OP
OP
a.twiddler
Veteran
16/8/25
Recumbent Ride
Imperial Century Ride. Leaseowe on the Linear
Home to Guilden Sutton.
My Last ride seems to have been a bit of a routefinder and practice run for today's effort.
Today was the day. I set off at 08:30 and felt the wind in my face from the start. A day of steady rolling, speed where possible, but mostly conservation of my limited energy was the plan. Persistence rather than speed was the watchword. Through Darnhall Bridge with no issues, into Hickhurst Lane, then where it started to climb, dial back a little and roll gently uphill.
A Saturday, hoping to have less traffic early on and to get some way before the hordes of weekend warriors got out on their bikes as they did last Sunday.
I came to Eaton, where the road dipped before a stiff climb up to a T junction. I got into my highest gear and flew downhill before the uphill began. Down through the gears to steadily grind up the slope. I heard voices behind, and two cyclists slowly overhauled me. They went right at the junction, I went left.
The first downhill started, immediately, into top, and down the first big dip to get up the other side. I repeated this twice again before rolling into Four Lane Ends and stopping at the lights before getting going on to a stretch of the A49. Level, then downhill before turning right into Tiverton.
Once I’d got up a short climb I knew that it was mostly downhill to NCN 45 via Huxley. The day was warming up so I took my gilet off and fitted it over the seat back. I then made the most of the downhill. A couple of cyclists passed me in both directions and it wasn’t long before I came to NCN 45, turning right on to Long Lane. I started to pass groups of cyclists and it was back to lifting a hand, nodding or acknowledging various witty remarks that I’d heard a million times before.
Soon crossing over the Shropshire Union canal on a tall bridge, and it didn’t take long before I was turning right at Waverton. No stop here today, as I wanted to do 25 or 30 miles before stopping for refreshments. Over the canal, left into Brown Heath road, left into Plough Lane, then into Christleton to turn right into Village Lane and Little Heath Road before crossing the A51 to Hare Lane. I continued along Hare Lane through Piper’s Ash to turn right on to Guilden Sutton Lane. After going over and under a bridge I came to a bridleway on the left. Over a humped railway bridge then downhill following the bridleway, under another bridge, left up a ramp to the Chester Greenway.
Right for the town centre and Connah’s Quay. Quite reassuring to be on this trail. Not much chance of getting lost until I decided to turn off.
Chester Greenway to Burton Marsh.
The Greenway feels mostly downhill when heading West.
I soon cleared the town centre, crossing the Shropshire Union canal, passing through the site of Blacon old station.
As I approached the climb to the Sealand bridge a balaclava’d ebike rider zoomed towards me. “That’s a bike and a half, that is!” he said. “It certainly is!” I replied. I suppose I ought to be grateful that a) he didn’t call me “lad”, and b) he did have some pedals on his bike.
I got up to the bridge deck, then enjoyed the run downhill on the other side. It was not long before I came to a turn off to Neston. As I followed the route through an industrial estate there were cyclists everywhere. The infrastructure was very congenial for cyclists. The trail wound itself about under some bridges and through a couple of awkward barriers that resembled a pair of staggered sheffield stands. As I was getting ready to restart after the second one, which exited straight on to a road, a bunch of cyclists appeared. The one in front, in a red top, said, “You’re blocking the way!” I thought many things, mostly uncomplimentary but said,”So I am. If you will just exercise a little patience.” Then I got going, feeling somewhat irritated.
I was feeling a bit annoyed generally with all these cyclists whizzing around in groups. No doubt we as cyclists all think of ourselves as rugged individualists but to see the groups in identical looking gear and on very similar machines rather gives the lie to that. From time to time a sound like a federation tie fighter from Star Wars would come from behind and a couple of riders who were going for it would wail by. If one of them stopped pedalling briefly you would hear the raucous chainsaw-like sound of his freewheel. Each to his own, but I like my bikes to be quiet.
Another sign, down a narrow lane then right through another barrier and uphill. The path ran alongside an active railway line on the right, an a MOD firing range on the left. I came to the entrance markings and signposting for Burton Marsh.
Through the marsh, across a wooden boarded causeway,
through some cattle grids, some more scenic trail with red sandstone outcrops to the right.
After a few miles the trail came to a gated barrier. I followed some cyclists through who helpfully held it open for me. The road ran up a short steep hill to a lane where I turned left. A short way along, a sign for a cafe appeared. I turned in and had a cold drink and a cheese and ham toastie. I sat at a table by a side door that was wedged open with a chair and enjoyed the breeze while I sat. After a visit to the conveniences I hit the road again.
Burton Marsh to Thurstaston.
I followed the road (with a number of sharp speed bumps) until I reached Old Wharf. A path went straight on through an A frame barrier so I followed it for about a mile. I came to a narrow kissing gate with a “No cycling” sign. Annoying. I turned back and eventually passed through the A frame barrier again. This time I turned left uphill through Little Neston and came across a series of signs to NCN 56 Wirral Way. They were annoyingly uphill, winding through a housing estate then side streets. I came to a T junction with a confusing array of signs. There was one sign for the Wirral Way pointing back the way I’d come, and another pointing left downhill for Parkgate.
After poring over the map I went downhill to Parkgate expecting to come across the Wirral Way somewhere and sure enough I did. I turned right off the road and immediately it split up into a number of confusing tracks. I took the most likely one and after crossing over a bridge another track branched off down to another line marked “56”. The map was unhelpful here so I selected “Compass” on the Garmin and sure enough after a short distance I found that I was heading NNW which seemed about right. I switched back to the bike computer setting and felt more relaxed about the forthcoming miles.
