Boxing day blues

It should not have, but did.

Boxing Day, you know, the day after Christmas Day, well it wasn’t as it was supposed to be.

The NLTTA decided to we needed a ten mile time trial to spice up the festive season and so the event was set. As it was a ‘sign on the line’ event no entry forms were required. Since the event was posted I had long thought, yes, I’ll do it, as long as there’s no snow, no ice and no rain.

Dave Bisset had long since supported the event volunteering to marshal, push off or whatever was required so Bolton clarion would at least be involved one way or another. Now if I entered we, Bolton clarion would be on the official start sheet of the first NLTTA Christmas ‘10’

All I needed was the assurance of a nice summery day for the time trial, and sure enough the good old Met Office duly obliged with a superb forecast for the day.

Wall to wall sunshine, wintery sunshine with early frost, right that’ll do me, I’m going.

Christmas night and the starry skies predicted were not in sight, in fact it was raining, ah well perhaps it will clear during the early hours of morning, it didn’t.

I got up early and began to get my stuff ready even though the clear skies had still not put in an appearance, at least there will be no frost and ice, so what if the clear skies had not yet appeared, they are telling me on the breakfast telly it’s going to be a dry day.

Having been stuffed with turkey, mash, sausage, sprouts, carrots, stuffing, gravy, then topped up with Christmas pudding covered by an unhealthy jugful of cream the day before, breakfast was not really an option, coffee, just coffee.

Car loaded I was off, 9 am with car lights on as it was still dark, not even a chink of light in the darkness overhead, well it’ll be ok, they said so on the telly.

Signing on was 10 am onwards and I was obviously keen as I arrived early enough to claim number one spot at 9.45. A Berlingo told me Dave Bisset had arrived and according to the organiser was already scouting the course, what for I’m not sure, however he was scouting.

Still under a dark grey canopy I optimistically set up the turbo trainer and my bike, ably assisted by a now returned Dave Bisset, who enthusiastically admired my new time trial bike. When I say ‘new’ it is merely the new construction of parts already in my possession hung on to a ‘new’ time trial frame Geoff Smith has been trying to sell me for ten years.

Turbo set up, bike mounted to it, and a few revs to check gears etc are working ok, it was fine but would probably need fine tuning after the first ride over ten miles. Ten minutes into this trial of gears etc it started to rain, I covered the seat with a plastic shopping bag and sat in the car awaiting the dry all day ‘day’ to appear. As I sat there the rain began to absolutely pour down, I looked at the jersey with the number ‘fifteen’ pinned to it, looked through the water cascading down the windscreen at the even darker slow moving clouds, no way I thought, the number would have to be returned and my name added to the dreaded capitals, DNS.

I constantly looked at my watch, the start time was getting ever closer, a few brave souls began to get their bikes out to warm up, warm up, it was cold and very wet. Former Bolton member Sean Warren was one of the first to make a move, is he mad, surely he’s not going to warm up in this heavy rain, he was.

Suddenly the rain stopped, should I or shouldn’t I, that was the question, mad or what?

By now it was too late to start warming up on the turbo trainer so it was packed away and the bike readied for the off. The rain may have stopped but the roads were awash, it was not going to be the comfortable ride the Met had forecast.

At least I was suitably attired for the cold wet stuff, Aldi merino long johns and vest, Aldi waterproof socks, some little comfort was gained by the prospect of dry warm feet even if the other 95% was going to be sodden as I made my way to the start.

Normally I like to get the 77 year old legs moving with a warm up of at least 45 minutes but today it was not to be but the biggest problem would be my breathing, and so it proved. I had been stupid enough, again, to take my inhaler but not use it and I was seven miles into the ten before I could even partially control the gasping, by which time the legs were wondering whether or not to give up. Well it’s only a Christmas festivity ride, enjoy it, it’s only half an hour or so of suffering and think of the calories you will burn off.

The finish line approaches, that’s it, all over, I’ve survived, time? Don’t even think about it, after all it’s only an enjoyable Christmas ride.   

Bolton Clarion Christmas festivities.

Clarion Christmas Festivities

7^th December 2014

Saturday night the forecast for Sunday morning was a dire looking one, wet and cold with a hint of snow in parts, surely our downhill event will not be cancelled

Sunday morning began as forecast, rain belting down early as I was getting ready to meet John Mann and Charlie Whittle at Lostock station, but the most striking thing was the wind, gosh it was really blowing hard.

The rain had abated as I set off to meet the fellow members but still lightly falling and not a problem, yet.

Surprise surprise, John was already there and as I rolled up right behind me was Charlie and Ray Fairclough, Charlie I was expecting but not Ray.

As usual riding into the very strong headwind I found myself on the front as we rode up Chorley New road. Behind I could hear talking as well as my heavy breathing, at least my sacrifice on the front was of some assistance to our venerable eighty four year old member John.

We arrived at the barn just behind the familiar figure of Steve Menhams who had suddenly appeared from an off road track. The gathering was underway and as this year there was no timed kettle boiling to keep us amused hot coffee in the barn was an eager option.

As we sat enjoying the coffee it seemed altogether much better as fingers pointed outside to the rain that had become a deluge, thank goodness we were comfortably under cover. One or two late comers were not as fortunate and were almost drowned.

As if by magic, the rain ceased as we left the barn and out came the sun on the colourful cavalcade of cyclists making the trip along the ‘Street’ to the downhill venue, Nick Hilton lane, starting from the Yew Tree pub. 

After the obligatory group photo by Pete Singleton using with difficulty the ‘gorilla’ mini tripod, a hands and knees job seeing the viewfinder, the fun began.

One by one the members rolled away from the start line, some on classy bikes worthy of a road race, some bog standard and just a couple of mountain bkes, Fleur sporting a nice pink one worthy of the rough stuff fellowship gang.

John Mann was a non starter and stayed on the pub car park, after reassurance from me that we would be coming back up the hill, he still looked uncertain we would.

I hopped (?) on my bike as last man off, just pushed a little on the pedals to start rolling. Soon I was flying, so fast tears filled my eyes, even with a hub dynamo on the front wheel I was at warp factor one. A car approaching the finish area slowed me down a bit as I stopped just ahead of someone’s chalk line, at least I wasn’t last.

Paul came down the hill counting his strides, ‘twenty one, twenty two’ yards, I was second twenty two yards behind the winner, I felt cheated, especially when it was declared Steve Horner had a pair of £600 pound wheels fitted, crickey I hope Paul has a prize befitting such will to win.

