After a hiatus that took in my birthday and a run of particularly foul weather I discovered my legs still spin on this 78 mile ride along the north east coast, ending off to the side of a minor road near Bamburgh which, conveniently for me, had been blocked for resurfacing.

Before I describe the ride in the manner of the previous sixty daily doses of Strava-powered reportage I have some news: I won’t be completing the 4,500 miles around Britain. At least not this year. I’m missing out some of the West Country, all of Wales and much of the Midlands. In my original plan I should have stayed in the West Country after August 20th and carried on riding until mid-September, heading through Wales before turning right and ending in the Midlands.

That original plan entailed researching 52 day rides around Britain for a guidebook commissioned by Bradt. We have now parted company — amicably — because, while riding, I discovered I had little interest in producing a general guidebook. (Been there, done that — generalist guidebooks to Israel and Lebanon.) Instead, it was the history I either plotted as part of the rides, or that I discovered by chance along the way, that piqued my interest.

During long days in the saddle, far from the comforts of home, I developed a history-themed concept. Each person that I’ve told about this book idea — a sample of six, but six out of six so far — has said something along the lines of “I love that, sign me up for one of those when it’s done.”

This isn’t the time or place for revealing the details of this revised project — and which requires a rethink meaning no more riding for now —so it you want to find out these details when I’m ready to share them please make sure to sign up for the email alert on the base of the “about me” page.

Now, back to Day 61.

I plotted a scenic route from our home in Jesmond to Bamburgh, using a fair slice of National Cycle Network 1, part of the Sustrans Coast and Castles South route. The plan was to wild camp on some moorland before heading to Bamburgh castle at dawn for a sunrise photoshoot. I had been waiting many days for the right weather conditions to hold over two days but when I arrived in the area the light wasn’t quite right away from the castle so I abandoned that history-themed route and headed back home. Living relatively close means I can head back some time in the next few weeks and hopefully complete the photography.

The two day trip had started well, with strong sunlight on Costa del Tyneside. To escape the blistering heat (I wish!) I detoured under the Tyne Pedestrian and Cycle tunnels because they are, well, historic.

Not at all historic is the newly constructed Sunrise Cycleway starting opposite the definitely historic Tynemouth castle and priory. This fresh bit of separated asphalt was plugged recently by Chris Boardman riding with the active travel minister and the region’s newly elected metro mayor. The pandemic-era Sunrise Cycleway — separated mostly by cones — extended most of the way to Whitley Bay. The new build one doesn’t, which was a major disappointment and I worried for the little girl who I had seen on the cycleway earlier although I should imagine she would have been fine mixing with pedestrians on the at-times narrow shared-use pavement. I didn’t fancy it and diverted to the road instead.

There are plans to extend the concrete kerbing so that cyclists get an uninterrupted route through to Whitley Bay. If these plans get binned we’ll be making the same mistake as the double-sided, kerb-separated concrete cycle tracks installed in Whitley Bay in the 1930s. These started and then stopped, a white elephant project that, nealy 80 years later, the Sunrise Cycleway could have turned into a viable bit of infrastructure. Fingers crossed today’s £11 million refurbishment is truly just the start.

Instead of following the wiggly NCN 1 past the lighthouse I braved the road so I could reach the 1930s cycle tracks that still grace the dual carriageway part of the road from Whitley Bay to Blyth. Naturally, cars were parked on the period infrastructure blocking both the footway and the cycle track. This is normal for this stretch, and for several other 1930s cycle tracks.

It was mostly sunny for the fifty or so miles from Blyth to Bamburgh but the light wasn’t right for photography at Bamburgh castle so I bought provisions from the Seahouses Co-op and increased my speed so there would still be some daylight before I bivvied on some moorland near Belford. I never got there, stopping instead at road resurfacing machinery blocking the way. I figured nobody would either walk, cycle or drive along this blocked route and I’d have a quiet night of wild camping. In one regard I was right, nobody came along to tell to me to hoof it but the overnight rain was heavier than forecast (I remained dry in the Outdoor Research bivvybag) and I was woken by the grunt/snort/semi-screams of what sounded like a large animal. The grunting/snorting/semi-screaming was odd enough for me to record it with my iPhone had it carried on but, whatever the animal was, it and its vocalisation moved away and I didn’t grab any audio. I clearly wasn’t that worried by the noise because I quickly fell asleep again, waking at 5.30am to my alarm curtailing a particularly odd yet vivid dream. The animal noise was weird enough to be part of a dream, but I’m 98 percent sure it was real.

I packed and rode the short distance to the castle, launching my drone well away from the sleepers in the ten or so camper vans parked in the village car park in front of signs stating there should be no overnight parking. Who I am I to complain about camp-related rule breaking?

I grabbed my shots, clocked the likely duff light where I should have been headed and instead set the course for Alnmouth stepping on to the first train back to Newcastle seconds after arriving at the station.