All I had to do now was to keep going steadily. The track was narrow with encroaching plants though had fresh fine gravel. It was quite busy with walkers and steadily uphill. At least it was shady here, as the sun was getting stronger.
I pedalled along, the slope eased and the path widened. As I approached Heswall a fence appeared across the line ahead, with many houses behind it. The path veered to the left then opened on to a road. A sign pointed right so I followed it along the road with houses along the right hand side. The road rose in a steep hump then started downhill again.
Coming the other way was a gaggle of what looked like local kids on mountain bikes strung out across the road. With two front panniers each with a vertical fluorescent stripe, the width of the underseat bars and the rest together with my gathering speed I was pretty sure they’d make way.
Though I’m certainly not Moses (more like Methuselah) they parted like the Red Sea and I went on my way.
Not too much further, and I spotted a blue sign and got back on the trail.
Some more steady trundling. Occasional views of the estuary to the left. The King Charles III England Coast path separated from then rejoined the trail in several places.
Despite doggedly pedalling along I was finding the miles going by much more slowly than I’d have liked. Perhaps my fault for including so much untarmacked trail on my route. I considered diverting to the road for a few more mph but on balance I thought the risk of getting off route and losing yet more time was greater than if I just stuck to the trail.
Before long I came to another diversion to the left which soon brought me back on to the trail at Thurstaston old station. Here the old platforms were in place, with a cafe set back from the line and a car park on the other side. It was very busy with people coming and going.
I gratefully leaned the Linear against the platform and sat on the edge to have a snack and a drink. I looked at my map.
Only a few more miles to West Kirby, though I’d have to get to Leasowe or New Brighton to make sure I got up to 50 miles before turning back so that it would be over 100 miles by the time I got back home.
Thurstaston to West Kirby.
I made use of the toilets at the cafe. I rode along the platform on the way out.
I thought this was akin to riding along a towpath without the water. If you fell in there would be a similar drop, with your fall broken by the water, or whatever someone had dumped in there. Not a very reassuring thought. I went down the ramp then headed for West Kirby. I couldn’t believe the crowds after I passed under the station bridge. It was very slow progress though the scrum thinned out a little as I got further from the station. I hoped that it might be clearer by the time I returned this way.
Finally I came to the end of the Wirral Way, through an arch on to a roundabout.
I now had to follow signs for the Wirral Circular route.
West Kirby to Leaseowe Lighthouse
I followed the signs across the roundabout then rode on a mixture of on road and pavement paths to a right turn. I continued up a hill to a T junction where the signs mysteriously disappeared. I guessed left as that was the direction I’d been heading in at the bottom of the hill. I passed a fire engine whose crew were rolling out a hose. The road ran into a cemetery so I stopped and looked at the map. I could see the cemetery, and the road leading to the trail. So I turned right out of the cemetery, downhill to turn left at the bottom, then past a football field to turn right to ride alongside the existing railway on a shared path to Hoylake.
It was a good surface and easy to keep a good speed. No pedestrians or cyclists, just the odd train, and I was soon at Hoylake station. I had to wait to turn left at the level crossing then after a roundabout I arrived at the promenade. This runs through Meols and Leasowe to new Brighton and beyond. I could see the low bulk of Hilbre Island to the left and a distant wind farm to the right. I turned right for the steady ride to wherever the oh so slowly adding mileometer was going to tell me was the 50 mile mark.
The sun was behind me and the surface was variable, mostly concrete slabs which gave a regular thump thump as I went along. Where I could, I got on to the road for the smoother ride, but it was mostly thump thump. Joggers, cyclists, family groups went by at intervals. I passed several slipways and the lifeboat station. The sun shimmered on the distant sea. In places there was an expanse of sand, in others the sea came up to the base of the sea wall.
I stopped near Meols Lifeboat Station for an ice cream from a van which was parked next to the Queen Victoria Jubilee drinking fountain.
A nice break but it was too hot to hang around so I got going again pretty soon.
Although the distant view of Liverpool Container Port across the Mersey gradually changed it was a bit monotonous and after watching a chap skilfully manoevreing a sailing dinghy on a course marked by a series of buoys I was glad to turn off inland to stop by Leasowe lighthouse and take a picture before pushing on for a bit.
I could see that the minor road that I was on would soon join a busier one so I turned round before that at 49.9 something.
I’d hoped to get a bit further before turning back to avoid the scenario of turning up at my back gate with something like 97 miles on the clock. I was pretty sure I wouldn’t feel like going round the block a few times to make up the mileage by then.
Anyway, it was getting late although still hot. I’d earlier put my sun hat on but now going back into the wind and into the sun the brim kept flipping up allowing the sun to dazzle me at times. Still, I felt better now that I was unwinding the miles towards home. I passed Leasowe lighthouse again and planned to keep going to Thurstaston before my next stop.
Leaseowe Lighthouse to Thurstaston.
The landmarks I’d passed earlier rolled by and suddenly I was at the end of the promenade at Hoylake ready to turn left through town to the station. There was something going on at the roadside on the way. A large Union Flag, some opportunist politician making a speech and being heckled? I passed by, loud music from a pub reminding me it was Saturday night, then a long wait at the level crossing barrier as two trains went by before being able to cross over and turn right on to the shared path to West Kirby. A steady trundle, one or two people about but it seemed a shorter ride in this direction. I followed the signs at the end and came up to the entrance arch to the Wirral Way with no delays this time.
Still people about here, but not the crowds that there were earlier on. It was cooler and shadier here after being sun baked on the breezy promenades. I settled down to a steady trundle. I was feeling in need of a break so when I came across a shady picnic bench before reaching Thurstaston I stopped.
After a snack and a drink I got going. I was soon through Thurstaston without stopping.
Thurstaston to Wales coast path near Hawarden Bridge.