Back up the hill to Back Lane and a relieved John Mann, who was not at all sure we would be coming back this way. The sun was very bright as we made our way down the lane and highlighted the Christmas feel by casting it’s glow on the wet green leaves and deep red berries of the holly trees.

Cresting the short steep hill at Cowling we had a regrouping before continuing down Stump lane where we were greeted by a ‘No through road’ sign, as on the Arnside ride it was ignored and on we went, at the bottom and to the left was McDonalds, time for more coffee.

With our entrance it meant a very large queue but as I had abandoned my bike I was almost at the front but the lady behind the counter declared a ten minute wait for coffee. A quick thinking Paul changed his order to hot chocolate and was served almost at once, I was quick to follow suit and I have to say the drink was delicious, despite someone saying it was fattening, on a day when a big turkey dinner was next up it hardly mattered.

We filled one end of McDonalds managing to more or less all sit together, noisy cheerful chatter filled the air, the spirit of Christmas was well and truly upon us.

Time to move on and the good nature continued as a customer was gesticulating and pointing his finger at one of the bikes and a piece of paper attached to the saddle. On the paper was written, £75.00. or near offer, a good laugh as it was on an expensive looking bike, a better joke than those in the Christmas crackers.

Again we had managed to miss a cloudburst while in the cafe and the leisurely ride the two or so miles to the Cherry tree was enjoyable, the strong headwind that had troubled us going to the barn was now behind us. The strength of the tail wind was highlighted by the sight of flying Fleur on the downhill and flat sections of road, she made that mountain bike move.

Bikes locked and it was into the restaurant, most of us eager for a pint of good beer with me looking forward to a pint of the very nice ‘Dirty Blonde’ special but I was to be disappointed as the barrel was not yet connected, ah well, lager would do for now.. At the bar were three welcome guests, Pete Wilson, Craig Smith and his brother Barry, more than welcome as they were busy filling in membership forms and paying long overdue subs, about three years overdue. Welcome back Pete, Craig and Barry.

Once again we filled one end of the eatery pulling crackers and putting on the party hats and looking for the novelties that usually fly as the cracker comes apart. This tradition is then continued with a reading of the jokey slips of paper, smiles elicited by the sheer weakness of the jokes, jokes we all told in junior school, still it’s all part of the overall fun.

The Christmas lunch was superb, I did not hear one word of criticism, chief guests Geoff and Yvonne Smith particularly enjoyed their Vegetarian meal.

Party spirit continued with our festive grand raffle, again generously supported by Geoff and Yvonne and of course by the members, the outcome was a sum of some ninety odd pounds, again to be donated to our adopted charity, Bolton Hospice. The ‘Dirty Blonde’ beer came on tap so I relaxed with an after dinner pint in the equally relaxed atmosphere.

Members began to drift off as dusk and more rain approached and a good number of us continued the party with a ride back to Rivington Barn for coffee, riding up the hills to get there on a full stomach really was a chore for me.

After coffee, more tall stories, looks cast by the hard worked staff told us it was time to leave and so we did.

The last bit of tradition now took place for the hardy (foolhardy?) ones among us, the trek over Chorley old road to the Doffcocker pub and again, as last year the ride was in rain but at least we had a strong wind behind giving us a welcome shove up the long, long hill. At the top there is the bonus of a nice long much appreciated downhill right to the doors of the pub.

Another enjoyable couple of hours were spent, the exploits of the day and past Christmas events being discussed and laughed over. We were joined as usual by singing barber Nev Street, a former member from years ago and the front end of a record breaking tandem duo, the back end being our present member Charlie Whittle. At the time we, Charlie, Nev and myself were members of Leigh Premier road club, again historic tales were relived.

We broke up the party eventually and found as we ventured out that the rain was still persisting down but a few pints consumed meant it was hardly a problem, especially for me, as once up on the ring road it was all downhill home, right to the front door.

I wound up the long day enjoying the latest episode of the thriller serial Homeland along with two rounds of toast and a pot of tea after that I went to bed, and fell asleep as I mused on another successful Bolton clarion Christmas do.        

   

Bolton Clarion Members Blog and Forum: Tea with Dee

Bolton Clarion Members Blog and Forum: Tea with Dee: Tea with Dee. John Mann and I met to ride once again to Red House Farm, a ride arranged before I realised that the Wednesday ride were a...

Tea with Dee

Tea with Dee.

John Mann and I met to ride once again to Red House Farm, a ride arranged before I realised that the Wednesday ride were also bound for the same destination, I only saw their ride on the runs list this morning before setting off.
John asked my opinion as to where we would be when caught, Hollins Green I reckoned. A call of nature once again just approaching Bent's garden centre was answered, today the background music had Ray Charles unmistakable voice while tinkling the ivories!
On we went and once on Holcroft lane an enormously helpful tail wind had us floating along, not quite as fast as the few cyclists on tri bars who shot past us, but a nice pace. Just before we got to Holcroft lane a slight figure shot past at greatly impressive speed, just visible under his red gilet was an older Bolton clarion jersey in the unmistakable pattern of red yellow and black, but who was it, I was at a loss.
We had a short break at Hollins Green, again the unknown cyclist was discussed but without realising who it could possibly be. It was here I was chastised a little by John with a cheeky observation. Having mentioned to John the invite by our A group to ride back with them on Sunday and my reluctance to engage in 18 + mph chase, he mentioned speeds of 21mph in places and how fast his legs were revolving behind my fixed gear. I chuckled and pointed out that I was actually back pedalling. I agreed that the pace would be judged accordingly from this point on.
Once over Warburton Bridge and reaching the Green Dragon pub, our clarion clad mistery cyclist was revealed, there sat in the bus shelter giving us a shout was Fred Smith, well I never. With a wave and a shout we responded and carried on to the Pennine way cycle track. John had earlier expressed reservations about using the track due to overnight rain but I reassured him it would be fine but in doing so I recalled saying something similar once before being confronted by swans on a cycle path. The path was in fact perfect with hardly even a puddle to be seen, much to John's relief and though he didn't know it mine as well.
By now the sun was beginning to feel warm and in the shelter of the tree lined track it really was superb cycling and 84 year old John was really enjoying the day. Blue sky and lots of broken white cloud set the scene for the approach to the farmhouse cafe now a mere half mile away and still the B group had not put in an appearance, surely they should have passed by now.
As we locked our bikes in the farm yard adjacent to the cafe a group of cyclists appeared, it was our fellow club members.
Dee joined us at our table while the rest after exchanging greetings decided to dine in the outside patio area. The chat was lively, humorous and interesting especially when it came to John's retrieval of his club newsletter that he had forgetfully left on the table the previous Wednesday.
The Wednesday group was a good size showing the interest in a midweek ride when we are blessed with nice weather as today, it was nice to see, Ken Hahlo doing a good job as leader.
John expressed an interest of a further visit to the old Warburton church and a search for the now elusive gravestone of an unfortunate young that gave a glimpse of his life while also a hint of mystery. Again we failed to find it.
After browsing the grounds we left to tackle the wind that had so assisted us on our outward journey, Holcroft lane would once again be a challenge.
Once at the top of the lane and with the wind now mainly behind and across we were mighty relieved and normal progress was resumed.
At Daisy Hill we paused a while before going our separate ways, John expressing his delight at being able to enjoy riding his bike despite his recent medical problems, at 84 he has a true appreciation of the humble bike while I appreciate the company of a true gentleman. An Indian Summer does not just apply to the weather!

