Great rides: Glasgow to Manchester – Second City Divide

It’s odd to think that this time last year, I was cycling Tim Woodcock's Coast to Coast route, stumbling through gale force winds and a downpour that felt more like swimming than cycling.

Yet, on the day I left for this year’s adventure (22 May 2026), the UKHSA had issued yellow heat-health alerts for the East Midlands, East of England, London, South-East and West Midlands regions. The week of my trip saw the UK’s highest May temperature beaten twice over two consecutive days.

The threat of the heat had sent me into a repacking frenzy the night before and as I finished up a half day at work, I double checked the last of my things before taking the eight-hour train journey from Southampton to Glasgow.

I sat in my seat, processing a familiar combination of feelings. Nervousness and excitement that started out balanced, quickly tilted towards excitement the further north I travelled.

After spending most of the day sat down in a lightly air-conditioned train carriage, I rolled off the platform, cycled a short distance west to a friend’s house near Glasgow and got some rest to prepare for the week ahead.

Finding the rhythm

The forecast for the week looked strong, with moderately high temperatures for Scotland, getting progressively hotter the further south I cycled. The first three days were wonderful. I found my rhythm slowly, and settled into a familiar pace, allowing my body and mind to recalibrate to their new routine.

8am wake up, an hour to pack and eat, six hours of cycling with a few breaks to swim, eat or draw and then an hour to find a camping spot and set up.

The morning of the first day was spent weaving in and out of Glasgow’s outer edges, passing through parks that snaked over grassy mounds and dense woodland, pulling at my sleepy muscles and mind. As soon as I escaped the more densely populated areas of south-east Glasgow, I felt more capable.

My bike was heavier than usual, but I grew in confidence and strength as I sped up my pace, zipping through towns, villages, hamlets and housing estates that progressively adopted more green space until all I saw were single farmhouses surrounded and divided by fields and grazing livestock.

Past those fields and forests, I summited the hills around Whitelee windfarm, following the gravel trails past Dunwan Hill fort and Blackwood Hill viewpoint. The sights over the panorama were stunning, lit perfectly by the unobscured sun highlighting every tone of blue the skies held.

Regular water refills had already become an essential part of the trip, and I found myself stopping to ask locals for water having passed dozens of dried-up streams where I’d normally have resorted to using my filter.

Taking full advantage of Scotland’s right to roam laws, the first night I pitched my hammock in the forests outside Thankerton. By the second night, I was swinging in a similar setting, nestled between two trees overlooking a spectacular valley, this time between Muchra and Ettrick.

By the third day, I had already crossed the border into England and had taken the opportunity to stay in a campsite to wash the salt from my body and reset again.

Highlights and lowlights

The second day was a real highlight. The route takes in another windfarm hill climb, this time across South Clyde with views over the Annandale Valley. It then passes through multiple lochs leading riders through the treacherous Wall of Talla climb, ending with the tight gravel tracks of the Captain’s Road trail.

Finishing the day surrounded only by the sound of running water and birdsong gave me a stillness and calm I’d not felt for months.

I’d have savoured it more had I known what challenges were in store for me the following day. It was now the peak of the heatwave and cycling without shade had started to produce the early signs of heat exhaustion. To fight off the effects, I chose to cycle either earlier or later, with a longer break around midday to rest and stay cool.

Part of the reason I got into cycling was because I had become exceedingly aware of climate breakdown and the impacts of the climate crisis that in part can be attributed to transport pollution. I was inspired by climate action groups and charities to take more responsibility for my own personal climate contributions and grew to see cycling as the best way to explore the UK more sustainably.

The day included a laborious three climbs over 50 miles totalling more than 4,000ft in elevation. But it ended with a final climb to the borders forest between England and Scotland, just after Hermitage Castle.

Not only were there no trees to provide cover, but just a few feet from the top of the climb, a piece of flintstone lodged itself deep in my tyre, splitting the innertube and dispersing all the air faster than my own lungs could exhale my frustration.

I ended up walking the bike a short distance, watching the sweat drop off my nose and splash my shoes as I dragged my feet and lent on the handlebars just enough to push my rig forward. I towed myself and the bike to the only tree on top of that summit and sat underneath its sparce branches, pulling at the bead to unseat the tyre and patch it up.

Familiar territory

The next few days were spent following the trails around Kielder Water, stopping only to admire the dozens of art installations that are scattered through the area. The trails led me deep into the gravel-paved forests of Northumberland. This territory was familiar as some of these same paths had appeared on my coast-to-coast route just last year.

