North Pennine Way
Big skies, heather hillsides and some of the best biking tarmac in Britain await between Barnard Castle and Penrith
Some of the UK’S best biking tarmac
THE FIRST MORNING coffee stop is always the best. Sitting on a bench in the middle island of Barnard Castle’s bustling main street, Galgate, basking in autumn sun and cradling a polystyrene cup of hot, sticky goo from No.3 café is both a reward for the early sprint up the A1 to Scotch Corner and a sharpener for the day’s riding to come. And this is going to be a hell of a day’s riding.
The North Pennines, designated an Area Of Outstanding Natural Beauty, covers 770 square miles of moorland and dales, shady wooded areas and some fantastic biking roads, including one of the most famous in the UK. It’s hemmed into a box, bordered by the M6 and Lake District in the west, the A69 and Kielder Forest to the north, the A66 and Yorkshire Dales to the south, and by the A1 and Newcastle, Durham and Middlesbrough to the east. Which makes it a region many tourists pass by on their way somewhere else — and less popular with caravans and motorhomes spells more space and freedom to stretch out for us.
The ride starts in Barnard Castle but you might linger there a little longer than planned, especially if you pay a visit to one of the UK’S longest-serving and, sadly, few remaining made-to-measure bike-leathers manufacturers, Scott Leathers. Owned and run by
Jimmy Aird, his little workshop and store in a back street in Barnard Castle has supplied some of the biggest road-racing names in the world over the years, including Joey Dunlop, John Mcguinness, Jamie Whitham and Bruce Anstey. The Covid pandemic and cancellation of bike shows has taken its toll on Jimmy’s business — if you want a set of old-school, bomb-proof, made-tomeasure, one-piece leathers, get your order in pronto.
From the tourist hustle of Barnard Castle, the A67 north splinters off into the B6278 signposted for Middleton-in-teesdale. Within a mile, the town houses are left behind and we’re running between dry stone walls across rich green fields studded with broad leaf trees. Past Eggleston and the Three Tuns Inn — shame; too early for dinner, it’s a good pub — and in the blink of an eye the terrain shifts gear, switching to typically wide-open moorland; mossy green hillsides are creased with glens and criss-crossed with stone walls like a giant game of noughts and crosses.
Gentle curves unfold, winding steadily uphill. The Africa Twin’s tyres patter over a cattle grid. Why did the sheep cross the road? No-one knows, but the woolly bastards make the next few miles a brainless ovine slalom as they wander aimlessly into the path of the Honda’s flying 238kg.
The B6278 swoops around a long right-hander lined with green Armco on the outside, then pivots through 45° back on itself, dropping downhill into a glen with Bollihope Burn running perpendicular to the road. The natural cleft in the hillsides form a sheltered spot in inclement weather and a sun trap on fine days. A pair of old limestone quarries on either side of the road add to the wind-break, and provide generous parking for motor-homies to stop and break out their picnic tables. I begin to wish I’d packed a Thermos and sandwiches in the Africa Twin’s panniers.
The road arcs upwards again, climbing up and over towards Stanhope, past more old quarries that beg to be explored — maybe another day — and then a couple of hairpin bends before dropping off the moors and into the village. The ford at Stanhope is gated — shame, looks like the Africa Twin could make it across — so we follow the road round and into the village, then turn left and stick with the B6278 as it heads north into the moors again, towards the village of Edmundbyers, and Derwent reservoir – not to be confused with Derwent reservoir in Derbyshire, or even Derwentwater in the Lake District (there are four Derwent rivers in the UK). This Derwent was dug (rather than flooded) in the 1960s, and the removed spoil used to form the head of the dam. The B6306 runs along the lake’s southern shore for three miles or so and after the long, flowing corners of the run up across the moors, the dense swoops come as a shock. As we flash through a conifer plantation, I get my firstever glimpse of a native red squirrel, crossing the road like Tufty; I didn’t realise how red they are, even with the clue in the name. I wish they were more common further south but the imported grey squirrel carries a disease that kills them.
