Day 8 - 24th July 2002

Typical Wigan red brick architecture

A good hotel breakfast with a fine view of the canal set us up for what promised to be the least pleasant day of the trip, threading our way between Liverpool and Manchester through a series of towns known for Rugby League and little else (OK George Orwell wrote a book with Wigan in the title and Paul Simon wrote a song about getting out of the place while sitting on Wigan railway station but that's about it. And Warrington aren't even much good at Rugby League). Another overcast and cool day saw us start with the obligatory climb from the River Weaver (being out of practice at the early morning climb most of us narrowly avoided a pile up when someone stopped suddenly on the hill!) up past the Trent and Mersey canal (quite a bit higher with a boat lift between the two) then out into the countryside for a brief stretch. At this point we lost Manda and Mark but they soon appeared having fixed the only flat tyre that anyone other than the two experienced riders picked up on the whole trip (Mark and Tim ended their contest 5-5 in punctures).

There isn't much to say about riding through Warrington other than there's a lot of roundabouts and it's the only place on this trip with the same name as a town we stopped in on the trans-US trip (a rather drab suburb of Pensacola Florida with a great Greek diner). Otherwise it was drab with, I'm pretty certain, no Greek diners, good or otherwise.

Ye Olde Hob Inn

We continued through several more small towns and avoided any kids throwing things at us (in what appeared to be the summer activity for the 9-13 age group in the area), passed Wigan safely (the overkill in traffic lights at junctions suggests the town doesn't boast the most observant drivers) and aimed for the A6. At some point we stopped at the Olde Hob Inn for a lunch of the usual generic "pub grub", it may have been in Bamber Bridge but maybe not, Paul Simon wasn't wrong when he penned "Each town looks the same to me.....", and the A6 proved a good biking road with plenty of bike lanes.

Lancaster Canal

Things started to look up as Preston passed quickly and we were through the urban sprawl. I'd planned to just follow the A6 to avoid navigation screw ups and allow us each to go at our own pace (once we acertained that the traffic was light) but decided in Garstang to cut onto the B5272 and take the A588 closer to the coast. This proved a winner in 3 ways. Firstly after a climb I was sure would have the group grumbling (not big but hard for tired legs at days end) we reached the top to find the holy grail, a farm selling ice cream. They were closing but happily sold us a container of their excellent product and a set of cones which didn't last long!

After getting onto the A588 at Cockerham and making a few miles progress towards Lancaster we arrived at a sign indicating a 5 mile bike path into the city. We were tired but as the picturesque inn by the path was full we decided to press on and found the route gave us pleasant views over the River Lune and a good flat ride. By now the day had brightened too. Finally once we arrived at the end of the path a short climb brought us out onto a road bringing us into Lancaster with great views of the Castle.

Four grins and one scowl

We stopped at the first hotel in town and Mark checked it out while I cycled down into town to find the Tourist Information. This took a long time because of confusing signs and the obligatory one way system to confuse the out-of-towner (note to foreigners: all these quaint English towns were laid out - or grew organically - long before the car (or bike), were often squeezed inside city walls and make for some complex navigation). By the time I'd returned they'd already checked into the Farmers Arms. It was pretty run down, but at least had a gated car parking area behind for bikes and was close to town.

Priority number one, after showers and a beer in the bar, was to take a walk around the old center of the city then find an Indian restaurant on what had turned into a beautiful evening.