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cream tea, headstones and gravestones 17.9.14.

Cream tea, headstones and gravestones.

I met John for a Wednesday ride and being in the middle of a glorious Indian Summer a nice Cheshire jaunt seemed to be just about right and it was agreed.

Off wet set with just one pause on the way to Hollins Green, Bent’s garden centre where I always find I am ready for a toilet stop. The facilities are great with background music to entertain, this morning Tony Bennet was giving his rendition of ‘one for my baby and one more for the road’. Having had my one for the road we continued our jaunt down a virtually car free Holcroft lane due to a road closure at the Hollins Green end.

A short break at Hollins where John decided we had a choice of options to make, initially our destination had been the ‘Bakery’ at Lymm but John now threw a spanner in the works. ‘Do we head for Lymm and beans on toast, or, do we head for Red House Farm and a cream tea?’ Well for me it was a no brainer, a bit like asking the donkey do you want strawberries or a Greenhalgh’s pie. So a democratic decision to head down the Trans Pennine way in the direction of Red House Farm was made.

The cycling this morning was superb, a warm breeze, blue skies and a no rush no push pace added to the perfection of the morning.

Wafting along the tree lined cycle path was a delight, breaks in the hedgerows giving views of the agricultural greenery of the Cheshire plain then here and there plunged into almost dusk like conditions where dense trees blotted out the sky.

The cafe was not busy, a mixed group of veteran cyclists and another couple already enjoying lunch, consequently service was double quick, especially as there was no need to peruse a menu. Two cream teas were very soon on the table and very soon were being enjoyed. A slow and deliberate consumption of scones, loaded with butter, jam and clotted cream took place, mmm, delicious. Diet? What diet! Along with the pot of tea it was a perfect lunch.

Back on the road and cycle track we were soon at the foot of Warburton Bridge and decided that as we had made such good progress on the ride we would have time to have a closer look at the ancient Warburton church. Being tucked away and out of sight from the busy road the now unused church and yard lies in quiet solitude demanding investigation of the occasional visitor.

The church is around one thousand years old and from time to time has been subject to rebuilding though to one side is the original wattle and daub black and white timbered wall. Unfortunately entry to the church cannot be gained so we had to be satisfied with a look round the headstones and gravestones. One particular grave took John’s interest, that of a dignitary and his wife, deceased in the seventeen hundreds, who hailed from Tunbridge Wells, London. John remarked on the remarkable journey it must have been by coach in those distant days, I agreed, it could well have been why he was buried here.

Once again we were back on Dam Head lane and Holcroft Lane heading back to Lymm, pleased also that due to the road closure traffic along this length was light allowing an extension of trouble free cycling.

Soon we were back in Daisy Hill were we had our parting of ways, after of course a break and chat, a bonus was that we were also way ahead of the ‘school run’ the curse of cyclists everywhere. So there we have it, Indian Summer, cream tea , headstones and gravestones and a perfect days cycling.      

Not an ordinary Day Lymm festival 29.6.2014.

Not an ordinary Day

Lymm festival 29.6.2014.

Looking at our old photos, Bolton clarion history, I was intrigued by the group of Bolton clarion cyclists surrounding the village monument in the centre of Lymm. A fair number had made the trip from Bolton and I wondered if we could perhaps recreate a bit of history with a re-enactment of the photo from the nineteen twenties. Little did I know what just such a venture would bring.

Lymm may be just another village passed on the way to a more distant point for some but for me it is the link to my personal cycling history.

My first ever proper bike ride was to Lymm, prior to that my cycling was restricted to batting round the council estate on something that resembled a bike, today rubbish bikes are referred to as ‘bike shaped objects’ but they would have been classed as good then. Those were the days when we were still recovering from a world war and rationing of food, fags and sweets still in force and the bike was king.

I had a cousin into cycling, Winnie, a very competent cyclist was she, about five years my senior, as a member of the St.Christopher cycling club she had many miles behind her. Winnie it was who introduced me to a whole new world, freedom and love of the open road with a ride along country lanes leading to the village of Lymm. I was liberated! At the time I did not realise just how liberated I would become.  

It transpired that the invitation to a bike ride was in a way a trial as on returning to Winnie’s uncle George asked, ‘how did he do’, ‘well alright I suppose’, I suspect however she may have been of assistance up Firs Brow to Four Lane ends. At thirteen, on my first ‘proper’ bike ride, on a ‘bike shaped object’ I doubt very much I could be considered a future world beater.

Uncle George then took me into the back yard and opened the shed door, ‘what do you think of that?’. There before me was a Norman sports bike, a nice shiny green with chrome everywhere. A little bemused I stood and gawped, what was I supposed to say, such a bike had never been within my or my parents reach. I went weak at the knees as uncle George declared, ‘it’s yours’, I could just not believe what I was hearing, I was stunned. The bike had been bought for Winnie’s younger sister but on her first ride out with the club she cut the ride short, returned home with a vow never to touch the bike again, and I was now blessed with the ownership.

