I last visited. The few paths lead one onto a roughly oval route into the silent heart of the plantation (actually on the very edge of the 100 km² forest, straying no further than 500 m from the main road). There are no particular landmarks or clear means of judging distance, and no apparent wildlife. There aren't even any echoes. Once, we walked it after heavy snowfall, which was great, but ordinarily it's dreary and, as I said, makes me uncomfortable.

But that's just me. I recently read a description of the sea as 'an element of impersonal horror', which puzzled me; I love the sea and coast. Perhaps other people would find it equally mystifying that I don't appreciate the enclosed solitude and muffled sounds of artificial forests. Still, if you're tempted to visit Clocaenog, I'd recommend the somewhat scenic Brenig & Alwen Reservoirs ahead of the featureless forest itself.

I was happy enough walking in just a t-shirt and fleece, but within a couple of minutes of leaving the car, K. was complaining of the cold, and my mother casually pointed-out that the lake was frozen. Hmm. I think my body must have been burning-off recent heavy meals. The good news was that the others wanted to abandon the full trip, cutting the 3 km walk along forest roads to a 10-minute stroll around the lake, passing the witch trees and sign advertising Clocaenog's red squirrel (the text does imply there's only one) before returning to the car for chocolate biscuits.

At least the return trip was slightly more novel: we followed a tiny road to Cyffylliog for the first time, along the near-gorge of the Afon Clywedog past an impressive watermill (impossible to photograph through the trees) and back to Ruthin, then over the 'unsuitable for motor vehicles' track to the upper car park on Moel Famau. I took a few more photos there, then we headed 'home'.

The weather wasn't great: dry but dull and very windy, with showers forecast, so I wasn't exactly surprised that only A. & I went ahead with the ride – if it hadn't been arranged beforehand, I'm not sure I'd have chosen to go outdoors either; if we'd planned a longer or different route, I'd have been tempted to cancel.

Ordinarily, a quick blast up the A6 to Carnforth and Warton would merely be the necessary preamble to a longer ride. Today that was virtually our destination: we only went on a further ~2 miles to Leighton Moss near Silverdale, visited the RSPB reserve then returned to Lancaster, following the canal from Carnforth to Skerton.
However, that's ignoring the effect of the wind, which made the whole trip rather more challenging than normal. By definition, the canal towpath must be level, but into a headwind it certainly felt like a constant climb, and tensed against gusts of cross wind, my lower back and shoulder began to hurt as badly as after a 40-mile ride.

My camera is unsuited to wildlife photography and the light was poor, but I took a few photos in the bird reserve. Now I've confirmed that admission is free to those arriving by bike or public transport, I'll have to visit again. It seems strange that though Leighton Moss is ~40 minutes from my current home and I've frequently cycled past the reserve, both my previous visits were at least twenty years ago, when I lived over a hundred miles away.

Today's ride covered 35.85 km (22.28 miles) in 1.41 hours, at an average of only 21 km/h (13.2 mph), but that included diversions to the hospice and Halfords; the trip itself was a little quicker.

Over the past couple of years, I've visited all six of the significant valleys in the south-western 'corner' of the Yorkshire Dales between Ribblesdale and Barbondale, apart from one: Kingsdale, above Ingleton, on the opposite side of the Whernside ridge from Chapel-le-Dale. The road up the valley is a through-route, linking Ingleton and Dentdale over a pass between Whernside and Crag Hill/Great Coum. I've cycled to Dent before, and have frequently cycled to/from Ingleton as parts of longer rides or in combination with walks up the Three Peaks (individually!), so cycling out over Barbondale and back over Kingsdale, finishing with the familiar ride home from Ingleton, shouldn't have been a problem. Right?

Completing the route clockwise may explain why I chose to ride the full distance. I could have saved ~19 km (~12 miles) by catching a train to Wennington, but I'd have been avoiding only the easiest part of the lead-in, plus waiting for the train and traveling via Carnforth would have taken about as long. It would have been worthwhile to stay on the train to Higher Bentham and follow Kingsdale first (i.e. reverse the route), but I particularly wanted to avoid the extremely steep climb (~145 m of ascent within 1 km) from Dent to Barbondale and wanted to get the tough part (Barbondale) out of the way first. Anyone who knows the area will spot the huge flaw, but I didn't until later.

