Cycling the Leeds / Liverpool Canal

I knew I wanted to do something significant to mark my retirement; something that said, ‘I might be retired but I’m not old yet, thank you.’ Some people go on big holidays, others have big parties but I had other ideas. Maybe a walk round the coast of Britain; hmm, maybe not. One day we were in Bridlington and I noticed a storyboard with details of the Way of the Roses cycle route; now that sounded more interesting. It was easy to research at home because it is one of the Sustrans routes and you can get a map and a well laid out guide from this excellent national body.

We needed to get fit for the 170 mile ride and as there was a lot going on in 2013, we delayed until the summer of 2014. It was during that time that we made one of our frequent visits to Salts Mill in Saltaire and whilst strolling down the side of the canal we realised that what we really wanted to do was cycle the whole of the Leeds / Liverpool canal tow path. The idea had a lot going for it but chiefly that it was about fifty miles shorter than The Way of the Roses at 127 miles, and most of our journey would be ‘off road.’ The realisation gained momentum and we started to plan. We would catch the train to Liverpool and cycle towards Leeds as hopefully the wind would be behind us, and also we would be closer to home at the end.

I changed my bike for a nice lightweight Claud Butler as I felt my old Dutch bike would be a bit too heavy for the job. Then we began our Sunday cycle rides. We took the cycle track to the hospital, from there down to the river and along up to the bridge at Clifton. Over, down the other side and along through the city, passed Rowntree Park and over the Millennium bridge. It was good to get on the home strait, passed the Barracks and over Walmgate Stray, through the University and just a couple more miles home. From there we slowly built up, widening our circle and taking new routes. Out by Stamford Bridge and Dunnington; up to Overton and on to Newton on Ouse. On another ride we conquered Riccall via the Solar System cycle track and followed that up by going straight through to Selby. By this time we were feeling very fit and after a ride out to Tadcaster, we decided it was time to make a move. There was just one consideration to delay us and that was the Tour de France which would start in the UK that year, and its opening stages were in Yorkshire.

We set out on Sunday 13 July, a week after the Tour had returned to France. The train was packed and we got some odd looks as we boarded the train for Liverpool dressed in our lycra, with our cycles. Aldi supermarket had had a very timely cycle event and we were able to get clothing, panniers and all sorts of other gear that we thought we might need. But we kept it light with just a couple of changes of underwear and t-shirts, our toiletries, and waterproofs. We weren’t sure how long it would take us, and I had no luck identifying accommodation on route that we could head for, so we decided to just get on with it.

The first thing that struck us in Liverpool was a cold wind and we prayed the weather would hold, but luckily it was at our backs. Although we had a map of the canal starting at the pretty Eldonian Village and had printed out instructions from Google as to how to get to it, we got lost after leaving the station. We wandered around for a while and asked a couple of people and it’s heart warming how readily people get out their phones and find what you want, eventually getting us on the right track.

This was it; the adventure had begun. We had a little nosey round the canal basin, took a couple of photos then, a little after midday, making sure we were on the right side of the canal, we were off. It didn’t take long to get into the outskirts of Liverpool and before we knew it we were riding past Aintree and in to the countryside. We were lucky with the weather, in fact we only had one heavy shower during the whole journey, but that wasn’t for long so the path was nice and dry. There was a holiday atmosphere and we passed a lot of people out for a Sunday afternoon stroll with dogs and families. Black and white milestones mark the route which reminded us not only of how far we had come, but also of how far we had to go. The ride was smooth and we had a feeling of freedom, but I must admit that there was the odd occasion when I was scared that I might fall in, then where would we be? The worst moments were where the path was on rough grass or when it narrowed as we went under a bridge and I heard plenty of stories of people who had taken an untimely dip.

We looked out for landmarks that we had read about; Halsall Cutting and Maghull where work first began to dig the canal, and then made our first real stop at the Rufford Branch which was a section built seven years after the Leeds / Liverpool was completed. Camera out, photos taken and back on the bikes towards Wigan. Our next stop was a wayside pub with tables outside which made it easy for us to get a drink and stay with the bikes. Nice to use the facilities too. We could tell when we were coming into an urbanised area because the towpath went from grass to hard core and it was much nicer riding. A lot of people do this journey all in one go, but we wanted to take a bit more time and enjoy ourselves. By the time we had reached Wigan, we thought it would be a good idea to stop for the night. We had done 34 miles and wanted some food and a comfortable seat! (The phrase ‘numb bum’ was uttered often throughout our ride). A passer-by pointed us towards a Premier Inn and it wasn’t long before we were booking in for the night. I don’t think I shall ever forget the kindness of the staff; they were impressed to hear how far we had come and gave us a ground floor room, even allowing us to take the bikes in with us. By the time we had had a shower and changed, the chef had made us a nice meal and we were happy just to enjoy a drink and rest our legs.

