Inspired by the works of Tolkien, Sanny leads his merry crew on an adventure through lands that could easily double for Middle Earth.
Words & Photography Sanny
With book sales well in excess of 150 million and the box office-smashing success of Peter Jackson’s trilogy, the places of Middle Earth are almost as familiar to us as the real world. With that in mind and as a self-confessed fan who is already at sphincter tightening levels of excitement about the new Rings of Power series coming this autumn, I thought it would be fun to take a Tolkien-themed ride through well-known locations that might double for Middle Earth. But where to go? Of course, there would have to be a mix of the natural world and post-industrial decline in close proximity to each other. Deep, dark caves and soaring, impenetrable cliffs would also have to feature as well as the odd hearty ale house or two. While Tolkien is reputed to have found the source of his inspiration in the countryside surrounding Birmingham and the battlefields of northern France, I rather fancied somewhere closer to home and thus settled on the less frequented southern fells of Lakeland.
The coming together of the Fellowship
As leader of this fanciful adventure, with a penchant for facial hair and a tendency towards vagueness when it comes to sharing details of impending adventures planned, I assumed the role of Gandalf, albeit with gravitas more at the Chuckle Brothers than the McKellen end of the scale. We needed a seasoned rider who could travel the land stealthily at speed. Enter Nick Craig stage left as Aragorn while the role of the ring bearer rested with my good friend Gary Fraser. Having shared precious [Oh well played – Ed] little of what lay ahead with Gary, he easily fell into his role as the Frodo of our small Fellowship, happy to come along for the journey without questioning where we were going. Well that and the fact that he is shorter than me. Instead of ponies we had our bikes, of course, while pork scratchings were to be our Lembas bread. I say ‘we’. but the look of withering disdain mixed with queasiness at the mere notion of them suggested that Nick was not perhaps the greatest fan of deep-fried scrapings of the slaughterhouse floor.
Meeting in the gently rolling fells and well-tended farmland at the southern edge of Coniston, our adventure into the unknown started familiarly enough. The amusingly monikered Hummer Lane has a well-earned reputation among the locals for being, and I quote, “a right nippy wee bastard!”. Starting as it means to go on, it is steep with a capital ‘S’. Low gear engaged, we spun and chatted our way up. Speed records were for another day. Ascending quickly, the picturesque vistas of this really rather lovely part of the world opened up in front of us. Whether to the south with the wide empty expanse of Morecambe Bay, or north to the soaring peak of Helvellyn and beyond, we were not left wanting for big sky scenery. This could easily double for the Shire and no mistake.
Not all those who wander are lost… except us…
Diving off into the forestry plantation of Broughton Moor, having ridden here many times previously, I was confident of our route choice. However, as sure as pride cometh before a fall, so does being well and truly lost in a dark and deep forest after a storm. While it may have lacked the brooding malevolence of Fangorn Forest, the fallen trees and smashed trunks that had been ripped asunder by Storm Arwen (how’s that for appropriate naming?) rendered the familiar totally alien. What would have been our route had been obliterated, meaning we had to get a bit creative with our choices. Spying a sun-dappled singletrack path down by a river, we followed the track down to a leafy glade with a long-abandoned shieling and a stone bridge for company. By way of contrast with what had gone before, it could easily pass for Lothlórien – a rich and magical land into which evil could not enter without difficulty. It was only by good fortune that we found it, but it gave us a welcome chance to break out our second breakfast. Samwise Gamgee would be proud.
Replete, we headed off in what we thought was roughly the right direction and soon found ourselves back on track. Another steep road climb to Stephenson Ground saw us back off-road and away from prying Orc eyes. We were headed into the Broughton Fells proper where wide open views replace the dark oppressive monoculture of the commercial plantation we had just left behind. The last time I had ridden this route was on a dank and wet December day when the trails had been sopping wet and the desire to take our time was severely curtailed. Today, it felt like an entirely new trail. A ribbon of singletrack wends its way over and around the fells, baked solid by the spring sunshine. Hitting the very southern point of our adventure, we went cross-country to take in the viewpoint from The Knott. Despite being only 284m high, its prominent position in the landscape would make an ideal location for the Riders of Rohan to light a beacon to warn of impending war coming from the north. If this is Rohan, does that mean Keswick is Mordor I wondered to myself?
