No offence, good people of Leigh – you’ve been extremely helpful and friendly, and for that I thank you – but this is not how I wanted today to end.

From the highs (both literal and metaphorical) of yesterday – the beauty of the Lakes, the euphoria of our off-road adventure, the conviviality of the pubs – today it was back down to earth with a bump. I’m writing this blog from a retail park, on the floor of a travel tavern (no bed for me in this Inn!), following a meal at Nando’s. From the sublime to the utterly mundane in 24 hours: that’s how quickly things can change when you’re constantly on the move!

We suspected it might be this way when planning the route – that the congested urban sprawl of the northwest would be amongst the toughest to navigate and the trickiest in terms of finding somewhere nice to stay. And so it proved.

Picking our way down through town after town was something of a stop-start affair, swapping between NCN routes and roads; but we made reasonable time and there were large chunks of the route that were very pleasant to cycle. The Sustrans route through Beetham and Yealand Redmaynes was quiet and punctuated by lovely little villages; the coastal path to Conder Green was the perfect spot for a cuppa and a flapjack (or three); there was a stretch down the Lancaster canal – and later, the Leeds & Liverpool Canal – that provided much-needed shade and relief from the blazing sunshine; and the sections through the parks in Lancaster, Preston and Cuerden were all oases of leafy tranquility in an otherwise hectic day of busy roads, traffic noise and navigational nitpicking.

The worst was reserved for the end of the day: we just couldn’t seem to escape the low-level sprawl, and ended up in a town called Leigh: not exactly the picturesque resting place we’d had in mind. Our plans to camp had gone out of the window due to a complete absence of campsites, and even finding a decent B&B was proving a struggle. Our only option was the travel tavern – very Alan Partridge – next to the Leigh Centurions rugby league stadium (quite an impressive sporting development for such a small town – Bristol take note). There were only two beds due to a wedding, so we spoofed for them: I lost, hence the floor. Ah well, dry your eyes Thommo. At least I finally got to use the sleeping bag and mattress I’ve been lugging around for the best part of 630 miles!

All in all, though, we’re feeling pretty good: we’ve broken the back of the busy northwest, and now it’s on to the quieter reaches of the English-Welsh border. More hot sunshine forecast for tomorrow: better pack extra water!