To Ingleton

August 3, 2024

We couldn’t believe our luck when we browsed the map for the nearest bike shop last night and found one where I didn’t expect it - in little Sedbergh, only six miles away. I’d been thinking we’d have to figure out how to get me and my bike to a larger place somehow - Kendal over in the Lake District maybe - and that we’d have to cancel and rebook some reservations.

The place we’ve found, Polka Dot Cycles, is an appointment-only shop run by a guy out of his garage. It’s funny - I biked within a block of it last night. The distance is right and it’s flat enough that I’ll be fine biking there with just the one brake. I give him a call, make an appointment for 10:30 this morning, and we end the day much relieved.

We’re still feeling the glow this morning as we enjoy another fine breakfast at Dent Stores B&B, looking out the window at the village and a promising sky.

Not as blue as yesterday’s sky, but should stay dry.

After breakfast we’re back up in the room packing up to leave. In preparation for our stop at the bike shop I hunt through my panniers for the spare brake pads I carry in case the shop doesn’t carry the ones I need. I find them at the bottom of one of my small side pouches, one I keep odds and ends in and rarely have cause to open.

I also find a pair of small black cycling gloves in there that surprise me because I forgot I was carrying them. I think they’re Rachael’s, but I can’t recall why we’ve got them along. I pull them out to show her and am startled when a good sized moth flies out of one and lands on the curtain. He must have hatched in there and been waiting around forever for someone to finally let the light in and set him free.

Free at last! Like VP Harris, he’s probably adopting Beyoncé‘s number Freedom for his theme song.

We cut our departure time a little too close but make it to Polka Dot Cycles only a minute or two late. We’d probably have been spot on if Rachael hadn’t noticed the spot of her tight squeeze yesterday and wanted to stop for a shot of her filling the gap.

It really seems like they could afford to strip out a column of stones and put in a gate here.

Polka Dot Cycles is up an alley about a block off the main drag. It looks easy enough to find but it’s up a pretty rough alley that looks like it could peter out soon, but a passing walker points us to just continue around the bend where we find an open garage with a bike pump on the ground out front. Must be the place.

In the shop entrance of Polka Dot Cycles.

Once we’ve introduced ourselves I hit James with my pressing question of the morning - given the name of his shop, is he an ex-racer? No, just a sport rider who still uses his bike as his main transportation; but a certificate on the wall indicates that he’s much closer to being a King of the Mountains than I ever was.

A fair accomplishment. I doubt I’ve ever traveled that far and fast on a bike even on the flats.

James immediately throws my unloaded bike up on the rack and starts examining the brake. While he does that I look around his garage to see what he’s collected over the years. There’s the usual sort of stuff you’d expect: a vintage old automobile I should have taken a phot of (but someone that knows their cars will probably recognize from the shot of his garage), bikes hanging on the walls, a collapsed Brompton on the floor under a skiff, that sort of stuff.

I ask James about his business and how long he’s been at it here. It sounds like something between a hobby and a public service to offer in his retirement, providing a convenient bike maintenance alternative for folks like me so they won’t have to make a longer journey for an emergency repair. We’re really lucky he’s here.

And James knows his stuff. I have him replace the rear pads too as long as we’re in, and there’s some anxiety for a few minutes when he has difficulty getting the pads in and the brakes aligned correctly. But he gets it done, I go for a short test ride in the alley, and we’re on our way. As we get set to leave he chats with us for a few minutes with his Siamese cat draped across his shoulders and gives us advice on the best option for cycling from here to today’s destination, Ingleton.

Thanks again, James!

James at work, bailing us out at Polka Dot Cycles.

After all that, we don’t have much to say about the next 18 miles to Ingleton. Following James’ advice we stick to the A683 down to the turnoff at Flush Brow near Casterton, finding it as quiet as he said it would be and undoubtedly a faster and smoother ride than the alternative sticking to the farm roads that I’d been planning.

We only stop once or twice, and in a rare event I don’t stop once with the camera because we just want to get there. The stop is to adjust the brakes after they’ve had a few miles on them, as James said I’d probably want to do. And adjustment is simple, thanks to his having lubricated and freed up the adjustment wheels.

On the road to Ingleton. You have to take care on these narrow, hedgerow-lined lanes. You never know what might be coming your way around the next bend.

Video soundtrack: The Stranger Song, by Leonard Cohen

The ride to Ingleton is unusual in another way too - unlike most of our days lately, we don’t encounter a slope too steep that it calls for walking - until we arrive in Ingleton that is, and we have to push the two steep blocks up after crossing the River Greta. The day is warmed up, so before we check in for our two night stay at the Wheatsheath Inn we stop at a store and grab a pair of ice cream bars to cool off with.

And that’s enough for the day. We’re pretty happy to relax in our room for the rest of the afternoon until it’s time to wander down the street and celebrate our good fortune at the Bank Top.

At the Bank Top, toasting myself with a glass of Chenin Blanc for finally making 3,000 miles on this tour.

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Today's ride: 24 miles (39 km)
Total: 3,094 miles (4,979 km)

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