Day 12 – Into Lincs
The White Hart, Hull is a pub that dates back to 1904. It fell into disrepair but has been renovated and running since 2018. There are 8 rooms above the bars, accessed by a steep staircase. I was given an access code, told that I was staying in Room 7 and left to get on with it. I asked if they had safe storage for Lucy but was told she could go into the beer garden which has CCTV. When I arrived, I took a look at the stairs and figured I could get her into my room with a bit of grunt. It wasn’t easy but I managed, and the room was big enough for both of us. There was a fan, so the washing dried well overnight.
The Three John Scotts, housed in the former general Post office, is one of Wetherspoons finest and that’s where I went. I’d forgotten that it was Saturday night: the pub was heaving but I found a quietish corner and ordered a pint of Ruddles and fish and chips. I had another pint and sticky toffee pudding to finish, total cost under £20. Just around the corner was a One Stop where I bought a bottle of Aussie red and went back to write up my days adventures. The city was bustling with people on a night out and every pub and club had a black gang on the door to make sure there was no mischief. There were hen parties and lads in fancy dress: I left them to it and retired to my room.
I had the best part of 80 miles to travel today and the forecast was for rain in Skegness at about 4pm so I planned to leave early. There was no breakfast in the deal so I could leave when I wanted to. Unfortunately, I had a dreadful night, unable to sleep. The bed was two singles put together and uncomfortable and there was a bit of noise from outside so I felt that I hardly slept at all when I stirred at about 6am. As I was awake, I decided to get on with it and packed and took the two panniers and bike battery down to the lobby and then heaved Lucy down. It was easier than I feared, bumping her down on her back wheel, and I hope I didn’t wake any other residents. The upshot was that I was pedalling away at 0722 and stopped to take a pic of the City Hall Theatre in the bright morning sunlight
Amazingly I found the route straight away and made very few wrong turns on my way to The Humber Bridge. I was following the signs for the Trans Pennine route which, I noticed yesterday, started in Hornsea. I did manage to miss the access road for cycles onto the bridge and had to turn round to avoid the main carriageway but, once found, I had an easy crossing. I had done it before in 2016 on my tour of County Towns on a very murky day. The view today wasn’t great but better than nine years ago.
The Humber Bridge was said to be a vanity project of John “two jags” Prescott, MP for North Hull and former Deputy PM, although it had been talked of long before he took office. When it opened in 1981 it was the longest single span suspension bridge in the world, though it has now fallen to 14th. The original tollcharge of £3 for a single journey by car, £24 for an artic, was the most expensive in the UK and lorries, in particular, felt it made more economic sense to go inland to avoid it. The toll has now been halved and lorries pay £12 whilst bikes and pedestrians use it freely.
It is a beautiful structure and easy to see from the viewing point on the south bank. My route now followed the edge of the estuary for about three miles along a dirt track on the top of the levee, and I proceeded cautiously with one foot unclipped, passing lots of dog walkers on the way.
When I eventually got back onto tarmac I made good time towards Immingham, one of the largest container ports in Britain and surrounded by power stations and gas plants,
Grimsby is next down the coast: once the largest fishing fleet in the world was based here but that has almost entirely disappeared. It still has a major fish market but most of the fish sold has been imported from Iceland for distribution round the UK and Europe. Taking its place is a large food industry with the claim that there are more pizzas made in Grimsby than anywhere else in Europe, including Italy. I passed around rather than through Grimsby and crossed the railway by means of this rather grand structure
Now on the seafront again I had a short ride to Cleethorpes and its rather paltry pier
As I hadn’t eaten, I stopped for a bacon bap and a mug of tea
And very good it was too.
I had to venture inland to miss a large area with no roads or tracks, partly marsh but mainly productive farm land, before heading back to the coast at Mablethorpe,
the most northerly of a string of seaside resorts on the Lincolnshire coast with acres of land devoted to holiday homes. Miles of concrete path link Trusthorpe, Sutton-on-Sea, Chapel St Leonard’s, Seathorne and Skegness.
I made the mistake of trying to follow this promenade from Chapel St Leonard’s and found myself bogged down in drifted sand which held me up long enough to be caught in steady rain for the final five miles before I arrived at the Royal Hotel, Skegness.
Gale force winds forecast tomorrow. I may have to take a train.