Tissington Trail (kind of)

June 19, 2012

south to Ilam in the Peak District

Bakewell’s five-arched bridge gracefully spans over the River Wye and dates back to the 13th century. It’s one of the few pieces of construction left over from the town’s birth and we wheel our bikes down the bank and I take a snap of Debbie standing in front of it, trying to replicate the drawing Frank Patterson made about 70 years ago.

Since then, trees have grown along the waterside and his sketch was clearly done in winter - the branches of the one tree he features being bare. The scene is the same but different.

I've more Patterson sketches to guide us to places in Derbyshire, the next being Dovedale, a place I’ve never been - or even heard of - before. So after a lazy mooch around town that basked in sunshine, we ride east, up Monyash Road, towards the village of Over Haddon.

A couple of twists and turns take us to Youlgreave. This wasn’t planned, but it turns out well, as a helpful woman managing the Youth Hostel lets us have a booklet showing the organization's other places to sleep, plus she advises us on taking the Tissington Trail on our way south-ish to Dovedale.

I’ve never heard of the route, a disused railway, but we soon find it crossing the A 515 and cycle along its compact, gritty surface.

The only place shown on my map is Biggin and we make a turn to get there, but the undulating track is deeply rutted and strewn with rocks and sand, so we do a quick U-turn and carry on along the smooth, flat ‘main’ path, which turns out to be not the 13-mile-long (21 km) Tissington Trail, but another one, one which leads us slightly southeast instead of a little bit west.

Eventually we arrive in the stone village of Tissington and are please to find a café open, one run by the National Trust (I have another wedge of Bakewell Pudding and custard).

Tissington, gentrified to the hilt, is regarded as one of England’s prettiest villages. I’ve never heard of it, but it's a super little place, with its old Hall going back to the 1600s and a nearby spring gushing clear water onto the road. No doubt any one of the handful of houses here would cost a king’s ransom.

A small lane off the 515 goes towards Thorpe and is signposted as a section of the 54A cycle route. It goes up, through a field of dopey sheep, then winds across a plateau of sorts and takes us into Thorpe, where - after asking a pair of hikers if the trail they’ve just come off is okay for bikes - we decide to venture over a field and get to signposted Dovedale.

We can’t ride on the grass as it's too hard going. At the top of the rise we can just about make out where to go and the grass has been flattened which allows us to cruise down between the lush folds of the gentle hills.

Above us on a ridge are a few hikers. They look down, no doubt wondering whet the hell we're doing in the middle of nowhere on laden bikes. When we get to the river, clamber over a fence, there's the hiking trail proper and a sign and map pinpoints where we are.

Coming down stream are a bunch of elderly men in hiking gear. They have very detailed maps and the spot Patterson drew is shown on theirs, so we trace their footsteps along the bank. That's after lugging our bikes over a stone wall.

It's getting late in the day and we only see a couple more people. The path is flat until about a mile along, then it becomes rocky where it wiggles up the embankment. Then there are wooden stairs.

I look at my notes and reckon the location of Patterson’s sketch is around here somewhere, but with trees blocking out most of the view, it's hard to say. Tissington Spires they’re called – vertical pieces of rock in a gorge.

After leaving the bikes and I wade into nettles lining the low bank. Across the water are more trees, but it seems the spires are there, hidden. I give up on taking a picture as it's time to find a place to kip.

Once past the stone wall, we have to take the bikes on a dirt track, as the heavy rains have washed away the stepping stones leading to the trail. It'ss a bit of a rave, but we make it OK, then cruise down to the road and make a right, heading to the Youth Hostel at Ilam Hall.

Dating from Tudor times, the hall is an impressive place. The drive, curving through the manicured grounds, makes it feel like we're going somewhere we can’t afford with the main building looking like something from a movie set.

We can hear children’s voices as we approach the gateway. Not a good sign. Sure enough, there's a school party and all rooms are full, so we set off to find somewhere else - a hotel is just down the road.

This too is full and after wondering where to head, opt to go back towards Thorpe - up a steep climb, which we get to just as it starts raining.

Fortunately it's just a shower and at the top of the climb is a B&B – appropriately named Hillcrest House. We're in luck as the fifty-something woman who runs the place says she has two rooms vacant and we go for the biggest, which sports a four-poster bed.

As the B&B doesn’t do evening meals, she points us in the direction of a pub in the village, but not before warning us not to get too excited.

We walk to The Dog & Partridge - a 20-30-minute stroll - and there's just one man sat at the bar. I expected a packed joint and we’d looked forward to watching England play Euro football, but the pub has no TV - the license fee being too expensive, according to the landlady.

My pint of Blacksheep is awful. I can’t drink it. The landlady gives me a pint of the only other beer they have on tap and the menu is a selection of micro-wave dishes. We hadn’t expected anything special, so woof the meals down and head back to the B&B to watch footy.

The Hillcrest has beer on sale and you just helped yourself and put the cash in a honesty jar.

Today's ride: 48 km (30 miles)
Total: 3,599 km (2,235 miles)

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