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Travel Stories Chunking Campastrophy 2017
Sharon's Stunning Achievement
Ride Date - 8 April 2017
By Ren Withnell
Sleep was hard to find last night between bouts of shivering and my bladder demanding to be emptied far too often. Curses upon the cold, curses upon those 3 large cups of tea I had last night and curses upon my inadequate sleeping bag. I've given up and gotten up before everyone else is up so I go to the common room to warm up and read one of the books on the shelf. Warmth, sweet luscious warmth. I almost fall asleep on the chair.
T'were a bit nippy last night as demonstrated by my frosty seat.
As my fellow campers compare notes regarding last night's chill ("I was fine" - "Chuffin' freezin'") I consume a pot porridge for breakfast and get my gear together. I Heave my 500 out onto the road and head for Hawes in search of that illusive phone signal. Good news! She's messaged me telling me she departed at 0905, mightily impressive for the lady that's always late, good girl.
Let me explain something about Sharon before I continue. Imagine I've stood Sharon in the middle of her own living room. Imagine I then ask her to close her eyes. While her eyes are closed I move the settee to the other side of the room and put the TV in a different corner. I then turn her around twice and ask her to open her eyes. She would believe she has been magically transported to another room in another house and not be able to find the door to the garden. She has no sense of direction and severely limited mapping memory in her brain. Oh she ain't stupid - far from it - she just ain't wired for navigational purposes.
So it is with some trepidation that I'm waiting at Devil's Bridge this morning. I estimate she's around 90 miles to cover, mostly on motorways. That's around 1.5 to 2 hours giving her an ETA of 1030 - 1100. I'm expecting a phone call asking where Blackpool or Carlisle is in relation to where she ought to be. At 1045 as I talk to a BMW owner regarding his fine R1200RT I spot a white helmet and yellow hi-viz on a small green Kawasaki heading down the main road. She's here - she's only gone and done it - go Sharon!
The same helmet, hi-viz and green Kwakker proceed right past the turning and off towards Settle. Oh sweetie - so near and yet so far! I laugh, she'll work out something is amiss soon enough. 5 minutes later I receive a text telling me she's turning around.
OK, so she missed the final turning but otherwise Sharon has navigated herself all the way from Halewood in Liverpool to Devil's Bridge near Kirkby Lonsdale. For the despatch riders among you this may not seem much but for Sharon this is akin to landing on the moon without a computer while blindfold. I am mightily impressed but I'm not going to tell her, she'll get all big headed and cocky. Anyhow she's not allowed to be happy, not when I'm around.
Rather than standing around at Devil's Bridge I lead us to a pub on the way to Sedburgh that I noticed has a sign outside - "Bikers Welcome". They don't open until 1200 so we wait then dine of fancy burger and chips. The sun is shining, the air is now comfortably warm and this is most civilised. Actually it feels odd. I'm so used to being either cold or wet or windswept or all three that sitting outside in the sun with just a t-shirt on feels surreal. It feels good and it also feels wrong, kind of like smoking a cheeky cigarette when you've given up. I do believe I am experiencing guilt because this feels nice. How odd.
Look at her happy little face! Sharon is warm, dry, not lost and about to be fed.
We could ride straight to the campsite but Sharon tells me she's up for a short diversion. We continue to Sedburgh then I follow the signs for Kirkby Stephen which lead us out into them there hills once again.
Unlike Sharon I consider myself very lucky to be blessed with a functional sense of direction. I know we're heading north and my map knowledge tells me I need to head east at some point. I find what I'm looking for - a road heading east that is single track. We love single track. For the most part these lanes are empty which for some riders this would be cause to go as fast as possible, for us it's an opportunity to slow right down and enjoy our surroundings. We drift gently up hill and down dale along what I later learn is called "Tommy Road".
Now *THIS* is our kind of road. Good tarmac yet quiet, remote, beautiful and and serene.
Pendragon Castle. Yes...Cumbrian Dales not Wales or Cornwall.
