Fog greeted on opening the tent first thing: not what I wished to see; it got thicker the further up the hill I climbed. Visibility was reduced to the road immediately in front and the tree boughs at my side dripped condensation. It didn't matter too much while slogging slowly uphill, but over the crest and then going down, that was a problem. I couldn't go slow enough, braking to avoid running-away into the grey vapoury abyss where I'd see nothing. I got a fright and halted when sheep appeared suddenly out of the blank grey, scattering to the side. Eventually though I went far enough down, instantly seeing farther, revealing rough pasture sloping up on the other side and small fields on the inside across the valley to hills opposite; then, as the fog lifted completely the rain came on.

I came to a side road on the left with Kielder on the signpost. I glance at the map, saw that this was the proper way and continued left. One field in on the inside was a typical farm here, the farmhouse built of stone blocks, with wide bay windows, the farmyard at the side with stone built barns and a latterly built corrugated sheeting cattle sheds and a plot given to black plastic rapped round bales. Just past the farm was a pine plantation where I sheltered to put on my waterproofs as the rain got heavier.

Crossing over a cattlegrid the road onwards was open to the sheep: tightly grazed amongst the rocks and clumps of brown bulrushes. The land on the right ran down to a meandering stream which rattled over stones. While the rain soaked through me, reducing me to shivering cold, stupid sheep scattered and ran along ahead of me, and lambs found themselves on the wrong side making a mad dash across straight before the bike as I struggled all the time to see through rain beaded glasses.

It rained harder as I passed by a "Welcome to England" sign. The road entered Kielder forest proper and two miles on, I reached Kielder village feeling miserable and hoping there would be a cafe or some place to get in and warm. There wasn't a cafe but there was a YHA hostel. I entered and the warden pointed me upstairs to a lounge, telling me to help myself to tea if I wanted. My glasses steamed-up as I removed the dripping water-proof and hung it on a chair. The lounge was warm. In front of the television sat the children that just wanted to remain watching children's BBC, but their mother that was on holiday looked out at the rain told them that they'd be going out for a walk as soon as it eased, to protests of it's raining. The woman said yes but it isn't cold rain.

When it did ease I rode on with a stream running down the road towards me and a damp feel in the air, until over the pointed profile of pine trees that sloped down on the left, the irregular shaped grey expanse of Kielder lake came into view. It wasn't far to a track I cycled down to the lake shore and took my lunch things from the bike, then climbed in under the bough of a fir tree to lunch as I could tell it was going to rain again. I sat leaning back again the tree trunk, boiling water for tea while making a cheese sandwich. While eating I looked out over the leaden lake at the dark wooded hills of the opposite shore cloaked in clouds. But the hills then disappeared completely as rain rolled in across the lake on a sheet of midnight blue. Soon raindrops had reached the shore, hitting the water like thousands of stones thrown at once, causing ripples to circle from each and meet. And it wasn't long until rain came dripping down on my head. It was a heavy shower which soon passed, and a few drops remained rippling the water as the lake began evaporating like smoke, revealing the hills on the far shore again while small waves came lapping in on the near shore.

The rain had quit for the day though it remained a grey and damp Summer afternoon. I made good progress on a road which meandered south over greener stock farming countryside and then an increasingly intermingled yellow patchwork of wheat and barley as I reached the valley of the river Tyne. I followed the signs for a campground near the village of Acomb just north of the town of Hexham where the owner only excepted three pounds to camp as he didn't have change of a twenty pound note.