To Pateley Bridge

June 26, 2024

We’re first down to breakfast this morning. It’s just opening time when we step in and take a table by the window, and a minute later the server steps in, startled by our presence. He doesn’t look like a man who startles easily though - burly, heavily tattooed, he has a rough look that suggests a barroom brawler more than a cook. He surprises us though by his gentle, soft spoken demeanor and talk of his younger days when he traveled in southern Spain working as a singer in restaurants. And he serves up fine breakfasts for us, with Rachael having a full English (minus the sausage, minus the BP) and I have an excellent open faced mushroom and tomato omelet with a side of bacon.

So we’re quite happy with the Railway, and disappointed to be told when we check out that they’re fully booked for August 9th, the day we’ll return to Skipton before training south to Lincoln.

Biking out of Skipton starts with a gradual climb along the long brick wall surrounding the castle, causing me to regret again that I didn’t step outside for a look around yesterday afternoon. We’ll definitely need to do that when we return though - it looks like an appealing place.

Leaving Skipton, crossing the Leeds and Liverpool Canal.

Weatherwise the day starts out like yesterday afternoon. It’s fairly warm already and will top out in the mid-seventies again, possibly the last summery day we’ll see for awhile. It’s overcast again though, so the first half of our short ride is quite pleasant. And the hills do come along, but nothing crushing that calls for a dismount.

Overcast, breezy, pleasant conditions ease us into the day’s ride.

We keep a low profile for the first ten miles, but the hills aren’t far away. If we took a wrong turn somewhere I imagine we’d be cycling or pushing up a cliff.

These sheep were released from a pen right beside the road as I biked by and exploded out onto the grass like spray from a fire hose before slowing down and fanning out.

We’re staring here at the southern edge of Yorkshire Dales National Park. We’ll roll along the southern border for the next miles, until reaching Bolton Abbey.

At the midpoint of the ride we come to Bolton Abbey, another of the striking ruins that there seems to be no end of in the UK. It’s obviously a very popular place with a well developed network of trails around it and along the River Wharfe that meanders right below it. Across the river the land rises sharply and alarmingly, but fortunately we get to circle around this formation to Pateley Bridge on the far side. There will be plenty enough climbing to challenge ourselves by just doing that.

Bolton Abbey makes a striking sight, with the River Wharfe curving around a bend right below it and steep sided slopes rising on either side.

Looking across the Wharfe from Bolton Abbey. Our village, Pateley Bridge, sits almost straight on the other side of that pile.

Before leaving Bolton Abbey we stop by a bench for a task I’ve been putting off for the past several days My front brake is starting to feel disturbingly soft on descents, so I pull out the right tool for the job and tighten it down. I’m pleased with how well it adjusts, especially because two working brakes will definitely be essential by the end of the day.

That won’t be a concern for the most of the next hour though, as we steadily and often steeply climb toward the high point of our route. After a short drop from the abbey to the old bridge across the Wharfe we enter the national park and immediately start gaining elevation again, circling around the west shoulder of that large hill we were just staring at. It’s roughly five miles to the top on an irregular ascent that hits 18% at a few spots and then plateaus a bit to give you a break before the next big lift.

We’re only in the national park for a few miles though. We never see a sign for it, but about halfway up we apparently leave the park and seamlessly enter its neighbor to the east, the Nidderdale National Landscape. It’s definitely hard work under a warm summer sky, but views are outstanding.

Just before the bridge we pass the striking ruins of Barden Tower, originally a hunting lodge from the fifteenth century. An interesting fact gives some historical context here: Barden means “the valley of the wild boar” in Anglo Saxon.

The Barden Bridge crosses the Wharfe here, at the eastern boundary of the national park.

The view east as we climb. Somewhere in here there’s an invisible dotted line separating the national park from the national landscape.

Inspiring enough that we almost don’t notice we’re climbing. Right, Rocky?

Rachael’s waiting me for at the top, chatting with a motorcyclist taking a break there soaking up the sun and scene. She’s surprised that I’m only a few minutes behind her, but waves me to keep going and starts up the GoPro. A few yards further on we come to the first of the warning indicators we’ll see all the way down, cautioning drivers to be in their lowest gear now, and for bikers to slow down and watch the curves. And they’re definitely needed - as steep as it was climbing up the descent is worse and hits 20% in a few spots. Its definitely a good thing that I adjusted the brakes before we got here.

I lost track, but there were at least three sets of warning signs on the descent as we drop a thousand feet in the next two and an half miles.

Our hands and shoulders ache from clutching the brakes by the time the road finally flattens out just a few hundred yards from town. We cross the Nidd River and head straight to the Crown Inn, the spot that looks the most promising spot for lunch. It’s perfect - we lean our bikes against a wall and take a table shaded from the warm afternoon sun under an umbrella and enjoy a meal satisfying enough that we’ll be back.

Video sound track: Grandfather’s Waltz by Stan Getz

Main Street, Pateley Wells. You’re looking at nearly all of the village’s commercial establishments. The road behind it continues up Old Church Road to the moors, listed on the park’s website as one of its ‘killer climbs’, rising 660 feet in 1.4 miles, with a max grade of 26%. We won’t be taking that challenge.

At the Crown Inn, testing out another local favorite: a bitter ale from the two century old Theakston Brewery in Masham, a village about twenty miles from here.

We’re staying for the next three nights at Talbot House B&B and Tea House, just a few doors up from the Crown. We’ve been happy to have been able to make a last minute change to our booking, upgrading from their teeniest room to a more standard sized one. We’re glad it was available, we enjoy having a still modest but reasonable amount of space, and I especially appreciate that we’re only one floor up - I’m sure the other room must be upstairs under the rafters. I think of that every time I climb or descend these stairs over the next few days.

Rachael heads out to the store as usual soon after we’ve settled in, but after she’s back I take a lazy walk along the river hoping to see some birds on the pond about a mile away. I do - a heron, a Canada goose, and many mallards, gulls and crows; but mostly it’s just a pleasant walk to end the day.

Castlestead, a Victorian mansion built in 1860. It’s yours for just £860,000 if you want it. Or maybe that’s just for a single apartment in it - I can’t be sure.

Glasshouses Mill, which apparently got its name because it’s where the glass for nearby Fountains Abbey was manufactured.

Glasshouses Mill, which has been modernized and converted to residences.

This artificial pond on the Nidd was created as a recreation spot for the Glasshouses estate.

Well let this black-headed gull have the last word today. I’m enjoying seeing them again starting a few days ago. Its the first since southern Spain, when they still had on their winter wear.

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Today's ride: 20 miles (32 km)
Total: 2,390 miles (3,846 km)

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