Cycling

Preparation explained part of the conversation. Watching her ride explained the rest.

Again and again, people used the same word. Smooth.

“She’s got a beautiful style. You could put a teacup on her back and it would not spill,” said two-time Commonwealth champion Katherine Bates.

“She’s got an exceptionally strong core. She does not move at all on the bike, even when putting out maximum power.”

Paralympic gold medalist and Finucane’s former Great Britain team-mate, Jenny Holl, believes that style is difficult to teach.

“Emma looks like she’s one with the bike,” she reveres.

“She’s so smooth, so dialed. She never looks like she’s fighting with it and, for me, that’s the biggest difference. That fluidity seems to give her that extra gear.”

Finucane’s positioning has taken years of refining and discipline.

“She’s so low but that’s really hard work. She’s trained herself to be in that position,” explained Partridge.

“The work she’s put in, the focus on the position and the discipline on her line, all these things add up to making her what she is.”

Perhaps the best example came in the women’s 1km time trial.

While most of the field opted for specialist time-trial handlebars, Finucane chose conventional drop handlebars.

She still won.

Saturday’s netball results mean Jamaica and New Zealand will battle it out for the gold on Sunday during some of the final medal awards of the tournament.

England will also try to deny Australia a consolation bronze, before teams transform the Hydro from a netball court back to a gig venue for the closing ceremony on Sunday night.

The venue will be turned around in just six hours.

It has been a scaled-down version of the Games, with 215 medals awarded across 10 sports, however it has hosted a record 47 para-sports events.

Glasgow stepped in to host the tournament – for the second time in eight years – when Australian state Victoria pulled out due to soaring costs.

King Charles and Queen Camilla emerged from a Tardis during the spectacular opening ceremony last Thursday.

Flags from 74 nations and territories were carried into the arena during the event, which also featured the Loch Ness monster and performances from Nathan Evans, Tom Walker and KT Tunstall.

The medal ceremony was just under an hour later.

Morris had heard her victories played out for GB with a different anthem but she looked to be overcome when celebrating this one with the Welsh national song.

No time to immediately reflect on what she had just achieved though.

There was a quick chance for a picture with the Welsh flag and then off it was to the next task.

The scratch race started just 10 minutes later where Morris lined up with Welsh team-mates Megan Barker and Carys Lloyd.

It looked like they had concocted an almost perfect plan, with Barker going off a few laps out and Morris driving through to finish second behind Australian winner Georgia Baker.

A gold and a silver all in one day. Or so we thought.

Morris had already done some interviews celebrating this fact before she was given the message in the media mixed zone about her demotion.

Morris had been relegated for entering the sprinter’s lane when her New Zealand opponent was already there, and Scottish cyclist Erin Boothman was promoted to bronze.

Morris returned to do a couple more interviews, ironically, while the scratch closing ceremony was going on.

Morris reflected on her golden moment.

“It was just a dream,” said Morris. “We get that opportunity once every four years, so for it to come together tonight was amazing.

“I have my family and friends in the crowd and the support team from Welsh Cycling were also there.

“I’m going to carry that with me forever, it’s amazing.”

Morris seemed unaware of her dominance in the race.

“It was only when I crossed the line I knew I’d won the race,” said Morris.

“I focused on my ride and tried to execute it well and really leave it all out on the track.”

It had been a day of mixed emotions and, when asked to sum up her feelings about the scratch race, Morris was whisked off so we will have to wait for that verdict.

So, disappointment to finish the day but that should not take away from her pursuit domination and golden moment.

Morris is a world champion for a reason and she proved why.

Wales cycling have two special world-class talents in Finucane and Morris.

This road has a long history studded with soldiers, cyclists and tourists

Tucked in the hills of the Lake District is a twisting road that is so steep and challenging it’s often brought up as one of the most dangerous in the UK. Hardknott Pass, between Eskdale and the Duddon Valley, links the Lake District with West Cumbria.

Often impassable in the winter due to snow and ice, it is also one of the steepest in the UK. It has a maximum gradient of 33%, and winds through the mountains with a series of hairpin turns that would put fear in any casual driver.

This steep gradient draws endurance cyclists from across the world. It’s steeper than any other mountain stage in any other European races, including the Tour de France.

Every year, cyclists flock to the pass to complete the Fred Whitton Challenge – an 112 mile ride around the Lake District.

