Sanny sets off to prove that bikepacking need not involve long periods of misery and discomfort.
When it comes to tales of adventure and derring-do, there is a strong correlation between achievement and suffering. Whether it is Andy Kirkpatrick and his wife sitting out a two-week winter storm on Denali with barely enough food, unsure whether they would actually get out with all their limbs intact (or even at all) or Hinault’s 1980 Liège -Bastogne-Liège win that left him with permanent nerve damage, there is almost a perverse pleasure to be drawn from enduring and suffering. Sometimes it is the hardest rides that become the most memorable. I vividly recall a snowy ride in Glen Ample where drowsiness, confusion and the unrelenting pain of the hot aches got so bad in the freezing and bitter cold that my mind started playing tricks and was encouraging me to lie down in the snow for a sleep. It is as close as I have ever come to hypothermia and it is not an experience I am keen to repeat.
Glory in suffering
As bikepacking has grown exponentially in popularity, so have the tales of suffering. Miserable nights spent under a flapping tarp in sodden sleeping bag and driving rain, being set upon by midges the size of eagles that suck your blood dry in seconds and 100-mile death marches in searing 110-degree heat where fantasising about Slush Puppies and Strawberry Mivvis creates your own little theatre of cruelty and despair.
Bikepacking is by its very nature a bit faffy. There is a direct correlation between being able to enjoy life’s little luxuries and having to pack all but the kitchen sink. Once you start throwing in even the most ultralight of tents, sleeping bags and mats, cooking gear, spare clothes, food and drink, etc., you are pretty quickly totting up the weight factor. Add in trying to transition from sopping wet, filthy and miserable to warm and toasty in a bivvy bag on an exposed hillside in driving sleet and snow without being reduced to a soggy heap of tears, snotters and farts and you are hoping for a lot if you want to maintain your equanimity. As someone who has been cold, wet and utterly miserable more times on a bike than I would care to remember, I decided it was time to knock the supposedly noble pastime of suffering and enduring in the name of adventure on its head and bring the fun and enjoyment back.
I could almost hear what was going through Nick and Pete’s minds as I called them with my plan for a bikepacking trip in the wettest part of the country in the middle of winter. “Is he for real? Is this another of his daft ideas masquerading as a ride? Who in their right mind thinks bikepacking in January in the Lakes is going to be anything other than a recipe for soggy disappointment?” However, I had hatched a plan and although it is said that self-praise is no praise, I was confident that it was a stone-cold classic.
Making up the rules
“Forget the misery boys. I reckon I’ve cracked this bikepacking lark!” I opined cheerfully. “I’ve arranged for us to stay in a couple of shepherd’s huts for the night. They’ve got wood burners, properly comfy beds, a kettle and warm showers. Oh and the icing on the cake is that the pub is a two-minute walk away. The weather for tomorrow looks really promising. Are you in?” I didn’t have to ask twice. Both seasoned adventurers who know better than most how to travel in style without breaking the bank, the temptation of a mid-week mini adventure proved irresistible and so it was that we met at Lowick Green in the rolling hills south of Coniston on a bright and breezy January day. “I’ve brought you this to try out,” I said to Pete as I presented him with a rather fetching hardtail e-bike. A big grin appeared as I told him that I had already stashed the charger at the huts so he didn’t even have to carry it. Nick had gone a step further and, fully embracing the concept of not suffering from the off, had already parked his van, along with a change of clothes, at the hut. Watching him prepare his ridiculously light race bike and a bag that seemed to be filled with nothing but air, I briefly reflected that my fat bike and full ride pack might not have been the optimum choice, but given that this was to be a ride at a relaxed pace, I was happy with my choices.
Filled up on a heady mixture of brew, croissants and Marmite and cheese sandwiches, we headed north on a gently rolling section of tarmac before cutting off at the small hamlet of Blawith (honesty box roadside marmalade almost proving too hard to resist) and made our way up a gradual climb on dry, stone-lined singletrack road. As the clouds raced high above us, we made easy progress to the start of the trails proper at the wonderfully eccentrically named Cockenskell, which of course prompted schoolboy sniggers.