Day two saw us rested, breakfasted, ready to roll and happy to discover that we weren’t stiff. We pedalled back to Wigan Pier where we had arrived the night before and had a good look round before setting off. We read the story boards about the industry and how the area got its name, took some photos and then jumped back on our bikes to continue the ride. As you leave Wigan (which is now a great deal nicer than it was in George Orwell’s day) you climb the Wigan flight starting at Bottom Lock, number 87 up and up passing lock after lock until you get to the Top Lock and Lock Keeper’s cottage at lock number 65. It’s quite a challenge and we whooped with joy when we got to the top. We were very glad that we took that stretch when we were fresh and not at the end of a day’s ride. We found facilities for boaters, and I was very pleased to have remembered our key from the boating holiday we had a few years previously on the Lancaster canal.

Another reason for cycling along a canal is that they are fairly flat, but we felt the gradient as we climbed to the top of the Pennines. There was some switching from bank to bank and it could get steep going up the side of the bridges with our bikes, and I’m afraid I did fall off on a couple of occasions when I misjudged things.

Lunchtime on the second day. We had eaten a very hearty breakfast before leaving the Premier Inn in Wigan, so we were not particularly hungry but we were ready for a drink. We stopped at the Navigation Inn on the outskirts of Blackburn. It was very much a locals pub, but there were a couple of seats outside with a table and that suited us. I also wanted the toilet so I went inside to get our drinks and some crisps. A group of elderly men were sitting quietly nursing their drinks and a tv was showing the Tour-de-France above the bar. I’ll leave the rest to your imagination, but let’s say there were a few ribald comments and I didn’t get out of there unscathed. I laughed to hide my embarrassment but probably went bright red anyway. I do wish they wouldn't do that.

The day was a bit warm and overcast with a hint of thunder in the air as we rode on hopeful that it wouldn’t come to anything. But around mid-afternoon the air cooled and we could see the rain sweeping across the fields in front of us. We headed for a mercifully placed disused railway arch and quickly donned our waterproofs just in time. It didn’t give us much shelter from the rain, but at least we were out of the wind. Another, very professional looking cyclist crammed in with us, then after five minutes he was off in the other direction. We soon set off with the wind blowing across us, but then the canal looped round which brought the wind more to the rear and gave us some speed. It was all over almost as quickly as it began and we were able to strip off our waterproofs and carry on with the ride.

An hour later saw us coming into Burnley. We had done another 35 miles that day and we knew that the next step would be to negotiate the Gannow Tunnel. I remember being at the top of a steep hill looking down on the town, the map looked a bit confusing and we were ready to find somewhere to stay for the night. We were never short of a dog walker on the canal and sure enough, one came to our rescue. Over the other side of the hill was a Holiday Inn which he was sure we couldn’t miss. He was right too. After a glorious sail down the hill we arrived at our resting place for the night; with another warm reception, pleasant room, good food and a drink it was all that we craved. The bonus was that once again we were able to take our bikes into our room.

We knew we would have to leave the canal at the entrance to the Gannow tunnel as it is just under a third of a mile long and has no towpath. The bargees would lie on their backs and ‘leg it’ by walking along the roof or wall of the of the tunnel. Without an engine this exhausting work was the only way to propel the boat through to the other side, but, as in times past, the likes of us had to make our way round to the other side. The map showed where to re-join the canal, but I was concerned that we might not find it easily. I needn’t have bothered as on our sail down the hill to the Holiday Inn we passed a lovely sign that showed us the way. We didn’t even have to climb the hill again the following morning. After a grateful night’s sleep and a good breakfast we checked out, climbed on our bikes and cycled across to the canal. Half a mile later we had to stop and turn round. We had re-joined the canal alright, but as we rounded a bend and saw the Gannow tunnel we realised that were headed back towards Liverpool.

Leaving the industry of Burnley behind, we cycled into the rugged countryside of Pendle. It was good to get going again and we were soon zipping along in the warm summer air. Seven miles on was Foulridge which marks the summit of the Leeds / Liverpool canal. This tunnel is even longer at almost a mile and is the longest in the country for the passage of canal boats. It took five years to build and is only wide enough for one boat at a time so that when it was originally completed tunnel keepers were employed to control the flow of traffic. As with the Gannow tunnel, men had to ‘leg’ the boats through which must have been an incredible test of strength and endurance. All of this has long since been replaced with a timetable and traffic lights for tunnel users. We cycled to the Western end of Foulridge tunnel and set off overland to find our path. The signage wasn’t very clear but after asking the few people that we saw, and teaming up with another couple on bikes, we muddled through until we finally found the village and Foulridge Wharf.

