The Wirral Circular Route

 On the weekend of 2nd and 3rd October, we did pressure testing at site.  It's a long and laborious process requiring repeat activities and a lot of standing around.  We usually aim to complete it within a day but the last few times, these have been long, long days so this time, we agreed we'd give it two days.  

Unfortunately, someone couldn't be flexible enough and so we had to work the weekend and no-one wanted to work the Sunday so at 7:00am on Saturday, four intrepid souls (and one guy waiting outside in the van) set about testing, after a trusty brew of course.

Unfortunately there were a few uncomfortably awkward leaks which we had to repair which involves removing the pressure before working then starting all over again.  

No one wanted to work Sunday, so again, we worked into darkness and at 20:30 I locked up the cabin, loaded my folding bike in the parking lot and pedalled the 400m back to my hotel where I tucked the bike up in its silver garage on wheels - the van.

On Sunday morning, MY BRAIN WAS AWAKE!

I queued patiently outside the breakfast hall to eat where I planned to spend the day lying in bed.  For a while I watched the Country file sheepdog trials with views of my beloved North Wales, just across the water.

When I realised the London marathon was on, I planned to spend the day lying in bed crying at the London marathon.  By about 10am, I was hungry again so I agreed with myself I'd go out and ride to M&S to get some healthy lunch but there was a niggling thought in the back of my mind that what I really should do is ride the Wirral Circular Route - you know, while I'm here.

It is 60km all the way around.  Would I make 60km on my folding bike?  Would my folding bike make 60km?

I loaded up my pannier like I was going out all day - just in case - and dressed for a bimble down the road on an October day, in thick windproof smock, trousers, a fleece two base layers and fleece gloves.

Thankfully at the van I realised it was warm, left a fleece and the gloves behind, picked up my thin long finger gloves and my lock.

By the time I'd got to the M&S turn-off I was already to into-it to divert for early 11am lunch and instead, followed the route along the coastal industrial estate back-roads.  I passed the chimney of a bygone ferry ship embedded forever in rocky soil and scrappy greenspace wasteland by the side of an old metal recycling facility and thought, "wow, is this how it's going to be?!"

Ten minutes later I was turning into Eastham Country Park where signs boasted a local cafe.  

Excellent - the sustenance I so desperately need.  I pulled in, checked with the waitress it was OK to grab a table and locked my bike up. I snagged a table with my bags then wandered in to place my order.  The queue was around 15-people long and small children ran around my feet.

I high-tailed and walked back out, packed my stuff and left.  I'd only just set off so I had a lot to bimble through in one day.  I had no time for queues.

For a little while I followed the park paths where wooden finger posts indicated the bike route.  Clearly the Ride with GPS file I copied was one that had been tweaked by a roadie.  My forest trails were pleasant if a little busy and I dodged doggo's constantly but the sea views were worth it to ride away from the roads.

Finally, when I ran out of park I climbed back up to the A41, which I had left around an hour and 3 miles ago.  Oh well.

For a while the route sat on the segregated bike lane that shares the pavement and I made good progress as there are few crossing points on this bit.  I arrived at the M53 road junction and hooned my way across both on- and off- sliproads.  The main roads continued all the way to Childer Thornton where I passed the hotel my colleague stayed in last week.  It was nice but had the inconvenience of a family hotel for some people who don't really have the time for folk who need to know what time you arrive and don't take AMEX cards.

Still, Childer Thornton marked the start of quieter lanes and I knew that I had probably gone about this route in just the right way as I seem to have the worst of the A-roads behind me.

I was hungry though and I had the mammoth 25m or so of climbing to summit the Wirral peninsular before embarking on the remainder of the route along the coast road.  I could do with some lunch but Childer Thornton was not where I was stopping for it - too towny.  What I really needed was a nice little caf where I could park up my bike and sit next to it and no queue.

I dropped down the other side of the peninsular and acquired the disused railway which was about to take me the rest of my journey to the seaside.  On demand, a railway station cafe popped up.  It was 1pm but I could eat a scone and crisps for lunch right?  I could even grab cake too if I was still hungry.