That first ride to Lymm was so indelibly etched into me that I felt an affinity with the village, to me it was a magical place, so far removed from where I was brought up, almost like a spiritual home. Time and again I was drawn back, each visit just as enjoyable as the last, after all I was seeing things you just don’t see on a Farnworth council estate, things like garden orchards with apples, pears and plums along the way. I had my first encounter in the Dingle at Lymm with a red squirrel, you certainly did not see these beautiful little animals in Farnworth, it was a moment to savour. I was walking in the wooded Dingle, it was so quiet and suddenly the squirrel was in front of me, for a brief moment we stared at each other then suddenly it was gone in a scampering hate behind one of the huge trees. It may have gone but it has stayed in my memory forever.

 

As a consequence of the re-enactment of the Lymm historic photo the story was picked up by the organisers of the Lymm Festival with an invite to lead the parade into the village on the opening day. Well for me it was a no brainer, I was going and that was definite. Peter Moore, our secretary was sent the invite along with a copy of a book tracing the history of Lymm and district which was interesting in its own right but a highlight was a section outlining clarion history and the impact cycling had.

It was agreed that the club would wholeheartedly support the Festival and arrangements were made and details distributed among members.

On the day the support from members was great and we duly assembled at Broomedge along with the rest of the parade participants, greater in number and variety than we could have imagined. Cars, tractors, motor bikes, vintage and veteran, all getting ready for the short trip into the village then on to the showgound, and of course we were given the honour of leading the cavalcade.

Great though the honour was and the pleasure felt, it was nothing to the feelings I had on entering the village, huge crowds were gathered and as we appeared loud applause, cheering, waving and clapping greeted us. In my seventy six years I have never been so moved at a public event, I was close to tears, my memories now of Lymm could be construed as complete, though no doubt I will continue to visit from time to time, hopefully on my bike.    

Clarion at the Sky Ride

Clarion at the Sky Ride

1 June 2014 at 17:00

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We had an invitation (Bolton clarion) to attend the Sky ride and offered a gazebo to represent the club. Peter, on our behalf accepted, after all we were also offered early breakfast in the Mayor's hospitality suite.
After putting out feelers four or five members took up the offer, four definites being Dave Bisset, Peter Moore, John Shaw and myself.
On the Sunday morning I arrived early on Victoria square, soon to be followed by Dave and Peter. I made enquiries after where we should be, and what the arrangements for the gazebo were, as usual with these things information was a little scant. What we did know was we would be stationed in Queen's Park so off we went. I was loaded down with stuff for the display and my sturdy cast iron shopping bike stood the overload quite well.
After setting up the display, which was beautifully set off with our huge Bolton clarion banner brought by Peter, we began to plan our trip back to the town hall for the Mayoral breakfast, one member was missing however, John Shaw was nowhere to be seen.
Dave volunteered to man the display as Peter and I returned to the town hall, riding along streets closed to traffic was indeed a pleasure.
Before entering the breakfast suite we had another look round for John, still he was nowhere to be seen, so in we went.
The deputy Mayor was there to greet the guests and was genuinely pleased that the oldest cycling club in Bolton  were represented. It turned out he was the same age as Peter and myself, seventy six, but due to the ravages of a political life it has to be said he looked a lot older than us.    
Seated in the room were the guests of honour, Jason Kenny and Laura Trott and from their table came an occasional loud bark, their two dogs were out of sight under the table.
Peter and I had an interesting chat with our Olympic champs along with Jason's parents, Jason's dad was particularly interested in our club. The Deputy Mayor gave a welcome speech and honoured Peter and my self with a mention of how well we looked and how we were proof that cycling is indeed good for you. 
After the bacon and coffee we made our way back to Queens park, again on traffic free roads, arriving back to find John Shaw had still not appeared. This was odd really as he had intended to be in Bolton early, we were soon to find out why he was late. Peter's mobile rang, it was John, completely lost somewhere in Bolton. Instructions were given as to our location but still no John. Again a call to Peter, he was now in Victoria square but still could not find us, eventually he did.
As John arrived we were having our second encounter with Jason Kenny, again showing interest in our club and display. It seems John had taken a detour to get here, via Belmont!
The day was as nice a day as you could wish for an outdoor event which was great for the kids on bikes, warm and sunny, what a great day for them.
At mid day it was Dave's turn for the hospitality of the Deputy Mayor, a mid day lunch was being laid on, again for invited guests, and off he went.
Dave arrived back with a rueful tale of walking the corridors of the town hall looking for the lunch only to find locked doors and an equally bemused Jason Kenny and Laura Trott also trying locked doors. Dave eventually returned with sausage rolls from the 'One Pound Bakery' shop, I wonder if Jason and Laura also went to the One Pound Bakery shop!
Dave Owen called in to give us moral support, followed later by Nick Hockenhull, Carl Bolton and Clive Bryan.
An interesting day and a good one for the kids, had it been good for the clarion, well I'd like to think so, atfer all we had managed to impress the Deputy Mayor and a couple of world champions. 

Bolton Clarion Members Blog and Forum: Reliable at 76?

Bolton Clarion Members Blog and Forum: Reliable at 76?: The reliability of a seventy six year old cyclist Three days before the club 100 kilometre reliability ride I had entered the Southport...

Reliable at 76?

The reliability of a seventy six year old cyclist

Three days before the club 100 kilometre reliability ride I had entered the Southport C.C. ten mile time trial, it was a fantastic evening, just right for a time trial, but unfortunately or otherwise, the event was cancelled just before the start.

What has this to do with our club reliability ride, just this, you don’t have to do mega miles to do a ten mile time trial, if you can ride a Sunday ride you can certainly ride ten. How fast you do the ten is another matter but you need to ride fairly regularly.

The weather for the ten time trial looked to be the start of a spell that would be a cyclists dream, blue skies, warm days, plus it would be perfect for the club reliability ride. Just one problem, was I fit enough to do the very tough circuit of the mighty Pendle hill? OK I can manage ten miles, forty two even, those two distances make up the circuits I do regularly but can a seventy six year old manage once again the long arduous climbs on a sixty two mile circuit?

Many many times I have done this ride, always I have found it tough, I’ve even done it on a fixed gear though I doubt I could now, it is always a challenge. With the disappointment of the cancelled ten in fine weather I decided I would once again tackle the 100 kilometre, even with the lack of miles in my legs, the lure of Pendle, Barley and Downham on a warm sunny day was hard to resist. Sod it, I’m going.

Thoughts of seventy six year old dodgy knees, sore legs and lower back, asthma are pushed to the back of my mind, so I’m mad but a challenge is a challenge, even if it only comes from ones self.

