Still Alive and Barely Breathing…Day 2 Bellingham-Darlington

DSCN0745Boat and Farm B&B nestled on the banks of the Tweed,Where Oystercatchers return, to nest every year., Daffodils still in full bloom, spring, still reluctant to visit the borders. The first swallows are late this year. Barbara the owner tells me that its all down hill from here, that I’ve just passed through the most beautiful part of the country. (I fkin wish it was all down hill from here)

With low cloud and a “soft” irritating rain fogging up my glasses, I set out Day 2 climbing out of the valley in search of the busy A68. The lady in the tourist office in Cordbridge, informs me that the A68 is a terrible road for cycling, all hills ( all Northumberland is all hills love). And that was it for the entire 100k of the day, rain and wind, draining my energy and my confidence. When I was climbing I swore never again, and when I was descending I thought, ah this isn’t too bad. But after 70k even on the descents I was crying. The wind all day, head on, side on and the forestry twin trailer timber lorries, left me nerves shredded, as I turned on the Satnav on the edge of Darlington. It once again drags me through back streets and dodgy housing estates. At one stage even if I had two punctures a buckled wheel and no saddle, I would have kept cycling. There was no way I was stopping here.


The Hotel was a one star kip, but when your wrecked, a bed is a bed. I felt absolutely drained, stomach in bits, belching and farting, and realizing that I got the feeding all wrong. It was easier to just drop everything and go to bed, but really I needed to feed up, and then rest. The novelty of the so called adventure, wearing of on Day 2. Leaving me wondering, have I bitten of too much. Still, there was no turning back, but London seems so far off. I feel as though I’ve hit a wall, two days to early. Still what can I do. Head into town, get a feed and go to bed. My phones hop’s with text messages. I am not alone.

The taxi driver in Darlington asks me what part of Wexford am I from, he can tell by my accent…For the love of Jaysus, all me life clinging to me Dub accent, and in an instant, its taken from me…the B’tard.

Here’s to a better days cycling tomorrow…and better weather.


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