Having gained height with relative ease, we gradually lost it as we skirted round the hillside on a trail that offered just enough challenge to ensure that we had to keep one eye on it at all times despite the obvious attractions of the surrounding Dunnerdale Fells that beckoned our gaze. Eventually cresting another rise, we were met with the welcome prospect of a descent of Park Head Road. With a rocky, steep-sided and boulder-strewn defile to pass through first, it would be an obvious spot for an ambush by the forces of Sauron. Nick clambered up a vertiginous path that was the very definition of steep and loose. To his credit, and with a cacophony of clanking and tinkling of rock on rock that is akin to that of glass breaking, he managed to navigate the sliding scree and whizzed past Gary and me in style.
“Fly, you fools!”
Leaving behind ambush alley, the descent down Park Head Road has to rank as a true Lakeland classic. It starts off gently enough and gets progressively more rocky and loose. Picking our lines, we practically flew down the trail – neither Ringwraiths nor Nazgûl were going to catch us. Or at least they weren’t until the telltale whump and pssssst of my back tyre prompted an inevitable puncture stop. Sitting in the sun, I had time to take in the passing scene. In a matter of minutes, the vista had transformed from rolling countryside to steep-sided valleys and soaring mountains in the distance. We were well on our way into Misty Mountains territory. Puncture fixed, I rejoined our Fellowship for the final descent beside dry stone dyke and mature woodland to the welcoming embrace of a friendly inn.
It was all going swimmingly right up to the point that Nick blew a hole out of his back tyre that released a spray of sealant right up his back. “Have you guys got a tubeless kit with you?” he asked. Our blank faces meant no answer was necessary. Necessity being the mother of invention and with the cunning of a white wizard, he fashioned a bung out of a stick. To our surprise (and his, although he was probably too pleased to say so), it actually worked and we were back in the game! Who says you need a fancy tubeless repair kit eh?
A cross between The Prancing Pony and the house of Tom Bombadil, The Newfield Inn has a well-earned reputation for offering a warm welcome, real ales and top-notch food. We found a sunny spot in the beer garden and our host was singularly friendly and welcoming. Tucking into a well-earned pint of ginger beer and flapjacks nearly as big as your head, we all agreed that we had lucked out. However, as with all quests, our stay was short as we had an appointment with the Lakeland version of the North Road. Walna Scar was calling.
Distance-wise the ascent of the Scar isn’t particularly long at some 2.5km, but it has a fearsome reputation of bringing even the toughest of riders to their knees. From the bottom, you can see the entire climb unfold before you. Nothing about it says easy or benign. It is genuinely tough. I recall taking the Glasgow Mountain Bike Club up it one glorious June day only to be likened to the Marquis de Sade by one while another hid under their coat trying to keep impending heat exhaustion at bay. Happy times! Loose, rocky and steep in places, particularly near the top, cleaning it requires fitness, skill and a healthy dollop of luck. It is a favourite little test piece of mine and I was relishing the prospect of having another bash at it. This time round, I had brought a secret weapon in the shape of my fat bike and its Ring of Power. If there is one ring to rule them all, I was surely wielding it. Unlike that of Frodo’s, mine would not corrupt the hearts of men but would do only good. With a mere 20 teeth, it is the granny ring (remember those?) of infinite spinniness. Knowing I have form for battling up the steepest of climbs where it would be just as quick to walk, Gary opted for the two feet approach and disappeared off up into the distance while Nick and I took on the challenge.
A stranger approaches
As you would no doubt expect from an Olympian, Nick navigated the initial steep and loose section in style while the Ring of Power saw me clean it with equal aplomb. Rising ever upwards, there is precious little respite on the long section up to a dry stane wall that marks the end of the first big chunk of the ascent. Having stopped only briefly to take pictures, we took a well-earned rest break only to see Gary a mere speck in the distance. Say what you will about Hobbits, but they sure can cover ground at an impressive rate when they put their minds and hairy feet to it. Remounting, we pressed on ever upwards, stopping again only to explore the old slate quarries beneath White Pike that are a reminder of the industrial age that once ruled these green and pleasant lands.
