South to Mablethorpe

June 20, 2018

coastal path and inland via Cleethorpes

I'm up at 6:00 so go for a pre-breakfast stroll down the nearby shopping street in nice sunshine and take a couple of photos. A few people are walking to work, but it's quiet and obviously everything is still closed. Some shops look like they'll never be opening again.

There are quite a few guests in the dining room at 7.30 and most seem to be engineers or whatever. Grimsby is no tourist hot spot and the fishing industry is not what it used to be.

It's still sunny when I check out and get my bike from the hotel's huge boiler room and after taking a photo posing against some bright graffiti, I go back down the pedestrian-only shopping street and check out a charity shop at the end and ask the woman working there where there are any others. She gives me directions to a street a few blocks away and Freeman Street is in the right direction for the coast.

I soon find the shops but a couple have yet to open. Inside one I buy a linen tea towel for a pound. It's new and has the label on - from Canterbury Cathedral. It'll be a gift for someone.

By 10:00 the sky has gone dark and it looks like rain is on the way any minute and maybe it makes sense to stay put and wait to see what happens, but the clouds don't look too threatening and I ride to the end of the street and see a sign for the Port so go straight over and stop at a security gate.

The young guard on duty tells me it's possible to ride through the industrial area and find a path right beside the coast, then he sees my camera hanging over my shoulder and tells me that it must be put away, as photography is not allowed. This seems silly as I could just take it out of the bar-bag down the road, and besides, everyone has a phone with a camera nowadays. But what's the point in arguing? I just stick it away and go in search of the coastal path.

His directions were vague and I get to the end of the fish processing factories and warehouses after five minutes, but there are fenced buildings blocking any access to the sea, so I ride back to get better directions and see a guy in his 30s on a bike. After stopping him he tells me where to go, but it still sounds complicated and after a minute of patiently explaining he opts to turn around and actually show me. It's just as well, as the access narrow path is hidden away and just a strip of gravel.

The actual coastal path is concrete and is separated from the Port buildings by a tall wire fence, with a robust concrete barrier the height of my bike on my left. There's no one around and the sea and sky are still grey and a stiff wind is blowing me south.

The path hugs the coast and takes me to the seaside resort of Cleethorpes. I'm only 5km in the ride and on such a grey day and at this early hour things don't look their best. It's deserted and forlorn with just a couple of workers getting some children's rides prepared and it's doubtful there'll be many customers during the day what with this being a Wednesday and school terms not ending for a while.

Over the promenade is The Smile Factory shop-cum-amusement arcade advertising novelties and soft toys. It's empty and while the adjacent train station is still in operation ,like others along the UK's coastline, the resort developed after the railway reached here in the 1870s.

Who would have guessed then that everyone would start flying off to Spain in the 1970s for some guaranteed sun? The beach used to be packed with families from Yorkshire and Nottinghamshire, as well as Lincolnshire but today the brownish sea doesn't look very inviting. It must be almost 30 years since I was last here.

In Cleethorpes' town centre I ride up the main street on the lookout for any charity shops, but don't find one and soon return to the promenade and the pier and continue south.

It's not long before a seafront cafe beckons me - it's time for a coffee - and I order inside then sit at one of the half dozen tables with view of the sea and enjoy a piece of yummy pie with cream just before raindrops begin landing on the metal table top. Fortunately it lasts less than a minute.

Just along the coastal path is a sign where a few people are posing for photos. They have American accents, which surprises me, and I pause to take a snap of it as it marks the Greenwich Meridian and states the South Pole is nearly 10,000 miles away.

A miniature train line follows the path for a while. It'd be nice to see a loco run by but one doesn't appear and by noon the path ends and brings me to some small streets. It's pretty urban now and at a convenience shop I get two bottles of drink for 1.49.

I keep looking for a way back to the sea somewhere on my left and eventually notice a cyclist riding on an embankment, so veer across a caravan park and find a trail, which is a narrow strip of earth that runs along a raised verge. It looks to heading northeast, towards the middle of nowhere, which is fine with me.

My bike rumbles along the 20cm-wide strip of packed earth. Over on my left is the sea but it's out of sight as the track arcs to my right very slightly. At one point a group of five teenagers walk towards me, but don't acknowledge my existence as we cross paths and the then route veers south and at the end is a wider vehicle track. My detailed OS map gives me a good idea where I am - it's a spot called Tetney Lock.

There are a couple of white vans parked nearby and some men in high-viz gear working on a concrete structure that looks like a sluice or pumping station. I ride over towards them, but we don't talk and I can see there's no route going beside the sea, so turn around and head along a wide track which follows a stream inland.

The sun is out and it feels hot when I reach tarmac and a brick building with a date stone inset into its gable which says it's a Primitive Methodist Chapel.

I ride south through a village and join route 1031, then look out for a right turn that will take me along smaller lanes. It's just before a village called North Somercoates and after riding through South Somercoates with banks of fluffy clouds above me there's a sign for a ruined church, so I go down its long drive after ducking under a locked gate.

St Botolph's dates back to the 13th century and is sited among trees and surrounded by fields. there are no houses nearby.

It's pretty big and once inside it's odd to see that there's nothing remaining apart from the support pillars. The windows just have the main parts of the stonework left. It's said to be haunted and a favored place for rituals by Satanists. Birds flutter in and out as I walk around.

Looking at the OS map, a back lane will take south me to a T junction with a B road. It's not too far away and at a junction with the B road I make a left and soon get to an A road going towards Mablethorpe, but instead of making a right I go towards the coast.

A small track goes straight and I ride over some concrete speed bumps and come to the end of it. There's a wooden gate I go through and a woman walking her dog doesn't know if there's a track leading south, like my map says there is.

I make my way to the dunes and take a snap of the vast, flat saltmarsh and then turn back to the main road. I spot the signposted trail, but its just for walking, with grass growing along it and it's clear that cycling would prove very difficult and time-consuming.

Mablethorpe is about a dozen kilomteres away and the A1031 isn't anything to get excited about. After a few miles I see a turning and take it and head to the coast where a high bank blocks access to the sea. Maybe there's a way to get up on it, but it seems too much trouble and it's just easier to ride on, past the signs for caravan parks and such like. My computers reads under 50km covered, but it feels more and I'm ready to call it a day.

There are a few B&Bs along one street just a block from the coast road. I knock on the door of one and get quoted 40 quid, which seems reasonable. My bike is locked away in a garage at the back and I trudge upstairs with my panniers and lay on the single bed for a while watching the small TV mounted on the wall.

Later I stroll to the end of the street past souvenir shops that are all closed and find the Indian the landlord told me about and have a mediocre korma which resembles baby food. It gets washed down with a bottle of cold Cobra.

Today's ride: 52 km (32 miles)
Total: 521 km (324 miles)

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