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Lone Rider by Eslpeth Beard: 2018, Michael O’Mara Books

There is one thing that makes Lone Rider by Elspeth Beard an unusual travel book – it was written, or at least published, more than 30 years after Elspeth returned from the travel described. And, now that I think about it, there is another thing that makes it unusual, though by no means unique – it is written by and about the travels of a woman. And you are reading this review, and I am writing it, because we are interested in travel by motorcycle, and this particular journey took the rider around the globe – quite an achievement.

Elspeth left London in 1982 for a journey, in a Westerly direction, around the world. (Most UK based adventurers head off east nowadays). She was 23. Unlike many other motorcycle travel writers she gives a detailed back-story to her growing involvement with motorcycles, her faltering architecture studies, her family, and her love life. In a nutshell most people, including the narrow minded and sexist motorcycle press at the time did not believe she could do it or were simply uninterested. I hope it is not unkind to describe her family as eccentric, in that classic English eccentricity. She writes about her psychiatrist father’s eye for a bargain – one example is the hundreds of tins of canned food from which the labels unfortunately parted company, causing family suppers, as she says, to be rather pot-luck affairs. They lived in Wimpole Street in the west end of London – unimaginable that a family would live on that opulent street of private medical practice and corporations today.

I can’t help myself compare every motorcycle travel book I read to Ted Simon’s iconic Jupiter’s Travels which was first published (unbelievably) in 1979. Ted is considered, interested and engaged in the places and with the people that he meets and their politics large and small and also writes with insight about the inner life. A tall order to match. Lone Rider, fascinating though it is, started off feeling like a series of anecdotes stitched together. But quickly, alongside the enjoyment of reading about motorcycling, came another not so easy theme that recurred throughout the book and most of the travels – what today we’d call sexual harassment by men in practically every continent, some more persistent than others, and all distasteful and scary to hear about. Another well-known woman motorcyclist Lois Pryce also writes about this but I’d say generally got off lightly compared with Elspeth Beard, as far as we can tell from her books (maybe what writers chose to include and what to be silent about varies).

Elspeth also writes with honesty. She writes about the series of must-see destinations that turn out to be disappointments or spoiled by the behaviour of locals. In fact there are quite a few countries that she has actively put me off ever visiting. Then, early on in the journey, in a hostel in New Zealand, she describes going to bed with what she believes is bad indigestion and waking up in hospital having had a miscarriage. So, if these are anecdotes, they have an awe-inspiring seriousness. Later, in Asia, after two serious road accidents, she teams up with a Dutch man and a romance develops, though the man in question turns out to have what, again, we might call today, fragile mental health. At the same time and, it seems, all the way from India across many countries, her trusty BMW R60/6 is disintegrating, continually breaking down and fixed up more and more precariously. It seems unbelievable that she – and it – made it home to London, arriving outside her parents’ house in the middle of the night in November 1984. Any further details would risk spoiling the, I have to say, rather sad and moving post script to the travel.

Do I recommend this book? Unreservedly. Why did the author wait 30 years to publish this? I have no idea. I expect she has been asked this many times as she is a regular speaker at motorcycle travel – ‘adventure’ – events. Perhaps to lay some ghosts.

North Yorkshire coast – nowhere to park

Tuesday 

After yesterday’s riding and weather bliss, today was a little disappointing. It was not a sunny day.

I put together a ride made up partly of the Biker’s Britain route up to the coast. And for sure, I rode through some beautiful lanes and stopped by this ruinous religious building. I was hoping to ride through Ampleforth where there is an abbey and a Benedictine school that, way back in the 1960s and 70s my old school in west London with a besmirched reputation used to play rugby against. Somehow the road I was on did not go through it. The first part of the ride was beautiful and enjoyable.

Could do with some repointing

Once on to one of the Bike routes, coupled with greying skies and not quite so nice scenery, the enjoyment of the riding faded a little though I can see that the route was chosen because the riding, the sweep of the roads, was fun. I have a memory that the roads and everywhere I stopped, including a large lay-by with a catering truck was crowded with staycationers like me.

I headed toward a small seaside town, Saltburn by the Sea, but every single parking place was full so I rode back up the hill to the main road envying the people sitting by the sea eating ice cream. Likewise a smaller place, Sandend, very close to Whitby up the coast.  I remember, earlier in the journey, telling myself a joke that I thought I could try out on a carefully selected person in Whitby or close to it. ‘Am I on the right road to Whitby? I’ve come for the synod and am afraid I might be late.’ The comic answer would be ‘You’re fourteen hundred years late, mate.’