Sunday arrives and I pack my essentials for the day into my Carradice saddlebag, I can’t get what I need into one of those little pouches tucked under the saddle. Fig biscuits, jelly babies, tea cakes with jam, snickers, two 500ml energy rink bottles, not to mention the two 750ml bottles in their cages, two rather large flapjacks, three spare innertubes, spare tyre, last but not least, tools. All in all a rather weighty affair but if you can lug this lot round, along with a rather portly figure you can indeed claim the title ‘reliable’, in cycling terms of course.

A fantastic day dawns, the sky is blue the temperature already up and the guys are gathering on the town hall square in eager readiness, a round number of twelve are taking part, that’s a good number.

I look round at the lightweight bikes the members are riding, only Richard is on a steed the like of mine, steel tourer, but even he has opted for a small bag for essentials. Pete Lane is on a steel bike but a rather grand lightweight affair with an Italian flavour, the rest are made up of lightweight ‘alli’ and the now popular carbon fibre. I feel a little out of time and place but it doesn’t bother me as today it’s about me, my bike and the mighty Pendle, I wouldn’t have it any other way.

Off we go, the group are together for now but within a couple of miles or so there will be a split, this ride is quite predictable, the first split being up Tonge Moor road, the second on the long climb out of Bradshaw, the fast lads give nary a backward glance as they eagerly press on.

Traffic lights are also a reason for early splits in the group, some not so fast lads can’t make up the gaps if they are caught on a red light and so are doomed to be at the back for some considerable time of the day. Watching the faster group move away up the road can be a bit daunting to some but I’ve seen it all before, let them go, it’s you against the distance, take it as it comes.   

I arrive at my usual departure from the lead group, the long climb out of Bradshaw, I wish them a fond farewell and slip off the back and settle into my lowly but manageable pace.

The sun is gaining height and already it’s warmth is felt as I begin to climb, a rising wind is also felt and it’s right behind, what a bonus. Mindful of the conditions I begin to take drinks at regular intervals, along with a jelly babe or two, the fig biscuits also are beginning to be consumed.

On entering Ramsbottom I am aware I am not alone, how long I have had company I can’t say but a glance over my shoulder tells me it’s new member John Shaw, a very capable rider, what’s he doing tagging on behind a slowcoach. The answer it seems is gps, directions read in street names and if you don’t catch them as you ride you’re up Dickie’s Meadow.

I tell John he‘s free to go on the next climb before the drop into Burnley but he keeps me company anyway, I am mindful of the tailwind that persists and is even stronger as we gain height, first time in a long while since I came up here in the ‘big ring’.

At the summit I am shocked to see our tearaway gang taking a breather, crikey aren’t we doing well. The sight of me must have been a shock to them as well as they must have leapt onto their bikes in panic, ‘bloody hell Bowlesy’s here’.

John and I swept down the steep hill, 44 mph, according to John’s gps, before we were stopped at the lights half way down. Nearing the bottom of the hill approaching Burnley we are caught by the fast lads, obviously no red lights stopping them. As we are leaving Burnley John asks where we are, a surprise to me as he had the gps, that’s when I found out it was only giving street names but not where the streets were. Amazing technology!

The climb up to the village of Fence was approaching and I told John to carry on as I always toil up here tail or no tail wind, as the others were just ahead he had someone to aim at and duly took off.

I rode in solitude enjoying the fantastic country side we had now entered, this was Pendle Hill country and there is no finer place in Lancashire. Distant sights are taken in as the route progresses, the Yorkshire Dales and hills of the Lake District but still nothing finer than what is now closest.

The village of Barley and the visitor centre there is reached and to my surprise our fast lads are just leaving, apparently the place was so busy service would have been slow. They opted to visit a cafe further along the route on the A59. I had other plans anyway, my bulging saddlebag was due to be lightened on reaching Downham, a day like today demanded an outdoor picnic, so in the idyllic setting of the village I dined.

As I took in the beautiful scenery surrounding the village I drank and ate, at the same time feeding the local rooks eager to share my jam filled teacakes. I took a lengthy break, expecting to see at any moment Dave Bisset and John Martin who I knew for definite were behind me, to appear but they did not. I perused on possible mishaps that may have occurred, puncture, mechanical, after all hadn’t Dave’s pedal come off the other week.

Time to move on after my pleasing break, I could look forward to a less demanding ride though there were still some hefty hills to get over along the way.

The next gem on the ride is the village of Worston, being close to the A59 the local pub cum restaurant is very popular with motorists. A short bit along the busy main road then the lane to Sabden is taken, fortunately the route falls short of Sabden with a right turn to Pendleton, recently made famous by the shenanigans of local notables. Again a picture postcard of a village nestled at the foot of Pendle Hill and aptly named.

The going is considerably easier now as the lanes begin a welcome downward inclination of some distance through Wiswell and continuing down to Whalley. As usual Whalley is very busy, visitors seemingly throng throughout the year with the abbey being a popular attraction.

A long slog is now before me, all the way from Whalley to Wilpshire, the steady climb is not severe but unless you are very fit it stings the legs and my legs sting at the very sight of a hill these days. Today I am not alone in my quest to best the climb, I catch two cyclists one of whom is feeling the heat of the day, he is struggling and I feel for him. I slowly overtake him and tell him I’m not ‘racing’ and hear the reply, ‘neither am I’.

Wilpshire is reached and I can now look forward to an easy ride as the road drops lengthily into Blackburn. As I begin the drop a familiar sound from my back wheel followed by the rumble of a rim rolling on tarmac, ‘Jeeze’, indicates a puncture. A leisurely repair in the afternoon sun and I am about to hit the saddle when I hear approaching voices, looking round I see the distinctive white jerseys of the Bolton clarion fast lads bearing down on me, the fourth time today they have passed me.

I jump on the back of them, ably assisted by the fact we are going downhill but fully aware that once the other side of town my lonely trek back to Bolton would continue. Between Blackburn and Bolton is what should be considered a mountain and indeed is so by weary legs, but there is always the thought that once atop the heavenly descent into Bolton is to be savoured, whoever would have thought a descent into Bolton could be considered ‘heavenly’. A little bit of comedy on the way over, Paul Hackin had pulled to the side of the road and was furiously pummelling his hamstring, cramp, the dread of all cyclists had struck. Despite lots of liquid consumed Paul was still attacked, normally he is prone to cramp but usually after a ride and not during.

