Oopnarth, Day 3 - the Lake District

We bid farewell to Martin and Danny this morning as they head back home. Long journeys south and west for these guys. Danny's going to try the dreaded M6, while Martin will use the M56.

Our coffee stop this morning is Devil's Bridge. A popular stop off point for bikers and I enjoy a few minutes chatting to other riders about bikes and places. The bridge itself offers tempting drops into the clear water below, but local bylaws prohibit such antisocial behaviour - but that doesn't stop those brave few that do it. I'd love to join them. Alas, that's for another day.

Ray and Mick split off from the group just after we leave the Devil's Bridge and we perform our usual man hugs saying goodbye. They join the M6 southbound, onto Wales and thence to Ireland by ferry. We later hear their jaunt and detour through North Wales almost made them miss the ferry.
A last minute indication by Steve to turn-off for a fuel stop sees me quickly dart through a gap from the fast lane, while Mark misses the entrance and has to back into the forecourt. Steve apologises profusely and his guilt buys our fuel.

Into the Lake District and quickly onto the Hawkshead ferry, being directed to bypass the queuing cars, we're soon afloat. Pictures and a quick Facebook post and before you know it we're off at the other side. This really is a beautiful place, made all the more beautiful by the perfect weather and first shades of autumnal colours.

We head to the Wrynose and Hardknot passes and, after clearing the traffic restricted roadworks, take no prisoners as we make progress along the winding roads. Soon we in the heart of the hills and the scenery is spectacular: why have I not been here before?

Entering the pass approach, we see signs warning of steep slopes and sharp turns; this only encourages people like us. In the distance you can see the road snaking up the hill through the greenery. Steve points out the dark Herdwick sheep, which produce special wool for thick, warm woollen clothing.

We climb through Wrynose at 25% which is challenging, but this becomes 30% for the Hardknott. No problem for us seasoned enduro riders: Steve, Mark and myself. We relish the opportunity to test our skills. The views become even more wondrous at the top with views looking into both valleys. From here it's all downhill, we've reached the pinnacle of our viewing pleasure. But what views. This is the site of our Road Kill photo.

Winding our way down we come across a broken down Rover P6 V8 on a corner and we stop to ask if we can help. The driver thanks us for stopping but thinks the engine's head gasket has blown, yet happily informs us that the man from the AA is on his way. From the car's position, I think the man from the AA will not reciprocate his happiness.

Lunch is at the Woolpack Inn. I enjoy some very tasty trout on flat bread, which Steve says he did not enjoy on a previous visit. He's still not impressed by the flat bread, but the filling is good.

Onwards and we end up in Gisburn Forest after a quick blast along some bigger A-roads. There's no forest, but at the highest point the moors stretch in all directions. We stop for a rest and to catch up on some phone calls. When leaving, Steve decides to test himself and his bike on a small knoll; the knoll wins. But despite all our enduro trip training, neither Mark nor myself rush for our cameras to capture the moment. Instead, our nurturing instinct urges us to help him up. Shame on us! Sorry readers, we'll try harder next time!

And then, we're home. An end to our quick weekend tour. It's been a great three days, all down to our super host Steve, who's planned and led the whole thing. He's really the best tour guide ever.

Tomorrow will be a long day. Ride to Nottingham, see Duff Man, ride to London, meet up with Mrs Biker Dom and another biker buddy, then onto Eurotunnel (via a tyre fitter if possible) and Brussels by the evening. The following day I have a red-eye flight to Geneva. Ouch, Biker Dom is always on the go!

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Oopnarth, day 2

Barnoldswick used to be in Yorkshire, but due to boundary changes it's now in Lancashire. Not a popular move with the locals, so much so that the "Welcome to Yorkshire" signs outside the town are still where they always were. In years gone by this could have meant war.

Leaving Barlick and the chilly, early morning fog, we head east (further) into Yorkshire, by ascending a local hill. Steve leads, following his satnav, using a route he has planned. He develops such routes regularly for his Harley chapter and is notorious for challenging riders who are not used to corners; carnage often ensues. He's ridden this route a few times and is confidently sweeping through the bends with gusto. Much more than I, so on the occasions when I'm following him (we're using the corner man method for marking junctions), it takes most of my concentration to keep up with him.

