Travelling long distances with bikes seems to be getting more difficult and more expensive with the passing of time.  British Rail still offers the best deal for a small group, but there is now a £3 charge per bike per train, and a conservative limit to the number of bikes that can be conveyed on each type of train.  Eight of us were travelling from Devon to Oxenholme this morning, but because all the trains travelling on that line are now 125s we had to travel on two trains with four bikes in each, separated by one and a half hours.

The first group arrived on time, as did all the other participants travelling from Basingstoke, London and the nearer locations, but the second train from Devon was delayed 2 hours with engine failure.  The best of the afternoon was almost gone, and since we didn't want to miss the evening sunshine or our hostel meal, Michael led most of the group on to the hostel while Peter and one or two others waited on the station for Simon's party.

We managed nearly a mile before the first incident: Arthur stopped, Tim crashed into him and broke his rear mudguard.  Arthur didn't seem too concerned, however, as for some reason he didn't like the appearance of mudguards.

From Kendal we took the quiet B5284 to Windermere, its undulating contours and rural scenery making an attractive scene against the backdrop of Lakeland hills.  We arrived at Windermere just as the ferry was unloading, and took our place at the front of the queue of cars.  To our amazement, however, the ferry filled up with cars and went without us!  We were left to watch the many yachts bobbing up and down in the early evening sunshine until the ferry returned about twenty minutes later.

Our route took us through High Cunsey, Far Sawrey and Near Sawrey, where Beatrix Potter's apparently windowless house had already closed.

Hawkshead hostel turned out to be first class, a large country house set in spacious grounds near the banks of Esthwaite Water and surrounded by many mature trees.  Inside was just as satisfactory, with spacious comfortable dormitories, numerous modern, hot showers and a self-service restaurant.  Simon's group arrived just in time for supper after a hectic dash from the station.  Some of us made use of the hostel television to catch up on the latest news of the Soviet coup while Rufus and Arthur did their very best to confuse everyone about their names.

First stop this morning was Hawkshead village, situated just one mile from the hostel at the end of the lake.  It is famous for its Wordsworth school museum, but we were more interested in the numerous village shops scattered around the narrow twisty streets.

Lunch and gifts purchased we set off for Grizedale Forest.  Michael had purchased an information sheet at Hawkshead which showed a number of interesting tracks through the forest which are open to cyclists.  The one we selected, from Hawkshead Moor to the visitor centre, didn't start exactly where Michael & Simon expected it.  There was no mistaking the signs at the brow of the hill, however, and we were soon enjoying the rough descent, stopping now and then to pass comment on the various sculptures which adorned the route, all made from natural forest materials.

At the visitor centre we discovered the grand-daddy of all the sculptures, a giant wood-cutter constructed from tree trunks, twisted branches and twigs, towering above his surroundings.  It was here that we had our first - and second - taste of Lakeland ice-creams.  The visitor centre itself entertained some of us with its BBC micro computer programs, designed to encourage visitors both young and old to learn about food chains and forest management.  Martin and David, however, were more interested in some fluffy animal glove puppets which squeaked when squeezed: David bought the mole, which he named Monty, and Martin bought the squirrel.

We rejoined the forest track and headed for Satterthwaite, delayed slightly along the way by Paul's broken chain.  At Oxen Park we almost stopped for lunch in a pleasant little lane with extensive views.  We continued, however, hoping for somewhere better.  Not only did we not find anywhere better, but we also lost Simon, Peter and some of the other members who did not leave with the main group and didn't see us take the right turn just around the corner.  When everyone had been reunited we had to content ourselves with a rough glade in the upper reaches of Sales Bank Wood.

The afternoon began with a ride along the entire length of our third lake of the tour, Coniston Water, famous for Donald Campbell's fatal world speed record attempt.  It looked so inviting that we stopped at a jetty halfway along to admire the view - some people got even closer to the water.  Coniston village, at the north western end of the lake, was uninspiring, so we quickly set about the strenuous climb to the famous beauty spot, Tarn Hows.