I rolled onto the sun drenched town hall square and the gang were still there, the only ones missing were Dave and John, they too had puncture problems. After a photo or two the group began to disperse but I decided to await the arrival of Dave and John. Whilst waiting I enjoyed one of two rice puddings from my saddlebag and the remaining energy drink, I was beginning to feel good again. The evidence of a puncture repair was all over Dave’s legs, thick oily gunge indicated a fight with the bike, the chain and chain rings resisting attempts to remove and replace the back wheel. A couple of Swarfega wipes from the depths of my saddlebag swiftly removed the evidence of a monumental struggle, three cheers for the humble saddlebag.

I made good use of the flat Middlebrook trail to Lostock, legs merely ticking over without strain, wonderful. The kettle went on as soon as the bike was stored, ah, a pot of tea and a jam butty, the only trouble was I had no bread, damn. Two mugs of tea and rich tea biscuits were my salvation but I was only truly relaxed after a hot shower after which I caught the last of the days Giro stage.

I reflected on the reliability ride with considerable pleasure, with the help of my Snickers, jelly babes, fig biscuits and cheap energy drinks and a determination to ride within myself, I had completed the ride without the usual knackered for a week feeling. I had been able to savour all the delights of Pendle on a day that had everything, warmth, sunshine and blue skies, views and scenery to die for, well hopefully not today.  

      

clarion Easter meet

Clarion Easter Meet, Beverly.

11 May 2014 at 21:51

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The day of departure to Beverly for the ‘National Clarion Easter Meet’ and as arranged Dave Bisset arrived to pick me, bike and luggage up.
1.30.pm and we were off heading for the M 62 and East Yorkshire with a slight wondering about holiday motorway traffic. The worry of heavy traffic came to nought as we had a trouble free trip all the way to Beverly, arriving in a couple of hours, the only traffic hold up was on entering the town itself.
We did have a pause in the journey as we neared Beverly, the sight of Martin Perfect on his loaded down bike prompted Dave to stop so we could give him a cheer. By the time we walked back to the main road to encourage Martin along on his marathon ride from London to Beverly, he had already passed us, ten minutes passed before it dawned on us that he had in fact sped passed.
Entering Beverly a London clarion jersey was spotted ahead, Martin had indeed beaten us into town.
HQ was found and after booking in I took a walk round the town as Dave began his task as National chairman of drawing together arrangements with ‘Meet’ organiser, Chris Goode.
Beverly is a great town to visit, full of interest and history with the impressive Minster and an equally impressive old church directly opposite HQ.
I wandered around before eventually arriving at the railway station, I was here out of a necessary need to find a wc. Suitably relieved I gave the station a good looking at and I have to say I have never seen a nicer, cleaner set of platforms all neatly shrouded by simple roof set off by the retained original cast iron entry to it.
Outside the station were bike racks and a row of hire bikes, interestingly the bikes were set up for twenty four hour use with impressive dynamo sets.
Back to HQ and a chat with friends old and new, particularly pleased as ever to see Ken Hemsley, club President. Dave and I then went in search of a chip shop and eventually found one, though I felt later that we should have looked a little further. The chips and fish were the darkest colour I have ever seen, well since my days in Cyprus at any rate, looking as though they were fried in(used) sump oil.
Starving as we were, we ate them, I pushed the possible consequences to the back of my mind.
Back to the impressive 300 year old HQ, where the famous Dick Turpin allegedly stayed, I think he must have been a forerunner of ‘Kilroy’ but ‘he’ visited mainly wc’s and not, as with Turpin, famous hostelries.
The visitor this evening was the Mayor who gave an inspiring welcome to the National Clarion with an invitation to explore the historical and interesting sights of Beverly. Socialising and eating of very tasty cake followed.
Dave and I then visited a local pub, a small place almost opposite HQ, and sampled a couple of pints of local brew while being entertained by the singing of an inebriate woman who seemed totally convinced she had star quality, she certainly had not.
Saturday morning and a good breakfast prior to the main event of the day, the A.G.M.
Now an A.G.M. is never particularly inspiring to the average member but this year the Clarion finds itself in a new era as membership increased at a rate not been seen since the dawning of the National Clarion in 1895.
We now have to face the fact that our trusty volunteers for committee are being stretched to the limit and some form of commerce will be a necessity, naturally this will come at a cost.
To meet these rising costs it will be necessary to increase the annual membership fee, in my opinion already far too minimal, by £2.00. It was thought that an increase in membership fees would be a contentious issue but common sense prevailed after the pointing out our already low fees were less than many monthly commercial cycling magazines, plus the fact that our national award nominated  ‘Boots and Spurs’, alone is worth our meagre fee, the £2.00. increase was approved.
There is always a feeling of liberation on conclusion of the A.G.M. a let the ‘Easter Meet’ commence feeling. And so it was that the gathering for the afternoon rides began, a longer ride and a shorter ‘easier’ ride began.
Opting for an easier ride seemed to make sense as past experience has always proved that ride to be shorter but not always ‘easier’. An interesting ride round the YorkshireWolds ensued, though the arrival at the cafe stop of riders in dribs and drabs proved once again the easy rides can be anything but.
There was a good atmosphere though at the cafe and the dry conditions allowed dining out in the sheltered courtyard, the now together group enjoyed what a Clarion Meet was about, the wheels of social riding being the bond.
After lunch we returned to Beverly via wonderful quiet lanes through typical Yorkshire villages, had I been on my own many stops would have been made to record the beauty of these quiet places.
As on the outward leg the front runners set a pace that frequently required some catching up to be done, as far as I know though we lost no one and Beverly was reached without incident. It was an enjoyable afternoon. Before I leave this bit I have to mention the interest shown in the London Clarion jerseys, on the jersey pocket is the clarion logo with the name ‘Bolton Clarion’!
Come the evening, come the dancing, not ‘come dancing’ but more in the style of Ceilidh. Now Dave enjoyed dancing the night away so much at Scarborough he bought a new pair of dancing shoes in anticipation of more of the same, alas it was not to be. After the opening country dance,the band by the way was fantastic, Dave sat the rest of the dancing out morphing into a wallflower, tight shoes?
The leader of the music trio was a fantastic fiddler and he really did entertain and was the star of the evening, the audience clapping enthusiastically after every performance.
Sunday morning highlight was a very good breakfast despite a thin veil of smoke over the dining room and the heavy smell of burnt toast.  Dave decided the toaster was toasting too lightly and put his two slices back in and out came two pieces of black charcoal,I chuckled at this for some time.
Two rides were on offer in the morning and before setting off we had a gathering for the traditional photo shoot and on a bright sunny morning we posed with the ancient church opposite HQ as an attractive backdrop.
After much dis organisation we eventually got it together and the two groups were off,the shorter ride heading for the mighty Humber Bridge.
 It was a sunny start to the day, quite cool but the forecast of bad weather came to nought, we however did have a little drizzle as skies became grey and overcast.

