Mayday!


Last Monday was Mayday bank holiday, and it didn’t snow, or even rain.  I thought I’d better do a full day of cycling, since I’m very much a fair weather cyclist, and the forecast wasn’t so good for the rest of the week.
I wasn’t brave enough to put the cello on the bike though, so to compensate for that failure I rode up and down Hartside six times.  Six times.  Whoever does that? 
Six times 1300 feet, and then a bit extra, to make it up to 8000 feet.  Twice more and I would have done the equivalent of sea level to the highest point I’m going over the Alps.  I nearly tried, but I knew I wouldn’t make it.
So today, Saturday, and less than three weeks before I have to do this properly, I had to put the cello on the bike and do a proper ride.
Kirkby Stephen (no-one who doesn’t live there can actually spell it) is nearly 30 miles away.  I don’t think I’ve ever been there, and they say it’s a nice town.  I’ll give it a go.
I set the borrowed satnav, pointed the bike in the direction it said, and set off.  I can see that this satnav and I are going to have to work out who’s boss.  And it’s going to have to be me.
Are you joking?  I had to ask it more than once.  Roads that were little more than tracks, wide enough for two sheep to pass, but not a bike and a Range Rover.  Potholes that made the cello squeak and moan in protest.  Twice I had to stop, and open the case, and give us both a tranquillizer.
And then the firing range.  Warcop, it’s called.  Seems a fair name.  No entry.  Do not enter.  Do not stop.  Do not get out of your vehicle.  Beware live firing.  No entry – unexploded ordnance.  Etc., etc.  But the red flags weren’t actually flying, and I didn’t hear any actual explosions.  There’s mile after mile of it, though, and I didn’t like it.  At least there was no traffic.
Kirkby Stephen is, as the advertisements claim, a beautiful place.  I was welcomed by pealing church bells.  (That was actually for a grand wedding, not for me, but never mind).  I rode up and down the main street a couple of times, trying to muster the courage to stop and get the cello out.  
I spoke sternly to myself, picked a spot at random, and parked up.  I went into the pub, waited my turn, and then pointed at the bike through the window.  Could I play my cello on the pavement outside your pub?  Of course, of course, that would be nice, make yourself at home!
I played for an hour, wishing it was just a little bit warmer.  Lots of passing cars lowered their windows.  One elderly couple passed me three times, looking slightly doubtful.  A young Kirkby Stephenite, who described himself as a photographer, was very pleased when I asked him to take some photos.  The proprietor of the cafe next door came out in a quiet moment, and was very keen to have some photos with his cafe in the background.
The sun came out as I drank tea in the cafe, and then went in again as soon as I got back on the bike.  But I got home, and all day it hadn’t rained, and I’d met some very interesting people in Kirkby Stephen, and I gave Warcop a very wide berth on the return, despite the borrowed satnav flashing red lights at me in displeasure, and I thought maybe – just maybe – I can do this, after all.

Leave a Comment

Your email address will not be published. Required fields are marked *

This site uses Akismet to reduce spam. Learn how your comment data is processed.

Shopping Cart
Translate »
Highway Cello Logo
Cookie Policy Overview

This website uses cookies so that we can provide you with the best user experience possible. Cookie information is stored in your browser and performs functions such as recognising you when you return to our website and helping our team to understand which sections of the website you find most interesting and useful.

You can adjust some of your cookie settings below, and find out more about how to control cookies in general.