The lowering sun was directly behind me, giving a red tinge to the brickwork of the bridges I passed under. On one stretch it lit up a leafy tunnel of greenery beyond the bridge I was approaching for half a mile ahead.
These substantial bridges looked good for another century or so, such was the certainty of those Victorian engineers who built them.
There was not much foot traffic once past Heswall though I was overtaken by someone on an e motorbike who found it amusing to drag his feet on the fine gravel surface raising a cloud of dust which lingered after he’d gone. Two others came the other way a bit later.
I came to Parkgate and was soon at the place where the trail met the road. There was a space and a bench just by the roadside so I stopped, had a drink of water, and looked at the map. I could go left, up a long hill to Neston and follow this morning’s path to Burton Marsh, or I could go right to where a blue sign was just visible. I hoped it was a link to the rest of the Wirral Way. If it was, it could save me climbing the hill before going to Burton Marsh. So I went that way, found it was the Wirral Way and followed it.
It came out near a signpost which was no help at all but there was a cycleway sign pointing to a distant T junction up a slight rise. When I got there there were no signs but there was a pavement path going right, so I followed it. After half a mile it ended abruptly. I ended up doing a circuit of Neston before I chanced on a sign to Little Neston. I’d wasted about an hour by then, and the sun was sinking on the Western horizon. I could have made better use of that hour if I’d just retraced my morning route.
I let the good times roll freely down a long delightfully cooling hill and fortunately I was in the right place. Sharp left at the bottom, and the estuary was on the right, Wales beyond, and Burton Marsh not far ahead.
I came to the barrier but the adjacent gate was wide open. It was definitely dusk now but I could see OK and the road through the marsh was deserted, so I left my lights off. It was very calming. There was the sound of water birds nearby. A flock of geese wheeled round to find a roost for the night, and a heron flew low overhead. I came to the marker stones at the exit with “Welcome to Wales”. There’s luvly, isn’t it?
Despite being wound up about getting lost and losing time earlier on, that solitary ride through the darkening marsh had chilled me out. I was going to get home ridiculously late anyway, might as well enjoy the night time experience. I trundled on, and soon passed through the well infrastructured industrial estate. It was like daylight, and I didn’t put my lights on until I reached the exit. I was a bit concerned about battery life of my headlight, but I had a backup in my bag.
I plunged into a wooded winding dip, and branched off towards Hawarden Bridge.
It wasn’t long until I was climbing the ramp to Hawarden Bridge Station, then turning on to the Wales Coastal Path in the direction of Chester.
Although the sky behind me was red, it was inky black beyond the lights near the station. I decided to stop on a bench where I could see what I was doing and take a break.
Hawarden Bridge to the Saxon Warrior
I could hear someone blatting about on a motorbike, hopefully on a road somewhere, though I suspected that it might be on the Greenway not far away. I hoped he wasn’t going to end up on the Coast Path. I haven’t measured this stretch of the path, but I would estimate it to be about 5 miles dead straight along the top of a flood dyke before it starts to curve near Chester. Apart from near some bridges where roads cross the Dee, and some industrial installations on the other side of the river, it’s unlit.
Ho Hum. A man’s gotta do what a man’s gotta do. I packed up my stuff, got the lights on and got ready to roll. A youth with a blue cagoule walked past looking a bit twitchy. Perhaps I was making him nervous. I passed him, got through a barrier and got going. I kept up a reasonable speed, though I couldn’t see my Garmin in the dark. The surface is good tarmac. I stopped a bit further on to adjust the light upwards. I didn’t think I was likely to dazzle anyone along here at this time of night.
There was a pool of light ahead of me, then pitch blackness where the sides dropped away from me. I thought it was unlikely that anyone would be lurking to ambush passers by. I’m not given to fearful imaginings. Still, I kept my speed up. More concerned with what might be coming up behind on silent electric wheels. On I went, through some barriers to cross a road then through another set and on to the trail again.
More blackness, and another bridge looming in the distance. It was an odd feeling, pedalling stolidly but feeling as though hanging in space as the only movement was my feet on the pedals and the path in front of my front wheel. Alone with my thoughts, the invisible forces that keep the bike upright and moving along working just as well in the darkness as they do in daylight. The sound of the tyres, the tic tic tic of the hub gear.
The bridge grew closer. This time the path went underneath with a barrier before and after it. No trolls lurking under this bridge. Back up to speed. To the left, there was still a line of red in the sky, some distant house and streetlights, and some mist rising from the fields. The noisy motorbike was still roaring about somewhere in the distance.
The final bridge lit up far ahead. Nobody about, not much noise apart from that distant motorbike. Had been nothing in my mirror for miles.
Finally at the bridge. Sharp left through some barriers, on to a lane, down a narrow path. Someone had stencilled “FREE LETBY” on a fence. Sharp left, through another barrier, into the darkness, but the lights of Chester now visible in the far distance.
More pedalling, a hovercraft in limbo.
The lights got closer and the path started to curve to the left. Someone was walking towards me with a torch. I stopped and lowered my headlight beam, then carried on. I passed a couple more walkers then came out into a park. Out onto a roadside path on Sealand Road, over the canal connection with the Dee. Not many cars or pedestrians about despite it being 11 pm on a Saturday night.
Across into Tower Road, uphill then right through some bollards and down a ramp to the canal. Fortunately the towpath is well lit here. I turned left under a bridge, followed the towpath to an overbridge, crossed over and followed the towpath again. Feeling rather tired by now, and finding it quite hard to follow the light along the narrow towpath. It was a relief to reach the familiar Saxon Warrior marking the turn off up the ramp to the Greenway without having fallen in.
Saxon Warrior to Waverton.