The hill seemed never-ending.  As we arrived at each turn in the road, new stretches of climb opened out in front of us.  Was Tarn Hows worth the effort?  It consisted of a large tarn (surprise!) filled with water, set amongst very peaceful and attractive surroundings.  There were few people there despite its popularity, but there were plenty of flying ants!  It was worth the climb, and we could happily have sat on the grassy hillside looking down at the lake for much longer than the fifteen minutes we allowed ourselves.

Michael managed to find a steep, rough track descent which formed a short-cut to the A593, delighting about two-thirds of the group and annoying the remainder.  We then took the lane to High Tilberthwaite and followed the bridleway from there to Little Langdale.  This turned out to be very enjoyable - but then it was recommended in the CTC route guide!  Some members were a little hasty at the end (Roger actually) and were not too interested in examining the unique Slaters Bridge which Michael went off to investigate.

Time was getting on, so we took tarmac roads from here to the hostel.  Peter quickly ran into problems with his bottom bracket, which seized up on him just at the wrong moment.  The final climb from Elterwater took its toll on everyone, but we arrived at High Close hostel just in time for supper: pizza, followed by bakewell tart and custard.  Paul and Roger managed to get seconds - of ice cream and custard!

This was another excellent hostel on the outside, set in extensive grounds and surrounded by trees.  Several wild rabbits hopped about on the lawns, which could be viewed from an unusual balcony that ran all around the first floor. Arthur had to be restrained when he produced a catapult from his pocket!

That evening Michael learned once again how useful a board is under one's mattress, everyone learned that the Soviet coup had failed, and Mark and Peter became the table tennis champions.

The first job this morning was to fix Peter's bottom bracket.  He was not saying nice things about the cycle shop who had supplied the machine as we stripped and regreased the bearings.  An hour later he was even more annoyed: his front shifter had failed, and apparently was too complex to repair on the road!  He vowed to return to simpler equipment in future.

Having ridden along Great Langdale we eventually found the path which led to the Dungeon Force waterfall.  It proved to be a long climb, however, and we didn't think we had time in view of the three passes we had to negotiate that day.  The climb was abandoned, and we ate a hasty lunch near Wall End.

The first hill of the day took us past Side Pike - which, once again, we didn't have time to climb.  Rufus, who was not at all used to this kind of cycling, struggled well and arrived at the top not too long after the others.  As we descended the other side we got our first glimpse of Wrynose pass, climbing from 109m to 393m in just over a mile.  It only dropped to 243m on the other side however, ready for the climb to Hardknott Pass, also at 393m.  This was much steeper in places: it was amusing to watch a car taking a run at the steepest section!

We had managed the passes much faster than we had expected, so we allowed ourselves a break at Boot to look at a working watermill, a small-gauge tourist railway and a café which sold Lakeland ice-creams.

Wastwater hostel is another gem, situated on the edge of Wast Water lake in extensive grounds.  The dorms were also rather attractive, with individual reading lights on each bed.  This was definitely a hostel to visit again.

Shortly after our arrival the rain came down, but all we had to do was stack the bikes in the shed at the back.  The shed door was locked, so someone went to fetch the key.  Just as we were unlocking it, one of the lads wandered around the back of the shed and walked in through a derelict doorway that he found there!  Security is obviously a feature at Wastwater.

The games room was in a basement, and Arthur and Rufus seemed to get immense pleasure from switching off the lights from the top of the stairway and running off.  The game players then got great pleasure from punishing them - which rather set the tone for the evening.  When chasing games had become too tiring, card games took over.

There was some debate over breakfast regarding the optional short-cut route to Ennerdale via Black Sail pass - a steep, rough track used by hikers.  Those members keen on rough riding were eager to make the attempt, but Michael had visions of the younger riders struggling to push their cycles up rocky inclines and then having to return to carry their panniers.  In the event, poor weather conditions convinced Michael and Simon that it would be unwise, so we were soon speeding towards Gosforth in our attempt to beat the worst of the weather.

A cold, blustery shower quickly caught up with us, making the going a little difficult despite the absence of steep climbs.  Rufus was the main casualty, but he sustained only minor damage to his bike.