As we contemplated how much of Lakeland’s history is tied up in working the land both above and below, a fellow rider joined us having come up the less brutal route from Stevenson Ground. A Forum regular, Kevin Hodgson is a man who clearly loves fat bikes. Riding a ridiculously light Salsa Mukluk that even Nick was impressed by (well, he was outnumbered and outgunned so he had no option but to be), Kevin and I discussed the perils of crossing Morecambe Bay by bike – think the Dead Marshes, but even more dangerous – while Nick tried to pretend he didn’t want a fat bike as he took the Mukluk for a spin. Like all good quests, we had proven the truth that you never know who you will bump into. A previous ride up the Scar saw me cross paths with Steve Coogan and James Lance – I resisted the temptation to go “A-Haaaaaa!” although I am fairly certain that no one will have said that to them ever before…
Bidding Kevin farewell, we soon rejoined a relaxed Gary for the final push. As riding turned to walking, I continued to wield the Ring of Power and rode all the way to the top. Take that, Walna Scar!
Cresting the saddle, the landscape changed once more. To our west, the looming bulk of The Old Man of Coniston was writ large on the landscape, dark clouds casting shadows upon Wetherlam and our next destination – Tilberthwaite. For the time being we were still blessed with sunshine and perfect visibility for the snaking descent down to Coniston far below us. I’ve lost count of the number of times the trail has been upgraded, much to the disappointment of mountain bikers, but as sure as you shouldn’t turn your back on a Balrog, you can always rely upon Lakeland weather to return it to technical goodness. Snaking down the swooping, rocky switchbacks, stopping only for Nick to finally fix his back tyre properly, we met four touring mountain bikers pushing up the trail. The first was clearly enjoying the experience, the other three decidedly less so. I opted not to tell them the news that the hard bit was still to come. Better they discover that for themselves.
In the deep places of the world
With the sun beginning to drop towards the horizon, we pressed on, taking full advantage of our gravity points before reaching the bridleway that follows the old train line through a thicket of mature deciduous trees and which would eventually lead us to the foreboding mines of Hodge Close. As banks of dark cloud caused us to roll in and out of shadow, these felt like different lands. The scene of large-scale industrial slate extraction from the 19th century right up to the 1960s, as we skirted round the edge of the vertiginous cliff walls that drop some 150 feet to icy waters below, I for one felt a genuine sense of unease. I’ve visited the quarry several times before, but as we carried our bikes down the steep and loose steps, being careful to avoid the pull of the dense undergrowth lying in wait to upend the unwary traveller, a noticeable drop in temperature descended.
Smashed boulders and upended ironwork made for awkward progress as we clambered our way into the main chamber. Our reward was two large openings that revealed the flooded quarry in all its magnificent, terrifying glory. On the left, shattered boulders and enormous slabs of slate from recent rock falls are a salutary reminder that geological time includes ‘now’, while to the right the remains of what must have been an old ironwork crane lay in twisted relief. The structure extends out over the deep, dark water and Nick and Gary took turns to edge out carefully to the very end, the slippy soles of their cycling shoes adding an extra challenge.
Looking upon our surroundings with no small degree of awe, my thoughts turned to the Doors of Durin at the West Gate of Moria and the Fellowship barely escaping the Watcher in the Water that rose from the murky depths to exact a deadly price for having been disturbed. While clearly ours was a journey of fantasy, Hodge Close has a dark past which may explain my lingering feelings of unease. Divers, a tombstoner and a dog have all gone to their watery graves here. It is a truly fascinating place but I’m not convinced that it is necessarily somewhere that I would want to linger too long. However, as a proxy for the entrance into the Mines of Moria, I can’t think of a more suitable candidate.