On the edge of Whitby the traffic was heavy so I headed inland back into a new route that would take me back to Baxby hopefully through some less busy and beautiful roads. There were very steep climbs on this road for one of them and I, and a dozen cars in front of me, were stuck behind a very slow moving truck carrying a house on the back. Moving was so slow that it involved clutch slipping to keep moving at all. No good so I pulled off down a narrow lane and set coordinates back to the campsite. I was proud of the steep and narrow turn I had to make to get back out onto the road. I know I keep saying it, but on the Beamer with its metal panniers that would be a really pulse-quickening manoevre. The ride from there in was much better.

This campsite is a joy to return to. I had deliberately held off buying food intending to try their much talked about pizza but that night the promised pizza van did not open so I finished my supply of yesterday’s vegetables and noodles instead of throwing them out which is good. 

Just to prove there really was a pizza hut – taken the night before

Here’s the GPX route: (woops I need to replace the plugin)

A trip of two parts: sun and Baxby Manor

Monday 

I think this has to be a holiday of two parts. Things have opened out. It was good to get away from my last site. It was fine but it was austere in a way that was partly to do with the wild almost constantly wet weather but also to do with the atmosphere on the site. The owners were friendly enough and a young very hard working couple but there was some thing tough and minimal about the way the place was run and about the anecdotes they told about previous campers who underestimated the harshness of the environment.

My Bluetooth stopped working yesterday – it suddenly spat out some instructions in European languages and then died. But riding away this morning in cool and brightening skies felt liberating. The weather definitely helped. It seeps into the spirit – whether good or bad. And then the route I chose through the North Yorkshire Dales was amazing (see the GPX file below), first south and then to the east. It was almost the best I have ever ridden. Up there with the road alongside the Mosel. There were sheep on the road, at one point a great flock of them driven from one field to another by a farmer. And when you see a sign saying that 22 motorcyclists have been killed on that stretch of road you know it must be good. And the bike rode so well today. Movable across the road and into corners so easily just by shifting the weight of my thighs on the seat. 

I must get rid of my BMW brands

The route became lass spectacular as it got closer to the dividing line of the A1, but still enjoyable and by the time I reached Tesco in Thirsk, about 10 miles from the campsite I was staying at, it was warm, very warm. But morale raising treat number three (1 was the lovely route; 2 was the change of weather and 3…) is arriving at Baxby hideaway campsite. It is everything that the last two were not. So what were the other two like? The first was municipal, part of a national park, run by young employees; the second was a small family run business and campsites like this always reflect the personality of the owner – relaxed or fastidious or points in between. Baxby Manor was, I suppose a corporate run site, a well-invested business. But with very clear values about the environment and, on this occasion, about Covid-safeness. Using the washing space has a specific protocol involving changing into indoor shoes, hand washing and carrying around a piece of tissue to wipe down anything you touch. The reception person clearly shared those values and seemed genuinely welcoming. Its a large site divided up by thick (beautifully planted) borders and bushes into amazing spaces.

I had booked ‘The Sanctuary’ which was reached by a footpath around a small field, then through a gate into a dark wood of silver birches and another walk to my own small field, surrounded also by trees so that the nearest other tents are just about invisible.

Oh and one side of the space is made up by a babbling brook. So there are fantastic private spaces. I have a whole stream side clearing in a wood to myself. Camping is usually exposing but here there is privacy. The facilities, as I mention before, are also amazingly clean and newly refurbished I would say large too, in fact a pleasure to use unlike first site where I often kept my eyes closed while using them.

I have hung my huge jacket and helmet on a tree feeling confident about the weather for the first time on this trip. It’s just gone six in the evening and there is no cloud in the sky. I have a log to sit on by a fire pit with flat rocks to prop up my gas stove.

What would make it perfect would be having my bike here by the tent to admire and tinker with.

They even have a kiosk that serves pizza and breakfast. 

Sunday and more rain

Sunday 

It rained heavily in the night until around midnight but seemed to stop after that and there was some blue sky in site in the morning as I made some more coffee in the GSI filter/drip machine.

I noticed I think that the little legs started to bow with the weight of the water I poured on over the coffee. Or did I imagine that? I’ll pay more attention tomorrow. The other tricky thing is that once your cup is full of hot coffee unclipping each of the feet is a little fiddly if you don’t want to spill your painstakingly made drink.

With an overcast sky and rain starting I decided it was now or never for riding and headed off on what looked on the map like a great road to Alston, about 25 or so miles to the north. Via Middleton. It was a great route but of course rained for pretty much all of the 40 or 50 mile round trip. And on arrival at the town the road onward was closed and on a steep incline I decided to take a road to the right and parked up in a convenient car park. But it was still raining so a brief helmet wearing read of the local information board was the extent of my stay. On the return back down the same road and through the same patterns of rain I like to think I made better progress. Back in pretty Middleton I parked again very conveniently and free and had cappuccino (really nice) and panini (passing) in a little cafe.

