There’s a rhythm to our lives, and for me, one of those beats is the annual cycle camping trip. Every year I dust off the bikepacking bags, wrestle with last minute logistics and wonder, again, whether I’ll actually find a campsite willing to let us stay just one night. In the past, I’ve bluffed it with two night bookings and been lucky to get a refund. But this year, with many of our usual spots booked up for the bank holiday weekend, I took a different approach.
We set our sights on a favourite location tucked away on the eastern edge of the Peak District National Park: the Eric Byrne Memorial Campsite. It’s one of those rare places that feels untouched in the best possible way, reminding me of school camping trips from over thirty years ago. Just a field, a tap and a toilet. It’s still only accessible on foot, with no cars allowed on site and a decent walk up a farm track. That said, it’s not far from a National Trust car park and can be reached via the 170 bus from Chesterfield. It’s the sort of place where you pitch up and pay in the morning, so I couldn’t help but wonder how busy it might be and whether we’d get a good spot.
With work wrapped up on Friday, I spent the evening sorting kit for me and the kids. By mid-Saturday morning, the bikes were loaded, bellies were full of breakfast and we were ready to ride. The forecast had hinted at gloom, with heavy rain expected but we were blessed with cool, cloud-dappled skies that made for perfect cycling weather.
The real challenge came not on the hills, but at the final hurdle: the stile into the campsite. The kids’ bikes were easy enough, but my rig: bike, tagalong and loaded bags, needed a full unpack and some teamwork to heave it over. It reminded me of watching the Royal Marines dismantle and haul the gun carriage at the Royal Tournament in London. But we made it and to my surprise, we had the entire site to ourselves.
It felt surreal. I’d spent the week wondering if we’d be turned away and yet here we were, alone in a wide green field below Birchen Edge. No queues for the toilet, no crowds, just the quiet views of the moorland.
After setting up and warming up with miso soup and rice noodles, we locked up the bikes, zipped up the tent and headed out on foot. Our walk took us past viewpoints and along stretches of the Peak District Boundary Walk, across a stream near Baslow Road and onto the edges of the Chatsworth Estate. We finished at the Robin Hood Inn, where soft drinks and chips in the beer garden were well earned.
Dinner back at camp was a race against the weather. I’d been watching the rain radar like a hawk, and just as we zipped up the tent, the wind picked up and the first drops began to fall. The pitch wasn’t ideal in the gusts, which was a reminder to choose more carefully next time. After the bustle of recent weeks, it felt good to be still and drift off to sleep with the rustle of the tent in the occasional flurry of wind.
To protect the tent, I’d brought my old Karrymat to wrap it in before strapping it to the tagalong, though I was quickly reminded how much more comfortable Therm-a-Rests are.
By morning, the wind had eased, the rain had passed and it was time to pack up. I won’t sugar-coat it: getting three people’s gear back on bikes is a slog. There are times I miss the simplicity of solo bivvy trips. Still, we managed, even if the new paper porridge pot lids came loose along the way. They still made for an easy breakfast.
We cycled to Chatsworth along the road. Sadly, I’ve yet to find a safe off-road route from the campsite. After another well earned break and crucially, some ice cream, we tackled one of my favourite climbs: the byway up Beeley Moor. It’s a tough ascent past the farm, starting steep and tarmacked before mellowing into wide-track views and some fun, technical riding.
The kids smashed it. We made our best time yet, with only a couple of off-roaders and motorbikes to contend with. From the top, it was a breezy ride down through Holymoorside and one final hill before home.
We ended the long weekend with a bit of pond dipping, another tradition in the making. This time, we spotted water boatmen (lesser and greater), tadpoles with visible legs and faces, bright red water mites, freshwater shrimp, true damselfly larvae and even biting midge larvae. Not a bad haul for a bank holiday Monday.
And so ended another long weekend of adventure. It hadn’t been the simplest to organise and it certainly hadn’t been light on admin. But the shared experience, the quiet moments on the moors and the unexpected joy of an empty campsite reminded me why we keep doing it.
Next time we head to the Eric Byrne Memorial Campsite, I’ll remember to pack my climbing shoes. Birchen Edge is calling.