From Romans to tank training

A version of what is now Hardknott Pass was built by the Romans around AD110 to link the coastal fort at Ravenglass to their garrisons in Ambleside. They called it the tenth highway, but it fell into disrepair in the early 5th century when the Romans left Britain. For years it was used as an unpaved packhorse route to transport lead and farming goods.

In the 1880s, the road was improved by the English Lake District Association – a group of hoteliers. They hoped that making the road better would encourage more people to travel there but by 1891 it had failed to attract the number of people they had wanted.

Instead, the route was popular with cyclists and motorists. Even then, it was described as a challenging road to pass, with the Guide to North-West England describing the old coach road as “difficult going West, cruel coming East”.

Fast forward to World War 2 and the remote mountain pass was in regular use by British forces who used it to train tank drivers, completely destroying what was left of the road surface.

After the war it was finally tarmacked and opened to vehicles.

The road today

Now, the road is a thrilling drive where anyone coming downhill must be prepared to reverse into tight passing bays to allow those coming up the right of way.

However, despite the challenge of driving the road, the views at its 393 metre summit are well worth the effort.

The peak of the mountain offers breathtaking panoramic views stretching toward the Scafell range.

As you drive along the route, you pass the haunting ruins of Hardknott Roman fort, where the same soldiers who used to travel the pass stood watch over the mountain wilderness.

“Are you mad?” says a fellow guest over dinner at our campsite. “I heard you’re here on a long-distance cycle ride with your toddlers.”

I am in Orne, a region in Normandy, with my sister Issy and our three-year-old sons, Sid and Ralph. The landscape folds around us in green-over-green – hedgerow, oak, mossy manor wall – then opens into meadows where Percheron horses graze, knee-deep in wildflowers. Deer leap from the bocage. Cidre and poiré have been pressed here since the middle ages. The villages are sandy stone, blue- and green-shuttered; roses against the boulangerie.

And yes, we are biking through it with the boys in child seats on the back, camping along the way in places found through the France Vélo Tourisme website. Over five days, we’re travelling 130km (80 miles) from Rémalard-en-Perche to Domfront, mostly along the Véloscénic – a 450km voie verte (a “greenway” car-free route) that runs from Mont-Saint-Michel to Paris – but looping off it to explore the fairytale chateaux and villages of the Perche, a historic former province. Issy is intrepid and a serious cyclist (the Lycra kind) but the best I can say is I cycle Sid to nursery, and I haven’t slept under canvas since, well, Glastonbury. So two or three hours’ cycling a day is probably enough …

Slightly rumpled from the overnight ferry to Caen from Portsmouth, we pull into Forest View, a campsite three miles south of Rémalard. Jean-Louis from the local bike hire shop is waiting with our ebikes. He’d insisted. I’d resisted: they can’t carry both a child seat and panniers so we’ll rely on Jean-Louis and a patchwork of kindly hosts to move our bags between stops. We test our bike legs on La Route Royale, an intermediate-level 25km circular route, and within an hour of leaving the campsite, climbing the hill to the pretty church of Moutiers-au-Perche for lunch, I realise Jean-Louis was right. The ebikes are the difference between a holiday and a heart attack.

The route is flat, but to really see the Perche you have to venture off it, and once you do, the land begins to roll and hills come without warning. The boys, strapped in behind us, are not light. But they are also loving it: pointing, laughing, bursting into Old MacDonald every time they see a horse, cow, tractor or sheep. It’s going so well that Issy and I are debating another few hours cycling or even a cider tasting on the way home, when a pause in the singing alerts us to the fact that both children have been lulled to sleep, heads wobbling from side to side, and so we take them back to the campsite to rest.

Graham Allen bought Forest View three years ago and built wooden camping pods especially for cyclists after watching them arrive “laden like donkeys”. Inside there’s a cosy bed and a skylight that we watch the stars through. Across the field there are hot showers. And in the informal restaurant, more like a kitchen/living room, home-cooked food at a shared table. Along France’s greenways, the number of Accueil Vélo accredited stops (accommodation for cyclists that offer breakfast, basic repair kits and help with luggage, among other things) has tripled since 2019.

After some seriously good sleep, eggs on toast and frantic sorting of stuff, we spend the next day on the Dîtes-le Avec des Fleurs loop: through the oak forest of Réno-Valdieu and past the Manoir de la Moussetière, one of the fortified manor houses typical of the Perche. Even on the open roads, there are just a handful of cars, and some steep climbs reward us with wonderful views. The freewheel back down leaves the boys shrieking with delight. At La Chapelle-Montligeon, a church rises out of the fields, and here we picnic on the bank of a lake.