Pedalling up the ramp I wondered who else might be about. I was able to get up a decent speed on the Greenway and found myself having no problem keeping the bike going where I wanted it to go. I wanted to get away from Chester before the Saturday revellers started tottering home on the Greenway, if indeed they do.
I didn’t come across a single person before I took my turn off for Guilden Sutton. Left down the ramp, sharp right under the bridge at the bottom then uphill on a bridleway, onto an unsurfaced road, over a steep railway bridge then left on to Guilden Sutton Lane. For the last few miles it had just been me, the bike and the night under the mysterious trees until I passed a late nocturnal dog walker as I turned into Bellevue Lane. There had been the wobbly call of an owl or two and a few rabbits about but they’d made no demands on me.
I could certainly hear the traffic on the M53 in the quiet semi darkness. There were houses and streetlights on this part of Bellevue Lane but it became pitch black as I turned away uphill, then the lane crossed the M53 bridge with its shouting traffic before I reached the relative quiet of Hare Lane to turn left. I was soon crossing the M53 again on another bridge before the slight downhill to the A51. I’d hoped to just get across if the traffic was thin but no, it was surprisingly intense. I pressed the button at the pedestrian crossing and went across to Little Heath Road, then Village Lane, past a pub with people still sitting at tables outside, left into Plough Lane and steadily on to turn right on to Brown Heath Road to Waverton.
At Waverton I turned right and crossed Egg bridge. Turning into the car park on the other side I leaned the bike on a bench and took a break. It was just midnight. I debated whether to message Mrs T. and face her wrath for waking her up or just get home and deal with the earache for getting back late in the morning. I chose the latter.
There were ducks about, illuminated by the light on the bridge. They’d retreated when I came to the bench, but returned when I sat down and turned my lights off They were pulling at the dry grass, and sifting through it with their beaks, and making various quiet duck sounds. Were these ducks nocturnal? When did they sleep?
I had a drink and a snack before gathering myself together for the last leg.
Waverton to Home.
I set off out of the car park left on to Eggbridge Lane, then left at the next crossroads towards Long Lane. As I came alongside the canal I felt the air chill so I stopped under one of the widely spaced streetlights to slip my gilet off the seat back and put it on.
I glimpsed the traffic lights on the tall canal bridge long before I got there. It took a while then over the top I went. It was a bit easier getting to the turn off to Huxley than I’d expected.
Then the hill to Huxley itself. The long gradual uphill to Tiverton afterwards seemed interminable in the dark, then finally I was there. I had a breather, then cycled the path alongside the A49 until I’d got over the worst of the hill here then got on to the A49 itself.
I’d only seen a couple of cars between Waverton and Tiverton, but there was the occasional vehicle on the A49. I hoped that once I’d gone straight on at the lights at Four Lane Ends while the A49 turned left that there’d be no traffic.
The Cateye AMPP400 headlight was holding up well. I’d never run it down to the point where it switched off, but from my hazy memory of its instructions it was supposed to automatically go on to flash mode when it was low, to extend the battery life and give a warning. I’d charged it up before the last couple of rides. I had a spare Aldi budget light in my bag. I was using it at the lowest constant setting and it gave plenty of light.
I set off from the traffic lights knowing that I had three climbs and dips on the narrow road before Eaton. At certain times of day it can be quite unpleasant on a bike due to traffic. I got through that and was only passed by one car.
The phone pinged in my bag as I came into Eaton so I turned off on to Hickhurst lane, rushed a dip and a climb and then checked it. It was Mrs T checking on my whereabouts. It was just before 2 am. It was downhill or flat all the way home from here so I sent, “Back in 20 minutes.”
I had a good run downhill for the next five minutes on the unlit lanes before I noticed that the switch on the front light had turned red. I expected it to start flashing but it suddenly went from brightness to pitch black. I wasn’t going very fast at that time so just stopped. Hmm. That could have been interesting if it had happened while I was charging downhill a few miles ago.
Oh well. I fumbled in my bag and brought out the spare light. It had a clip which went round the bar alongside the Cateye one and a thumbscrew which you screwed in to tighten it. I was attaching it in its own reflected light. It was in place, I pushed the screw in and something pinged faintly. I knew straight away what had happened. I’d pushed the tiny retaining nut out. I searched around under the bike with the light, then the grass, then the gravelly road. I had some cable ties in the bag. I dug one out, put it round the light and wedged it in place. The light was a bit unfocused, but it would have to do.
I carefully put everything back in the bag and set off. I’d well used up my 20 minutes and more by the roadside. The sky was dark apart from a rather hazy less than half moon, and I had to ride slowly because of the comparatively poor front light. I had plenty of time to think about the light. I had a Cateye mount on each bike as I could swop it around. It would probably be worth buying an identical AMPP400 as a spare so that I could just swop them over in a future situation like this. I didn’t forsee me going so far as having a bandolier of them in case of future night rides though.
The road was level, at least. I plodded along and eventually came to Darnhall bridge. Here there were street lights so I could roll downhill but when the lights became green I didn’t have enough light to see beyond the glare so couldn’t rush the bridge to get far up the other side. I ended up Fred Flintstoning it for a few yards before I could get going up the slope.
Finally I got to my back gate much later than anticipated. Something to eat, showered and in bed after the first century ride on the Linear, or the 21st century in fact. The Linear just “did it” and was in better shape than I was afterwards though surprisingly, I didn’t feel as stiff and sore as I expected.
A long step from about 45 years ago when I’d do a 100 miler somewhere, stay overnight, then return 100 miles the next day, then go to work the next.
Next time I do something like this, I’ll have to start much earlier in the morning.