This part of the Lakes tends to be less frequented than the tourist pots to the north. Here, the hillside is gently rolling and more forgiving. Nonetheless, the riding on offer is easily a match for more well-kent locations. Heading east, we wended our way along a narrow ribbon of singletrack hewn into the bedrock with heather, grass and fern for company. “This is great, Sanny! I can’t believe that I’ve never ridden here!” remarked Nick. As someone who has ridden probably more trails in more parts of the world than anyone I know, I was pretty pleased that my bikepacking in style rule number 7 ‘Ride somewhere new’ had been achieved. Reaching the high point of High Kep, the view west was spectacular. In the foreground, we could see our trail snake beckoningly out of sight while the high fells of Broughton drew our eyes further. With the sun flitting in and out of the clouds, shades of light and dark coloured the landscape.
After the storm
The trail down is neither steep nor technical, but it definitely qualifies as a little slice of singletrack heaven. Crossing an ancient stone bridge over a beck, we made our way through an old farmyard before heading north through mature woodland. All around, the impact of Storm Arwen could be seen and felt. Fallen mature trees of all species littered the trail. Trees that had witnessed the coming and going of many generations lay forlornly on the ground, their exposed root balls standing in resolute defiance to what had gone before. Soon we were climbing again on grassy track to the saddle of The Knott before cashing in our gravity chips on the way down before another section of meandering back road.
Reaching the ‘blink and you’ll miss it’ village of Torver, we singularly failed to resist the draw of the Deli and felt positively obligated to stop and sample the wares. Heck, it would be rude not to and given that we were all about the enjoyment, rule number 3 ‘Let someone else do the cooking’ applied. Ringing the bell, we waited… and we waited… then we waited some more. Nick cracked first and walked through into the adjoining pub where he was met with a distinctly frosty “When I have time” response to his polite request to be served. Clearly, the money spent at charm school for publicans had been a poor investment. After waiting for what felt like an age (ten mins), we finally got the pies and cakes we craved. They were decent, but I’m not convinced any of us would rush back for service without a smile.
Leaving Lurch behind to deliver his well-practised grimace to other unsuspecting customers, we headed south down a back road that afforded tantalising glimpses of Coniston Water in the early afternoon sunshine. A welcome tail wind made for easy progress as we headed towards our main climb of the day. Despite all being familiar with it, none of us had ever ridden up Parkamoor from High Nibthwaite before. It is something of a local classic which although it has ‘enjoyed’ some less than stellar improvements of late, still retains enough features to make for a fun trail. As with anywhere in the Lakes, attempts to improve trails by covering them in aggregate are inevitably doomed to failure in the face of rain, wind and the passage of time.
Fun times, fun climbs
Starting relatively gently, the climb makes its way ever upward through a mix of mature woodland and open heathland. Sections of steep switchbacks make for an enjoyable climbing challenge that goes with a bit of effort and fitness, while the ascent saves the best for last by affording wide open views west across the iconic fells of Coniston and south to the coast and Lancashire beyond. Passing by a 16th century off-grid farmhouse, complete with outdoor lavvy, our track steepened for one final time as we looked on with just a tinge of healthy jealousy at some off-road motorcyclists taking full advantage of their diminishing restricted rights to travel off road. I for one am against restricting the rights of off-roaders. Just as with mountain biking, walking and horse riding, the rules of responsible access could be easily applied instead of trying to squeeze them to the point of access being denied.
Ahead, skies darkened with brooding malevolence while the dropping sun behind combined to create a perfect rainbow ark. Rule number 6 ‘Plan your ride around the weather’ had delivered in spades. As a kid, I viewed rainbows with awe. As an adult, even understanding the physics, I still feel a tinge of excitement when I see one. Rainbows are cool – end of story. Stealing ourselves away from soaking in our surroundings, we dropped onto the narrow singletrack path that cuts through into Grizedale Forest. Things were going swimmingly until we came across the first of many windblown trees that blocked the trail. Storm Arwen had wreaked havoc and we were left to count the cost. Our way ahead blocked, I spotted a desire line that took us deep into the heart of the forest. Walking replaced riding as we made our way up, over and round fallen trees and through dense undergrowth. Reaching a clearing, we happened upon possibly the greenest, most verdant forest glade any of us had ever experienced. Moss enveloped everything in its warm embrace. It was nothing short of stunning and would not look out of place in Rivendell. Had it not been for the storm, we might never have found it. Chalk one up for taking the trail less travelled.
