Day 6: I'd Like to see Kate Bush run up these hills!

Gargrave to Penrith (73 miles) If Penrith sounds North that's because it bloody well is.

Finally a shot of a canal with a pretty barge.

The big houses look imposing. Double glazing is for sissies in this part of the world.

The oldest house sign I have seen so far on this trip. There were possibly still one or two flies picking away at King Tut when this was built.

The important thing to note about this picture are the distant clouds and the way the camera is not pointing upwards to catch them. When I am on a bike I like the natural order of things to remain just as they are. Road below me, trees to the side and bloody clouds way over head.

I am virtually looking down on the clouds, not good news for Little Rhino and me who puts in the pedal power to raise us ever higher into the sky.

More sombre architecture.

A furniture superstore Yorkshire Dales style.

My lamb shot of the day, behind bars this time.

If  only I could have the proceeds from one Sheltand Pony sale for every stone wall I cycle passed. I would be able to buy the type of surgery that would give me a body that could leave both the Smith Boys trailing in my dust.

On my return after a natural break I found My Little Rhino in this phone booth plastered with cards with inappropriate telephone numbers and I am not just talking about chain lube jobs. We part each evening after a days hard cycle, me to my Lance Transfusion van, and Little Rhino safely lent up against a wall under cover., or so I thought.

A pretty picture.

More than three hundred miles after the "Give our Ducking Ducks a chance" sign for speeding motorists I finally see the ducks, unfortunately too late.

Hills come steep in these parts.

And streets come cobbled.

Occasionally cyclists get their colours just right and here we have John modelling the latest in cycle wear blending in with nature.

My favourite Mother and Lamb shot, and they were just shortly after this picture was taken.

The road behind John is flat. Note the road ahead, it takes off. They tarmac up cliffs in the Dales, no one has heard about grading.

We have been lucky with the weather, this walls speaks of wetter times.

I just hope the dogs in this area can both read and use a phone.

Grand churches dot the countryside.

Another victim of the internet and google era. This village had to modify its name after the parish secretary, Muriel Spagnum, was forced to barricade herself in her office when thousands of painfully afflicted female cyclists and horse riders descended on the village. A cruel rumour  had spread online about a place where a magical cure to their predicament had been found. The only solution is to ride side saddle. That is why no one has ever seen the Queen's face be other than regal when her horse flinches as those dam cannons fire on her official birthday. One for each year, it's more like the blitz these days, but no discomfort for her.

And after a fascinating ride up high and through scenes of even higher drama we ended up at traditional B&B's in Penrith.  We had an excellent if not rather untraditional  Mexican meal served to us by a a wonderful waitress bizarrely dressed in full flamenco clothes.

Well that its from the Peak Tours Front Line.