Distance 102.1 miles. Max speed 23.8 mph. Average 7.2 mph. According to Garmin
Ascent 1751 ft. According to bike hike
Recumbent Ride
Imperial Century Ride. Leaseowe on the Linear
Home to Guilden Sutton.
My Last ride seems to have been a bit of a routefinder and practice run for today's effort.
Today was the day. I set off at 08:30 and felt the wind in my face from the start. A day of steady rolling, speed where possible, but mostly conservation of my limited energy was the plan. Persistence rather than speed was the watchword. Through Darnhall Bridge with no issues, into Hickhurst Lane, then where it started to climb, dial back a little and roll gently uphill.
A Saturday, hoping to have less traffic early on and to get some way before the hordes of weekend warriors got out on their bikes as they did last Sunday.
I came to Eaton, where the road dipped before a stiff climb up to a T junction. I got into my highest gear and flew downhill before the uphill began. Down through the gears to steadily grind up the slope. I heard voices behind, and two cyclists slowly overhauled me. They went right at the junction, I went left.
The first downhill started, immediately, into top, and down the first big dip to get up the other side. I repeated this twice again before rolling into Four Lane Ends and stopping at the lights before getting going on to a stretch of the A49. Level, then downhill before turning right into Tiverton.
Once I’d got up a short climb I knew that it was mostly downhill to NCN 45 via Huxley. The day was warming up so I took my gilet off and fitted it over the seat back. I then made the most of the downhill. A couple of cyclists passed me in both directions and it wasn’t long before I came to NCN 45, turning right on to Long Lane. I started to pass groups of cyclists and it was back to lifting a hand, nodding or acknowledging various witty remarks that I’d heard a million times before.
Soon crossing over the Shropshire Union canal on a tall bridge, and it didn’t take long before I was turning right at Waverton. No stop here today, as I wanted to do 25 or 30 miles before stopping for refreshments. Over the canal, left into Brown Heath road, left into Plough Lane, then into Christleton to turn right into Village Lane and Little Heath Road before crossing the A51 to Hare Lane. I continued along Hare Lane through Piper’s Ash to turn right on to Guilden Sutton Lane. After going over and under a bridge I came to a bridleway on the left. Over a humped railway bridge then downhill following the bridleway, under another bridge, left up a ramp to the Chester Greenway.
Right for the town centre and Connah’s Quay. Quite reassuring to be on this trail. Not much chance of getting lost until I decided to turn off.
Chester Greenway to Burton Marsh.
The Greenway feels mostly downhill when heading West.
I soon cleared the town centre, crossing the Shropshire Union canal, passing through the site of Blacon old station.
As I approached the climb to the Sealand bridge a balaclava’d ebike rider zoomed towards me. “That’s a bike and a half, that is!” he said. “It certainly is!” I replied. I suppose I ought to be grateful that a) he didn’t call me “lad”, and b) he did have some pedals on his bike.
I got up to the bridge deck, then enjoyed the run downhill on the other side. It was not long before I came to a turn off to Neston. As I followed the route through an industrial estate there were cyclists everywhere. The infrastructure was very congenial for cyclists. The trail wound itself about under some bridges and through a couple of awkward barriers that resembled a pair of staggered sheffield stands. As I was getting ready to restart after the second one, which exited straight on to a road, a bunch of cyclists appeared. The one in front, in a red top, said, “You’re blocking the way!” I thought many things, mostly uncomplimentary but said,”So I am. If you will just exercise a little patience.” Then I got going, feeling somewhat irritated.
I was feeling a bit annoyed generally with all these cyclists whizzing around in groups. No doubt we as cyclists all think of ourselves as rugged individualists but to see the groups in identical looking gear and on very similar machines rather gives the lie to that. From time to time a sound like a federation tie fighter from Star Wars would come from behind and a couple of riders who were going for it would wail by. If one of them stopped pedalling briefly you would hear the raucous chainsaw-like sound of his freewheel. Each to his own, but I like my bikes to be quiet.
Another sign, down a narrow lane then right through another barrier and uphill. The path ran alongside an active railway line on the right, an a MOD firing range on the left. I came to the entrance markings and signposting for Burton Marsh.
Through the marsh, across a wooden boarded causeway,
through some cattle grids, some more scenic trail with red sandstone outcrops to the right.
After a few miles the trail came to a gated barrier. I followed some cyclists through who helpfully held it open for me. The road ran up a short steep hill to a lane where I turned left. A short way along, a sign for a cafe appeared. I turned in and had a cold drink and a cheese and ham toastie. I sat at a table by a side door that was wedged open with a chair and enjoyed the breeze while I sat. After a visit to the conveniences I hit the road again.
Burton Marsh to Thurstaston.
I followed the road (with a number of sharp speed bumps) until I reached Old Wharf. A path went straight on through an A frame barrier so I followed it for about a mile. I came to a narrow kissing gate with a “No cycling” sign. Annoying. I turned back and eventually passed through the A frame barrier again. This time I turned left uphill through Little Neston and came across a series of signs to NCN 56 Wirral Way. They were annoyingly uphill, winding through a housing estate then side streets. I came to a T junction with a confusing array of signs. There was one sign for the Wirral Way pointing back the way I’d come, and another pointing left downhill for Parkgate.
After poring over the map I went downhill to Parkgate expecting to come across the Wirral Way somewhere and sure enough I did. I turned right off the road and immediately it split up into a number of confusing tracks. I took the most likely one and after crossing over a bridge another track branched off down to another line marked “56”. The map was unhelpful here so I selected “Compass” on the Garmin and sure enough after a short distance I found that I was heading NNW which seemed about right. I switched back to the bike computer setting and felt more relaxed about the forthcoming miles.
All I had to do now was to keep going steadily. The track was narrow with encroaching plants though had fresh fine gravel. It was quite busy with walkers and steadily uphill. At least it was shady here, as the sun was getting stronger.