Denis Hurtaud was also cycling this route when he took a detour from the greenway and stumbled on Café de la Place in the sleepy village of Courgeon. “The terrace was full of yellow flowers and there were old-fashioned oilcloths on the tables. Dappled sunlight fell across the courtyard,” he says. Over lunch, he overheard the owner say he was planning to retire and, by the end of the meal, he had decided to buy it. Today it is a bistro, village shop, bike repair station, art gallery, music venue and a lifeline to locals.

It’s Accueil Vélo-accredited too. No shower yet, but we pitch our tent in the garden and Denis has saved us some dinner. We sit at a long table in the last of the light, doves cooing in the church tower, eating chicken cooked in cider, a Perche speciality. Locals drift in and out. A neighbour’s child arrives with a plate of warm crepes for us.

The next day, we ride 8km up the greenway to Mortagne-au-Perche for the market. The queue for the season’s first strawberries goes around the block. A man turns dripping chickens on a spit. The radishes are obscenely pink, the asparagus oh so plump. At the Bar du Marché, locals drink coffee and scratch scratchcards in the sunshine. We join them. Our boys are knackered; both have absolute meltdowns and it’s hard work getting them back on the bikes, so we head directly to Carrouges, where we are to camp at the Parc Naturel Régional Normandie-Maine, in an orchard behind the moated, red-brick Château de Carrouges.

The Parc is Accueil Vélo too, but the woman at the office says only five or six tents pitch up a year and we have the orchard to ourselves. Just us, a roast chicken and some baguettes, with the kids playing dinosaurs in long grass. Once Sid is snoring I pour myself a cidre – from local apples – and write. It is so quiet you can hear the flapping of birds’ wings. Then the storm comes. I’m a tent pole down (Glastonbury?) and the rain hits canvas like gravel. I lie clinging to Sid as the thunder tears the sky open above us, questioning every life choice that has led me to a walled orchard in Normandy with a small child and half a tent.

By morning, the rain has stopped. The orchard glistens. Issy emerges from the next-door tent having not slept either. We push on through the spa town of Bagnoles-de-l’Orne to Domfront, a town on a rocky outcrop dominated by a medieval keep. The sun bursts out again and the kids race up the ruined stones. Our home for the night is the Cabane des Deux Chênes, a handbuilt cabin on stilts between two old oaks. A secret room for the children in the rafters. A Nordic bath on the terrace, a hug after the rain.

On our last morning, we stop at the Ferme de l’Yonnière, Jérôme Forget’s farm just down the road, where he makes AOP Poiré Domfront. Pear trees take decades to mature, Jerome tells us, which is why most people stopped planting them, and why poiré went out of fashion. But he has planted a thousand. Next spring, he’ll start taking cyclists, too.

Back at the cabane, Jean-Louis comes to pick us up in his van and drives us, talking in French the whole way: about the pear trees and horses and the lanes we have just cycled. The most beautiful place in the world, he says, and I don’t disagree. Against the odds, it’s been a brilliant family holiday and Issy and I are already planning to come back next summer and do the whole thing. Perhaps we are mad after all.

The trip was provided by Orne Tourism, with travel to France by Brittany Ferries. Bike hire with Les Vélos Perchés costs €35 (£30) a day. At Forest View a pod sleeping two costs from £38 per night; campsite pitches start at £25 per night. Cabane des Deux Chênes sleeps 2-4 and costs from £138 per a night.

The Tour de France has a chequered history that cannot be forgotten.

“He knows what the record is,” Lance Armstrong said on social media following Sunday’s result, referring to Pogacar.

The American’s record of seven Tour de France victories between 1999 and 2005 has long since been wiped from the record books following the revelation of his systematic doping.

And those in the sport have fairly diligently avoided mentioning his name since.

But the night-time anti-doping tests during this year’s Tour, which the International Testing Agency (ITA) told BBC Sport were undertaken as an “exceptional operation” and because time was of the essence, once again raised questions in a sport which doesn’t need them, thanks to that dark past.

Testing at such anti-social hours is rare and requires additional permission, and some suspect it may have been a factor in Jonas Vingegaard’s Tour-ending crash after he was woken at 2am the previous night, and Pogacar himself at 5am.

Others were tested at night, too, and all riders were tested during the race. But what were the ITA looking for?