I didn't exactly rush. Nowadays I tend to complete the lead-in sections of longer rides as quickly as possible by following the most direct routes out of Lancaster, typically 'A' roads. Today I followed the canal to the Aqueduct, then the cycle track to the Crook O'Lune, making several photo stops. Similarly, once on the Lune Valley floodplain, I didn't blast along to Kirkby Lonsdale at ~30 km/h as usual, instead stopping to explore Melling churchyard. I'd normally bypass Kirkby Lonsdale on the way to Barbondale, but I made a diversion across Devil's Bridge and into the village, mainly to take photos, but I also took the opportunity to buy a little more food & drink.
I did optimise the route in one way. Rather than following the main road to Barbon and very steep lane to Barbondale, I turned off the A683 immediately after Casterton, following tiny lanes and an easy climb past Whelprigg. Must remember that one.

As the accompanying photos show, the weather had been fine to this point, but as I turned north-east into the main section of Barbondale, the sky darkened abruptly and I was concerned about rain. Yet as I reached the head of the pass, it brightened again, clearer than ever. Why does that always happen?

I paused there, looking down into Dentdale. This was the 'point of no return' (in senses other than the literal). I could turn back now, with an easy downhill ride almost all the way back to Lancaster, but I'd have failed to reach my destination, and would have to cycle all this way again to make a later attempt. I could go on to Dent and turn back from there, but I'd have to face the nasty ascent back to this point and still wouldn't have seen Kingsdale. Or I could go on.

I had a quick look at Dent Church and the village's cobbled main street, but even at 14:20 the shadows were lengthening, so I soon checked the map for the next stage. I'll need to explore the rest of Dentdale at a later date – November days are too short.

Remember I mentioned a flaw in the plan? Somehow, I'd misread the map or merely presumed that the road from Dent to Ingleton was an easy, low-level pass. Only now did I look closer, and realise what I'd taken on. The top of the pass was high – much higher than Barbondale; over half as high again, in fact (468 m asl vs 300 m) and almost as steep in places. Okay, ~320 m of ascent in ~4 km isn't extreme (which is why I wasn't dissuaded), but remember that this was ~45 km into the ride, and I knew I'd have at least a further ~35 km to go after the head of the pass. Slightly daunting.

It was as tough as I'd expected, especially where the road builders had given up on hairpin bends and had just cut straight up the 1-in-less-than-5 gradient. I managed that, but it nearly finished me; twice within the next kilometre I found myself unable to turn the pedals, lost forward momentum and simply stalled. I was almost too tired to appreciate the achievement of reaching the top and seeing Kingsdale, and had already freewheeled for a kilometre before realising a photo stop might be appropriate.

Again, I'll have to return to Kingsdale another time, as I'd reached it too late in the day to explore and too tired to be bothered. The only part that really interested me was the ~40 m ascent to get out of the valley – grr! In fact, my immediate memory of Kingsdale wasn't especially favourable, so the accompanying photos were a pleasant surprise.

So that was it: I was back in a familiar area, just above Thornton-in-Lonsdale and Ingleton, and the remaining distance was just a formality. I stopped for a rest and to drink the last of my water (actually, Coke; I'd finished the water quite a while ago), then headed home non-stop. I don't remember the final ~28 km being a struggle, but then again, I don't remember it at all.

Overall I'd covered 93.21 km (57.92 miles) at an average speed of 20.27km/h (12.6 mph) and reaching 49.08 km/h (30.5 mph) at least once. As that low average and the foregoing description illustrates, I didn't exactly push myself, and the trip took seven hours (10:45-17:45), but no-one said it was a race. I ride for the views, not the exercise.

Not early enough, I'm afraid; the sun's angle was better at ~09:20, but I'd have needed to be there by ~07:45 at this time of year, really. I went on anyway, and took a few decent photos.

Returning to Lancaster, I made one diversion to somewhere I hadn't visited before: the southern half of Overton village, including the 11th Century church of St. Helen.

Then to work....

I needn't itemise the entire route, as it's obvious from a map and I've described it before, but in short I crossed the Lune at Millennium Bridge and followed the north bank of the river to Overton via Snatchem's, then across the saltmarsh to Sunderland.

That didn't take as long as I'd expected, so after returning to Overton I crossed the peninsula to the Morecambe Bay coast at Heysham then followed that north through Morecambe to Bolton le Sands. From there, I crossed back to the Lune at Halton and returned to Lancaster along the cycle route. That's more-or-less the reverse of a ride I completed in February 2005, so I presume the distance was comparable at about 45 km (28 miles).

