The drive back to the remote village of Slaidburn took more than an hour and so it was about 10.30 am before I got going. I had hoped to make this a shorter day and ideally would have chosen to stay at Kendal which is only a couple of miles off the route. When I tried to find somewhere to stay in Kendal, late in the evening, I was unable to find any sensibly priced accommodation and the next place with anywhere to stay was Appleby, which would mean a 76 mile day but there was a hotel available and so the decision was made.

Helen left me at Slaidburn to drive home and so I was now on my own with all my possessions in two pannier bags which weighed a ton. Up until now I just had to carry essentials like spare clothes, waterproofs, tools, puncture repair and cameras and the rest was transported in the car. I hadn’t realised that my pyjamas and teddy bear weighed nearly so much. The route out of Slaidburn rises relentlessly for about 6 miles to a height of about 1,200 feet through what is called The Forest of Bowland. There are no trees, which is an unusual feature for a forest, but views for miles from the top – when you get there. It was a beautiful Saturday morning and all the local cycling clubs were out on road bikes, clad in lycra and bashing up the hill past the elderly gent with his world strapped to his bike. There were sections where I had to get off and push and you became more aware of the weight of the bike when pushing than when cycling but it was still less demanding than trying to keep the lowest gear turning.

I was already doing mental calculations of how long 76 miles would take at walking pace and thinking of possible other options. Once on the top, all that stored momentum became useful and the bike flew down the hill to the village of Wray where I had a cup of tea and a flapjack sitting in the sun outside the Post Office. In conversation with the owner, I indicated that my intended destination was Appleby. His incredulous reaction deepened my depression. I eventually reached the village of Borwick about 2.30 and sat on a bench under a tree on the village green munching an apple in the sunshine. A tall and athletic chap, dressed in lycra, propped his carbon fibre bike against the bench and asked if he could share the bench with me to eat his sandwiches. He had just popped out for a quick 100 mile spin and looked as if he was chiselled from granite. Our conversation was naturally about cycling and our different versions of that sport. When I said that I was going to Appleby I expected a dismissive grunt but instead he looked puzzled and said, “that’s a fair way” sending me into a panic of self-doubt.

A few miles on from Borwick, after crossing the M6 (on a bridge, fortunately) I reached the village of Beetham where the very cheerful mine host in the local inn served me up some cauliflower and stilton soup with the chunkiest bread I have ever seen. This made it impossible to eat the cheese sandwich I had also ordered so he kindly wrapped it in cling film for later. While he was doing that he said “you’re not cycling Land’s End to John O’Groats or anything daft are you?” – a quick exit, feeling sheepish. Back on the bike and another hill in the sunshine. As an indication of my rate of progress up these hills, it was at this point that I was overtaken by two young girls out for an afternoon jog. It made me feel very old as did the sight of their athletic bottoms jogging up the hill – a heart attack inducing combination of circumstances.

It is about 7 miles from Beetham to the next village of Natland which is the closest that the route gets to Kendal after which it heads off into a no-man’s land of hills and moors to get to Appleby which by my best estimate, was about 36 miles away - 26 of which were uphill to a height of 1,500 feet. Another village and another village green. I sat on a bench looking at the church clock which told me it was 4.30 and contemplated my options. I could cycle into Kendal and hope to find somewhere to stay or I could press on and hope there were no man-eating animals on the moor. It was a beautiful summer day and my bike lights were working so I pressed on. The route was an endless series of country lanes where the only traffic was either a quad bike with the farmer, his wife and the dog on board or a tractor, until it dipped down to cross under the M6 at a place called Beck Foot. I managed to get into the beck to fill my water bottle before pressing on up the valley from which I could see the traffic on the M6 in the distance. I had often looked from the M6 over to where I now was but never imagined that humans ever went there.

The route crossed the M6 another twice and when it crossed it for the third time, I was standing on the B6260 with a sign that said Appleby. A quick check of the pages of road atlas that I had torn out before Helen left, confirmed that this perfect piece of tarmac did lead all the way to a pint of lager and bed. The delights and difficulties of Sustrans route 68 were abandoned and I ate my cheese sandwich for sustenance before setting off. The B road wasn’t much busier than the lanes and I made excellent progress although I still had one section of pushing to get out of the village of Orton but on cresting that rise, it was mostly downhill into Appleby, where I arrived at 9pm having knocked about 6 miles off the intended route.

The total distance for the day was 70 miles but it involved about 6,000 feet of climbing with my panniers which I checked to see if Helen had put half a dozen bricks in. I had been out for 10 hours and on the bike for 8 hours and that pint of lager was great. The Tufton Arms Hotel was full of old world charm and even managed to rustle up some fish and chips at about 9.30 to see me over until breakfast. It’s amazing how much you can fit into a day if you take all day to do it.