They wouldn’t say, specifically, but one possible explanation for night-time testing of professional cyclists appears to be to gather as much information as possible to try to understand micro-dosing. That is where an athlete could take performance-enhancing drugs, such as red blood cell stimulant EPO or anabolic steroids, in very small quantities to evade detection on the Athlete Biological Passport, which is endorsed by the World Anti-Doping Agency (Wada) and used across cycling.

There is no suggestion of wrongdoing in the case of Pogacar, Vingegaard or any of those tested at night this year.

Past findings produced by Wada suggest micro-dosing could evade detection methods, and so the scope to cheat in professional sport remains, meaning all efforts must be taken to ensure nobody beats the system.

The ITA cannot confirm when the results of the Tour tests will be made public, but EF Education-Easypost boss Jonathan Vaughters told BBC Sport: “Doubts? Actually [those tests] solve my doubts.”

Vaughters, who doped during his riding career, is now reformed.

He said during this year’s race: “If we had 24-hour testing in 2001 when EPO tests were first introduced we would have had a huge number of riders excluded from the sport, including me. And it would have saved 25 years of drama.

“So I mean we wouldn’t have had to go through Lance Armstrong… The problem would have been solved immediately in 2000.

“If you introduce a low enough dose of a peptide hormone, the clearance time can be four hours – if you take it at 11 it’ll be out of the system at 3am, so it makes a difference. The testing technology is evolving quickly.

“If you want to watch a clean sport, watch cycling, most other sports’ testing is a complete joke.

“Why is cycling so hyper-focused? History. This is human F1 car racing; this is edge of human performance; boundaries are always going to be pushed.”

Many riders and team bosses won’t go near the ‘D’ word, and the consensus is ‘believe what you are seeing’ when Pogacar accelerates away and wins by, at times, a matter of minutes, and when others perform their own remarkable feats in the saddle.

The Tour triumph marks the Slovenian’s third win in a row and draws him level with four others on the all-time list

Slovenia’s Tadej Pogacar secured a record-equalling fifth Tour de France title on Sunday after safely navigating the final stage, won by Mathieu van ⁠der Poel, to seal a third consecutive crown in cycling’s greatest race.

The 27-year-old UAE Team Emirates XRGcyclist, affectionately known as “Pogi”, only needed to avoid a race-ending mishap on the run into Paris to join Jacques Anquetil, Eddy Merckx, Bernard Hinault and ⁠Miguel Indurain as a five-time Tour champion.

Belgium’s Remco Evenepoel finished second overall, while Mexico’s Isaac del Toro rounded out the overall podium in third.

“Thank you to all the fans and to all of France for hosting this great race,” Pogacar said.

“Thank you to my competitors for putting on a great show. We fought hard over the last three weeks.”

Van der Poel takes final stage

Pogacar ‌and Van der Poel broke away on the final ascent of Montmartre with about 10km (6 miles) remaining and took a slender advantage into the run to the Champs-Elysees as the chasing group closed relentlessly.

The Slovenian’s challenge faded inside the final kilometre, but Van der Poel pressed on to secure victory in a photo finish ahead of Alpecin-Premier Tech teammate Jasper Philipsen, with Mads Pedersen of Lidl-Trek in third.

“When I was sick last year, and I had to watch the stage on television, I was already thinking about this moment,” Van der Poel, 31, said.

“The way it went, it’s a dream. It’s ⁠incredible. It was super hard, and to be up there with the best rider in ⁠the world, all my respect for Tadej.

“I thought we were going to get caught back, then I was just thinking about this moment. I put my head down in the last 500 metres. I just went as hard as I could.

“I’m super happy. I have a few races ⁠I still wanted to win in my career, and this was one of them.”

Supreme Pogacar

Pogacar underlined his supremacy throughout the Tour by claiming five stage victories.

His path to a third ⁠straight yellow jersey became less complicated when two-time Tour winner Jonas Vingegaard, ⁠widely regarded as his principal challenger, withdrew after a crash on Stage 15.

The Tour’s traditional finale in Paris was shortened after security forces were redeployed to help tackle wildfires near Bordeaux. As a result, Stage 21, which customarily takes the peloton into Paris before several laps of the Champs-Elysees, was reduced ‌to 89km from the 133km originally scheduled.

This year’s race also produced a remarkable first: no rider from France, Italy or Spain won a stage, making it the first Tour de France without a stage victory from any of the ‌three ‌nations that created and host cycling’s Grand Tours.

Pogacar’s latest triumph caps three weeks of racing since the Grand Depart in Barcelona and further cements his status as the dominant rider of his generation.

WIMBLEDON and the World Cup may be over, but the Tour de France is still going – until tomorrow.