I took a table by the wall to minimise the breeze and watched runners, biker and horses plod by as I tucked into my scone.  I even saved the planet a little as I'd packed my full work bag including my knife, fork and spoon set that I use in case of late night take-away raids.

At this point in the day I lost my trousers to over-heating and the base layer went away too, leaving me in a vest and windproof.

I continued on my way through impressive cuttings the cruised along the edge of the Liverpool Royal Golf Course, the green spoiling the view of the estuary and the natural landscape.  Thankfully they had left sufficient trees to provide some shelter from one of the belting rain showers that peppered the day.  The showers were so short lived that the windproof was sufficient to keep the rain off my body and it dried out in between.

Autumn colours were starting to appear in the trees and now I'd food in my belly I relaxed a little and took it all in.

My day started to be improved even further by the constant presence of runners from local clubs running their socially distanced London Marathons.  I stopped and gave some money away and encouraged others.  This went on for some time and I soon had no change left.

On arrival at West Kirkby I could finally get close to the beach.  Suddenly there was traffic for the first time in ages but the sun was shining.  I took care of toilet business - relieved that the coin machine was out of order since I'd given all my change away.  I took a walk onto the front to ponder an icecream but I wasn't in the mood for over-priced Mr Whippy and fancied some real food so I checked my map.

The next stopping place was Hoylake which I used to visit with grandparents as a child.  I don't have many clear memories of it except for loving Hoylake.  Since my Grandma was a bit of a snob, I decided that Hoylake would probably be a bit better than West Kirkby so I set off riding along the route.

As soon as I turned back onto the short stretch of B-road out of WK, I found a sandwich shop offering baguettes.  I parked the Doodle up without even locking as I could see the bike from where I stood and a nice-enough lady with balloon-shaped lips and a little boy seemed reasonable people who'd probably say something if a stranger tried to make off with my bike.

I ordered a ham and cheese baguette (knowing that the ham would be the horrible English sort I hate but ordering it anyway) and in a moment of genius, added haloumi fries and tea.  

I was so glad for the fries.  The English Ham was missing and the cheese was stock cheddar and the baguette was a sub, not a baguette and for soemone who hates soggy chewwy bread, the whole thing was awful.  The fries were good though.  I ate half the sandwich and asked for a bag for the other half, claiming my eyes were bigger than my belly and I wanted to save it for later.  In apologetic English this means, "I'd almost rather die than eat the other half but only "almost" so I'll take it, just in case".

I was right, Hoylake did, indeed, look much more promising but it was now too late.  Just as I got sick of the traffic again, the route turned left towards the sea front down the back of some Victorian brick-built detached houses and then dog legged to the sea-front promenade, a bike/path/sea wall atop the sloping concrete breakwater. The views were magnificent but large - Wales to the left, Formby to the right.  

I took a few photos, feeling guilty for the dog walkers who kept walking past me every time I stopped.  At one point I begged forgiveness for constantly pestering them but they waved it away.  I said it'd be the last time as I'd never get where I was going if I didn't get a move on.  I soon realised that 37km were behind me and I had less than half of the distance to do.  With food now in my belly and a tail wind behind me, I was only going to speed up.  As the sun shone and with sea birds paddling in puddles on the shore, I realised I had nowhere to be and pushed my bike down the sloping breakwater, lay it on its side and pulled out my binoculars.  I lay down too and watched little Egrets chase eachother across the bay and a crow seeking out moluscs from the shoreline before dropping them from a great height onto the concrete sea wall so he could pull out the fleshy contents from the broken shell.

I stayed there, warm enough in my layers, and just watched until the breeze dried out the sand so much I realised I was being sand blasted and so was my bike chain.

I climbed out of the wall.  The dog-walkers were now long gone so I didn't have to face them again.

Through Wallasey, more walkers were celebrating their "Marathon" though they proudly told me they'd walked 24km.  I kept schtum about the other 2.2km and made my way around them to New Brighton.  This made me chuckle as I'd just made plans to visit a friend in the real Brighton with my holiday.