As the day before, the fitness of the leader again was obvious as the group began to string out resulting in frequent regrouping. The Wolds, though not hilly but rolling become hard when tackled at speed. Again as the day before the leaders had to be praised for choice of route, quiet lanes and roads that eventually gained distant views of our destination, the bridge.
Just below the bridge is a kind of park with about three or four chuck wagons and here we dined on a variety of choice fast foods, mine being a giant hot dog covered in mustard, perhaps I was just starving but it tasted delicious and washed down with a mug of tea.
Time now to tackle the bridge and with a near gale force wind across the wide estuary we were virtually blown across, a wonderful experience though I was aware the return leg would be a trifle harder. A trifle harder was an understatement, it was very hard. Steve Menhams rode away from me as I began to wilt in the wind then a huge shape shot past me, with an all out effort I jumped across to catch the back wheel of Dave, it was like suddenly being behind a barn door.
On regrouping at the far end of the bridge we learned the group had split in two,the others opting to return without the bridge crossing. The return to Beverly was again led with perfection though when just a few miles from the town my aged legs began to falter, the dreaded bonk was rearing it’s head. Another regrouping allowed a bit of recovery and the will not to die returned, so much so that with just a couple of miles to go, and for no apparent reason an all out sprint began.
I was hooked, my seventy six year old legs were dragged into the mad dash by my teenage head, the thrill of the chase was not forgotten.
I was impressed with the youngest and littlest rider Alex Ball, I’m convinced this kid is going to be a star. How he manages to wind up those little legs without so much as heavy breathing at 18 and 20 mph is amazing.  I surprised myself with the effort I managed to drag from myself, though unlike little Alex, heavy breathing gave away the effort it took.

On the programme for the final day of events was an arrangement with a local pub to screen the finale of the classic Amstel Gold cycle race. The distance of the days rides should allow a return early enough to catch the programme, or so it was thought.
After stowing my bike away in the superb lock up provided by HQ I walked on wobbly legs to the pub and on getting there found Steve Menhams at the bar. Steve asked the barmaid about putting the cycle race on the large tv screens as it seemed Premiership football was the prime interest.
Steve explained to the lady that loads of cyclists would soon be entering the pub and if cycling was not screened they would move off elsewhere. A puzzled looking barmaid phoned someone, presumably the landlord, still looking puzzled she put down the phone. No cycling on tv, end of.

A few disconsolate cyclists left the pub but were soon forgetting their disappointment as a first class chip shop was found close by, nothing beats the comfort eating of fish and chips.
As Dave was busy finalising matters with organiser Chris Goode for the evening, I accompanied Ian Clarke in tracking down Bob Harber at a highly recommended pub,good beer, lowest price and very traditional. It was as Bob said, cheap good beer, and as traditional a pub as you will find anywhere.
Back to HQ and get ready for the big night, the ‘Annual Presentation’, the night members contributions to the National Clarion are recognised on merit and competition, not forgetting of course, the ‘Big Raffle’.
Dave and I were honoured to be placed on the same table as the ‘Guest of Honour’, a man most if not all racing cyclists will have heard of, non other than Peter Read, author of the famed ‘white’ ‘blue’ and ‘black’ books on interval training. I was doubly honoured to be sat at his side.
After our chief guest’s interesting talk giving an insight to his coaching and his famous clients it was time for the awards presentation.
National racing Secretary Francis Grafton called forward the trophy winners who were then handed their awards by Peter Read. The last trophy to be awarded is the most revered ‘Tom Groome’ trophy, a stunning solid silver award that is priceless to the National Clarion. The winners this year being the East Yorkshire Clarion in recognition of the work they have done over the last two years organising the Easter Meets atScarborough and Beverly, both being exceptional events.
I have never won a raffle prize over the many years I have been to the annual meets, this year was an exception, I won, only one, a box of beauty skin soap,shampoo, and cologne, to think I have waited years for this when it’s all too late.
Well the weekend is almost over and we pack our stuff in Dave’s car, this time we stuff Steve Menhams in as well, Steve had ridden over but will be working the next day so a lift is more than welcome.
Before we leave Dave takes us back to the market square, he had spotted a sign of great interest over one of the shops, a cast iron ‘winged wheel’ of the C.T.C.
Another trouble free journey back over the Pennines, another enjoyable Easter Meet and we are back indear old Bolton. Next year? Well a fifty thousand dollar question, as yet we do not have an organiser, a rather odd end to a successful event,particularly as the club now has over 1500 members and still growing. Let’s hope that among our new members is someone keen to continue the tradition of the unique ‘Easter Meet’. 

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An interesting week in the life of a cycling 'Old Git'

An interesting week in the life a cycling ‘Old Git’

It’s been a very interesting week this week, it all started in the usual way for a seventy six year old, aches, pains and an outlook of more pain to come, ah, welcome to advancing years.

Not all the elderly are in the same boat, like their younger members of the human league, some are fitter and some are better disposed but as painfully pointed out to me by a very wise person, ‘you may look younger than your years but you are still the age you are’. Stop and think about it.

Anyway back to this past week.

My week began on Sunday, not the traditional start to the week but as the Southport road club’s ten mile time trials start this week so does my feeble attempt to gain enough fitness to extend my ageing body into being able to actually ride the ten miles.

True I can ride ten miles and considerably more, but, a time trial requires effort beyond the pottering I am inclined to do most of the time. ‘Training’, the very word seems to put up barriers to what I can achieve. After years of gazing at a variety of heart rate monitors I can vouch for the fact that it’s not only old age that brings about aches and pains. How can I possibly be looking forward to Thursday and the first time trial of the year.

Sunday was to be a day of testing just how far I can push myself by a turbo session that includes a non stop ten mile effort, no short painful intervals, just a long painful one at a heart rate and the same resistance throughout.