So if watching those Lycra-clad professionals pedal around Spain and France has inspired you to get your bum in that saddle, take a look at these two-wheeled getaways.

These five lesser-used trails showcase some of the most gorgeous scenery, away from the intimidating cycling crowds.

Better still, each trip has been designed with cyclists in mind and includes perks such as accommodation with cycling facilities, bike-friendly transfers and bike carriage.

MENORCA: This Balearic island is far from the well-ridden, high-speed routes on the Tour de France.

Instead you’ll be greeted by rugged coastal trails and ancient paths, including the 185km Camí de Cavalls.

SUN SAVERS

Our pick of the best ‘kids eat free’ deals this summer to help you save cash

ON THE ROAD

We gave up exotic holidays to travel the UK by van – and found £14 campsites

Translated as The Path of Horses, it was originally used by knights to patrol the coast on horseback in the 14th century.

GO: Seven nights’ self-catering at the three-star Tramontana Park Aparthotel is from £829pp including flights from Manchester on August 31, plus 22kg baggage allowance, bike carriage and return sports transfers.

Approximately £24 in tourist tax is payable at the property.

See jet2holidays.com.

LAKE DISTRICT AND PENNINES: The north of the UK is home to some of the hilliest landscapes, which means this trip isn’t for the faint-hearted.

Those climbs will be rewarded, however, with some of the most breathtaking scenery.

You’ll also tackle Allenheads, which claims to be the highest village in England.

GO: The five-night self-guided coast to coast trip costs from £895pp including breakfasts and lunches, as well as accommodation.

E-bike hire available.

See skedaddle.com.

DALMATIAN COAST, CROATIA: If dramatic coastal scenery is what you’re after, look no further than the Dalmatian Coast, where craggy mountainscapes offer sweeping views of a sparkling ocean.

Staying in the Šibenik-Knin region puts you within reach of some versatile routes for all abilities.

The Krka National Park is known for its cascading waterfalls.

GO: Seven nights’ all-inclusive at the three-star Amadria Park Apartments is from £629pp, based on a family of four sharing, including flights from London Stansted on August 18, plus 22kg baggage allowance, bike carriage and return sports transfers.

See jet2holidays.com.

LOIRE VALLEY, FRANCE: Worried about those aching limbs?

This Loire Valley itinerary includes spa time, so you can rest and recuperate in between cycle stints.

These very easy and flat routes will take you through charming French villages and sweet vineyards whose vines are dripping in plump grapes right about now.

GO: The four-night Loire Spa Escape costs from £895pp including serviced touring bikes with a pannier bag and luggage transfers.

Flights cost extra. See cyclingforsofties.com.

COSTA DORADA, SPAIN: There’s a reason so many pros choose to train on Spain’s Costa Dorada.

Roads are smooth and wide, with very few potholes, plus there’s a variety of terrain that means you can pick your difficulty level.

Weave your way through the wine regions of Priorat and Montsant or challenge yourself with the La Mussara climb that takes you almost 1,000 metres above sea level.

GO: Seven nights’ half-board at three+ star Medplaya Hotel Calypso is from £769pp including flights from East Midlands airport on August 17, plus 22kg baggage allowance, bike carriage and return sports transfers.

Approximately £22 in tourist tax is payable at the property. See jet2holidays.com.

There aren’t many roads in Britain where you can pull over to cook breakfast and finish it without seeing a single car. While my friend Ben got the stove going, I wandered around the ruins of Dun Dornaigil, an iron age broch (stone roundhouse) more than 2,000 years old. Above us, low cloud drifted across the dark cliffs of Ben Hope. This was exactly the kind of lost lane we’d come to Sutherland to ride.

Our journey had begun the day before, in Lairg – the traditional “crossroads of the north”. With its Spar shop, hotel, train station and a population of about 800, Lairg is the largest inland settlement in one of the most sparsely populated regions of Europe. Sutherland – literally, the “southern land” of the Vikings, who held sway over the far north of Scotland from their stronghold on Orkney – tests life to its limits: bare mountains, impassable peat bogs and one of Britain’s wildest coastlines.

Today, the region’s biggest draw isn’t a particular place but a route. The North Coast 500 is regularly ranked among the world’s greatest road trips – and has been dubbed the “Instagram highway”. Over the past decade, its runaway success has doubled the traffic on its roads. Plenty of cyclists do ride the 516-mile (830km) circuit, or parts of it, but we had not come to this far-flung corner of Scotland to spend our time amid a procession of motorbikes, sports cars and campervans.