I feel guilt once more because this feels so agreeable and restful. My 500 is chuff-chuff-chuffing below me, Sharon looks calm in my mirrors, lambs play in the fields and the only glitch in the matrix is the occasional squished critter at the roadside.
While my sense of direction is very good I am startled to find a T-Junction with a sign clearly pointing to Hawes. I expected to be lost for a while so this remarkable, almost disappointing if I'm honest because I don't want the road to end. I know Sharon's done 60 miles more than I have, she's carrying luggage and she's been up since the crack of dawn, I figure she'll be wanting to chill out soon enough.
Later that evening we dine at the pub with the rest of the Chunky Treaders. A few of them have taken a ride out, some of them have been to Altberg Boots in Richmond and some of them have been walking in the hills. They're all full of beans and I can see they're working on being full of alcohol too. Sharon and I take a stroll around then head back to the site.
The Chunkies are getting ready for the Evening's entertainments.
We're both knackered. While we're sitting in the warm common room at 2200 Sharon suggests an early night and I can't think of anything better. We may miss some shenanigans and drunken frivolity that's all. Sharon complains that it's cold. Sharon complains that getting into her sleeping bag and sleeping bag liner is hard work. For someone who appears to be so cold and so uncomfortable and struggling so much she looks ridiculously comfortable and happy when she quickly falls asleep. Me? I don't gripe and groan out loud but I'm not a natural camper and I miss my proper bed and duvet. I gripe and groan to myself instead about the cold and being uncomfortable as I try to drift off. I'm not a natural camper.
Do you want to share your story of a weekend away, a rally or even a night under canvas? We're always looking for reader's contributions. Click Here.
Off To Muker
Despite what he'd like to think Ren is discovering technology is essential in his life and he still needs a better sleeping bag. At least he's in charming surroundings as he learns things the hard way as usual.
Sharon's Stunning Achievement
Sharon completes her own personal Mission Impossible much to the relief of Ren. As a reward the sun shines and the countryside is delightful.
Sunshine, Scenery And Silly Motorcyclists
Sunshine and suicidal motorcyclists. It's the return leg of the Chunky's Campastrophy and everything is hunky-dory save for a couple of buffoons.
Reader's Comments
Drew said :-
A decent 4 season sleeping bag is a must! There are many things you can compromise on but this isn't one of them. Warmer the better.
18/04/2017 09:03:40 UTC
Ren - The Ed said :-
You're absolutely right Drew. There is one thing though...most of the super warm ones are Duck Down. Now apparenly...allegedly...duck down is cruel. I can't recall the details I'm sure Sharon will enlighten us.
18/04/2017 09:19:43 UTC
Borsuk said :-
Best one I ever had was a Mountain Equipment Firebird mummy type filled with Dupont Hollofil, bulky and slightly heavy but well worth its weight. Cost me a months wages as an apprentice. Used it all year round in the Highlands, had the advantage of keeping you warm even after it got soaked when the tent collapsed in the middle of a hoolie. Still got it somewhere, though a bit tatty now after many years of use and neglect.
18/04/2017 11:42:41 UTC
Sharon said :-
Regarding duck down. I once naively believed that feathers were simply collected from those that naturally fell off ducks. Either that or a by-product of the food industry.
However the shocking truth is live birds have their feathers ripped from their bodies. This is incredibly painful and traumatic. So much so some birds die in the process while others may be left with gapping, painful wounds. Once the feathers regrow these poor unfortunate creatures have the horror of having their feathers ripped out all over again.
Despite the attractiveness of a small warm sleeping bag to many a camper we have to ask if another's creatures pain and suffering should be the price for our own comfort and convenience?
For myself the answer is a resounding no, especially as we have the cruelty free option of synthetic. So it may be more bulky but the price of suffering for smaller is too high.
18/04/2017 18:58:41 UTC
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Travel Stories Chunking Campastrophy 2017