The B6306 drops down into
Blanchland, and a coffee-stop at the
White Monk tea room. It’s fairly posh but they treat a dishevelled biker with mad Covid-hair politely.
Away again, up the hill and a right
turn on an unclassified road heading for Rookhope. These are straight, long stretches up over the moors; it’s wild, desolate and magnificent — wouldn’t fancy being up here in wind and rain though. But today, the sun floods down from a wide blue sky and there’s barely a breath of wind. And, importantly, no other traffic.
The road runs down into Rookhope Burn and we take a right at the T-junction to Allenheads. The tarmac changes from the grainy rough texture of the moorland to a smoother black asphalt; it feels grippy under the Honda’s wheels. Abandoned lead mines are dotted along the river to the left; we cross the border from Durham into Northumberland — a stone cairn in a lay-by marks the spot. We ride through Allenheads, an old mining village, and out on the B6295 for a brief stretch before doubling-back left on ourselves and another unclassified road, signposted for Alston. Right over a stone bridge, and we’re now back out into the wilds again, over moor tops, streaking for miles through the purple and brown expanse of heather on both sides. Eventually we cross into Cumbria, and meet up with the A689 just outside Nenthead to take the right turn towards Alston.
Alston is the highest town in England and sits at the centre of five approach roads from all corners of the North Pennines. The steep hill running though it is partially cobbled; watch it in the wet. The car parks in the town centre are all steeply angled and a challenge even for a six footer after a day in the Africa Twin’s tall saddle. Blueberry’s Tea Shop does a mean hot chocolate but if you’re too late, you can always get chips from the chip shop. Or a sandwich from the Co-op opposite; so many culinary options for the peckish rider.
‘The moors are wild, desolate and magnificent’
As the sun starts to sink in the sky, the penultimate run of the day is the blast up the A686 to the legendary Hartside Café — but the road out of Alston is closed and a diversion sends us off down a narrow single-track road. We end up stuck behind a VW hot hatch, pulled into an impromptu muddy passing place to let a cavalcade of motorhomes and horse boxes come through. When the way clears, the VW starts making progress, re-joining the A686. He (it is a ‘he’; I checked) clearly knows where he’s going as he guides his motor from apex to apex, using the full width of the road. It’s fun following him on the lanky Africa Twin, and shows it’s not only motorcyclists who can appreciate a sporting evening on the Alston road. Chapeau, mate.
We pull into the generous parking space at the
Hartside café, wondering if the mobile burger van would still be there. It isn’t; we’re too late. Plans are still afoot to build a replacement for the café, which burned down a few years ago. The plot was bought by a local developer whose original, slightly optimistic designs for a grand building with lots of glass and steel (and, “...an underground bunker at the site with a sauna and jacuzzi for travellers...”) has had to be scaled back in the light
of Coronavirus, to a more modest café. But even that hasn’t been started yet, so we’re left with a big patch of scabby hardstanding and a few weatherbeaten benches overlooking the magnificent views from the western ridge of the Pennines.
The panorama takes in the wide plain below, bisected by the M6 and with Penrith in the middle, to the Lake District some 20 miles away as the crow flies. It’s one of the broadest views in
England. The sun is dwindling towards the horizon and the valley below is wreathed in a low, misty haze. It’s about as magical as today’s ride has been.
But there’s one last treat — the final drop down the A686 to Penrith. This is a famous biking road — a blizzard of corners, stacked up in a bewildering complex of technical combinations that probably ranks up there with Derbyshire’s Cat and Fiddle in terms of notoriety,
‘One of the broadest views in England’
but longer, more fun, more corners and no speed cameras. Its notoriety is deserved; over the years, the cunning bends and blind corners have claimed more than their fair share of victims. It may be a sobering way to end the ride, but it’s also probably a good thing at the conclusion of a long day navigating the best roads the North Pennines have to offer.