At the top of the hill we crossed the A6 in a break in the traffic and were able to look down the valley. The path was wide and well worn, but it was loose and bumpy.
We dropped the saddles and kicked up some dust, sailing rather than riding over the loose scree, shifting balance to steer rather than relying on the tyres to grip. I hit a good bump and put some air between the wheels and the ground, wishing there was somebody with a camera to catch it. I certainly wasn't stopping to take one myself! Martin says he heard me whooping a couple of times as I left him behind. It might have been to tell the sheep to get out of my way, but equally, I might just have been enjoying myself. 
When the terrain eventually levelled out, we crossed the river and stopped while Martin found a phone signal and returned some business calls. We cycled on beside the river, pulling on our windproofs and waterproofs as we encountered the valley's wind funnel effect and the first rain of the trip. 
Eventually the trail became a track, which turned into a road through the woods, and finally ended in a junction, where we could see the motorway passing above us and an old railway viaduct beyond. We rode under them both and made our way round to a path marked on the map. It was a hidden gem on the journey. 
If this had been a sightseeing trip that fairy glen would have been a highlight, but it was a cycling trip and that glen was both impossible to ride and, because it was a footpath - not a bridleway - riding would have been illegal. So we dismounted and pushed, but it wasn't a chore this time.the path followed the river Lune and beyond it, the motorway, right up to Tebay.
Tebay. A significant stopoff for both Martin and me.
When I was a kid growing up, we pulled that caravan from the boat at Stranraer down the motorways to Devon every year. Most years we stopped in Tebay to break the journey, so the very name 'Tebay' evokes some of my best childhood memories; holidays, car games, the whole family singing funny songs, driving through the night and most importantly, a peaceful oasis on long journeys.
For Martin, Tebay was also a stopoff on long journeys. As he worked on electrical installations up and down the country he'd stop in Tebay services and dream of riding coast to coast. Every time there was anyone else with him he'd bore them with details of how someday he'd ride his mountain bike from St. Bees to Robin Hood's Bay.
We probably stopped too long in Tebay Services, but we took on plenty of junk food, hot chocolate, coffee (Martin had to sit in the cafe where he'd dreamed of this journey so many times) I bought Pork Scratchings which I'd never tried before, and Kendal Mint cake as gifts for my family.
As we stood outside in the drizzling rain, a car pulled up with a couple of mountain bikes in the boot. They'd had a washout couple of days in Wales, and when they heard we were riding coast to coast they replied with a single word. "Respect." I laughed to myself. I don't really consider myself to be much of a mountain biker, and to get respect from guys who looked like hardened veterans felt good.
leaving Tebay, we didn't feel like doing too much thinking about our route. If we headed along the A685 we'd end up in Kirkby Stephen in a couple of hours, and that sounded good. We put our heads down and pumped along the road with cars bombing past at eighty miles an hour, missing us by inches. It was disheartening, because the road was so straight it felt as if we weren't making any progress. I took the lead for the first few miles, and then when I started to flag, Martin passed me and I tucked in behind him. Everything I dislike about road riding was embodied in those few miles. I tried to pass the time by matching Martin's gear changes, by trying to keep my front tyre an inch from his back, by singing songs to myself in time to turning the pedals. In the end I just zoned out and pumped.
We could see Ash Fell towering ahead of us from miles back, but there was no use worrying about it until we got there. When we reached it, it was a slog. I took the lead again and we plodded our way up. and up. the fact that it was boring just made it harder, but eventually we reached the summit.
up...down.
For once I had my phone switched to tell me what speed I was doing. My helmet peak was pulling my head up as I rode into the headwind, and When we crossed into the 20mph limit going into Kirkby Stephen it read 40mph, which is pretty fast on a mountain bike with big knobbly tyres. Thankfully there was no speed camera.
I braked hard, and when Martin caught up I still had a big grin on my face. We pedalled in a leisurely fashion along the main street. I asked Martin if he knew how far it was to the Youth Hostel, and he answered by pointing to it.
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