Retracing the ten mile route I'd taken from Chester-le-street back to Newcastle was a bit of a grind. Lots of loud main roads and invisible inclines. The day started with rain and after half an hour in these ridiculous waterproofs the sun returned. The descent through Gateshead down to cross the tyne river is an ugly one characterised by weaving lanes of angry van and bus drivers. Taking some time to stand on the foot bridge that hung low over the river it was calm for a moment. There had been a lot of glass on the ground and under this weight these Shwobbles are threatening a prolapse. I notice that my front wheel has already being bumped out of true, probably by that capsize event of Day 0.
Once across the river I quickly connect with the National Cycle Network number 72 or simply the 'NCN 72'. Now, I don't know when this network was setup, only that I've only just become aware of it and let me tell you that in a bustling town like this it is a godsend. Taking you down quiet streets, unused back alleys and old industrial estates, it feels like having a cheeky cabbie sat on your shoulder bragging about this route he knows. In this part of the city it's hard to count to thirty without seeing the pink boxed '72' and that reassuring arrow. Once out of the town these signs take on a new character, simply allowing you to ride and enjoy the sights without the need to navigate oneself.
The ride out of Newcastle is all cement and dirty water. The Tyne looks as though if you pissed in it you could only improve the water quality and the new housing and big box stores remind me of my time in Canada and how very few things depress me as much as lazy, greedy suburban sprawl. I much prefer the ideal of village life, and neighbourhood living. Everything on foot or on bike. I remember there is a trend in Germany for these kind of towns, 'Neo-urbanism' or something. They even have a car free neighbourhood there if i remember correctly.
At a pedestrian crossing I cross paths with a middle aged lady hiker changing from her walking boots into training shoes.
"Should be comfier from here on"
She was clearly gesturing towards the smooth path leading back into Newcastle. She told me she'd walked 85 miles from Bowness-on-Solway and had done the coast to coast route in two halves over two years. I thought she was insane and wondered why she didn't cycle it. To walk seemed just one step too crazy. Who knows what drives people to do these things? Something much bigger than my petty crisis perhaps or maybe just a distilled version of my same itch.
The green gradually swelled in my peripheral vision as the city disappeared and after a while I had to remind myself where I was. This was not the North East that I had grown up knowing, visiting my family. This looked more like the Pennine crossing from Manchester to Bradford.
We were really starting to shift now, the rig felt solid and I felt strong and inspired. I was smiling to myself about my friends I'd left in Canada. My love I'd left in Canada. Once Hudsons nervousness had died down we were really putting the miles behind us. I would stay below 15mph but that was swift when compared to our 5mph crawl from Whitley Bay to Chester-le-street a couple of days ago. The place names flew by but I'd have to refer to my map to remember any of them. I kept my eye on the sun to gauge how much daylight we had left and started to scan for a nice camp spot by 7pm. There weren't any. Eventually at around 9:30pm I saw an open gate and pulled into a barley field. Recalling what my Uncle had told me about not flattening crops I made a space for us in the long grass and nettles under a small tree at the fields edge. It felt loney and exposed, not the cozy nook I was hoping for. I noticed the farmhouse was overlooking us about a mile away across the field and wondered if the dogs in the yard there were barking at us. I wanted to be invisible but the orange canvas of the trailer didn't help. After five minutes of pondering I quickly pitched, what's the worst that can happen I thought. The gate was left open. And nothing did happen. I slept quite soundly and hit the snooze button on my phones alarm clock three times before pulling away at 7am.
Our camp was drenched in dew and we were framed by a shadow cast by the tree we'd camped next to. I dragged the tent over into the sun to dry off and went systematically down the list of packing up. All very painless really and I half looked forward to getting this routine down efficiently. It took maybe 25 minutes for us to be ready to roll and we took to the country lanes. I found my legs to be very weak and it pained me to pedal.. I imagined peeling back my skin to expose the muscle in my legs, all watery and thin like a bloodshot eye ball. I could hardly pedal.