Heading west from Lairg, we turned into Glen Cassley. On the map, it’s a dead-end lane that dwindles to a rough 4×4 track. After a couple of miles bumping along the gravel, a ribbon of silky-smooth tarmac appears as if by magic (it is, in fact, a service road for a dam and a small hydroelectric generator). It led us up a steep climb over the top to Loch Shin.

From here, the only way across the next range of hills was an old drovers’ road over the Bealach nam Meirleach – or Thief’s Pass – a name hinting at earlier use by cattle rustlers. Thanks to Scotland’s enlightened access laws, we were free to give it a go. The only question was whether our fully laden touring bikes would be up to it. Though boneshaking at times, it was a thrilling 8-mile ride over genuinely remote hill country, passing a string of lochans (small lochs) flanked by huge, glacier-scoured cliffs. Descending into Strathmore, we found the perfect wild-camp spot by the river. Perfect, that is, until the midges appeared, forcing us to don our slightly absurd nylon head nets to keep them at bay.

The next day, after our roadside breakfast by the broch, we continued on a narrow road from Strathmore to the tiny hamlet of Altnaharra. The very name has a romance to it, and I’d heard it now and again on weather bulletins in the depths of winter (the weather station here jointly holds the record for Britain’s coldest recorded temperature: –27.2C in December 1995). A small hotel, originally a 17th-century drovers’ inn but reopened in the 1820s to bring anglers and deer stalkers to the area, is open from March to October. With the sun blazing in a cloudless sky and the land so lush and green, it was impossible to imagine the long, dark winters where heavy snow can leave the handful of local people cut off for weeks.

Downstream of the hotel is a three-arch stone bridge built by Thomas Telford, wittily dubbed the Scottish “colossus of roads”, who gave Sutherland its first proper highways. We set off on his road to the coast. It crosses the western edge of the Flow Country, a seemingly infinite expanse of mountain and blanket bog. Walter Scott described this far north of Scotland as the “immeasurable wilds” and the distant, never-changing horizons can be disorientating. As the miles ticked by, my eye was drawn instead to the microcosm at the roadside: verges dotted with delicate flowers, mosses and lichens; dark, still pools of water ringed with reeds and tufts of pure white cotton grass.

Eventually, we reached the coast and the village of Tongue. As we freewheeled down the hill, a sea eagle picked us out and glided overhead, matching our speed, as if lazily sizing us up for its next meal before deciding we weren’t worth the bother. We stopped for our lunch on the sunny terrace of the Tongue hotel, a former hunting lodge furnished in the Highland style – all dark wood, polished brass, tartan and antlers. Tongue overlooks a shallow sea loch where whales, dolphins, seals and otters are regularly spotted. In the 1970s, a causeway and road bridge were built across the mouth of the Kyle of Tongue, replacing a ferry crossing. Almost no one drives the narrow old road around the loch. It’s a genuine lost lane, with views across the turquoise waters of the loch and inland to the shapely granite peaks of Ben Loyal.

On the far side of the loch is the Moine, for centuries another impassable morass of blanket bog. To cross it, we had no choice but to join the stream of traffic on the fast and wide A838, which forms part of the North Coast 500. A closer inspection of the map revealed a few fragments of the original road, now abandoned. Some sections were a muddy quagmire, but others were surprisingly intact. Along the way, we stopped in at the roofless ruin of a small house where travellers once took refuge from storms.

Across the Moine, we reached the northern tip of Loch Hope, where the Danish billionaire Anders Holch Povlsen has just opened what may be the country’s most expensive hotel: rooms at Hope Lodge cost upward of £1,550 a night. Povlsen is a paradoxical figure. Scotland’s biggest private landowner, his fortune was made from fast fashion, an industry widely criticised for its record on the environment and on labour. Yet, as well as running a handful of luxury retreats, his company WildLand has made ambitious commitments to nature conservation and rewilding on his vast estates. After pondering what comforts lay behind the metal gates of Hope Lodge, we set off down a narrow lane along the shore of the loch, where we spotted two campers quietly rewilding themselves for free.

We soon discovered this was a gem of a lane, with its thick sward of grass up the middle, winding its way past drifts of heather and eucalyptus-scented bog myrtle, and through sun-dappled glades of downy birch and sessile oak. Stopping in a narrow ravine, we drank deeply of the cool, peaty water that spilled down in a cascade. On this 20-mile stretch, we passed just two farmsteads. The emptiness of places like Strathmore is the legacy of the notorious early 18th-century Sutherland clearances in which thousands of farming families were evicted, often violently, to make way for commercial sheep grazing.

