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After beans for breakfast (my plan to improve my sore tummy) and a hasty re-route to avoid some of the day’s hills (Deep Dale), we set off from Slaidburn in dry weather to head straight up Catlow Fell. This was a 12-mile hill that took us two hours to climb. I did a mixture of walking and cycling. Bert cycled all the way, but stopped for plenty of photos and to keep me company. C&A cycled the lot. 

They waited for us near the top, but thinking they were miles ahead, we stopped just around the bend for a break, about two minutes from them! Going down the other side was bliss – especially as the whole road was in view before you so you could even plan for oncoming cars and make the most of the down. It was great to knock up some miles with a bit more speed. When we got to High Bentham, C&A were waiting for us at a pub at the top of a steep hill, so we stopped for some lunch; quickly migrating indoors to avoid the full wet rain. We met a Dutch couple here who were also doing LEJOG, and I felt in good company when I discovered she had really struggled with the hills. Though she did have the excuse of being from the flattest land on earth… 

Calum did a quick shop for the evening meal, while we all donned our waterproofs and capes to head out in to the full wet afternoon. We headed along many strongly undulating roads, and I was pleased to point Calum in the right direction after he had missed a turning. We eventually came around to the M6, and after going underneath it were faced with a MASSIVE hill up the other side. I soon discovered the beans hadn’t helped, and my stomachache meant every rotation of the pedals was agony. For the first time, I really couldn’t be bothered that I couldn’t keep up with the boys, and I part cycled, part walked up the huge long slog to Shap summit, feeling really annoyed about my stomach and slightly defiant with life! As I made the decision to take my time, I found myself talking to the sheep by the side of the road, who were looking as dejected as I was feeling. I caught myself, wondering if I was actually beginning to lose it, and resolved that there would be no more chit chat. 

When I finally got to the summit, the boys were all standing shivering in the wind waiting for me, and we continued along the way down a lovely road that dropped back down to the motorway. Arthur was really happy to tell me that he’d found a more direct route to Shap, missing Orton, that actually went up between the northbound and southbound carriageways of the M6! My excitement dampened within seconds, as I looked across in the general direction he was waving in, and realised that even though we’d just done Shap summit, we were evidently nowhere near Shap. I could see the road winding through the motorway in the distance, so I continued on my way, hating every rotation, and thinking if tomorrow was like this I’d be going home. 

When we finally got there, it was kind of cool to be cycling up the centre of the motorway, and we even had a little photo session to mark the occasion! Suddenly it seemed like fun to see so many cars zooming past us. After traversing the M6, we went up some more hills and then, after bringing up the rear all day, I took the lead down the last big hill (with a slight panicky feeling as I discovered my brakes were no longer very effective) before turning into Shap. We found the New Ing Lodge Independent Hostel at about 7:30pm, up the road on the right, and after depositing the bikes and taking off our wet shoes (yes – it was raining again), were shown up to our room on the top floor. The boys reassured me that this was the worst day possible, and it would all get easier from here. 

It was a lovely hostel, large spacious room, small kitchen on our floor and two bathrooms just along our hallway with super warm powerful showers! Calum set to cooking with rather limited facilities, whilst Bert and I bought some lovely local bottled beer from the bar on the ground floor, along with some vino for me. Ate broccoli and were pleased to have some green veggies, though Calum was a bit miffed that everything took so long to boil on the tiny hob. Meanwhile Arthur received phone calls from both Alan (who reported that the weather next week would be really good), and then Robert (who reported that the weather next week – in Scotland – was going to be pretty wet). We were unmoved by this more damning report. What was a bit more rain between friends? 

We eventually turned in after the boys had sampled most of the local beers available (between them) and I’d supped a bit of wine. Having shared a few rooms by now, the boys were all terrified of going to the toilet in the night, because they knew that I would wake up and have yet another sleepless night and so be annoyed… again! After lights out, all was silent… for a while. Calum was up first (reporting the next day that he was lying in bed thinking ‘oh no, I need the loo’ in his Scottish accent, before mustering the courage to go). A while later, a loud thud and rustle probably woke everybody up, as Bert dropped out of his top bunk onto some bags I’d mistakenly left on the floor near the ladder. Calum made his second visit some time later, but Arthur did really well and slept through the night, having made a special effort to go just before lights out. And me? After all the fuss I’d been making, I was dismayed to realise that I too needed the loo, my first night time visit of the trip. I tiptoed out and back without anybody stirring – nobody had a clue I’d been anywhere. Phew. 

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Arthur declared that today was our rest day, so I was excited about the prospect of feeling on top of the world by the end of the day. After a breakfast of cereal and toast (with local butter and jams) provided by the hostel, we set off back through Shap to head up the hill to Crosby Ravensworth, which we did after calling Arthur back to the turning he had missed. At Crosby Ravensworth we looked around a graveyard, wandering through long wet grass, while Calum minded our bikes. 

Found a gravestone belonging to a 22-year-old cyclist who had died nearby many years ago, thereby completing another BCQ. 

We cycled on along quiet roads with a high ratio of uphill roads, passing through lots of villages and crossing a surprising number of railway lines (at least, in my mind we did). We eventually stopped in a small place called Lazonby where we sat under the shelter outside the co-op to eat lunch; a steam train went by to entertain us. 

After eating, we continued on through more villages, and over more railway lines, before heading up a steep hill to Cotehill, crossing the M6, and joining the A6 which took us straight into the centre of Carlisle. 

