March 28th. 2022
It was another cold night in the tent, with temperatures below freezing. We both seemed to sleep well once the East Coast Mainline trains stopped running, but we woke earlier than planned due to the cold, wet air that filled the tent. Our usual expedition tent, an MSR Access 3, is designed for ski touring, offering extra protection from the elements. However, during our US Route 66 tour, it was unbearable inside the tent when the temperatures reached more than thirty degrees centigrade. For this trip, knowing that we would be in hot and humid countries for more time than we would be in a colder climate, we bought an MSR Mutha Hubba with an inner mesh tent. We are paying the price of that decision in Scotland now, although I’m sure we will reap the rewards many times over in the coming months.
While a hot cup of something would have been a great start to the day, we only had a small amount of water, so we decided to eat what calories we could find in our panniers, which came in the form of biscuits, packed up the dew-soaked tent once again and prepared to head south. Just as we were tying off the last of the straps, a police car pulled up in the car park, but at the sight of us completed a quick three-point turn and headed back up the road. There were signs around the area that overnight parking wasn’t allowed. Still, nothing about camping, so while I was prepared to explain the difference between the two, my mental preparation for such an exchange with the authorities was not required this time!
The first section out from the bay to the road was relatively steep, so rather than putting our cold muscles to the immediate test, we pushed the Pino up the first hill, just a small convoy of cars with excited-looking dogs in the back coming in the other direction.
The first objective of the day was to cycle to the Peese Bay Holiday Park, a park made famous, to us at least, by a neighbour we had been helping during the pandemic. Anne, accompanied by her brother and sister-in-law, had visited the holiday park every year before the pandemic, with the trip being the highlight of her year. By the time we had started the plunge into what felt like the depths of the earth, all the time seeing the hill at the other side of the small bay that we would need to get up after the photoshoot for Anne, verbal regrets were being shared.
The brakes held out for the decent, but the hill that we would need to climb out of the bay looked impossible to ride. Noting that Peese Bay Holiday Park is a caravan park, the sign at the side of the road out of the bay reading Unsuitable for Caravans didn’t give us much confidence in what was to come.
We filled up on water, and then managed to convenience a passerby to take a photo that we could send to Anne via WhatsApp. Anne isn’t the most tech-savvy of our friends, but she has a mastery of WhatApps like no other. So while we doubt she will read a single word of these blogs, she will be waiting for her regular WhatsApp messages as we make our way around the planet.
The initial section of the route out of the bay was through a small ford across a stream. We were assured by a park worker that the ford was okay for cycling through. Deborah still decided to use the footbridge in the hope of being able to capture me getting into difficulty during my solo crossing. With the first 10 metres of the route out of the bay complete, without Deborah capturing video footage that might have bagged her a payout by one of those TV programmes that enjoy showing other people’s misfortune to the nation, I climbed off the bike for the next section. The uphill bit.
The gradient out of Peese Bay was so steep, that putting my whole weight into it, I physically couldn’t move the bike myself. So with me at the handlebars and Deborah’s hands outreached on the rear rack bag, we leaned into it and pushed with all of our strength.
It took quite a few stops to get to a length of road that was flat enough for us to attempt to continue riding, but we finally made it without suffering any long term cardiac damage. While we could pedal the remainder of the hill, it was hard going in first gear. As we neared the top, a farmworker pulled up on a quad bike for a chat and offered all the change he had in his pocket as a donation to CHAS. While the gift was very kind at that time, the selfless act of providing us with an excuse to stop pedalling was even more thoughtful. For future notes, due to the weight of our fully-loaded tandem, if we stop pedalling on a hill for any reason, the remainder of the slope undoubtedly will be conquered by pushing it. It is nearly impossible to get the bike underway on anything but the slightest of gradients, even in first gear.
As the road flattened, we entered a bank of mist or sea haar, as a passing local explained. Hoping the mist would clear, we pushed on until we couldn’t feel any of our extremities, at which point we pulled over and added an extra layer of clothing.
Our original plan was to continue to cycle the coast route south, passing through Berwick-upon-Tweed, but with little sign of the low cloud burning out, we decided to head for the A1 road a little earlier in the hope that it hadn’t made it far inland. By the time we reached the A1, it was clear that the sea haar wasn’t restricting itself to the sea, as cars and lorries thundered past with lights on.
Donning my high visibility vest for the first time on this tour, we ventured into a busy 60 mph road. Generally, we try to stay clear of such roads. Still, with few alternatives without significant detours, we headed south in an ever-thickening fog, trying to make ourselves as visible as possible.
The only memorable thing of note on the cycle south was crossing our first national border. As wee Nicola hasn’t been successful yet there was no checkpoint and visas were not required, so not as memorable as I am sure future border crossing will be. While there appeared to be a party in full swing on the other side of the A1, with a large group celebrating leaving England, we were alone in the cold mist on the southbound side, so after a quick photoshoot to capture the occasion we headed off before hypothermia set in.
Without anything to see further to see, anyone to stop to chat to, and our only pastime to identify the road-kill littering our way, we made it to our planned destination by 3:30 pm. With a more extended day scheduled for tomorrow, we did consider pushing on. Still, after spotting the 1.9 Google Ranking of the following service station, we decided to try our luck by asking if we could pitch up in the adjacent picnic area. While Deborah popped off to the loo, I went over to the cashier desk, looking as pitiful as possible, and asked if we would camp up for the night. The team of two operating the service station were happy for us to stay, but to be safe, they called the boss and explained our situation. We were in.
We quickly found a spot by a picnic bench and set up camp. It was still dark for the time of day with a cold mist hanging in the air, punched through only by the bright lights of the notice board advertising the recently over-inflated fuel prices thanks to a criminal dictator 2500 miles away in Moscow.
As we pitched the tent, a driver from a Pollock’s truck came over from a chat, interested in what we were up to and encouraging us to create a YouTube channel of our adventure. We intend to work on a YouTube channel and capture many videos. However, as we are still rubbish in front of the camera, we are working on engaging a couple of body doubles with acting experience before subjecting anyone to such torture.
The benefit of having a service station adjacent, apart from the obvious access to an actual toilet rather than a brush at the side of the road, is that they generally serve hot drinks. So with a cup of hot chocolate in hand, we made our spicy noodle dinner from the comfort of a seated position around a picnic table.
Without a great deal to do or see in a service station picnic area on the side of the busy A1 road, we decided to have an earlyish night. We packed up our gear, locked the Pino to the picnic bench and snuggled into our sleeping bags, satisfied we had again accomplished the miles, much to our amazement, that we had set ourselves months prior.