There were many bikers and walkers all I wondered not quite trusting the weather. I stocked up with food for dinner and got back to the bike. On putting on my helmet my Bluetooth speakers started speaking to me in European languages out of the blue. And then nothing. The rest is silence. Many minutes of desperate and random button pressing has convinced me the unit is now dead and I’m already wondering purchasing about the unit made specifically for my helmet. I arrived back at the campsite about 2.30 wondering if I should take another ride but decided to laze here.

I’m the only camper now here. There is a line of beautiful Ash trees here but the owner tells me they are all dying of the dreaded Ash die back. I think you would only know if you were a tree expert as they looked healthy to me.

my small home

I’ve planned what I hope is a scenic route to Baxby Manor tomorrow and will have to do without instructions. Its just over 100 miles away in a East South Easterly direction. Its my last campsite. They say the weather will improve tomorrow and for the rest of the week. I must ride on this riding holiday! 

Rain Rain and Barnard Castle

Saturday 21st August

I had left the bike pointing toward the way out so no awkward heaving around today once loaded up. Unfortunately I had to pack the tent away wet after rain in the night (I just read Adventure Spec’s advice about packing wet tents which is to unclip the inner from the fly sheet and pack them each in separate dry bags. That would have really helped me on this occasion) so my bag ended up really heavy on top of the rack leading to a wobble and moment of nearly dropping the bike at the first little junction after a few minutes ride.

That wobble dented my confidence for much of the day the bike often feeing uncertain on uneven road surfaces or tar banding. But I spent most of the day on large roads travelling north eventually stopping to get into my rain gear more from cold than the rain which just held off till I got to Barnard Castle to buy dinner for the night in the Co-op – and to check out my eyesight obviously. But from then on it rained. I ate a co-op sandwich standing in a bus shelter – not nice.

Earlier, I turned off the A1 to drive through Beadale which was a beautiful cobbled small town and Richmond also beautiful but only in places.

So when I arrived at the farm which will be my campsite for two nights it was raining quite heavily. (it had a steep stoney entrance but I wasn’t phased with this light bike.) But with the welcome from the host and her horse who licked my bike (maybe recognising a fellow traveller) had me feeling chipper. This didn’t last though. I sheltered in the tiny washroom looking out in dismay at the rain.

I was feeling desperate about what to do at this point as all my clothes were completely wet and in the tent there is barely room to lay everything out next to the space I need to sleep. Eventually I ventured out joylessly into the rain and I struggled to put up the tent looking for anything heavy to pin it down as a wind was blowing. I think the low point was unzipping the tent to find that inside was wet from taking it down wet in the morning (here’s the value of the Adventure Spec advice). A couple of expletives followed but in the end with the advance warning in my mind that these two days would be a test of my moral fibre I mopped up with my towel feeling a sense of taking some control instead of collapsing in front of the challenge. Apparently, as the hosts told me, in many anecdotes of unprepared campers, quite a few just give up and leave summarily, even some throwing their gear and clothes away in the dustbins before disappearing for ever. At least I did not join this list.

Only 137 miles today but in nearly 4 hours

Riding around Derbyshire

Friday 20th August day 2

I slept as I usually do when camping. Asleep by 9 when it is just getting dark and awake for some hours in the night. The combo of my new inflatable pillow made by Trekology, my folded sheepskin and my Thermarest sleeping pad blown up properly was probably the most comfortable I’ve been. To avoid the many DoE participants I was dressed and showered by 7.30 and enjoyed coffee made with my GSI drip using a filter paper to avoid a tricky washing up challenge. It was a little weak but good. I need to work on getting it better.

I obviously had not built up trust in the bike as when it refused to start this morning i.e. nothing at all happened when I pressed the starter – I imagined, in panic, myself calling for a breakdown service wondering if they would find the way here.  But I had just left it in gear and it spluttered into life though after three goes. It’s clearly not a start on the button machine – even when not in gear. I got a couple of recommendations from men here who ride bikes but I started off without a ride plan and enjoyed the mostly lovely lanes. Even the bigger roads were more enjoyable than what I’m used to. Searching for Snake Pass (one of the recommendations) was a little futile as it was packed with heavy vehicles with great jams. So I turned off. I had lunch of tea and a sausage sandwich in a lay-by watched by a field of cows. I would never do that but I was hungry and life on the bike seems to lead me into down market culinary choices.

The bike is easier to manoeuvre on the stoney ground here at the campsite but not effortless – but then what is? It is good to ride, responsive, but dives on braking to a quick stop. The usual thoughts today: am I enjoying this? It’s a different headspace to the rest of the year so yes. I had another shower and a shave. Feeling slightly less grubby feels good. I fell asleep when I got back from this ride. 

My weather app shows rain tomorrow and all night and most of Sunday so it will be the toughest part of the trip morale wise. I shouldn’t bottle out for a motel… unless something really good appears out of the mist. 

I think I missed the best parts of Snake pass