Walking the Cumbria Way

Velocitea left the bicycles behind for a bit of walking in the Lake District: 72 miles through Carlisle, Caldbeck, Keswick, Langdale, Coniston, and Ulverston.

It was nice not to worry about bike spares and tools, and to just rely on our feet for a change. We tried to pack light (no teapot this time) and caught the train up to Carlisle, to start the Cumbria way in reverse. There was a week-long window of sunny bright weather. I had a new pair of boots and a rucksack full of oatcakes, and was excited to be walking in England!

We booked a camping barn for our first night, just outside of Caldbeck. The first day’s walking was relatively flat, but we’d soon be climbing High Pike. We were the only people staying in the barn, which was big enough to sleep twelve on mattresses on the floor.

In the late summer evening there was quite a chill in the air, and a golden wintry light spread over the fields.

A fence marked the edge of the farm and the edge of the hills. In the morning, through the gate, we were straight into the high country, springing over the mossy heath and up into the fells. The way back down from High Pike was steeper, and the slopes were purple and fuzzy with heather. We filled our bottles from cold, rushing streams (high enough to be above any farms or sheep), and picked our way along the high paths towards Keswick.

We spent a day in Keswick at a campsite on the shore of Derwent Water, and were envious of the people heading out onto the lake in kayaks and canoes. The mist rolled off the water in the early morning, and we were woken by greylag geese, bickering and flapping in the pebbly shallows.

It was a long climb up to Stake Pass from the wild and empty Langstrath valley. We’d thought of camping up at the top somewhere, but this didn’t seem so tempting once in amongst the cloud that settled all around the craggy peaks. We plodded down into Mickleden with hill-tired knees, and made a camp over the river, with just a few sheep for company.

Something we missed a lot while cycling was a good English pub – we made up for this by trying most of the local ales we found along the Cumbia Way. The Bull at Coniston was my favourite pub, old fashioned and cosy, with a superb stout on tap from the Coniston Brewery. We agreed that writing books about pub walks in Britain would be a wonderful job. It was also nice to stop for tea and scones at a snug tearoom, and buy local cheese and apples from the shop: I felt like we were catching up on all the best things of England!

The last day of the walk was quite a tiring one, and we were both pleased to glimpse Ulverston down in the valley below, though a gorse-yellow fold of fell away. We realised we wouldn’t have time (or the energy) to walk out of town and find a camp spot, so phoned the Sun Inn for a room with fingers crossed, peering down on the far rooftops.

It was a dream come true from many tired and grubby cycling days past to stay at a pub, with a comfy bed and tea making things. We went downstairs for beers, then round the corner for some smashing (and well earned) fish and chips.

We woke up to the sound of rain on our third-floor window, tucked away in the top of the Sun. There were newspapers, a cooked breakfast, and more coffee than we could drink. It was a good way to end the walk, and well-timed. We caught a bus to Windermere where by coincidence, our friends Hannah and Paul were staying. Through a gate at the top of their road, the Dales Way path began; despite the drizzle, it was tempting to strike off to Yorkshire… Perhaps another day.

Great camping.

Estonia

224km through Tallinn, Saku, Järvakandi, Voiste, Tori, Häädemeeste, Ikla.

I didn’t know a thing about Estonia. I very ignorantly imagined it to be a bit grim and grey, in an ex-Soviet way: a little strange, a little crumbling and unwelcoming. I was terribly wrong, and all I can say is: Estonia is beautiful! Go to Estonia!

We took the ferry from Helsinki to Tallinn – a gem of a city – its old town surrounded with turreted walls. Inside there is an absolute wealth of historical buildings: churches with vertiginous towers, shuttered inns with gargoyles, colourful walls with painted clocks, weather vanes, medieval inns. It is all so well preserved and full of tourists, it had rather a theme park feel to it, like a Baltic Disneyland fairytale town.

We climbed the 200 steps up the tower of St. Olaf’s church. The staircase was only wide enough for two people at a squeeze, but there was a constant stream of people heading up and down. A final set of steep wooden stairs took us up to the roof and a magnificent view. A narrow gangway lead around the tower’s circumference, railings on one side and the sun-warmed roof tiles on the other. I am not too keen on heights, and couldn’t get around quick enough, but people kept stopping for photographs and insisting on walking around the wrong way. I felt a bit wobbly but I think I was very brave. We went up a few more towers for good measure, and visited the Hell Hunt (‘gentle wolf’) brewery pub for some delicious ales.

Our hostel was in the Rotermann Quarter, the old factories and mills now converted into cafes and bars, everywhere red bricks and pots of blooming flowers. We stayed for two days, and another at a ‘campsite’ on the edge of town; we had a bedroom indoors (in a garage), but decorated to look like the outdoors, with an astroturf carpet and forest mural on the wall. Another pair of cycle tourers were camping on the roof.

Our garage-forest bedroom.

The Eurovelo 13 cycle route – the Iron Curtain Trail – runs along the Estonian coast. The route is not completed yet, but we were able to follow it out of Tallinn, after which we stuck mainly to the roads. The countryside was lush and beautiful, with neat farms and tiny silent hamlets. The forest was lighter, more open than in Finland, with dense carpets of heather, moss and lingon bushes. There were dilapidated lovely churches and wooden houses painted pale green, yellow and turquoise.

It was sunny and hot – too hot to cook in the evenings; we had cold feasts of potato salad, avocadoes, tomatoes, chickpeas, smoked cheese, radishes, lentils. Food was cheap. Camping was easy, and we found quiet grassy patches just when we needed them.

As we were wheeling our bikes out of one camp spot, we spotted another cycle tourer up on the road. He asked where we were going.

“Riga” we said.

“Me too, let’s go!”

Fu was from China, and cycling from St Petersburg to Lisbon. He had told his parents he was working overseas for a year, so they wouldn’t worry about him. On his small-wheeled folding bike he put in 130km a day, not stopping ’till 9pm (when I would usually be ready to sleep!). He was a cycling machine in electric blue lycra. We could barely keep up with him, but it was good fun trying. The roads were straight and smooth, the traffic was fast, and we whizzed along towards the Latvian border. We turned off the E67 and the road cut through the seaside forest. It smelled of pine and the ocean, and after-the-rain. It must have been slightly downhill all the way – we reached the border at Ikla in time for elevenses.

It took only three and a half days to cross Estonia. It was so lovely, we were quite sorry to be leaving so soon. I wouldn’t usually say this, but we ought to have cycled slower.