Conversation quickly turned to the Sellafield nuclear reprocessing plant, now only a few miles ahead of us.  The youngsters seemed quite united in their dislike of nuclear power, and a little anxious about exposing themselves to the higher-than-usual levels of radiation present in the surrounding area.  An unexpected thunder clap had everyone peering nervously ahead to get a first glimpse of the expected mushroom cloud!

Arriving at Gosforth we took shelter from the rain by buying lunch and snacks in the local shops, clearing the co-op of its entire stock of Fruit Corner yoghurts.  Michael was last into the shop, and as he emerged empty-handed he was just in time to witness a discussion between a local woman and the youngsters.  She had apparently been trying to convince us that the Sellafield plant was perfectly safe, pointing to her own existence as conclusive proof of her argument.  Visibly rattled by the response she received, she concluded by suggesting that we look in the Visitor Centre, and then we 'would see just how safe it is'.  Unfortunately she received short shift from our Green Team, who failed to understand how she could have been so easily taken in by the 'propaganda' put out by the management!

Next stop was Calder Bridge - just one mile from Sellafield.  Without waiting to admire the view we turned inland, eventually stopping at a cattle-grid near Cold Fell.  This was deemed to offer suitable protection from the wind as well as being a safe distance from You-Know-What!

One of the things we noticed as we were riding to the lunch spot was that there appeared to be rather more cars overtaking us from behind than there were passing us in the other direction.  As we ate lunch we monitored the traffic flows more closely, and calculated that there were approximately ten times more cars heading away from Sellafield.  This state of affairs continued for the whole time that we were on the road (well over an hour) so our first idea that a shift had just finished work at Sellafield seemed to be ruled out.  We had to conclude that they knew something that we did not, so we hastily finished our lunch and followed the crowd!

Nobody particularly enjoyed getting wet, so we planned to arrive at Ennerdale by early afternoon.  This is a very simple hostel compared with the others on our tour:  access is via a two-mile forest track which runs along the side of Ennerdale Water.  On the final approach to the hostel we were caught in a particularly heavy downpour, ensuring that we were drenched from head to foot on arrival.  To make matters worse, the notices on the hostel inviting members to use the common room until 5pm proved to be somewhat misleading: the warden had not yet returned from her midweek break, and everything was still locked up!

Some members decided that cycling in the rain would be more enjoyable than sitting in a cold porch, so they continued along the track towards the remote Black Sail hostel with a view to seeing if it is as cosy as it is reputed to be.  Only Michael and Paul persevered for the entire 3½ miles.  From the outside it appeared to be totally deserted, with no sign of recent habitation.  After peering through the few windows to confirm our suspicions, Paul tried the front door in the vain hope that somebody might have forgotten to lock it.  To his surprise it opened!  The Common Room turned out to be not only warm but also filled with numerous people, all sitting or lying quietly and reading!  This was a very different reality to that which would have existed if our group had been booked into the hostel that evening!

Meanwhile, back at Ennerdale, the warden had arrived early.  When Michael and Paul arrived, everyone else was settling into the dormitories and queuing for the single shower.

Supper was an interesting event.  Evidently the warden likes spicy meals, and her soup must have been the hottest ever!  Most people couldn't stomach it at all, but a few forced it down with brave smiles and competed to see who could 'enjoy' the most repeat helpings!  Before the meal was completed, Roger had managed to discredit the whole group by mixing pepper into the sugar bowl, thereby annoying another unusually large hosteller.

The common room was very warm and cosy by early evening, so we spent a very enjoyable time playing cards, liar dice and numerous other games while the weather did its worst outside.

The day began with another of Michael's short-cuts, taken from the CTC route guide.  This time it was the track from Rosthwaite to Watendlath, involving a steep climb of about 1km.  The gradient was such that many had to carry bikes and luggage separately, so it seemed that it would take a considerable time to reach the top.  The fitter members (Peter, Paul and Martin to name but three) saved the day by going back to help the younger ones, so that after an enormous team effort the job was completed quickly.  We can recommend the path for its scenic views and mountain streams.