Returning to the crossroads at Altnaharra, it was time to turn south on to the road to Lairg. Our destination for the night was the Crask Inn, a historic drovers’ haunt that offers cyclists free camping in the garden. We pitched next to a lone German who was closing in on John o’Groats, the end of a ride that had begun a fortnight earlier at Land’s End. Our tour of just three days had covered 130 miles. We had travelled along lonesome highways, forgotten byways and the remotest of hill tracks. In setting out to avoid the North Coast 500, we had ended up riding where no campervan could go.

Jack Thurston’s new book, Lost Lanes Scotland, is out now (Wild Things Publishing, £18.99). This tour combines two rides from the book

Just 16 miles north of the California border, enchanting Ashland, Ore., has drawn theater fans for more than 90 years. The city owes its modern tourism economy in large part to William Shakespeare.

The Oregon Shakespeare Festival runs from spring to fall annually, attracting many of the 350,000 annual visitors to the city of 21,000 residents. Locals and travelers gather to watch live productions in venues like the Allen Elizabethan Theatre — modeled after a 1599 London playhouse, with a three-story Tudor facade — where for one magical evening, they’re transported to Shakespeare’s heyday.

While it’s hard to escape the Bard’s reach in the downtown core, Ashland and environs offer much more than theater. Its outdoor wonderland especially is well worth exploring. Or as Shakespeare once put it: “One touch of nature makes the whole world kin.”

Within a short drive await wineries, hiking, cycling and white-water rafting on the magnificent Rogue River. Crater Lake National Park is about a two-hour drive, and the destruction of dams on the Klamath River reopened scenic rafting there last year for the first time in more than a century. As a designated Tree City USA community, Ashland is steeped in greenery. Parks abound. Lovely Ashland Creek meanders through the town.

Founded as a farm town in the 1850s, Ashland incorporated as a city in 1885 after rapid growth fueled by the railroad’s arrival. Many buildings in the downtown historic district date to the turn of the 20th century. Today, Ashland is home to a variety of shops — a couple of favorites include Bloomsbury Books with its ecology rack right out front and Mountain Provisions for high-quality outdoor gear. And with more than 100 restaurants, Ashland’s food and beverage scene runs the gamut from casual (try the porkstrami at Sammich) to inventive (check out the unique Alsatian menu at Nous).

These days, a cautious optimism prevails throughout Ashland, which had been hit hard by the pandemic and simultaneous wildfires. At downtown’s Village Baker, the scent of baking bread hints at the 1,400 loaves produced daily. They start at 4 a.m. and deliver for miles around. That broad reach, co-owner Gerardo Gutierrez says, has helped them weather challenging times.

“We’re coming back from the ashes,” he said.

Skylarks call out a cascading trill as I pedal between the pink and white hawthorn blossoms that make my path look like a May Day parade. I’m on the outskirts of Oxford, a city I thought I knew well, yet as I follow the National Cycle Route 57 on the e-bike I’d picked up in Jericho, it feels as though I’ve discovered a secret passageway.

This year the Camping and Caravanning Club (CCC) turns 125 – and I’m celebrating with a 60-mile cycling and camping trip, leaving from the city where the organisation was born and heading to Walton-on-Thames to stay at one of the oldest campsites in the CCC network.

The CCC began life as the Association of Cycle Campers before becoming the club it is today. It all started when founder Thomas Hiram Holding, already a keen camper, was visiting his friend Rev EC Pitt-Johnson’s Oxford home in 1901 and they decided there was enough demand and interest in the hobby to form a club. They elected each other president and secretary respectively and the rest, as they say, is history.

Back then, Holding had a “safety cycle” – not dissimilar to a modern-day bike, which replaced the tricky-to-master penny farthing. He proudly invented much camping gear, too, from early lightweight tents and folding poles to cycle touring bags. “Holding understood the health and wellbeing benefits people gained from camping,” explains Jo Cartwright, archivist at the CCC, when I tell her my e-bike plan, “so I think he would’ve embraced any new form of transport.”

While all-singing, all-dancing motorhomes and caravans are ubiquitous these days, and along with pre-pitched glamping options are squeezing the space left for regular campers, the CCC assure me that humble tents are very much still welcomed on its sites. So with mine firmly stowed on my e-bike, I set off, deciding to break my journey with an overnight stop at Bella Vista Camping in Radnage, a family-run club site that sits on the Chiltern Cycleway.

