From The Peaks to Derby

At 4am I dragged myself out from shelter to stand beneath the dull light of dawn, wanting to be gone without trace before any early risers made their way past on a morning jaunt.

I had the joy of packing away under the rising sun. The light blue sky began to emerge behind the clouds, returning the monochrome world to colour.

My preparation for the day happened step-by-step over several hours, spreading numerous locations. The slow, disjointed method reflecting my state of mind. Breakfast part one took place on the hill; part two, and brushing teeth, in a hidden corner of a car park in town. Filling water bottles occurred one town along, with a break shortly after for a coffee.

In one of life’s pleasant accidents my route led through the grounds of Chatsworth House. A place I had never been but which conjured immediate feelings of familiarity due to my love of the BBC Pride and Prejudice series. Sheep were scattered across the spacious grounds, nibbling on the a mixture of dry and green grass, while a herd of deer gathered near the entrance. The regal house took centre stage, its stately appearance demanding attention.

The final highlight of this adventure occurred in Matlock, a small town south of the Peaks. Travelling well, I decided there was time for one more breakfast and wandered down an alleyway that was home to a coffee shop named The Black Cat. Offering an unassuming set up and a straightforward menu, it was the hospitality and kindness of the host that made this such a memorable experience.

Nearing Derby the calm, enjoyable ride ceased, replaced by intense traffic, the air filled with anger and frustration. I rode at a sprint, spurred on by the incessant flow of high-speed vehicles. Unfortunately, my enthusiasm for speed led me to overshoot my turning by a good few miles, adding at least half an hour onto my journey and leaving me feeling more than a little deflated.

After a seemingly never-ending line of hills the outskirts of the city came into sight. Two days of riding hard terrain, a night of little sleep and now I was thrust among the madness of city traffic.

Road works blocked my intended safe route around the centre, instead leading me right through the middle. Signs which told me cyclists could use the path seemed to be there one moment and gone the next, leaving me with little idea which direction I should be moving in. Coasting along a path, having just seen a cycle route sign, I met a group of oncoming walkers, one of whom refused to move an inch to the side, rudely telling me this was not a cycle path.

Now, I understand that cyclists on walkways can be a problem, but in a city that allows cyclists on half of their paths it is hard to work out exactly when you are, or are not, supposed to be on them. At this point I had been travelling so slowly people could have walked faster and so was causing no danger to any oncoming walkers. In a strange city, exhausted, lost and phone battery dying, it was this moment that nearly broke me. It saddened me that people can be so quick to berate, before considering the circumstance before them. If not so worn down, I would have loved to have asked him to please tell me where I could cycle, safely, and how in the world I could maneuver through the traffic to my destination?

I didn’t ask. Confrontation is difficult for me at the best of times, and at this point I was moments away from my own battery dying. Instead, pulling the brakes I got off the bike, leaned it against a lamppost and lowered myself to the floor, devouring an energy bar and desperately trying to decipher the city roads before my phone turned itself off. Although at the time moments such as these are stressful, emotional and quite frankly far from enjoyable, they also happen to be some of the most rewarding. It is when you are in a position where all may seem lost that you find within yourself the strength to survive, and the will to succeed.

Having worked out which direction to go I moved on, with many more stops along the way, fearful of missing another turn. Thankfully the rest of my route through the centre was clearly marked with a cycle sign and soon I began to leave the chaos behind.

As the traffic relented, the peaceful suburb which was my destination came into view. I found the right house with around 4% phone battery remaining and was greeted by a friendly face, a cup of tea, and help with luggage. It was the perfect way to end my journey, followed by two days of pure relaxation, spent with my lifelong friend, Storm, and her partner Gary. I was given a crash course in bicycle maintenance, giving my trusty steed some much needed tender loving care.

The weekend was over too soon and I found myself back on the bike for my return journey. Gary gave me a cycle escort through town to ensure I didn’t get lost again. Travelling through Derby was much more enjoyable this time, not only thanks to the company, but to the wonderfully peaceful and easy ride along the canal, now converted to a cycle-way. We had mapped out a route all the way to Chesterfield which led me along back roads and gravel tracks, through an unexpected amount of greenery. From there I would get the train back to Leeds.

Though part of me felt that my journey wasn’t complete unless I cycled all the way back to Leeds, these past few years have helped me to understand that it is not always about going the longest distance or setting out to do exactly what it is you originally planned. My body was spent, and I’d already gained everything I could have hoped from the trip, and more. I was happy and proud with all I had achieved and learned in those short few days, so to continue to cycle just because an inner voice told me it was a job half done? No. The real journey had been within myself, not in the number of miles travelled. And that particular road was at an end.