My initial plan was that, if the weather was good enough for a bike ride anyway, I'd head out in that direction and visit the barn for a few hours on Saturday, returning to Lancaster that night. However, I was in town in the morning, looking at bikes with A., so I took the opportunity to replace my massive (and somewhat smelly) sleeping bag with one I could slip into my rucksack. This gave me the freedom to stay overnight in the barn if I changed my mind.

A. joined me for the 12-mile (~20 km) ride to Roeburndale, so we followed the pedestrian-crowded Lune Cycleway (aka Millennium Park) to Caton then, somewhat quicker, the main road to Butt Yeats, near Hornby. The lane from there to Middle Wood obviously ascended as far as my more usual route via Wray, but avoided two very steep sections. Worth remembering.
It'd also be worth remembering that a large Thai red curry eaten just before leaving home (to save having to carry food for an evening meal) objected to 152 m of still quite steep, sustained ascent before it had really settled. Bad idea.

Meeting 'other A.' there, we walked the ~1 km to the barn through surprisingly little mud. The weather had held, but within an hour of our arrival, a heavy shower almost extinguished H's campfire and caused us to remain in the barn all evening.

I was a little startled and concerned that others were obtaining remarkably better indoor photos with compact digital cameras than I could achieve using my big almost-DSLR. I suspect it's a consequence of technological advance in the 26-27 months since I bought mine, not least in image-stabilisation. Mine was fine with flash (which ruins the atmosphere) and unbeatable in really low light, so I did get a few slightly staged images and a few more unguarded ones, but other cameras seemed better-suited to 'average' ambient conditions.
I'm afraid I'm not prepared to publish those images of private individuals, but I did go for a wander on Sunday morning, and took a few fairly 'pretty' photos.

On the whole, Sunday morning was leisurely; though H. lost cans of beer to the river again, there was no point chasing them. The accompanying photos explain why!

My route seemed straightforward and not especially long, but I made numerous diversions, probably adding at least fifteen miles to a direct, join-the-dots route; 25 miles on paper became about forty on the road.
For example, it's ten miles from Lancaster to Garstang along the A6 main road, which I can cover in less than half an hour. Today, I rode to Galgate, on to Bay Horse, then Forton motorway services, inland to Street Bridge near Dolphinholme, then back down to Garstang via Scorton, taking a couple of hours in all. Even at that first stage, I wandered around Galgate for five minutes refreshing my knowledge of what was my home village in the mid-1990s, and at Street I left the bike for a brief walk up- and downstream of the bridge along the riverbank. Scorton was another extended stop as I thoroughly explored side streets looking for photogenic historical buildings, particularly the three churches.

Entering Garstang, I paused at the information board outside the 'Discovery Centre'. This identified places of especial interest in the town, so I took time to explore the mediaeval high street, the canal basin & aqueduct, and Greenhalgh Castle.

I had half-considered going on much further from Garstang, perhaps even around the southern edge of the Bowland Fells again, through Chipping to Dunsop Bridge and home via the Trough of Bowland. However, it had taken much longer than expected to get even this far, so I decided to revisit Calder Vale instead, and take the shorter direct (yes, really) road back to Galgate and Lancaster.
The first stage almost went to plan, though I took a wrong turning. For future reference: turn left at Ringing Hill – it's very slightly shorter, but more importantly involves a shorter, steeper ascent rather than a shallower one which drags on without respite.

The first minor disaster occurred as I crossed Calder Vale churchyard. Opening a gate, I thoughtlessly gripped my handlebars in such a way that I held down the bike computer's 'reset' button, discarding today's distance, speed and time data. I suppose I could trace my extremely circuitous route on a map and calculate the total distance, but I think I'll just call it 'about forty miles' overall.

Just one more diversion: passing Grizedale Lea Reservoir, I turned into the gateway, spending a further unplanned half hour exploring that and the adjacent Barnacre Reservoir. Hence, it was sunset before I reached Galgate and fully dark by the time I got home.

I hinted above that there was another disaster. It actually occurred the following morning (yes, I'm writing this several days later). Downloading the photos to my PC, the camera batteries failed part way through the process, and I didn't notice. Thinking everything had been successfully saved to my hard drive, I cleared the camera's memory card , discarding at least a hundred images – everything taken after arriving in Scorton. Sickening.

