31st January 2008 - Lyth (death) Valley

Gilpin Bridge (alternatively now known as the Death Ride) words by JP.
It was a wild and windy night... and although JP had attempted to email and rally the troops only the TG was man enough to brave the elements (apologies to TG who isn't a man, and also to Jamie who did turn up 5 minutes after we had left the car park but seems to have had a better time riding with the Biketreks group).
Setting off into a strong head wind set the scene for the rest of the ride, it was the usual route over the foot/cycle-bridge towards Ravens Lodge, up the bridleway that runs along the side of Whitbarrow and then at the bottom of the first descent taking the sharp right and continue on to Beck Head where the road ends and the trail continues towards Witherslack Hall. It was at this stage that the wind was whistling across the lower fields and knocking the bikes off course, the wind then died down as we approached the road as we climbed up to Witherslack Hall. The TG was waiting/sheltering at the top of the climb as the wind was beginning to get stronger the higher we went.
We took the left fork towards Witherslack Hall farm and then through the gate and up onto the tops of Yewbarrow. Once again we struggled across the open ground and we were being blown by the wind in all directions but the chosen route. We stopped briefly at the entrance to the woods at the top of Yewbarrow but felt that this was not the best place to be in storm force 9 winds, and even though I had brought enough flapjack for 6 we only had time to consume half a piece between us. A quick call to TG HQ to confirm our last location (in case help was required???) and we were off again.
There was no time to consider the descent, with the wind howling as loud as an approaching freight train and having had to carry bikes over a felled tree we decided not to hang around. It was a relief to be back on the road and now with the wind behind us we sped along back to the bottom of the first descent. As we climbed up the hill towards Buckhouse Wood, TG suddenly appeared to sprint ahead and disappeared at the top of the climb. It soon became apparent why as the wind was whipping around us and spiralling debris was circling the track, the deep roaring sound of the wind was gusting and propelling us up the hill, we momentarily stopped before the final descent to once again suggest that we really shouldn't be here!
This turned out to be a short ride in storm force 9 winds that took 1 1/2 hours before we were back in the pub. This was not so much powered by cake and chips, but by the wind, fear and flapjack.
Next week: Satterthwaite