Day 3.
A common theme was appeared to be developing on this trip. Spilt coffee. Again, in the tent. The chair was still standing up so I made a second mug and cradled it on the seat while I packed stuff away. Again, as if by some force of an anti coffee god, my brew was spread across my chair. It was only a cheap nescafe sachet thing, but such small luxuries are important on a trip like this. Ah well. The porridge was OK at least.
We stopped at the first gate to fill the bottles and made our way to the farms exit. Up a steep climb. Dad steered into a rut and barely kept himself from plummeting sideways back down the hill.
Onwards and upwards as they say. And that's what we did. Slowly. The hills weren't as vicious today but they still went up and eventually they got the better of me. First my glucose levels crashed and then I regurgitated my porridge. Dad saw me struggling and suggested a stop for a bite to eat at Stump Cross Caverns. Toasted teacakes and a big coffee whilst sat outside in the morning sun talking about our doggies. Perfect.
Back on the bikes again and the road had levelled out a bit but it was still slow going. Dad got talking to a local cyclist who pointed out that we would soon be going downhill. Good news. Well he wasn't lying. A few miles later the bike hit 36mph. Well mine did. I don't think dad hit 25 to be honest. Hell, you only live once.
We'd discussed the decent into Pateley Bridge. Both agreed to give that particular delight a miss and I took us down Peat Lane instead as advised in other reports I'd read. Those same reports also warned to be careful going though the trees as it'd be slippy. Hmm.
Dad and I braked the bikes downhill for a bit as we chatted and then the lane opened up into a long straight run. Well, you have to really don't you? On the drops and off again I went. Bliss. Huuuuuge smile as I approached a bend and took it leaning hard. Straightening up again I looked forward to another corner to scream through. Here it comes! Cover the brakes and leeeeeaaaan and... "WTF IS THAT DOING THERE???"
I almost locked the brakes as a road closed sign appeared right on the bend and about 20 feet later were trucks blocking the road. Flippin' eck Vera! That were close! The front wheel stopped about 4 inches from the sign. We were waved through by the workmen and bimbled into the woods. The lane soon turned loose and very steep. I almost had my arse hanging off the back of the saddle in an effort to keep the back wheel on the ground. Dad was just as careful asking if I was sure this was the right way. Course it was.
Pateley Bridge is simply stunning. If I ever win the lottery, I'm moving there. People are nice. The views are nice. Even the traffic seemed to be taking its time rolling through.
We didn't stop for anything and ended up walking the bikes out of town for a bit. Then it was a nice downhill straaaaiiiiiiiight past Wilsill where we should have taken the left fork and into Summerbridge. I wasn't watching the lavender line on the etrex!
A fellow cyclist directed us up a lane just before a junction. How the bloody hell this lane has escaped any mention in any WOTR report I've ever read is beyond me. It's a damn cliff face it's so steep! Hartwith Bank. It amazes me that the road engineers managed to get the tarmac to stick where they laid it. Cars up and down every few minutes and we had to stop and restart more times than I can remember, either through exhaustion or fear of getting squished. We reached the top after what seemed like hours of climbing and made progress through Brimham Rocks. The clamp bolt on my front mech let go of the cable and for a few miles I was coasting along stuck in my granny gear. I'd fitted new downtube shifters a couple days before leaving for the tour and neglected to tighten the clamp properly. Brilliant planning there.
That was the second of the days mechanicals. The first being that my rear panniers had several times the day before attempted to escape the rack. I heard a knocking noise and discovered them both swinging from the rail by one hook each! That same issue also plagued me today. I later realized that I had spread the hooks too far apart and one was failing to close properly due to the down stay fouling it.
Dad was pretty much leading the ride that day and a few times had stopped to make sure I had the same route. One such stop had us both laughing our heads off. He'd told me a day or so earlier that he hadn't fallen off a bike since 1968. Oh dear. At a right turn heading into Fountains Abbey he'd pulled over to the side of the road to question which way to go. As he put his left foot out to balance, his leg disappeared into a ditch followed by the rest of him. I was some way back watching the calamity unfold and by the time I arrived on scene he'd pulled himself out and had a big stupid grin on his face. Classic!
Sadly, I didn't get to witness Fountains Abbey as time was against us but it was a pleasant ride through the grounds. Out the other end dad mentioned my right pannier hanging off again and as I was fixing it back on he noticed his water bottle had vanished. When the hell did we lose that?
Ripon wasn't too far away so he'd manage till then. As luck would have it, we rolled into Ripon and found a bike shop on the route I'd planned. Dad was sure we were going the wrong way and whilst getting a new bottle, also took advice from the shop owner that the official WOTR route deliberately took cyclists into the town centre and we were better off following a different route that he'd described. Well, what could possibly go wrong?
Dad took off like a man possessed and completely missed the first turn off. Traffic and tiredness prevented me catching him till we were going across 2 busy roundabouts on which dad got beeped at. At this point I was swearing at the world and when he finally pulled over next to me I think he could tell I wasn't a happy bunny. I had the etrex plan us a way back onto the route I'd saved and took the lead, all the time reassuring dad that I knew where I was going. I didn't have a clue but I was trusting the magic pink line to save us.
The next campsite was another farm. I'd booked it, spoken to the owner and confirmed everything.
"This left dad!"
"You sure? There's no sign!"
"Yep, that's the one. Moor End Farm."
The sign was there. Moor End Farm. But no camping signs. Hmm. We carried on till we reached the gate. The owners came out asking if they could help.
"Hiya, is this the same Moor End Farm that has a campsite at the back?"
"No I'm afraid not."
Oh crap. It was near 5pm. I turned to look at dad. I don't remember his expression but it couldn't have been nice. By the time I apologised for disturbing the owners and turned the bike around dad was gone and up the track like a rocket. I chased him as best I could for a few miles wondering where he was going. It's not like either of us had a back up plan and we sure couldn't keep riding in the vain hope of another site magically springing up. I caught up when he stopped after burning off his frustration (I assume) and we discussed what to do about our situation, looking at Google maps etc. As luck would have it, a couple on bikes were flagged by dad and we were given directions to go back a couple miles into Bishop Monkton to a site there. I just about made it back into the village and dad had to go find the site. I had nothing left and plonked myself on the grass waiting for him to return with good news hopefully. He did and then went back to book us in. I walked there having just puked up again and dealing with low glucose levels.
Church Farm campsite had no showers open and no toilets either. We were the only ones there with tents. We did get a nice flat field under a big tree to ourselves and at least the sun was shining. The atmosphere between us was a little tense for a while, dad I think not happy with my campsite planning skills and I not happy with him shooting off like a cannonball.
After setting up camp we had both calmed and we sat drinking a Guinness and talking about stuff for a while. Me in my Aldi chair and dad in a chair he'd borrowed from the site owner. Beans on toast for dinner today. And coffee. Some of which spilt in the tent. We crashed out around 9pm. It'd been a long day.
34 miles today. 2510 ft climbing.
looking forward to the next write up.
Shoved into the front panniers the bike handled like a drunk pig. Shimmy all the time and every time I took a hand off the bar to change gear I'd veer off course and wobble all over. This bike doesn't like front loads. 