Liverpool from the New Brighton coastline

There were a few hill climbs in New Brighton but I was pleased I didn't have to do any of them as the sea wall continued to the "pleasure beach" area, now a jumble of an indoor water park and posh (for the Wirral) eateries.  I crossed a wharf on foot (for once following the "Cyclists Dismount" sign due to a large amount of mini sand dunes and an uneven load on my bike rack.  There was a castle-type building on the promenade but it was closed up.  I avoided more ice cream, my focus now on getting back to my hotel for dinner - though lord knows why as I'd gotten pretty sick of eating there over the last three weeks.

Back to the Mersey side of the peninsular, New Brighton showed its posh side with lanes and ginnels leading steeply up to toll booths - presumably these were once expensive shipping office complexes and toll-houses.  Some relics of the industry stood.  Some had been converted into monuments to the 96 dead of the Hillsborough disaster.  Some were ventilation shafts for the Mersey tunnel.

More birdwatching opportunities as sandpipers scurried across the rocks picking up tasty morsels from underneath stones.

The route took me past the Seacombe Ferry terminal which is currently closed, meaning people on foot are presently unable to cross the Mersey.  Your options are: the tunnel in a car, on a bus or taxi or an £11 50 minute river cruise. The jolly "Ferry cross the Mersey" sits, anchor bound, near Liverpool, like a relic.

There's some exciting river architecture to enjoy - dry-docks and wet docks that seem to capture the high tide above the shoreline for passers by to admire up close.  Then it diverts you past more water-front pubs that are probably thronging with pissed people during the summer weekends but sat empty and a little bleak as the sun closed in on a dreary October Sunday afternoon.

The U-Boat experience crept up on me as it would have done in the deep, a looming pair of structures painted black and partially obscured by frosted glass, forever entombed in dry air offshore to rot for the public's entertainment.  It sent shivers down my spine.  Apparently there are people that can look at this stuff without feeling anything - I am the opposite of those people and my stomach churned even after I had left the scene as spirits of people and machinery moved through me.

It's a good job I wasn't near any traffic.

I wobbled away down the sea wall - now a wharf 10 feet above the mudflats below.  Bridges carried me over sea-structures and black-painted posts and gigantic moorings like huge black mushrooms stopped me from toppling off the cobblestones.  Some pallets announced directions for a "Bridal bimble" but I didn't see anyone in a white dress.

I finally reached Camel Laird ship yard which I have seen the East side of already.  I rode around the West side, nosying at the more modern areas before being unceremoniously discharged back onto the A41 where the Mersey tunnel disgorges high-speed vehicles leaving Liverpool.  Thankfully there is a bike lane - and where there wasn't I rode along the pavement because not everyone was doing 40 miles an hour and despite there being two lanes I wasn't expecting many people to use the second one to pass me.  The route gave some respite by diving in and out of the access roads to fuel storage terminals and generally throwing me around industrial estates like a rag doll until I got bored and rode in land up a last few hills to put myself on familiar territory to hunt for some food that wasn't from the hotel. 

Eventually, I gave up and dropped back down to the hotel, to roll into my van at 5:30.  The restaurant was blissfully quiet for once, no flocks of sheep watching kicky foot. I snagged myself a filling super-salad, promised I'd be good from now on and took a green smoothly to bed. On Monday I was tired - proper tired - but damn I was happy and that is all that matters.

A week has gone by.  Just a week.  That week has involved more work on the Wirral, in fact, four days of five have been on the Wirral.  It's just that on Tuesday night I actually went home and slept in my own bed for two nights before going back to site on Thursday morning.  It felt like a recharge but on Thursday afternoon my brain was befuddled and as the sun went down I thought it was Saturday because I was on site with the same crew who accompanied me through the pressure test last weekend.

On Saturday this week I have done domestic things.  The boiler in this house is broken.  I was hoping I could fix it but I did not so there's an unfixed job.  I hate unfixed jobs.  It brought me right down again.  "I haven't ridden my bike in ages", I wailed.  I let Landslide down.  I'm a terrible person.  

Then I remembered, I only rode 60km on a folding bike last week.  Sure, it wasn't epic.  Sure it wasn't hilly.  But I did it... on a folding bike!  And I walked.  Oh man did I walk?!  Around and around in circles on site but I walked.  I'm allowed to sit still from time to time and let my heart rate settle... back to 45 - where it belongs.  Not 63 or 59... 45.