Quiet roads lead me east from Oxford toward Wheatley and Thame, where I stop at the Old Fisherman to grab a sandwich and coffee, before continuing on the Phoenix Trail (part of Route 57), its straight lines a nod to its former life as the disused railway track to Princes Risborough. Red kites replace skylarks as I glide on the easy track away from any road traffic, passing the old station building at Bledlow and going under the former railway bridge and past the abandoned platform where Towersey Halt stop, closed since 1963, would have been.

Before he started the Association of Cycle Campers, Holding’s method of camping – after a childhood wagon trek on the prairies of North America had him hooked – was by canoe in Ireland. That was until a friend of his in England announced that he and his wife were planning to spend a week camping by tandem bike in Britain, and asked him to come to help with attaching his kit to the frame – after which he wrote, “We succeeded,” and declared in his book, Cycle and Camp, published in 1897, “There was something in it.”

While more people arrive in motorhomes than by bike these days, I’m pleased to see that Bella Vista Camping still has a huge field for tents, next to a paddock of Soay sheep and alpacas, and there are hot showers and proper toilets in a big mess tent.

After dinner at the Crown Pub, just a five-minute walk away, and a quiet night’s sleep while my bike battery charged, I am ready for the next part of my cycle tour to Walton-on-Thames. Opened in 1913, the Walton CCC campsite was described in a Golden Jubilee Souvenir booklet from 1963 as a place full of “homemade tents, bamboo poles, hurricane lamps and wood fires”.

Curious at what I’d encounter now, I leave the highs of the Chilterns and Route 57 to bear south on country lanes that skirt the edge of High Wycombe, through the busy streets of the Thames-side towns of Marlow and Cookham, and on narrow cycle paths between Maidenhead and Eton. When I stop for lunch at the Crocus cafe in Dorney, I’m amazed at how curious people are about my set-up. I feel a little like Holding, showcasing another way of holidaying in Britain.

Windsor Great Park is an unexpected highlight – its easy roads contrasting starkly with the quite hairy gravel tracks I descend into Egham. But then designated bike lanes through Staines and Chertsey see me ticking off my remaining miles with ease.

A final treat is a ferry crossing over the Thames at Shepperton to Weybridge – fitting given that the very first campsite in the CCC network used to sit on one of the islands here (it closed in 1909).

Given that the Walton campsite has no facilities, it’s primarily frequented by motorhomes and caravans that have their own chemical toilets. I’ve brought my own eco-friendly option, though, in the form of a Poopaloo dry-powder toilet. My pitch was next to a small hut filled with sepia photographs of tents from 100 years ago.

That night I read Holding’s The Campers Handbook, published in 1908, and chuckle at the description of the correct attire for female cycle campers including a skirt “that finishes three inches off the ground, with no slippery lining to avoid catching on the knickerbockers”.

The next day, without a knickerbocker (or skirt) in sight, I undertake one of Holding’s favoured activities: canoeing. Swapping pedals for oars, thanks to owner Andy of Hampton Court Paddle Sports, which is located just a 10-minute (3-mile) cycle from my tent, I spend most of the day on the water, sightseeing at a slow pace, stopping for falafel at Mezzet Box (beats the fried herring and boiled trout of Holding’s day), and ending with a drink at the Anglers, built on these banks in 1870, my canoe tied up beside my table.

Things have undoubtedly changed for campers over the past 125 years. The tents – A-frames and “wigwams” made of silk – have been swapped for nylon tunnels with inflatable poles, campervans have overtaken bicycles, and even, at Walton, the Thames itself has been rerouted so that it no longer sweeps by the pitches. But not all change is bad. Back then, strict gender rules meant that, as a lone woman, I wouldn’t have been permitted to do this trip, never mind in leggings. And an e-bike made the whole experience (and hills) much more enjoyable.

Holding called cycle camping a “power” that helped popularise camping – and the CCC’s membership reflects that, having grown from its initial 150 to more than 300,000 households. And though camping using a bicycle is now a minority pursuit, after my weekend tracing old routes and visiting the first campsite, I like to think that within the secret passageways of towns and cities, there are those of us who realise that the best journeys are still powered by pedals and curiosity.

eBike hire was provided by Bainton Bikes in Oxford (e-bikes from £65 for 3 days). A pitch was given by Bella Vista Radnage (from £19 a night) and Walton-on-Thames campsite (from £20 for two nights members, £35 non-members). Annual CCC membership from £56.95