I pedalled along, the slope eased and the path widened. As I approached Heswall a fence appeared across the line ahead, with many houses behind it. The path veered to the left then opened on to a road. A sign pointed right so I followed it along the road with houses along the right hand side. The road rose in a steep hump then started downhill again.
Coming the other way was a gaggle of what looked like local kids on mountain bikes strung out across the road. With two front panniers each with a vertical fluorescent stripe, the width of the underseat bars and the rest together with my gathering speed I was pretty sure they’d make way.
Though I’m certainly not Moses (more like Methuselah) they parted like the Red Sea and I went on my way.
Not too much further, and I spotted a blue sign and got back on the trail.
Some more steady trundling. Occasional views of the estuary to the left. The King Charles III England Coast path separated from then rejoined the trail in several places.
Despite doggedly pedalling along I was finding the miles going by much more slowly than I’d have liked. Perhaps my fault for including so much untarmacked trail on my route. I considered diverting to the road for a few more mph but on balance I thought the risk of getting off route and losing yet more time was greater than if I just stuck to the trail.
Before long I came to another diversion to the left which soon brought me back on to the trail at Thurstaston old station. Here the old platforms were in place, with a cafe set back from the line and a car park on the other side. It was very busy with people coming and going.
I gratefully leaned the Linear against the platform and sat on the edge to have a snack and a drink. I looked at my map.
Only a few more miles to West Kirby, though I’d have to get to Leasowe or New Brighton to make sure I got up to 50 miles before turning back so that it would be over 100 miles by the time I got back home.
Thurstaston to West Kirby.
I made use of the toilets at the cafe. I rode along the platform on the way out.
I thought this was akin to riding along a towpath without the water. If you fell in there would be a similar drop, with your fall broken by the water, or whatever someone had dumped in there. Not a very reassuring thought. I went down the ramp then headed for West Kirby. I couldn’t believe the crowds after I passed under the station bridge. It was very slow progress though the scrum thinned out a little as I got further from the station. I hoped that it might be clearer by the time I returned this way.
Finally I came to the end of the Wirral Way, through an arch on to a roundabout.
I now had to follow signs for the Wirral Circular route.
West Kirby to Leaseowe Lighthouse
I followed the signs across the roundabout then rode on a mixture of on road and pavement paths to a right turn. I continued up a hill to a T junction where the signs mysteriously disappeared. I guessed left as that was the direction I’d been heading in at the bottom of the hill. I passed a fire engine whose crew were rolling out a hose. The road ran into a cemetery so I stopped and looked at the map. I could see the cemetery, and the road leading to the trail. So I turned right out of the cemetery, downhill to turn left at the bottom, then past a football field to turn right to ride alongside the existing railway on a shared path to Hoylake.
It was a good surface and easy to keep a good speed. No pedestrians or cyclists, just the odd train, and I was soon at Hoylake station. I had to wait to turn left at the level crossing then after a roundabout I arrived at the promenade. This runs through Meols and Leasowe to new Brighton and beyond. I could see the low bulk of Hilbre Island to the left and a distant wind farm to the right. I turned right for the steady ride to wherever the oh so slowly adding mileometer was going to tell me was the 50 mile mark.
The sun was behind me and the surface was variable, mostly concrete slabs which gave a regular thump thump as I went along. Where I could, I got on to the road for the smoother ride, but it was mostly thump thump. Joggers, cyclists, family groups went by at intervals. I passed several slipways and the lifeboat station. The sun shimmered on the distant sea. In places there was an expanse of sand, in others the sea came up to the base of the sea wall.
I stopped near Meols Lifeboat Station for an ice cream from a van which was parked next to the Queen Victoria Jubilee drinking fountain.
A nice break but it was too hot to hang around so I got going again pretty soon.
Although the distant view of Liverpool Container Port across the Mersey gradually changed it was a bit monotonous and after watching a chap skilfully manoevreing a sailing dinghy on a course marked by a series of buoys I was glad to turn off inland to stop by Leasowe lighthouse and take a picture before pushing on for a bit.
I could see that the minor road that I was on would soon join a busier one so I turned round before that at 49.9 something.
I’d hoped to get a bit further before turning back to avoid the scenario of turning up at my back gate with something like 97 miles on the clock. I was pretty sure I wouldn’t feel like going round the block a few times to make up the mileage by then.
Anyway, it was getting late although still hot. I’d earlier put my sun hat on but now going back into the wind and into the sun the brim kept flipping up allowing the sun to dazzle me at times. Still, I felt better now that I was unwinding the miles towards home. I passed Leasowe lighthouse again and planned to keep going to Thurstaston before my next stop.
Leaseowe Lighthouse to Thurstaston.
The landmarks I’d passed earlier rolled by and suddenly I was at the end of the promenade at Hoylake ready to turn left through town to the station. There was something going on at the roadside on the way. A large Union Flag, some opportunist politician making a speech and being heckled? I passed by, loud music from a pub reminding me it was Saturday night, then a long wait at the level crossing barrier as two trains went by before being able to cross over and turn right on to the shared path to West Kirby. A steady trundle, one or two people about but it seemed a shorter ride in this direction. I followed the signs at the end and came up to the entrance arch to the Wirral Way with no delays this time.
Still people about here, but not the crowds that there were earlier on. It was cooler and shadier here after being sun baked on the breezy promenades. I settled down to a steady trundle. I was feeling in need of a break so when I came across a shady picnic bench before reaching Thurstaston I stopped.
After a snack and a drink I got going. I was soon through Thurstaston without stopping.
Thurstaston to Wales coast path near Hawarden Bridge.