Gradually the wind speed decreased and we found ourselves in an area of clearfell. We were back in business and ready to hit the highlights of The North Face trail network. Or at least we were until Pete managed to fubar his rear mech. A hideously mangled mess of bent hanger and deraillear, things weren’t looking particularly positive. The sun was setting quickly and it was a VERY long walk to the shepherd’s huts. Unperturbed, Nick and I set about gently bending things back into something approaching useable. To our delight, somehow it worked and Pete was back in the game. Stopping one last time to watch the sun set, we despatched the final few miles with ease. Even having to fix a slow puncture beside The Drunken Duck pub failed to impede our progress, although the fabulous smells wafting from the kitchen nearly did. Rule number 9 ‘Leave no pub unvisited’ failed.
Schoolboy error, Mr Craig!
With dusk rapidly transitioning to darkness, we hit the heady hits of the sprawling metropolis that is, errr, Ambleside. While Nick stocked up on provisions in the Co-op, I went next door into the veritable Aladdin’s cave that is Martin’s hardware store. Whether you are looking for a size seven widget spungler or thrunge waggler, Martin’s is the place to go. As expected, they had the Gorilla tape I was seeking: my saddle having split in two and popped off the rails on the climb of Parkamoor. Being a fiscally prudent Scotsman and it being my favourite saddle, there was no way I was going to spring for a new one. While I taped, Nick walked out of the Co-op, clearly pleased with his four-pack of pale ale, or at least he was until Pete and I pointed out that he had bought non-alcoholic ones. Never have I seen anyone return anything to a shop so quickly to make an exchange…
Normal service resumed, a short off-road ride took us to our accommodation for the evening – shepherd’s huts nestling in a leafy glade at the heart of Rydal. Unlocking the doors, we were greeted with genuine luxury. Proper beds and linen? Check. Gas burner, kettle and cutlery. Check. Wood burning stove and oven with all the wood we could possibly need? Check. Fair to say, the boys were suitably impressed. We were glamping with a capital ‘G’. Candles and fire lit, I made a beeline for the warm embrace of a well-deserved shower. Stepping in, I let out a high-pitched scream that only a cat could hear. It was positively frigid. It was cold as in everything turns blue cold. This was not in the brochure. Now, at this point, a sensible person would not have persevered, but carry on I did until I was suitably ‘refreshed’. If there is a world record for fastest ever shower, I definitely beat it. Stepping out of the cubicle, I spotted a cunningly hidden in plain sight notice that advised the showers were being repaired and that the ones in the adjacent bunkhouse worked just fine. I may have actually palmed my face at this point.
Adhering to rule number two ‘Always stay near a good eatery’ we retired to the Badger Bar for the evening, just a short stroll from the huts. We settled in for an evening of great food, drink and conversation, covering all manner of topics as the chat flowed easily. Nick and Pete had only met briefly previously when Pete was a Saturday boy in Biketreks but by the end of the night, it was like he and Nick had known each other for years. Both of us at different points pretended to have something in our eyes as Nick spoke lovingly and movingly about his son Charlie whom he, Sarah and their son Thomas had lost five years before, almost to the day. As a parent, I have no idea how they have managed to keep going but I am grateful that they have. The Ride for Charlie Foundation was established in Charlie’s memory to help young cyclists to fulfil their aspirations that were inspired by him.
A new day dawns
It was a very lazy start after we’d carried on blethering into the wee small hours; the day had been a winner on every count. We cleaned up the huts before heading leisurely into Ambleside on our bikes for a highly anticipated cooked breakfast. I had promised the boys the delights of Daisy’s Café. A veritable Ambleside institution, the food is terrific and the welcome always warm. For me, it is a must visit for the eight-finger Fish Finger sandwich of awesomeness. However, breaking rule number nine ‘Always check in advance the place you are going is open’, Daisy’s was undergoing a kitchen refit. Arrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrgh! Disappointed but undeterred, I steered Nick and Pete away from the dubious delights of a Greggs’ pig in a stodgy bun (friends don’t let friends shop at Greggs) and introduced them to the Copper Pot. Offering flavoursome (I refuse to say bloody artisan), top-notch food at sensible prices, it is an absolute find of a place for amazing breakfasts. Suffice to say, we all departed fit to burst.
