A coast-to-coast, or C2C, across the north of England, is one of those rides I’ve always wanted to do, and when I moved to Sheffield, I decided to see whether I could do it in a single day.
At the right time of year, with a prevailing wind, the right ride partner and no clangers from our rail network, I thought it might just be possible.
The plan I concocted involved travelling by train from Sheffield to Morecambe at the crack of dawn, riding east to Scarborough then getting the train home.
It wouldn’t be a classic C2C route, but one tailored to my particular need of cramming much into a short time. With 204km and 2,150m elevation ahead of me, it was clearly a two-person job.
Flicking through my Rolodex of ride buddies, I picked out young Chris Moores: strong, fast and both 10 years younger and kilograms lighter than me. That’s not much to shelter behind, but a solid wheel to follow on climbs.
Time would be tight, even with this wingman. Chris had to be back in London by the end of the day, which meant we had to make the 5.35pm train out of Scarborough.
Leaving Morecambe at a prompt 9am would give us 8.5 hours to play with: that’s 24km/h over hilly terrain, pit stops and a photographer, Henry, to keep happy.
This was a tight schedule, and the route was a happy medium between a fast A-road fist fight and a scenic traipse around the houses of the Yorkshire Dales and North Yorkshire Moors.
Moor the merrier
From Sheffield, we took the 6.09am train to Manchester, with a second change in Preston, before arriving in Lancaster at 8.45am.
There was no point waiting for a third change to Morecambe, with it being only a few miles down the road, so we jumped onto the excellent bike path and met Henry at the fabulous Art Deco café, Brucciani’s, on Morecambe promenade.
A family business since 1893, it’s currently run by Paulo, the third generation of the family. He’s also a cyclist, so we got to talking about all sorts, for far too long in fact, on a day when the clock was ticking and every minute counted.
Before we literally talked our way out of this mission, we jumped back onto the bike path then onto the only busy road of the day, the A683 to High Bentham.
This was going to be a long day, so no matches were to be burnt early doors: we simply had to sit on a nice tempo.
Which meant that when a van driver slowly moved past us on our inside and Chris jumped into its slipstream and disappeared up the road, I wasn’t best pleased.
Not having the jump in my tank, nor wanting to sit at 400 watts on a rear bumper, I declined to join him. I told him off when I finally caught up with him. He sulked at that: he doesn’t know the meaning of slow.
Eventually, we turned off the main road, onto lanes and the countryside began morphing into the rugged Dales before our eyes.
From here all the way to Ripon was up and down, exposed to the elements in places as we crossed the spine of the country. We gained altitude economically, largely avoiding any savagery.
We hit nothing of note until we’d made our passage through Stainforth, where, with a right turn through the village we hit nominative determinism’s Goat Lane.
The ascent was brisk yet comfortable – the real issue was keeping Chris in check – and once at the top we swung a right onto what would be the only truly arduous climb of the day, a twisting 25% taking us towards Malham Tarn.
We were unable to enter it with any momentum, as the lower slopes were occupied by black sheep, with the quad-bike straddling farmer struggling to maintain control of his flock.
I wasn’t starting this ride in tip-top shape. Just a couple of days previously, I’d returned from a gruelling four-day smash-and-grab trip to the Swiss Alps that included a nine-hour 212km ride, mostly ridden in the rain over four giant passes.
I’m 49 now and my powers of recovery aren’t quite what they were.
I was carrying a significant amount of fatigue in my legs – it was on climbs like the one to Malham Tarn where I was hoping my reserves would hold until Scarborough.
After this brutal little interlude, we rolled on across the open moors. Chris had never ridden in the Dales before and was, of course, blown away by their beauty. And by how quiet it was, with vehicles a seldom seen aberration on a pristine landscape.
Following the wonderful zig-zags of Nab End, we plummeted down into Arncliffe and for the next 15km there was a hiatus in climbing; in its place fizzing 40km/h averages through Grassington until the testing climb to Greenhow.
One thing we weren’t getting any help from today was the wind. The reason most people ride a C2C in this direction, from west to east, is for the benefit of a tailwind.