Carlisle was badly signposted and as we pulled off into a car park to check the map, the heavens opened for possibly the fullest wet rain yet experienced. A mile later, we were at Carlisle YHA absolutely soaked through to the skin. It was 3pm and wasn’t meant to rain until 4pm according to the weather experts. Bert and I sheltered under, erm… a shelter, whilst Calum and Arthur went to the student accommodation reception to check us in; Calum banged his head on a hanging basket en-route. 

Inside our block, we all chose our single rooms, discovered there was nobody else staying there and pumped up the heating so we could dry our clothes on the radiators. We supped tea in the mouldy kitchen, possibly our first pre-shower tea break since Zennor, before the boys showered and I had a long hot bath. As soon as I was clean and dry and feeling toasty in my evening clothes, Bert declared I should join him to do a food shop at Tesco. There had been a temporary pause in the rain, so we only had puddles to traverse on the way there. On our return journey, the full wet returned with a vengeance and we got back to our digs soaked through to the skin for the second time that  afternoon. Really soaked. My trousers were dripping and stuck to me. I was not impressed. Got changed again, found more radiator space for my next lot of clothes, and then stuck a delicious ready meal in the oven and opened wine. There was no way I was going to exit the building again this evening! After dinner we played the Alphabet Game before heading off to sleep. 

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Left by half past eight after having scrambled egg on toast for breakfast. We headed north, roughly following the M6, and it didn’t take long to reach Gretna, where we stopped for a “Welcome to Scotland” photo shoot. The sun was out, and we were all elated to have reached such a landmark. My thinking of the last two weeks changed in an instant, from ‘there’s no way I’m going to make this’, to ‘please don’t fall and break an arm or a leg, I can’t stop now!’ We continued along the B7076, taking it in turns to take the lead along the pleasant tarmac surface and stopping in Ecclefechan to use the public toilets. Arthur taunted us with hopes of a whole bistro dedicated to cakes, which he thought was funny. We carried on, and I was bemused to see a cyclist who had been coming in the other direction cross the road and start talking to Arthur and Calum. This was a lot friendlier than the half nod, half wave that usually took place. As we pulled up, we discovered that the cyclist was in fact, Andy Summers, the guy who had hoped to do the whole trip with us. 

It was lovely to meet him, and I quickly subdued my ‘demonstrating lack of cycling skills in front of new person’ panic to enjoy the long, straight roads that now traversed the A74(M). There was a bit of headwind in places, so I kept tucked in for as much as I could, and we arrived in Lockerbie in time for lunch. The charity café that Arthur had been raving about for the last day or two was closed, so we found a pleasant little café on the high street, where Andy was briefly introduced to our ‘phones out, stare into space’ habit before we quickly realised we had company and actually made conversation. 

After buying cakes and potato cakes in a cake shop, we continued at high speed alongside the A74(M), before Andy turned back at Johnstonebridge. The boys were really pleased to have seen him, and we carried on feeling bolstered by the meeting. 

At Beattock we made a sharp left to head into the village for food shopping, but alas, several cottages and a tiny closed post office were all we could find. We continued, still along the B7074, now heading uphill quite drastically and dressed in our waterproofs because of the incessant rain. We passed by a couple of entrances to a massive wind farm, and eventually pulled off the (what was now) A702 to cycle through Crawford in the hope of finding food. Looking off to a clump of trees in the distant hills, we could see the initials of a young soldier – his dad had planted the trees so that his son could find his way home from war, but he never did. The Post Office in Crawford was still open, so we bought carrots, potatoes, rice, tinned mushrooms and cheese out of its limited stock. Dinner would be interesting. We continued to climb and the weather got colder and stayed wet, making it all quite hard work, but the scenery was fantastic. We eventually stopped following the M74 to turn northeast up Happendon Road, and as the road became a lane, the rain stopped and the midges came out. Toilet stops were hurried, and the stony narrow lane dropped down to what looked like the entrance to a power station. Going through the gate, we walked along a stony track until we came to a bridge over the Clyde, and here we stopped for a few minutes to watch the water filter machine do its stuff. The Clyde looked big and impressive and we crossed the bridge to enter the beautiful “Falls of Clyde”. 

The Falls of Clyde is a typical nature reserve, with narrow winding muddy paths traversing up and down hills along the edge of the Clyde and passing several viewpoints along the way, one of which looked up to a waterfall which Calum thought was orange… until he took his shades off. Small sections of the path were boarded, and the steepest sections had steps. Once again I struggled with the non-cycling aspect of the route, lugging my bike down steps and trying not to fall over as Bert waited at the bottom taking photos.

My temporary bad mood vanished when we arrived at New Lanark, a beautiful old mill town built along the Clyde years ago by a philanthropist who wanted to give people work with fair pay and improved lives. The buildings were spectacular, and our hostel was located in one of the buildings and absolutely beautiful. Whilst chatting to the man at the hostel, he discovered we were doing LEJOG for charity and gave us complimentary towels – what a luxury! Despite having made good time during the day, the walk through the Falls of Clyde at the end had notched up an extra hour or so, and we didn’t eat dinner until 9:30pm, which was surprisingly nice considering the bizarre ingredients! The Dutch couple were also there, though they were heading to Edinburgh the next day whilst we were heading slightly northwest to get to Glasgow. We were very tired as we headed off to bed so late that evening.