Day 11 – Spurning the short route
Colin and Debbie bought the Ashburnam Guest House, which sits on Victoria Avenue one road behind the Promenade at Hornsea, in a sorry state and have invested money and love into turning it into somewhere anyone would be glad to stay. Colin and spaniel Toto greeted me and after unloading panniers Lucy was put in the garage for the night. There is a pub immediately in front of the Ashburnam, but Colin wrinkled his nose when I asked about it and suggested Indian or Chinese as a better bet. Having done the usual chores I wandered about 200 yards and found the Golden Wok which was doing a roaring trade on takeaways but virtually empty as a restaurant. I ordered too much food but was very hungry after a long day on the road and managed to put away a bottle of beer, a bowl of chicken and sweetcorn soup, a mixed meat noodle dish and sweet and sour pork with egg fried rice: and very good it was too. However, when it came to pay, I hadn’t noticed that they don’t take credit cards, and I didn’t have enough cash. They did accept a bank transfer which is how I finally managed to pay the very reasonable bill.
Breakfast was a perfectly acceptable FEB or perhaps that should be FYB as I was in the East Riding, and I left replete at about 0900 knowing that I had a flat ride to Hull which is only about 16 miles away by the shortest route. I had other plans: Having visited Flamborough yesterday it would have been plain wrong not to go down to Spurn Head at the north side of the Humber estuary. I cycled along the prom at Hornsea and, as often seems the case left the sea and didn’t see it again until I got to Withernsea 17 miles later. I was trying to decide how you should pronounce Withernsea and decided in my mind that the “n” should be accentuated so it sounds Witherensea but I’ve no idea if I’m right. Anyway, it looked a pleasant enough place
With lots of off shore wind turbines on the horizon
The terrain was flat with occasional rises in the road. Large fields of harvested cereals with tractors and combination drills hard at work putting in the next crop
22 miles in, I came across a road closed sign but figured that as it was Saturday there probably wouldn’t be any work going on: my hunch paid off and, apart from a couple of verges that had been dug out ready for stone and tarmac, there was no sign of industry.
As I approached Easington, I passed a large industrial complex which, I have since discovered, is one of the sites that receives and distributes gas from the North sea. Not only from British fields but also from Norway. Much as our current Energy Secretary would like to see an end of this, I’m sure it will be operating for many years to come.
I was now about 4 miles from Spurn village and starting to see a number of people wandering around with binoculars, tripods and cameras. This was Spurn Migration Festival or, as birders refer to it. Migfest 25. I was amazed at the size of it. Large marquees and hundreds of cars.
The brainchild of two Spurn stalwarts, Martin Garner and Andy Roadhouse, the festival has become one of the most popular events on the birding calendar. From its humble beginnings in 2013, the Spurn Migration Festival has continued to grow year on year. According to the website, Spurn is undoubtedly the best place to observe migration in mainland Britain. So now you know!
The gravel spit to Spurn Head extends about 4 miles into the estuary, but the surface is loose sand and shingle and I didn’t go any further once the road ran out.
It was now time to head for Hull, and I didn’t need to retrace my steps very far before I was on new roads, long, flat and straight, up to two miles without deviation. Quite hard work into a brisk south westerly wind
I was generally away from the estuary but occasionally chanced on an inlet before once again heading inland
Just short of Thorngumbald – now there’s a name for you – I took a short cut down a rough track. The surface was easy to cycle but when I got to the other end there was a locked gate with no way through or round it. I had just passed a couple of dog walkers and he suggested we just throw the bike over. I unhitched the panniers and we unceremoniously “threw” Lucy over the gate.
For a short distance I joined a busy road but was soon instructed by Rita to turn off down a rough track. I had seen on my plotted route that there was about 10 miles of cross country track that couldn’t be viewed on Street view, always a bit unnerving. In the event the surface was generally OK if very narrow.
I didn’t have any “interesting” moments although I kept my left foot unclipped for most the the run, just in case. This was the track of the long defunct Hull to Withernsea railway and there was occasional evidence in the shape of old rails.
The track took on a concrete and then tarmac surface as it came into the city.
There was a tearaway on a noisy trials bike who, I’m sure shouldn’t have been on the pathway but no real harm done and Rita and Gary between them guided me faultlessly to the door of the White Hart, my home for the night. Although I haven’t travelled a great distance it has been tiring. As I’ve often observed you have to pedal all the time on the flat. Tomorrow will be more of the same but a greater distance.