Into the terrible darkness of Moria
As with ‘The Fellowship of the Ring’, this part of our journey was nearing an end. Osgiliath, Gondor, Mordor, Mount Doom – all would have to wait for another day as hunger and a dipping sun came to the fore. However, I had a couple more aces to play. Not ten minutes ride from Hodge Close lies Cathedral Cavern. Lying deep in the woods of Tilberthwaite, many riders will have passed it over the years with no inkling of what lies in store for those who take the path less travelled. Unlike the Mines of Moria (Warning: May contain Orcs and a Balrog!), there is a helpful sign at the small and unassuming entrance that gives a little history of the site and a suitable warning that, while monitored, it is an old mine and rock falls can and do happen. So take heed! Ducking our heads, lights were switched on as we made our way through a deep and damp tunnel that would not exactly qualify as enticing. Cutting left, our way into a larger chamber was blocked by a locked iron gate. “You shall not pass!” I shouted in my best Ian McKellen manner, much to the amusement/eye rolling of my fellow travellers.
Retracing our steps, we regained our original tunnel and made our way out, eyes blinking, into the base of a large chamber that opened up to the skies above. With a couple of climbers for company, we soaked in the atmosphere of our undeniably impressive surroundings. Just as Saruman dug deep into the ground beneath Isengard to build his army of Uruk-hai, so too did the slate miners of Cumbria in search of the fine-grained green gold. It would have been great to see the quarry at the height of its operation, but those days have long since passed into history. One day they will be legend. Clambering up a set of slippery, uneven steps that made the Stairs of Cirith Ungol look like a walk in the park – bikes on back for added awkwardness – a short descent on loose slate spoil took us to another cave entrance. Shorter than the first, the cavern it leads to is a marvel of human endeavour. Held up by a slate equivalent of the Leaning Tower of Pisa and framed by the light of a large window high above, it is absolutely worth the effort to get to. It’s not somewhere you would ride, but it is an absolute must to visit. Its scale commands respect and wonder. In the depths of a cold and wet winter, it must have been a wretched place to earn a living. Even on a warm day, the chill air still hits you. Snapping off some shots in the encroaching gloam, my rumbling stomach reminded the inner Hobbit in me that dinner time was in danger of being missed.
Return to the Shire
At the end of the book (Spoiler Alert), the Hobbits return to a Shire not as they remembered it. In our case, reality mirrored fantasy as my much heralded choice of the Three Shires Inn to finish our little adventure off proved to be a much different place from my last visit. In the interim, a pandemic and a change of ownership saw us met with a distinctly frosty welcome. “No, you cannot eat outside in the sunshine, no, you have to have full meals, we only have one chef on, etc…” We all felt about as welcome as a fart in a spacesuit. And with that, our Fellowship was at an end. Nick headed off with his good lady Sarah in their van while Gary and I were left to ride back to Torver, our stomachs rumbling and our mouths dry. This was not how our quest was meant to end.
I led Gary back along the bridleway into Coniston in hope of casting a spell of good fortune. Darting down a side street, a perfectly timed sideways glance revealed a small door with the words ‘Pizza Hatch’ above the entrance. This Gandalf had worked his magic once again. Run by a couple who were inspired to set up a pizza business in the village after a cycling holiday there, they definitely know their stuff when it comes to making great pizza. Sitting in the evening sunshine, Gary and I smiled upon our good fortune. We had enjoyed a singularly excellent day out on the bike and were finishing it off in no small style. With an easy spin along the old railway track bridleway to finish, it’s fair to say that our quest had proven to be an unqualified success.
Getting inspired
The idea for this ride came out of a chance remark from Kevin in Ghyllside Cycles who just happened to mention in passing that when he was in New Zealand, he ended up being cast as an Orc in the Peter Jackson films. A bereavement meant that he was sadly unable to join us on our adventure. Talking about his experiences filming, it reminded me just how good the books and the films really are. Combining my fandom and a ride seemed like a very obvious thing to do. As we proved, it made for a terrific little adventure and one that could be easily built upon. Anything from The Hobbit to Game of Thrones, Star Wars to E.T. could be made into a themed bike ride.
Retrace our steps
Hodge Close and Cathedral Cavern are well worth a visit. although next time I would probably not bother taking the bike into them as they are more of a hindrance than a help as you scramble up, over and down awkwardly placed boulders and slippery steps. Better to leave them locked up at the entrance. Both can get busy in the tourist season so going during the evening on a week night is the best way of avoiding the crowds. Take heed of the warning signs and recognise that rock falls can and do still happen there. Just make sure you pack a camera.
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