Tour De Dales

Words and Photos by Michael Drummond

This time last year, a motley posse of friends, colleagues, peers and two-wheeled compatriots shared trail and tarmac with a collective goal of just being together, making space to slowly pootle in good company and dotwatch in real life, away from laptop screens and office chairs.

A weekend of high spirits and low temperatures, they’d traverse their own route at their own pace, intersecting racers of the delightfully rugged, boggy, gritty and often very damp Dales Divide. 

Each Easter weekend, some two-hundred riders set off from Arnside, Cumbria for this coast-to-coast-to-coast endeavour. Pitted against bog, sheep track and steep gritty trail, the horde of competition snakes through the beautiful landscapes of Nidderdale, the North York Moors and the unquestionably challenging Yorkshire Dales. 

During the event’s 2024 edition, our dotwatching troupe set out to toe-dip and beer-sip along just a fraction of the 600km route. To the reverberation of stone under tyre and the gentle clicks of a camera shutter, we’d enjoy a much more leisurely pace, carving out time to catch-up, take in the views and tackle our own struggles imposed by these undulating landscapes. 

The reduced sense of urgency opened up some refreshing opportunities to document the weekend in a similarly relaxed fashion, myself opting to dual-wield cameras. In partnership with the modern marvel of a digital workhorse, I chose to delicately transport a Halina A – a well-used, tired and characterful medium format Twin Lens Reflex camera from the 1960s.

Its aesthetic, wholly compatible with the rustic charm of this rural landscape – visibly-worn glass lenses, and burred edges of the camera body, mirrored in the rugged tracks, lined by dry stone walls likely older than the camera and I combined.

To use the phrase limitation would be the negative side of the coin, so I guess it's fairer to reference the challenge of just 24 frames. Add to that the constraints of the camera’s mechanics, meaning no action could be frozen, I’d need to carefully consider what or who would be documented as I opted for stillness.

Stillness in the landscapes seemingly alive with their ever-changing tones and hues. The cloud constantly painting stone and grass with open shade or harsh sun, or calmly portraying people we met along the way. Freezing them in a moment.

Travel by bike without urgency, allowed us beyond fleeting interactions and polite exchanges, elevating them into what feel like whole connections. Rather than side quests, distracting from the greater plan, they instead felt wholly intrinsic to the wider experience. 

We travelled many of the same trails the pacey dots would traverse and endured a fraction of the gruelling climbs. But we got to pause and engage with the nuance of the land and the people who inhabit it – this wild and quaint country that seems a world away from the towns and cities which coalesce its fringes.

Bumbling along bridleways, watching collies bound about gardens while turf turned under fork, it seemed like the perfect opportunity to start a roll, and so began the selective documentation of this Tour De Dales.

From gardeners to landlords and sheepdogs to shepherd huts, it was beautiful to not only document these moments and memories but, on occasion, take the conscious decision to at times deny myself that barrier. Just to observe, enjoy, laugh, engage and remain present. A point reinforced by the camera's inability to freeze any action beyond a smirk. 

Over days and hours, we were witness to the various faces these landscapes wear, from fierce sun to freezing rain and hail, muted grey sheets to golden haze. Unanimously Joe, Alex, Hari and I were all content to be in casual tour mode, open to various detours in order to hang up wet socks, gloves and jackets by freshly stoked fires all the while filling pockets and bellies with warm, local fayre.

Pub stops in danger of becoming lock-ins, saw cafe legs give way to the sensation of strapping lead weights to our ankles. I could only imagine what the racers were feeling, particularly as we cut out so many of the route's more challenging segments and, in an ode to those aforementioned leisurely ideals, enjoyed the modern luxury of train travel.

Before one such shortcut, the Ye Old Oak in Low Laithe, a stone’s throw from Harrogate hosted not just us, but as the night and rain rolled in, so too did more and more riders seeking shelter. The opportunity to dry out, and ponder their options amidst the bounty of foil bags of bar snacks, pints and sandwich platters. 

Like the inns and coach houses of times gone by, the flickering lights, warm hues and bustle of voices drew in more and more weary travellers. But when there is no more room at the inn, alternative accommodation must be sought out and a quiet woodland haven just a few miles down the road was just the ticket.

The joy of packing down and kitting up to ride without the panic of urgency, gifted us the morning to exhale and really soak in what was around us – the golden dappled light, fresh brews and a few considered portraits in the morning haze set a wonderfully calm tone.

The gentle pace of the morning readying and creating permeated our stint on gentle tarmac in the direction of Harrogate, where we’d board a train to Northallerton. Its rickety carriages took us via York where we discovered that, we and the Dales Divide riders, were not the only two-wheeled adventurers making use of the landscape.

In the station’s classically-styled watering hole, a handful of riders who had completed the Easter Arrow Audax were also enjoying beers among its other delights. Our crossover of knobbly tyres and muddy chainstays were in stark contrast to the fleet of road machines that had covered a minimum of 400km to arrive where we had all found ourselves.

A treat to see and share stories with familiar faces and strangers alike – to explore the common thread of our shared passion for two-wheeled travel, which meant that ultimately we were not strangers at all. It’s these passing moments which drive home the value of this beautifully crafted adventure, centred around slowing down. 

Under the murky skylights of the station concourse, I took the chance to make a few portraits with the handful of Audax riders remaining, before retreating to our respective shelters for night. A bothy for us, and houses with a warm showers for the rest, I’m sure. 

These moments spent slowing down often leave me wondering, if time was of no matter, how long would you pause to connect with another, to share just one more story?

Maybe time doesn’t really matter, it’s just we make it so…  from time to time.