There was only one thing to do: while the locations of all the photos were still fresh in my mind, I repeated the entire bike ride.
Well, nearly; I was able to take the fastest route straight to Scorton and familiarity enabled me to eliminate the unproductive digressions, saving about ten miles. Today's ride covered 52.4 km (32.5 miles) in 2:42 hours (19 km/h average, 52 km/h peak) between 14:20 and 18:00. I think I reproduced most of the earlier photos and improved on a couple. I hope you like the results – they were harder work than normal!

About fifty were worth publishing. That's too many for one index of thumbnails, so they're divided into three sections: Galgate to Scorton, Garstang, and the remaining route to Calder Vale and back to Lancaster.

The first twelve miles to Wray were fine; that's a routine part of most rides up the Lune Valley. The next section, to Cross of Greet at the top of the Bentham-Slaidburn pass, was tougher, not because of steep hills but because it seemed endless. My mental map of the area is a bit faulty, locating Wray within about five miles of the top. However, Lowgill is about five miles from Wray along undulating but generally uphill lanes – there's a further 2-3 miles over featureless moorland to the top. Oh, and the final few hundred metres are very steep.
I bypassed Lowgill today, instead heading further east to investigate the ancient Great Stone of Fourstones, on the county boundary. However, there were several other visitors to the viewpoint (especially surprising considering the humidity and consequent dense haze), so I didn't park and approach it myself. Maybe next time.
Something else I might do next time is catch the train as far as Bentham, omitting the 15-mile lead-in to the 'real' ride. Some cycle for the enjoyment of cycling or for exercise, but my objective is sightseeing: taking the camera to interesting places. The number of miles I cover is relatively incidental, and if I can save some energy, I will. Or rather, I'd prefer to omit fifteen miles on familiar roads and expend the same energy going fifteen miles somewhere new.

I was unusually tired when I stopped at the Cross of Greet and, knowing the hills ahead, seriously considered returning the way I'd come. However, I'd convinced myself this was a 40-mile round trip and the Cross, 19 miles into the ride, was therefore virtually the halfway point; returning the way I'd come would be no shorter than going on. That still ignored the fact that retracing the route would have involved no significant ascents whilst the onward route featured three more. Odd as it seems now, I went on.

Apart from one climb out of a stream's valley, I freewheeled almost all the way down to Slaidburn, which was a very pleasant change on a road I've previously struggled up! I paused briefly in the village for a couple of photographs, then went on to Dunsop Bridge via Newton.

At this point I realised two obvious things:

• As I'd already written last November, and plainly forgotten today, this isn't a 40-mile ride, and Cross of Greet isn't halfway. It's a 46-mile ride and I was startled to leave Dunsop Bridge at sunset with fifteen miles still to go.
• Yes, at sunset, and I hadn't brought any lights. Foolishly, I'd totally misjudged the timing of the ride.

One thing I haven't mentioned is that I wasn't entirely well today. I developed a sore throat a couple of days ago, which was extremely uncomfortable for the first 10-15 miles of the ride. I thought it was no more than that, but as is obvious from this account, some of the decisions I made today suggest my judgement was impaired, and the aftermath was unequivocal. In short, I gradually collapsed.
Reaching Lancaster, I knew I wouldn't have the energy to cook a meal, so bought fish & chips before going home. I managed to eat them, but that was the end of Saturday. Shivering and exhausted, I managed to have a shower then went straight to bed by ~20:30.
[Ruining the illusion that I wrote this within a couple of hours of getting home, rather than a month afterwards, I can report that I was feverish and lethargic on the Sunday too. I took sick leave on Monday and Tuesday, sleeping through virtually all of the former. I briefly thought I'd exhausted myself with the 46-mile ride and contracted an opportunistic infection, but in hindsight I was ill from the start.]

In case anyone's keeping count, I covered the 46.26 miles (74.4 km) in about five hours (4:03 moving), at an average speed of 11.1 mph.

*: I took the wrong road again. For future reference: when descending from the Trough of Bowland, turn left at the chapel before crossing the Tarnbrook Wyre, and go through Abbeystead itself then along Abbeystead Lane to rejoin the more direct route about a kilometre from the Tower.
Don't go straight on at the chapel; that route, Rakehouse Brow, is indeed more direct but is also 3-4 km of continuous gradual ascent, not steep except at the start but relentless. In a low or middle gear, it's easy enough, but stop pedalling and the bike will stop &nda