Once higher up, we emerge into the clear sky and once more it's a lovely day. The hills are adorned with whirling wind turbines, but they're rotating more slowly than yesterday.

We stop at a spot overlooking a reservoir for a photo op and the first of many bladder evacuations. The grass beyond the parking area is littered with bottles and other trash. This always makes me angry that people visit and enjoy such beautiful vistas and then don't feel anything dumping their garbage there.

Shortly after we cross a cattle grid and meet a herd of highland cattle. With its hillside ferns and long grass, this area already reminds me of Scotland, but the addition of the cattle cements that impression in my mind. The cows are cute and in dire need of a haircut - these are the rock stars of the bovine world.

Morning coffee is in Todmorden, near Halifax, a charming little town from what I can tell. This part of the world is not holding to the 'grimy North' stereotype I was expecting.

Shortly after we stop for lunch at the White House, Blackstone Edge, a hostelry near the top of a pass through the hill. The road outside reverberates with the sound of motorcycle exhausts at full chat; a symphony to the ears of mechanical music fans. Booming V-twins and screaming fours vie for the best noise.

At various points during the day we've negotiated sharp bends on hills. These are not the typical environment for cruiser bikes, but Alan, riding Steve's supertanker disguised as a motorbike Harley Road King, is riding like a trooper and coping really well with the sharp turns. Harleys are not supposed to go round corners, but nobody told Alan!

It's still great biking weather and when we stop for petrol mind ourselves sweating in the heat. Marks struggles to pump his tyres and after several attempts the attendant has to "reboot" the pump electronics. It's seems to work, and just as well because Mark's tyres are woefully under inflated. No excuse for poor riding now! ;-)

It's a short ride back to Steve's place and we park up the bikes. Steve offers to take me on his Harley, so I gear up and get ready to roll. I've never ridden a Harley before, but it's not as bad as I've been led to believe and is very comfortable to ride. It also has a very loud exhaust and I wished I'd put earplugs in; afterwards my ears are still ringing.

Dinner (or is it tea or perhaps supper?), is a tapas assortment, followed by BBQ chocolate. Once again the hard bikers are proving they're more sophisticated than the average hairy-arsed biker.

Riding these roads has shown me that you don't need to go to exotic places to enjoy good biking or to see fantastic scenery, it's available within the grand shores of the UK. Going to exotic places, however, does get you to experience different cultures and despite what I might have thought, Oopnarth is not so different to dahn south. Travel broadens the mind like nothing else - do it as much as you can.

No roses were harmed in the making of this blog.

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Oopnarth, Day 1

The day's riding starts with a hearty breakfast and then Alan Alan and Graham join us. Alan, particularly looks the part, riding Steve's lumbering Harley with his racing leathers complete with knee sliders (his own bike, a 954 Blade, has a fuel pump issue). Filling up at the petrol station and I try out some of the local lingo on the attendant; turns out she's from Poland, so it's a wasted effort. Still, made me feel like I was trying.... a bit like my efforts with French!

Leaving Barnoldswick (the locals shorten it to Barlick) and we head towards Grassington. Our tour guide for the weekend is Steve and he seems to know all the small roads in the area. After a warm-up ride, we stop at Billy Bob's Ice Cream Parlour for coffee and to play on the climbing frames and swings. The scenery in the background hints at the beauty we'll see later.

Setting off again and I realise Mick is wearing a flouro yellow helmet.... What is this, another Bikerdom? Feels kinda surreal following myself, but I soon realise I'm not having an out of body experience. My current helmet is rather muted compared to my bike/jacket orange combo. Orange is so me, just need to find a matching helmet.

The small single track roads become strewn with gravel and apparently such is the skill required to negotiate them that Graham starts standing on his pegs. Probably more to stretch his legs than anything.

In Grassington there's a event taking place, with people dressed up in period military costumes. For once, our group of noisy bikers is not the centre of attention. The costumes are impressive and my favourite is woman in forties gear riding a bike with her small dog in the basket.