As forecast, the rain was now coming in. Nick’s bib shorts were soaked having experienced an unfortunate shower floor interface, and he’d forgotten to bring a spare pair, so he opted to make some work calls and left it to Pete and I to complete the circle and ride back to where we started. Heading up through a rain-soaked Jenkin Crag, our views consisted mostly of grey, heavy cloud, but it made no odds to our enjoyment. Pete embraced the e-bike as he powered up some of the test piece rocky sections that defeat most riders on regular bikes. Cresting the high point of the trail, we dropped down a fast and wide rocky track into Troutbeck before heading up the bridleway beside a static caravan site. The going was easy as we gradually climbed on well graded trail before heading to the car ferry at Bowness. Adopting my good friend Dave the Bastard’s mantra of “It’s not a proper holiday until you have been on the ferry”, we chatted with the friendly staff as we crossed the water to reach Far Sawrey. Getting some welcome relief from the rain in the passenger compartment, we planned our next move. Or at least we would have had I not brought the wrong map, much to Pete’s amusement. No matter. We had local knowledge. We’d be reet.
Going with the flow
Normally, we would have taken one of the many bridleways through Satterthwaite plantation but the level of windblow was such that progress would have been verging on impossible. Instead, we took the scenic road climb that eventually led us to High Ickenthwaite and the bridleway over to Nibthwaite Grange via Bletherbarrow Lane. (No, I am not making these names up!) With the wind and the rain on for the day, Pete was visibly struggling. An injury enforced lay-off meant he was suffering from a chafing of the chalfonts while simultaneously failing to reach anything approaching warm. It was tough, but as Nimsdai Purja puts it so succinctly “Sometimes when you think you are f****d, you are only about 45% f****d”. Still smiling, Pete pressed on and it was a welcome sight when we got back to base, even managing to do so before dark.
As rides go, I reckon we had successfully proven our point. Bikepacking in winter is entirely feasible and no less enjoyable than doing it in the seemingly endless days of summer. We had abandoned all superfluous kit in favour of a fast and light approach that had paid off in spades. We had ridden well, eaten well, had not been forced to endure the travails of the open air jobby, and planned our outward leg to coincide with a perfect weather window. Mechanicals were despatched with ease. We had been able to simply enjoy the trails, the scenery and the company in a relaxed and unhurried manner. Sure, we could easily have done the ride as a day ride but to do so would be missing the point. It’s not about the mileage you put in or the travails you endure, but the pleasure you draw from the experience. If you have ever thought about bikepacking but been put off by the need for all sorts of new kit, learning new skills and fear of being cold, wet and miserable, don’t worry. Relax, plan a trip that you think is easy and just go for it. I guarantee that you will enjoy it!
Take our trip
For our mini-adventure, we stayed in The Herdwick Huts in the grounds of Rydal Hall, situated in the heart of the Lake District. The huts are open all year round and added a positively luxurious slant to our trip without breaking the bank. Rydal is perfectly placed as a location to base yourself for Lakeland riding adventures.
The Lake District is awash with accommodation options from camping barns and pods to the poshest of hotels, so there is something for every budget.
We ate in the Badger Bar, part of the Glen Rothay Hotel. Adjacent to Rydal Water, the bar food is of a high standard with a good selection of local ales on tap. Heck, they even have their own sett of resident badgers who are fed nightly.
• theherdwickhuts.co.uk
• theglenrothay.co.uk
If you want to learn more about Charlie Craig and the legacy that has been created in his memory, check out www.rideforcharlie.com There is some great merchandise to be found and all the profits go to supporting the Foundation’s goal of supporting young cyclists.
Kit checklist
In the spirit of simplicity, we all rode what we brought. As we proved, you don’t have to be riding with a bikepacking specific set-up. With a bit of forward planning, you can get away with taking only what you would take on a normal ride if you go for Nick’s pre-arranged kit drop-off option. None of us needed anything more than a ride pack for our kit.
Take a little luxury. My choice was a pair of insulated bothy slippers and a good book. Had we not chatted into the early hours, I would have quite happily sat in front of the fire with my copy of Pies and Prejudice by Stuart Maconie.
This is in no way meant to be a definitive list so feel free to add and subtract from it as you see fit.
- • Bike (obviously, preferably working properly)
- • Riding kit, including waterproof jacket and insulating layer
- • Clothes for the evening, in order to look at least halfway respectable
- • Spare bib shorts (I’m looking at you, Nick!)
- • Bike tools, pump and spare tube
- • Toiletries and travel towel
- • Beer tokens (used to buy dinner as well as chocolate digestives and marshmallows to make smores)
- • First Aid kit, whistle and bothy shelter as you never know when things can go wrong.
- • Head torch and lights to be seen by.
- • E-bike charger (but only if you are riding one)
- • A map (make sure it is the right one!) and compass
- • A bag to carry everything in.