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. 

The final journey home: Portsmouth to Cambridge via the ill-fated M25

Just for completeness, here are the last stages of the journey home, to be fleshed out later:
I slept poorly on the boat,
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in fact I slept badly for the whole trip! Gathering down on the very lowest deck as the boat came in to Portsmouth was a nice opportunity to chat to the others with bikes.
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They were a pleasantly friendly and interesting group which restored my positive feelings towards bikers. There were at least 4 other 1200gs bikes there including the new water cooled model which its owner was very pleased with though the electric suspension turfed him off the bike when his pillion got off for the first time, he said. We made it up the very steep ramp and then I sped out of the port and up onto the motorway and up the A3 to the M25 at a really good pace. The bike’s fuel gauge has not been its strongest feature and it is on its third one since I’ve owned it. Telling me I had 66 miles left, then 68 then 72 miles should have made me stop for petrol but I thought I could make the next stop apparently 25 miles away. But of course I ground to a halt by the exit to the M40 and had to be rescued and re-fuelled by the RAC – the first time I have called them out.
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I also learnt that 40 minutes of leaving the ignition on to keep the hazard lights flashing drains the battery to a point where it needs an on-hand RAC person’s charger to get the engine going.

When riding in the rain in Spain, water leaked into the tiny hole in the GPS screen (caused by me dropping it a couple of years back). So the route only starts from after I filled up with petrol near Uxbridge and is inaccurate.
Coming home at EveryTrail

Eventually, after stopping for something to eat at South Mimms on the A1 – which seems more like a business meeting centre than a motorway service station, I got home by 4pm.

Home after bike trip
I have to say I was exhausted – and still am. But It was a successful trip and most of the lessons I learnt from my last trip to Sweden I was able to put in to practice.

mileage

More poised

I’ve made a more poised entry to the Wee campsite number 30 in the Cool Camping book. The midges are just appearing but though it’s overcast it’s dry – well it’s not raining.

Midge war
I think these are designed to be worn with a hat

This little site seems to attract people from all over Europe who sit on easy chairs in couples quietly reading paperbacks. The view is over a loch and there is sunlight on distant mountains but I hardly look at the view. I rode through breathtaking scenery and as I was warned you begin to take it for granted. You almost have to.

I met four Spanish bike riders from Spain who find Scotland to be paradise although they told me at home it was already 30 degrees and not raining. I stopped and chatted and caught them up thanks to my new found countersteering skill which zooms me around corners. I road 80 miles in vain from the Mallaig ferry only to find it was all booked up till 4:30 – this seems impossible.

This is a pretty little site with basic facilities.

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The facilities are basic

My neighbours in a huge tent are still out (luckily as it turned out). We are all a bit squashed and a man about 20 feet away continually coughs in a way that suggests he won’t be holidaying next year. Tomorrow I will make it up to the top of this beautiful country. To Durness.

Now a German couple drive in on vintage bikes each with a sidecar, one is a 1944 BMW! The other is a single cylinder bike (AJS I think) that sounds fantastic as it arrives. They have ridden round Iceland via Denmark on their way here and within minutes – no seconds – of efficiency have put up a big Robins tent. I am amazed. This makes me consider getting a larger tent to shelter from the rain that seems to afflict every camping trip.

Vintage 1944 German BMW with sidecar
Beamer with sidecar

Look, tent envy.

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Another bike and their huge tent

Day 4 summary:

Miles 188.7Average speed 43.3Max speed 88.4Riding time 4.33

Gallows Hill Campsite

I finally found this lovely little tents only site. After going up and down this stretch of busy road the owner came out to stand by the road and greeted me by name. We are close to Barnard Castle (something keeps drawing me back there) where I’ve picked up meat garlic and Ginger and vegetables for stir fry from the Co-Op.

Gallows Hill campsite on the way to Ayr
Bertha in Co. Durham

2011 Biking to Scotland

Tomorrow I’m heading north – as far as I can go. Armed with ‘Cool Campsites Scotland’ and most of the usual paraphernalia I drag around on the bike I’m planning to spend a fortnight riding around and camping it up in the western isles and highlands. My first night will be in Co Durham at the auspiciously named Gallows Hill campsite. The site gets good reviews though nearly all of them mention that it was raining. My second night will be staying with a friend in Ayr. She also casually mentioned ‘I hope it stops raining for you’. Its beautiful sun here in Cambridge but obviously raining in Scotland. So, here’s my first holiday on the bike that hasn’t needed ferries booked, currency changing, phrase book purchasing and meticulous planning.

I’m still in Severac de L’eglise

Today went so much better than yesterday. Yesterday I covered just over 100 miles but what hot and exhausted by the time I got to Lourdes and in no mood to look around much carting my helmet and heavy jacket. Thats one of the dilemmas of biking around. Is it about actually seeing places or more about the achievement of making the miles? Today I started off at half past eight with a wet load of luggage from the night before into the damp air. I chose fast N roads and motorways to get some distance so I’m now just one night away from Les Gets. My only minor disaster is tthat I left my washing line behind at the first campsite so now am decorating my motorbike with wet socks and underwear. This is a beautiful evening here and a welcoming campsite. I waiting to see which direction the shade was moving before pitching here this afternoon. I ate my delicious Baztan cheeze (the man that sold it to me told me it was beautiful and he was right) and finished my bottle of wine. Rodez I wonder is medieval, perched high up with its large church the highest point. Like many French villages I’ve passed through, this one is completely deserted. There is just one unattended black dog and the muffled sound of people behind shutters. The wind blows through the youthful silver birches planted here by the restaurant and terrace bar. I plan to visit one or other later. Then tomorrow further in a north easterly direction and find a campsite with an attractive description. I think I have cracked the Alan Rogers campsite code with its faint praise which probably means – crap.

After tomorrow I have three nights in civilisation – i.e. in a bed in a house with human company.

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A random farm building near the campsite