Route One is cycling heaven and the secret seems to be out. There were plenty of fellow bipeds heading North. A German we will call Wolfgang on an E-bike with an ungainly, impossible bag slung over his rear wheel. Then an annoyingly handsome young Frenchman, Jacques, who was cycling with minimal fuss or luggage in an Arran sweater as if he was out for a trundle around Calais. He had begun in Rennes and just kept heading North without a bead of sweat or a care in the world. Some were heading inland on coast to coast routes or heading down pilgrim paths like St Cuthbert's way to Melrose.
The route picks out undulating lanes that keep you off the main A1 thoroughfare to Scotland. Signs for The Great North Bike Ride indicated there may be a few more bicycles on the weekend. At the moment we had the lanes to ourselves, save for the excellent bus services that seem to be everywhere in this county. Sheep, tractors and stately piles flew past as we skirted Bamburgh Castle and Seahouses.
The only issue with the lanes is that they don't always hug the coast. We detoured to Low Newton as we started to feel the pace. A headwind is a slow torture and sustenance was needed in The Ship Inn. Another on the list of places to return to, this square of fishermen cottages behind a secluded beach was now run by the National Trust. Rob remembered happy times here with his young family and wanted me to see it. There wasn't enough blue in the sky for a pair of fisherman's trousers and no pasties in the Inn so in my depleted state I could only imagine the scene on an idyllic hot summers day. Fortified by ale and hipster crisps in a can we headed upwards into the murk of drizzle on the moors. I was willing Warkworth closer.
I'm sure we missed some of the best bits of this stretch of coast but time was of the essence. The sun came out as we hurtled downhill to picturesque Alnmouth and on to Histowic Warkworth.
We laid up at the tavern, weary travellers, road warriors of fortune, ready for ale, good cheer and intellectual stimulation?! Rob had negotiated a top deal with a shared bathroom and a double bed ! This involved waking in the night to see Quuequeg weeing in the sink.
A wander round the town revealed another Northumbrian gem that demanded we tarry awhile. As in Durham, the castle is protected by the curve of the river, a defensive strategy every child learns at school. Northumbria is a county of majestic rivers and its border role means it is crowned with noble castles which hint at its regal past.
A competitive edge to the evening unfolded as it was eyes down for the pub quiz; evidently a main event in Warkworth. It was Mastermind hard and the Peaky Cyclists were falling just short after bossing the picture round. There was tension and top scores aplenty. The losers of each round had to play a booby game of Brucie's 'Play Your Cards Right' and by the end of the night we had managed three appearances. Shamefaced we mocked the intensity of the victors and concentrated on the tales of an award winning shepherd who was on his first holiday in several years and had just completed a star appearance on Countryfile. Rob compared award winning stories which led to a shepherdess falling off her chair in wonder. If Rob had passion in mind when booking the double it was soon quelled by the rhythmic sound of slumbering exhaustion interrupted by sink trips for several pints of Northumbrian ale .
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