The lowering sun was directly behind me, giving a red tinge to the brickwork of the bridges I passed under. On one stretch it lit up a leafy tunnel of greenery beyond the bridge I was approaching for half a mile ahead.
These substantial bridges looked good for another century or so, such was the certainty of those Victorian engineers who built them.
There was not much foot traffic once past Heswall though I was overtaken by someone on an e motorbike who found it amusing to drag his feet on the fine gravel surface raising a cloud of dust which lingered after he’d gone. Two others came the other way a bit later.
I came to Parkgate and was soon at the place where the trail met the road. There was a space and a bench just by the roadside so I stopped, had a drink of water, and looked at the map. I could go left, up a long hill to Neston and follow this morning’s path to Burton Marsh, or I could go right to where a blue sign was just visible. I hoped it was a link to the rest of the Wirral Way. If it was, it could save me climbing the hill before going to Burton Marsh. So I went that way, found it was the Wirral Way and followed it.
It came out near a signpost which was no help at all but there was a cycleway sign pointing to a distant T junction up a slight rise. When I got there there were no signs but there was a pavement path going right, so I followed it. After half a mile it ended abruptly. I ended up doing a circuit of Neston before I chanced on a sign to Little Neston. I’d wasted about an hour by then, and the sun was sinking on the Western horizon. I could have made better use of that hour if I’d just retraced my morning route.
I let the good times roll freely down a long delightfully cooling hill and fortunately I was in the right place. Sharp left at the bottom, and the estuary was on the right, Wales beyond, and Burton Marsh not far ahead.
I came to the barrier but the adjacent gate was wide open. It was definitely dusk now but I could see OK and the road through the marsh was deserted, so I left my lights off. It was very calming. There was the sound of water birds nearby. A flock of geese wheeled round to find a roost for the night, and a heron flew low overhead. I came to the marker stones at the exit with “Welcome to Wales”. There’s luvly, isn’t it?
Despite being wound up about getting lost and losing time earlier on, that solitary ride through the darkening marsh had chilled me out. I was going to get home ridiculously late anyway, might as well enjoy the night time experience. I trundled on, and soon passed through the well infrastructured industrial estate. It was like daylight, and I didn’t put my lights on until I reached the exit. I was a bit concerned about battery life of my headlight, but I had a backup in my bag.
I plunged into a wooded winding dip, and branched off towards Hawarden Bridge.
It wasn’t long until I was climbing the ramp to Hawarden Bridge Station, then turning on to the Wales Coastal Path in the direction of Chester.
Although the sky behind me was red, it was inky black beyond the lights near the station. I decided to stop on a bench where I could see what I was doing and take a break.
Hawarden Bridge to the Saxon Warrior
I could hear someone blatting about on a motorbike, hopefully on a road somewhere, though I suspected that it might be on the Greenway not far away. I hoped he wasn’t going to end up on the Coast Path. I haven’t measured this stretch of the path, but I would estimate it to be about 5 miles dead straight along the top of a flood dyke before it starts to curve near Chester. Apart from near some bridges where roads cross the Dee, and some industrial installations on the other side of the river, it’s unlit.
Ho Hum. A man’s gotta do what a man’s gotta do. I packed up my stuff, got the lights on and got ready to roll. A youth with a blue cagoule walked past looking a bit twitchy. Perhaps I was making him nervous. I passed him, got through a barrier and got going. I kept up a reasonable speed, though I couldn’t see my Garmin in the dark. The surface is good tarmac. I stopped a bit further on to adjust the light upwards. I didn’t think I was likely to dazzle anyone along here at this time of night.
There was a pool of light ahead of me, then pitch blackness where the sides dropped away from me. I thought it was unlikely that anyone would be lurking to ambush passers by. I’m not given to fearful imaginings. Still, I kept my speed up. More concerned with what might be coming up behind on silent electric wheels. On I went, through some barriers to cross a road then through another set and on to the trail again.
More blackness, and another bridge looming in the distance. It was an odd feeling, pedalling stolidly but feeling as though hanging in space as the only movement was my feet on the pedals and the path in front of my front wheel. Alone with my thoughts, the invisible forces that keep the bike upright and moving along working just as well in the darkness as they do in daylight. The sound of the tyres, the tic tic tic of the hub gear.
The bridge grew closer. This time the path went underneath with a barrier before and after it. No trolls lurking under this bridge. Back up to speed. To the left, there was still a line of red in the sky, some distant house and streetlights, and some mist rising from the fields. The noisy motorbike was still roaring about somewhere in the distance.
The final bridge lit up far ahead. Nobody about, not much noise apart from that distant motorbike. Had been nothing in my mirror for miles.
Finally at the bridge. Sharp left through some barriers, on to a lane, down a narrow path. Someone had stencilled “FREE LETBY” on a fence. Sharp left, through another barrier, into the darkness, but the lights of Chester now visible in the far distance.
More pedalling, a hovercraft in limbo.
The lights got closer and the path started to curve to the left. Someone was walking towards me with a torch. I stopped and lowered my headlight beam, then carried on. I passed a couple more walkers then came out into a park. Out onto a roadside path on Sealand Road, over the canal connection with the Dee. Not many cars or pedestrians about despite it being 11 pm on a Saturday night.
Across into Tower Road, uphill then right through some bollards and down a ramp to the canal. Fortunately the towpath is well lit here. I turned left under a bridge, followed the towpath to an overbridge, crossed over and followed the towpath again. Feeling rather tired by now, and finding it quite hard to follow the light along the narrow towpath. It was a relief to reach the familiar Saxon Warrior marking the turn off up the ramp to the Greenway without having fallen in.
Saxon Warrior to Waverton.