The joy of a whole day with a tailwind is what all riders dream of, sailing along with the invisible hand on the small of your back, coaxing you up hills and powering you on the flat.
Today, however, we had the misfortune of a crosswind that impacted us more the further we travelled. Rain was also forecast, arriving on cue as we rose up towards Greenhow.
We strapped on our jackets and slogged up the near 10km of climbing, punctuated by a number of short descents, until we reached the top of the mighty and exposed Greenhow Hill.
Unsustainable travel
The plan was to stop in Pateley Bridge to refill our bottles but as we were soaked I made the call to press on to Ripon.
This meant we got all the serious climbing out the way and, by the look of the blue sky ahead, we’d also have the chance to dry out a bit.
We were almost out of water, but thankfully photographer Henry had come prepared and was doubling as a team car with a coolbox full of water, squash and bananas.
There was some faffing involving photos on the way out of Pateley Bridge and then, for the first time, I looked at the clock, doing some mental maths regarding making it to Scarborough on time.
The answer wasn’t good. We’d need to ride 30km/h, including breaks, from here on out to make the train.
This was music to Chris’s ears – it was time to ride full gas. Though as I’ve already made clear, his full gas was rather more powerful than mine.
In Ripon, we were expecting to find a garage or shop for lunch, but found nothing. We pressed on, hoping to come across a village with provisions.
Norton-le-Clay? No. Cundall? Ditto. Brafferton? Nothing. We’d have to make do with another of Henry’s bananas.
It wasn’t until we reached Hovingham, 25km up the road, that we passed anything that would sell us some sustenance, a wonderful little cafe where we grabbed a huge scone and Coke.
It wasn’t to help me much because by this point I was done for, still another 60km from the finish with only two hours remaining on the clock. The route needed to be changed.
My original plan to head north and ride through Dalby Forest had to be scrapped – our new mission was simply to reach the seafront in time for a bag of chips before our train home.
The only problem with this was having to ditch our GPS and use our noses to get us to Scarborough. We pressed on to Malton, following road signs to the A64 and Scarborough.
For a brief moment, we considered jumping onto the A64 and pressing on at turbo speed, but glancing at its four lanes of traffic this was hardly a desirable option. Getting there alive was more important than getting there on time.
I was now a passenger, clinging onto a surging Chris’s rear wheel, with the carrot of the train the only thing keeping me upright.
Taking the A169 up towards Pickering, we then turned right to cut through to the A170 on a glorious road via Yedingham to Snainton.
Hitting the main road, we had only 15km to go and still 40 minutes on the clock. That’s plenty in my book.
I imagined it being all downhill from there to the coast, but I was wrong. There was one last hill, which pretty much finished me off. I teetered over the summit, emptier than an empty thing from Planet Empty. Now it really was all downhill.
The chips are down
Once in town, we had 15 minutes to find Henry, a chip shop and, of course, take that all-important photograph of us at the coast.
Along the seafront, past the big wheel, the amusements and people surfing the waves, we rolled along and there Henry was.
We got the shot, but there’d be no time for chips as Henry – going above and beyond to the last – gave me a lift back up the road to the train station, with just five minutes left on the clock.
We jumped onto the train, stashed our bikes and slumped deep into the seats.
Thankfully, the carriage was deserted, as this would not have been the first time Chris and I would have emptied a train due to the overpowering stench of hard-earned sweat.
We’d done it. Coast to coast, from home and back, in a single day. A big, page-spanning tick on my bucket list.
Local knowledge
- Distance: 204km/127 miles
- Elevation: 2,156m/7,075ft
- Download the route: Komoot - Big Ride Morecambe-Scarborough
Getting there
Both Morecambe and Scarborough have train stations.
Where to stay
This was a day trip, so no hotels were needed for Simon and Chris, but with two seaside towns sandwiching the route, you won’t be short of options.
Where to eat
We started from Brucciani’s cafe in Morecambe, which we can’t recommend highly enough for friendly service, cycling knowledge, the Art Deco interior and homemade ice cream. On route, we stopped at The Park Cafe in Hovingham, which has a large selection of cake.