Watendlath is famous for its glacial lake, called the Devil's Punchbowl.  Michael, who stayed back to help Mark and was therefore  last down the track, could see a number of people feeding some ducks at the outflow of the tarn, evidently enjoying the tranquillity.  Within a few moments, however, the ducks and people had been dispersed by the arrival of our leading riders, intent on riding through the nearby ford to satisfy their own desire for fun.  It really is a shame that some youngsters can't be a little more sensitive!

When we had enjoyed lunch in the adjacent café and Arthur, Neil, Tim, Richard and Rufus had made up to the ducks by feeding them some bread, we started the descent back to the B5289.  At Mary Mount we found ourselves on the edge of what appeared to be a cliff face, offering spectacular views across Derwent Water to Keswick and beyond.  We were just thinking that the view seemed familiar when someone pointed out that a slightly sunnier version appeared on the cover of OS Landranger map number 90.

It is often difficult to obtain lunch and provisions on a Sunday.  We had experienced severe difficulties yesterday, so we were watching keenly for any shop that might be open as we arrived in Keswick.  Turning into the main street we found ourselves caught up in a huge throng of bustling people, all apparently shopping.  Closer inspection revealed that virtually every shop was not only open but carrying on a roaring trade, apparently flouting the Sunday trading laws with complete indifference. This was not at all what we had expected.

Lunch was no problem: the bakery was of exceptional quality.  Margarine and marmalade proved more difficult, however: the supermarket was not only the only shop in the town that sold provisions, but also the only shop that was closed!  We had to content ourselves with a look in the expensive cycle shop.

From Keswick we rode to our eleventh lake, Thirlmere.  This is actually a reservoir, and the water level was well below maximum.  Beaches of rough rocks were exposed all around the edge.  We spent a little while watching a couple encourage their dogs to swim in the water, apparently in defiance of the notices requesting the public to keep the water clean.  David commented on the fact as loudly as he dared from his rock at the top of the beach, but fortunately for him his words were lost on the breeze.  Arthur and Rufie had prepared a tiny grave in the sand, just in case!

Grasmere's Thorney How hostel was not open when we arrived, so we wandered down to the village in search of provisions.  Once again the place was bustling with tourists, and once again only the two grocery shops were closed.

One of the advantages in running a leisurely tour is that there is usually time to enjoy the local attractions when weather conditions are favourable.  This morning the weather was perfect, and nearly everyone clubbed together to hire a couple of boats for a relaxing row around Grasmere lake.  Perhaps it wasn't quite so relaxing for those who were doing all the hard work, but it was certainly fun: an unforgettable highlight of the tour.

We took the delightful back lanes into Ambleside and almost arrived without incident - until Roger managed to cause Peter and David to come off.  Fortunately injuries were not serious.  Mark was waiting for us as agreed: he had gone into Ambleside early to get his arm re-dressed at the health centre.  We bought a good lunch and ate it in the large park, where space and time allowed a game of Forfeits with Michael's tennis ball.

Once the inevitable water fight had been concluded we set about climbing up to Kirkstone Pass in sweltering conditions.  This turned out to be a little easier than we had anticipated, although there was a sting in the tail in the form of a hidden valley before the final climb.  Michael kept tight control of the leading riders on the descent, but was unable to prevent Roger from waiting at the top and then tearing down the hill at suicidal speed.  He looked a little sick when he rounded a corner about half-way down to find Michael waiting there with the others!

Neil had to fix a puncture when we arrived at Glenridding.  There were far more tourists here than we had expected, most of them lazing on the banks of Ullswater.

One final effort helped us up the 1½ mile track to Helvellyn hostel, the former home of the manager of the now disused lead mines.  We were divided into four dormitories, but the hostel was comfortable.  Some youngsters were slightly disturbed to discover that the two showers were side-by-side behind a single non-locking door, separated only by a half-partition!

Michael was the only person adventurous enough to climb the hill behind the hostel that evening and enjoy the excellent sunset behind the distant Lakeland hills.  The rest preferred a mix of pool and other indoor games - except David, that is, who discovered that his derailleur was now totally useless.  He spent much of his evening removing the remains and getting very oily.