Pedalling up the ramp I wondered who else might be about. I was able to get up a decent speed on the Greenway and found myself having no problem keeping the bike going where I wanted it to go. I wanted to get away from Chester before the Saturday revellers started tottering home on the Greenway, if indeed they do.
I didn’t come across a single person before I took my turn off for Guilden Sutton. Left down the ramp, sharp right under the bridge at the bottom then uphill on a bridleway, onto an unsurfaced road, over a steep railway bridge then left on to Guilden Sutton Lane. For the last few miles it had just been me, the bike and the night under the mysterious trees until I passed a late nocturnal dog walker as I turned into Bellevue Lane. There had been the wobbly call of an owl or two and a few rabbits about but they’d made no demands on me.
I could certainly hear the traffic on the M53 in the quiet semi darkness. There were houses and streetlights on this part of Bellevue Lane but it became pitch black as I turned away uphill, then the lane crossed the M53 bridge with its shouting traffic before I reached the relative quiet of Hare Lane to turn left. I was soon crossing the M53 again on another bridge before the slight downhill to the A51. I’d hoped to just get across if the traffic was thin but no, it was surprisingly intense. I pressed the button at the pedestrian crossing and went across to Little Heath Road, then Village Lane, past a pub with people still sitting at tables outside, left into Plough Lane and steadily on to turn right on to Brown Heath Road to Waverton.
At Waverton I turned right and crossed Egg bridge. Turning into the car park on the other side I leaned the bike on a bench and took a break. It was just midnight. I debated whether to message Mrs T. and face her wrath for waking her up or just get home and deal with the earache for getting back late in the morning. I chose the latter.
There were ducks about, illuminated by the light on the bridge. They’d retreated when I came to the bench, but returned when I sat down and turned my lights off They were pulling at the dry grass, and sifting through it with their beaks, and making various quiet duck sounds. Were these ducks nocturnal? When did they sleep?
I had a drink and a snack before gathering myself together for the last leg.
Waverton to Home.
I set off out of the car park left on to Eggbridge Lane, then left at the next crossroads towards Long Lane. As I came alongside the canal I felt the air chill so I stopped under one of the widely spaced streetlights to slip my gilet off the seat back and put it on.
I glimpsed the traffic lights on the tall canal bridge long before I got there. It took a while then over the top I went. It was a bit easier getting to the turn off to Huxley than I’d expected.
Then the hill to Huxley itself. The long gradual uphill to Tiverton afterwards seemed interminable in the dark, then finally I was there. I had a breather, then cycled the path alongside the A49 until I’d got over the worst of the hill here then got on to the A49 itself.
I’d only seen a couple of cars between Waverton and Tiverton, but there was the occasional vehicle on the A49. I hoped that once I’d gone straight on at the lights at Four Lane Ends while the A49 turned left that there’d be no traffic.
The Cateye AMPP400 headlight was holding up well. I’d never run it down to the point where it switched off, but from my hazy memory of its instructions it was supposed to automatically go on to flash mode when it was low, to extend the battery life and give a warning. I’d charged it up before the last couple of rides. I had a spare Aldi budget light in my bag. I was using it at the lowest constant setting and it gave plenty of light.
I set off from the traffic lights knowing that I had three climbs and dips on the narrow road before Eaton. At certain times of day it can be quite unpleasant on a bike due to traffic. I got through that and was only passed by one car.
The phone pinged in my bag as I came into Eaton so I turned off on to Hickhurst lane, rushed a dip and a climb and then checked it. It was Mrs T checking on my whereabouts. It was just before 2 am. It was downhill or flat all the way home from here so I sent, “Back in 20 minutes.”
I had a good run downhill for the next five minutes on the unlit lanes before I noticed that the switch on the front light had turned red. I expected it to start flashing but it suddenly went from brightness to pitch black. I wasn’t going very fast at that time so just stopped. Hmm. That could have been interesting if it had happened while I was charging downhill a few miles ago.
Oh well. I fumbled in my bag and brought out the spare light. It had a clip which went round the bar alongside the Cateye one and a thumbscrew which you screwed in to tighten it. I was attaching it in its own reflected light. It was in place, I pushed the screw in and something pinged faintly. I knew straight away what had happened. I’d pushed the tiny retaining nut out. I searched around under the bike with the light, then the grass, then the gravelly road. I had some cable ties in the bag. I dug one out, put it round the light and wedged it in place. The light was a bit unfocused, but it would have to do.
I carefully put everything back in the bag and set off. I’d well used up my 20 minutes and more by the roadside. The sky was dark apart from a rather hazy less than half moon, and I had to ride slowly because of the comparatively poor front light. I had plenty of time to think about the light. I had a Cateye mount on each bike as I could swop it around. It would probably be worth buying an identical AMPP400 as a spare so that I could just swop them over in a future situation like this. I didn’t forsee me going so far as having a bandolier of them in case of future night rides though.
The road was level, at least. I plodded along and eventually came to Darnhall bridge. Here there were street lights so I could roll downhill but when the lights became green I didn’t have enough light to see beyond the glare so couldn’t rush the bridge to get far up the other side. I ended up Fred Flintstoning it for a few yards before I could get going up the slope.
Finally I got to my back gate much later than anticipated. Something to eat, showered and in bed after the first century ride on the Linear, or the 21st century in fact. The Linear just “did it” and was in better shape than I was afterwards though surprisingly, I didn’t feel as stiff and sore as I expected.
A long step from about 45 years ago when I’d do a 100 miler somewhere, stay overnight, then return 100 miles the next day, then go to work the next.
Next time I do something like this, I’ll have to start much earlier in the morning.
Distance 102.1 miles. Max speed 23.8 mph. Average 7.2 mph. According to Garmin
Ascent 1751 ft. According to bike hike
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