Lunch is at the Wensleydale Creamery, almost famed for being Wallace and Gommit's favourite place, but for legal reasons they can't say so. There's permanent cheese tasting available, which is a good starter before lunch. Lunch specials are Ham this and ham that, bacon this and bacon that. I completely miss the regular menu that includes plenty I could eat, but instead settle for a cheese and tomato sarnie.

The roads are filled with lycra clad cyclists, puffing and wheezing their way up the hills that we just breeze up with the flick of a wrist. I admire their perseverance and think when I'm old and grey.... ok, older and greyer.... and have to hang up my helmet, I'd like to do more cycling.

We branch off a minor road onto an even more minor road and have to stop to remove a tree branch blocking our route. Shortly after, we meet a large group of cyclists coming towards us, and I'm sure they won't thank us for clearing their path. We reach Britain's highest inn atop Tan Hill.

Our route is peppered with steep gradients, 16%, 18% and 20% and a few hairpin curves. Not in the same league as the Alps, but good riding. We ride across the dales sweeping oop and dahn admiring the magnificent vistas.

After we get back, we have a ruby murray for dinner and then we finish our wild evening in Steve's parlour.... drinking tea and checking our smart phones. We're hard bikers.

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Oopnarth, Day 0 - Getting There

To reach Oopnarth requires a transit via London. I start out from Brussels and within an hour I'm shuffling uncomfortably on my bikes saddle; the F800ST has an awful saddle that makes long trips torture. Petrol stops are a welcome relief, but unfortunately the BMW uses fuel so miserly these are all too infrequent.

Rain had been forecast for midday, and on disembarking from Eurotunnel, I find myself emerging into torrential rain. Puddles are sizable and cars and lorries throw up huge plumes of spray as they crash through them. Despite the conditions, the bike feels stable and not really affected by the surface water - the Michelin Pilot Road 4 tyres are doing their thing, effectively clearing a path. Cars are tiptoeing through the conditions and I find myself king of the fast lane for once. Luckily I prepared for the rain with my waterproofs, so I plough on dry and unaffected.

The rain clears by the time I reach London, but the still wet road generates a dirty film on my visor that I have to clear periodically. I'm no longer king of the fast lane and Audi man clings to my bumper with all the bravado four wheels can bring; I pull over at the first opportunity.

London M40, M42 Birmingham and then the M6 skirting Manchester. The bloody M6! Miles and miles of roadworks. Never, ever, have I encountered such extensive roadworks, tailbacks and stop start mile after mile - it's agony. Normally bikes can filter through such jams, but much of these roadworks are narrow lanes which makes filtering impossible, really difficult, or car horn inducing. It's made worse by my worn tyres; there's plenty of tread on them, but they've worn in such a way that it accentuates the tramlining effect and I find myself weaving erratically over the cats-eyes and overbanding.

The M65 eventually allows me to escape from the M6. This is more like it, as I burn off the cobwebs on the final leg into Oopnarth.

And then, 763km later, I am truly 'Oopnarth'. Steve says he's never seen me looking so knackered getting off a bike. And yes, they do speak funny. Aye-yah!

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Oopnarth, preparations - Biker Dom's biggest challenge yet?

Tomorrow Biker Dom will head off for what could be his biggest challenge yet: a trip to the fabled land of Oopnarth. Famed for its beautiful vistas, but wild and unpredictable local inhabitants, it's a land of lakes, hills, and inclement weather.

The roads should be mostly OK, but like in most of the exotic places Biker Dom has travelled to, the rules of the road are mostly made up, even if they are written down.  The big towns should have reliable electricity and infrastructure, but in the smaller outlying villages, where much of the region's charm lies, modern civilisation has barely had a chance to take hold.  However, the local people are known to be mostly friendly and welcoming, but communicating with them may prove tricky, as efforts to bring education to the masses has proved challenging with English only spoken in a few places.

Mobile phone coverage will also be patchy so Biker Dom's blog updates may be sporadic.  I'll do my best.

I'm looking forward to meeting up with a few of my biker buddies again as we take on this new challenge - bring it on!