Rob Ainsley, author of 50 Quirky Bike Rides, selects his favourite places to have a unique two-wheeled experience <\/p>

I\u2019ve always been fascinated by the quirky, the unique, the extreme\u2026 especially if I can cycle to it.<\/p>

Perhaps it\u2019s a consequence of growing up in a house whose only books were the AA Road Atlas<\/em> and the Guinness Book of Records<\/em>.<\/p>

I\u2019ve been collecting weird places to ride ever since.<\/p>

Netherton Tunnel, in the West Midlands, for instance: a mile-and-a-half-long canal tunnel that\u2019s a psychological challenge rather than physical \u2013 the ghostly acoustic and pitch dark makes it one of Britain\u2019s scariest rides.<\/p>

Or the vertiginous aqueduct at Pontcysyllte outside Llangollen that\u2019s like cycling a Niagara Falls tightrope: no wonder they ask you to dismount.<\/p>

Or Blackbushe Airfield in Surrey, whose disused runways make the widest \u2018cycle paths\u2019 you\u2019ll see in Britain.<\/p>

Or Yate\u2019s \u2018Road to Nowhere\u2019 near Bristol: a 1970s dual carriageway that somehow never got properly connected to the road network, and is now used as a film set, making a strange all-to-yourself cycle experience.<\/p>

And many others: Yorkshire\u2019s Spurn Head, a three-mile spit of sand sometimes barely wider than the tarmac track that goes way out into the North Sea.<\/p>

An underpass on NCN1 in the Lee Valley that could be Britain\u2019s lowest headroom, just five feet: duck or grouse.<\/p>

Church Lane, a cobbled street in Whitby that rises at 50 per cent \u2013 yes, 1 in 2. The lonely road to Loch Hourn on Scotland\u2019s west coast, Britain\u2019s longest cul-de-sac at 22 miles\u2026 my list goes on.<\/p>

So, here are 10 of my favourites. They offer not only Instagram amusement, but also the basis of some super rides.<\/p><\/div><\/div>