Every bridge felt like a bit of history and you could imagine the scene with the heavy horses towing the barges in years past. The canal, which was fifty years in the creation, provided an excellent link over the Pennines for the trading of coal, limestone, textiles, and other merchandise and brought huge benefits to towns such as Leeds, Bradford, Shipley and Bingley in the east and Bolton, Blackburn, Wigan and Liverpool in the west.

Foulridge was the summit, so after that it was a much gentler ride on a more downhill trajectory and into Yorkshire. The countryside became less rugged, but the path was quite rough, especially round Gargrave and we began to feel the jolts in our wrists and shoulders. The route also winds quite a bit and at one point it looked as if we were almost doubling back on ourselves.

Whilst the waterway is still well used for pleasure, there is a great deal more life on the towpath and you have to be considerate of the fishermen, families and couples out walking. Other cyclists and dog walkers; plenty of dog walkers, so we got into the habit of giving a ding on the bell if we came up behind someone, and a thank you as we passed. One incident will always stay with me. I gave the bell a ding as we approached one lady and her dog, but there was no reaction. I was rapidly getting closer so I gave another ding but still no movement. The grassy path had become narrow and lumpy and quite awkward to ride on. I swerved to avoid her, but as I straightened up the dog shot in front of me. I pulled the brake and time stood still for ten seconds before I crashed down into a ditch. I shrieked, Paul shouted and the woman looked guilty. What was I thinking? Well it was me or the dog and I didn’t want to hurt him. She mumbled an apology, put the dog on its leash, stood round looking awkward as I scrambled out of the ditch, then scurried off. Paul retrieved my bike and set the derailleur straight, then with my dignity in tatters we got back on our bikes and continued our ride. I dinged the bell as we caught the woman up, and this time she grabbed the dog and stood back to let us pass.

By 3 pm we were riding into Skipton. The town was lively and bustling as ever and we soon found a pub with a beer garden where we could be outside and keep an eye on the bikes. It was too late for lunch, but the cup of tea and ham sandwiches went down a treat. The plan was to have an overnight stay in Skipton, but we weren’t ready stop. It was a beautiful day; we were in good spirits and the end was getting closer, so after an hours rest, we headed off for Shipley. We were on familiar ground having walked various sections of the canal from here. We passed the Marquis of Granby and the Micklethwaite Swing Bridge and on into Bingley with first the Five Rise locks

then the Three Rise locks. Cycling was a lot easier too, as the path was wider and well maintained, in fact it felt a lot like being on one of our Sunday morning bike rides. We slowed down through Saltaire, not just because it is a very busy area, but we did think we might find some accommodation for the night. We headed for the Ibis, but we weren’t in their club and no amount of pleading would change the receptionists mind. I think she just wanted this hot, sweaty old cyclist out of her lobby. We trawled around for a while whilst we had a think, and then we spotted a mileage sign. Eleven miles to Leeds. That was the answer; carry on to Leeds.

This last section must have been one of the most memorable passages I have ever done. The sun and the wind were behind us and not only was the path good, but we seemed to be going steadily downhill. People were flying passed us on bikes in the other direction on their way home from work or jogging or dog walking. It all seemed so relaxed and happy. And suddenly there it was. The Canal Basin. We had done it! It’s a shame we didn’t have a drink handy to celebrate, but we were so elated it didn’t matter too much. A kind passer-by took a photo of us next to the signpost and then we stayed there for a while taking in what we had just achieved.

We did think about staying overnight in Leeds, but then we had a better idea. The station was round the corner, could we maybe get home? The reader board said that there was a train for York in five minutes so we hastily bought tickets and just managed to jump on the train before the whistle blew. We parked our bikes in the Bike rack and collapsed next to them on the floor in the vestibule. By the time the Ticket collector came round, we were approaching York, so he kindly let us stay where we were and wished us luck. Once home, fish and chips, a cup of tea and a nice Radox bath revived us, and we crawled happily in to bed.

We received some lovely text messages of support each day, and by some amazing stroke of good luck, we didn't suffer a puncture or any mishaps. We are glad we did it and it is an adventure that we will always look back on with happiness and a great deal of satisfaction.