The Moors, the Dales, and the climb to Tan Hill Inn flashed in my memory encouraging me to reflect on the difference in difficulty a year can make if you fail to train enough. While much of the midsection seemed familiar, the climb to Greg’s Hut, England’s highest bothy, was something new I’d long looked forward to.

My plan was to cycle from Kielder to Greg’s Hut, nestled on the Pennine Way, but I had drastically underestimated the route. Fatigue and the changes to my cycling routine had zapped the energy from my body by 5pm and I opted instead to sleep at a community campsite in Garrigill.

The small grounds included a community hall that hosted showers, bunkhouses, a dry room and kitchen. It’s no exaggeration that it was one of the best campsites I’ve stayed at for both its amenities and supplies. With no shops or food places in a 10-mile radius, I was surprised to see the kitchen was fully stocked with affordable hiking food and an honesty box.

It may have been the best decision of the trip as nothing would have prepared me for the off-roading that now lay in wait for me the next morning.

Just 10 minutes after leaving the sleepy hamlet, I was already tackling a gravel climb better suited for MTBs than gravel bikes. I pushed, sighed, pedalled and heaved my way to the top, crossing small streams and clambering over slate and rock.

I stopped for a short break at Greg’s Hut to eat and drink and then pushed higher into the climb till I was almost level with Cross Fell. Looking out to the horizon I witnessed a spectacularly clear view that extended so far west you could see the sea.

While the climb was worth it, I questioned whether the steep and technical descent would be. I clutched my brakes, settling into the drops and studied the path before moving down the grassy banks of the Kirkland Way trail. By the time I had reached the bottom of the mountain, I could smell the heated compound of my brake pads.

A storm coming

The final days of the Second City Divide led me through the Dales where storm clouds had begun to gather in the evening after evaporating all the water in the region, only to let it all fall again within a few hours.

Lightning and thunderstorms followed the rain in quick succession, and I spent the next morning cycling through a downpour, counting the seconds between lightning strikes and the thunder that followed them.

One of the final highlights from the trip came close to the last day, as I approached Manchester, moving through the underappreciated and unknown Forests of Bowland.

After my morning coffee, an orange and some cereal bars, I put my head down and started the School Lane climb to Bowland. It was every bit as difficult as I had imagined, but I felt more determined than the past few days and stopped for less time than before.

No rain broke through the blackened, looming clouds, but a powerful gust carried through the valley, sending me sideways every so often. The views were spectacular and for the next 10 miles I watched the path in front of me shift from tarmac to increasingly unstable gravel as I traversed The Old Salt Road.

This was the most thrilling aspect of the entire trip. I felt the energy from breakfast fuelling my ability to dodge and weave the largest stones, forcing me to find the safest line that gave me the least likelihood of coming off my bike.

At the end of the treacherous trail, I found a white rusted marker highlighting the Witches’ 400 walking route. Created in 2012, the 51-mile long-distance footpath spans between Barrowford and Lancaster and commemorates the 400th anniversary of the trials of the Pendle witches.

I studied the Carol Duffy poem engraved on its surface, reading it aloud, feeling the gusts grow stronger. I stood for a while looking out over the landscape, tracing the path I could see with my finger till it wasn’t visible to the eye anymore.

The home strait

The trail moved me deeper into the shallow crease of the valley, taking me closer to the outskirts of Manchester. It was at the end of this trail where the wilds started to recede. Houses, businesses and roads interlocked more densely as I inched closer to the finish.

By the end of that day, I was only 30 miles from Manchester, nestled in a campsite near Ramsbottom. While that last stretch felt very manageable, I surprised myself with how little effort it took to finish off the last 30 miles after a week of hundreds. I rolled into Manchester Piccadilly far earlier than planned, bought a coffee, and caught a train home with hours to spare, glad to finally stop moving.

Even now, as I sit at my desk writing this piece, enduring the third UK summer heatwave this year, I keep thinking back to that week on the road. It’s one thing to read about climate breakdown, another to ration water outside Thankerton or watch the route ahead blur and shift from view because of the heat reflecting off the ground.

While the weather has always been unpredictable in the UK, these kinds of extremes feel increasingly more frequent and intense. For me, it’s a reminder that the climate crisis isn’t something happening somewhere else or in the distant future.

It’s already shaping the conditions we live, work and travel in. It was impossible not to reflect on how closely this recent experience is tied to our failure to meet climate targets needed to avoid the worst impacts of a warming world.

I set out already convinced that cycling was the better way to see the country. I came home more convinced that this is exactly why that choice matters.