Holy Island: Beal, Northumbria<\/h2>
Time your cycle carefully to avoid having to take shelter in the emergency hut. Andy McCandlish \/ Our Media<\/span><\/figcaption><\/figure>
Sometimes the waves rule Britannia. Lindisfarne, aka Holy Island, is connected to the mainland by a mile-long causeway that gets inundated by the tide twice a day.<\/p>
Riding across it in the dry is a thrill; safe crossing times are posted up on-site and online. But time it right on an incoming tide (check very carefully) and you can enjoy the nearest thing to cycling on water.<\/p>
Because immediately off the mainland, the road dips and is the first bit to be submerged by the tide.<\/p>
As the tide laps its way surprisingly quickly over the tarmac, you can ride around on top of it, aquaplaning on the water, and getting back to safe, adjacent dry land well before your bottom bracket, or indeed longevity, is threatened. At low tide, explore the road and island at ease.<\/p>
Perhaps even have a look at the wooden emergency shelter, and marvel at the drivers who push their luck too far and end up stranded in here for hours with nothing to do but watch their car float into the North Sea.<\/p>
National Cycle Route 1 passes here, and the whole Northumbrian coast is grandly scenic.<\/p>
Coming by train? Beal station is only a mile from the causeway, and characterful Berwick is only a handful of miles away.<\/p><\/div><\/div>
The Magic Roundabout: Swindon, Wiltshire<\/h2>
$\"Magic$
This famous feat of road planning is not quite as much fun as its TV-show namesake was. Rob Ainsley \/ Our Media<\/span><\/figcaption><\/figure>
The nickname of Britain\u2019s most notorious road roundabout came from a 1960s children\u2019s animation.<\/p>
It stuck, and the signs now officially identify it as ‘The Magic Roundabout\u2019.<\/p>
It\u2019s hardly \u2018enchanting\u2019, though: a central roundabout surrounded by five mini roundabouts, sun-and-planets style, with plenty of scope for going round in unintended circles only to get back where you started.<\/p>
Despite its reputation, it has been in place unchanged for over 50 years.<\/p>
Engineer Frank Blackmore dreamed up the layout in 1972 as a way to intermesh several busy feeder roads, and it\u2019s said to have an excellent safety record \u2013 perhaps because traffic moves so uncertainly and slowly that collisions are unlikely.<\/p>
Nevertheless, if you\u2019re cycling it \u2013 en route to Uffington\u2019s White Horse, the Ridgeway, or just the adjacent local bike shop \u2013 it may be best to avoid rush hour. <\/p>
Britain offers plenty of other junction sorcery, but Swindon\u2019s is the original and best.<\/p><\/div><\/div>
Electric Brae: Croy Brae, Ayrshire<\/h2>
$\"Electric$
Head to Electric Brae to experience a strange optical illusion. Rob Ainsley \/ Our Media<\/span><\/figcaption><\/figure>
Of course you\u2019re not actually freewheeling uphill. But the optical illusion formed by a chance combination of landscape contours at Croy Brae, on the A719 a few miles south of Ayr on Scotland\u2019s south-west coast, is a powerful one.<\/p>
The road seems to descend into a wood, but the gradient in fact goes the other way.<\/p>
Stop at the lay-by (marked helpfully with an explanatory stone), sit on your bike, and lift your feet off the pedals.<\/p>
Slowly but surely you start to move away from that wood \u2018below you\u2019, as your bike glides by itself what absolutely, unsettlingly, feels like uphill.<\/p>
There are many such illusions in Britain and the world, sometimes dubbed \u2018magnetic hills\u2019. But Croy Brae \u2013 aka Electric Brae \u2013 is one of the best known.<\/p>
Curiously, the effect is so specific, it\u2019s limited to eye level: stoop down and normal perception is restored. The unbiased view of the camera often rebalances the spirit level, too.<\/p><\/div><\/div>
Serpentine Road: Rothesay, Isle of Bute<\/h2>
$\"Serpentine$
Practise your cornering skills by snaking down the 14 hairpin bends of this island road. Rob Ainsley \/ Our Media<\/span><\/figcaption><\/figure>
No pass in Britain can remotely match Stelvio in Italy, with its 70 hairpins.<\/p>
But this edge-of-town road requires 14 in its short, steep climb east from the pleasant harbour of Rothesay, the \u2018capital\u2019 of Scotland\u2019s west-coast island of Bute (which was labelled the \u2018Best Place to Live in Scotland\u2019 by The Times<\/em> in 2022 and takes only 90 minutes to get to from Glasgow).<\/p>
The climb\u2019s not fringed by mountains \u2013 more like parked 4x4s and suburban villas \u2013 but it\u2019s a fun little experience.<\/p>
And it\u2019s worth the trip: the cycling hereabouts, especially alongside the remote sea lochs of the Kyles of Bute, is all spectacular, with plenty of opportunities for island- and peninsula-hopping.<\/p>
You\u2019ll quickly become familiar with Cal Mac\u2019s ferry timetables, and their Gourock\u2013Dunoon or Wemyss Bay\u2013Rothesay services, for instance, make getting here from Glasgow straightforward.<\/p>
Drink in the scenery. And if you\u2019re drinking in anything else, enjoy another of Bute\u2019s curios: the lavish and ornate public toilets, unchanged since Victorian times, are a candidate for Britain\u2019s most elegant.<\/p><\/div><\/div>
Great Dun Fell: Knock, Cumbria<\/h2>
$\"Two$
Enjoy a car-free ascent up Britain\u2019s highest road \u2013 and the long whizz back down again. Henry Iddon \/ Our Media<\/span><\/figcaption><\/figure>
Britain\u2019s highest road is, intriguingly, open to bikes but closed to cars.<\/p>
The tarmac cul-de-sac winds its way five miles up into the Pennine Hills from Knock, near Appleby-in-Westmorland, to the Air Traffic Control radar station on the top of 847m-high Great Dun Fell.<\/p>
Motor traffic needs a permit to use it, but \u2013 being a bridleway \u2013 you can cycle it (whatever the home-made signs on the way up try to tell you).<\/p>
It\u2019s a hugely scenic ride up to the giant summit golfball, and the nearest we have to a \u2018British Ventoux\u2019. (Scotland\u2019s similar ascent to Lowther Hill radar station near Wanlockhead runs a close second.)<\/p>
Rough-stuff bridleways continue at the top, so road cyclists just turn round and freewheel down the 10 or so miles back to Appleby.<\/p>
There\u2019s plenty of big cycling round here: England\u2019s highest six road passes<\/a> are next door in Teesdale, the C2C\u2019s Coast-to-Coast classic is just to the north, and the Yorkshire Dales are only a few miles away to the southeast.<\/p><\/div><\/div>
Cape Wrath: Durness, NW Scotland<\/h2>
$\"Cape$
Make sure you go prepared when heading to the lonely, remote Cape Wrath lighthouse. Rob Ainsley \/ Our Media<\/span><\/figcaption><\/figure>
This is as far-flung as Britain can fling you. Up at Scotland\u2019s far northwestern corner, in a vast area of virtually zero habitation, is the iconic Cape Wrath lighthouse.<\/p>
First, you have to get to Durness, an adventure in itself: either an epic drive or a day\u2019s isolated, spectacular riding from Lairg train station (the tiny place is also a stop on the North Coast 500<\/a> route).<\/p>
From Durness, you and bike take a tiny boat across the estuary, after which it\u2019s a stony 11-mile track across wild hills with coastline views that eventually stumbles across the lighthouse.<\/p>
This is not a place to hitch a lift: vehicles are there none, apart from the rare ranger\u2019s 4×4 or ferry minibus. <\/p>
Potentially friendly conditions for hedgehogs, then\u2026 except for the absence of hedges, or indeed anything else. This is sparse, inhospitable terrain.<\/p>
At least there\u2019s the lighthouse cafe, which claims to be open 24\/7 (presumably it can be left open but unstaffed fairly safely).<\/p>
If you\u2019re cycling here, good ideas include checking the weather forecast, taking tools, warm clothes and provisions \u2013 and not missing your boat back.<\/p><\/div><\/div>
Disappearing Roads: East Yorkshire coast<\/h2>
$\"Disappearing$
You may come across signs like this if you cycle in Holderness. Rob Ainsley \/ Our Media<\/span><\/figcaption><\/figure>
Holderness, the vast fertile plain north-east of Hull, has the unwanted title of Europe\u2019s fastest-eroding coast.<\/p>
The fragile cliffs between Bridlington and Withernsea are being gobbled up by North Sea tides at a rate of several yards a year.<\/p>
Since Roman times, miles have gone west, or rather, east. Even roads I remember cycling as a teen are long gone.<\/p>
In places such as Ulrome, Skipsea, Aldborough and Great Cowden, lanes end abruptly at a cliff edge, cordoned off by concrete blocks and signs that get wearily moved even further inland every few years.<\/p>
Many caravan parks, farms and houses face brief futures. It\u2019s an eerie place to cycle around.<\/p>
Get here by riding the oaky-ish rail-trail from Hull to Hornsea (the final leg of the Trans Pennine Trail), and maybe continue south to the end of Spurn Point (which involves a half-mile push across a sandy beach: it\u2019s transitioning to an island), itself one of Britain\u2019s most bizarre bike rides.<\/p>