Distance: 49.9 miles
Time: 4:33
Elevation: 1400 feet
After my late finish the night before, I was a little sluggish out of the blocks, and my room in the Travelodge was covered in my drying possessions.
It was another glorious day, and as I stepped outside, the bright sunshine reminded me that I’d be needing new sunglasses. Somewhere at the other end of a gigantic maze of retail parks was Decathlon, so that was where I headed. It didn’t take too long to find a suitable replacement, and these were even better because they had interchangeable lenses, with clear ones to swap in when the sunshine disappeared, not that it was forecast to go anywhere for quite some time.
By the time I’d been to Decathlon, and picked up some lunch from a Tesco petrol station, it was now 20 past 1 and time to be moving on. I was happy with the miles I had covered for the last few days, so would be satisfied with a 50 mile day; that would see me in the vicinity of Lancaster, and very soon I’d be skirting the edge of the Yorkshire Dales and Lune Valley.
The Cicerone route for the day seemed to spend its time meandering around alongside canals, so I checked the map for a more direct route. It turned out that the A49, by which I was standing, would take me past Wigan and all the way to Preston some 30 miles away. The road was good, with plenty of sections that had a bike lane at the edge of the road, and, outwith the towns, the traffic seemed surprisingly light, perhaps because of the M6 motorway running parallel not so far away.
15 miles in, I was skirting around the edge of Wigan when I heard a mystery creak from the back wheel. Stopping to investigate, I discovered 3 loose spokes and spent some time re-trueing it.
Climbs out of Wigan and Standish followed, but I was making good time, and reached Preston after 3 hours and 30 miles. Cutting across town on a decent bike path, I followed an old tramway, then carried on through the beautiful Avenham and Miller park before heading back onto the road, and nipping into KFC for some sustenance.
Hoping that the A6 might prove to be as underutilised as the A49 was, I set off in the direction of Lancaster. Indeed it was, and I made good progress into the early evening. Stopping in a garage near Garstang, to pick up provisions, the attendant asked if I was getting any fuel. Pausing momentarily, I answered no, but clearly there were multiple types of fuel, and this was mine.
As it approached 7 o’clock, I arrived at Greaves farm and campsite, with nearly 50 miles under my belt. Reception was closed, but there was a handwritten mobile number scrawled in the window, so I gave it a ring. Almost instantly, the proprietor, Mark appeared and showed me into his peaceful little campsite. It was a lovely evening so I enjoyed cooking dinner on the stove and didn’t retire into my tent until long after it was dark.
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