This week also I, along with Steve Garthwright, booked the campsite at Harewood House, Leeds for the weekend of the fabulous Tour de France Grande Depart.

The peloton and cavalcade pass through the grounds not once but twice, I don’t even have to get out of my pyjamas to witness this great spectacle.

Prior to my booking I had already submitted a photo to the organisers of the ‘Yorkshire festival of Cycling’, photographed appropriately in Yorkshire at a Clarion Easter Meet near Whitby.

I received an email from the organisers to say my photo entry for that week, (a weekly competition) had been nominated the winner and a few goodies would be winging my way, fantastic.

Thursday arrived and in the morning a trip into town on my low fixed gear shopper served as a warm up for the dread of the evening ten mile time trial.

The afternoon was spent in preparation, bike, wheels, clothing etc, all ready and packed ready to go, have I forgotten anything, with a sigh of relief, no!

I arrived at the time trial HQ thinking I would be one of the first, not so, already a long queue of eager cyclists had formed to pay their entry.

I was pleased to see William Cocker parked up, good Bolton clarion had a least two riding.

An apologetic and embarrassed William approached, like me he had prepared and forgot nothing, except his wallet. Fortunately I had mine with just enough in it for the two of us to enter on the line.

Numbers sorted and pinned I began my warm up on the turbo trainer, a long one I might add, the older you are the longer you need. By the time I was ready to go I had warmed to the point of a heavy sweat then found at the off just how cold the evening breeze had become.

On the line I realized I had made a mistake signing on, I was number 24, William 25, I was about to be caught by a fellow club member, or so it seemed.

54321 go!! Within five hundred metres my heart rate was way above my good intentions and the ten miles was a case of tight control, I needed to reign in, at least until the last couple of miles. At the almost half way island I caught a glimpse of William, he was gaining and I was expecting a cheery comment as he passed. However passing me did not happen and I crossed the finish line with a feeling of satisfaction, one I had finished without dying, two, William did not pass me, even though he was a mere ten seconds or so off doing so.

I was happy warming down in a low gear riding the couple of miles back to HQ, I was inside thirty minutes, a full five minutes or more quicker than I expected and what’s more I beat my standard on the new tables that are much harder to reach the older you are.

An interesting week indeed, it’s good to be a cyclist of any age but at my age so much more appreciated.    

A cool and breezy ride

A cool and breezy ride.

Having looked at the local weather forecast from the Met Office on Monday, using the five day format, Wednesday looked quite good for a ride with John to Red House Farm for one of their delicious cream teas, home made scone, genuine clotted cream, butter and Jam, mmm!

John had been unable to make it earlier in the week due to domestic commitments so we settled on Wednesday, Thursday looked very unsettled with heavy rain forecast.

John rang on Tuesday with reservations about rain for the outing but I still had faith in my local outlook and a meet was arranged.

The odd thing here is we both arose on the morning around the same time, I looked out from the landing window and saw dry roads, good. John on the other hand heard heavy rain pelting down on his outhouse roof, so heavy he almost rang me to postpone the ride. How strange that a mere three to four miles apart, heavy rain in Hindley, none at Lostock.

I set off completely unaware of rain over in Hindley and soon was on the easy run down to the bottom of Schofield lane, legs swiftly moving, in keeping with the low fixed gear. John was already there as I approached.

I commented on the Beeb’s comment on Sahara sand and slow moving the problem was because there was no wind, no wind? Why then were the trees bending so.

John then related how the heavy rain led to him donning his waterproof over trousers, he had just removed them prior to my arrival.

We then had a small wager of fifty pence, I backed no rain, John having already been in it backed more rain.

Off we set taking the default route to Hollins Green pausing only for a toilet stop on my behalf at Bents Garden centre, I recommend this convenience to all.

Once over Warburton Bridge we coasted along to Lymm greatly assisted by the Beeb’s ‘no wind’.

The Poplar lined lane by the upper dam was as impressive as ever and at the top end I found out just why the poplars around here are such a landmark.

The bridge at the top of the lane though looking a little dilapidated now was once obviously a resplendent work of grandiose.

I spotted an information board placed on the bridge and we paused to glean the information it held.

Being from Bolton it was natural to be aware of the name Lord Leverhulme, the man who’s industrial empire spread worldwide, a man who also divorced himself from Bolton after the burning down of his bungalow at Rivington.

It seems the lord had, in the 1920’s, planned a purpose built workers village behind the impressive church on the hill overlooking the dam. A road and the bridge we were on were already built and in place but the village was never commenced, why not it does not say. However the bridge and the poplar lined lanes are a legacy of the village that never was. On the information board is an air photo of the planned site, again taken in the ‘20’s.

We took the wooded path along the top of the dam leading out at the back of the church by the community centre then into the narrow lanes leading to Broomedge.

From Broomedge the lanes then take us to Agden and Little Bollington. Crossing the narrow footbridge at Bollington mill we are impressed at the volume of water tumbling down the weir, it seems John was not the only one to have suffered heavy rain.. We paused to admire the heavy sluice gate that once controlled the water course feeding the water wheel at the mill. John was in wonder of how many apartments the mill now housed.

Not too far now from our destination, passing the Lavender farm cafe that our A ride called at the previous Sunday, only to be told that it would be an hour before they would be served. It was a busy sunny afternoon, and the lads had to reluctantly withdraw and leave without a sought after snack. It was very quiet today.

Red House Farm was reached and the well filled car park told John it was busy, fortunately the visitors were not all in the cafe and soon we were served with the delicious fare that we so much enjoy.       

The service was quick and pleasant, we were even told we could book a table and cream tea by phone on expected busy days.

The cream teas arrived and I used my video camera to record the occasion, I am not yet fully conversant with how it works but I did get something to share on the club’s facebook page.

Fifteen minutes of sheer indulgence later we were ready to start our return home and once on the go John remarked how great it was to have the strong wind on our back.

We again made use of the short bit of Trans Pennine way, much smoother going actually than the potholed lanes, to gain Heatley and the well trod route back to Warburton Bridge.

After the bridge we experienced a mix of head, side wind tail wind as the road twisted and turned, the headwind sections were a bit troublesome for John.

John declared he could ride all day with a tail wind, couldn’t we all, but the wind could not be beaten when heading into it.

Holcroft lane was a bit of a mix, side wind, side rear, but proved not to be too hard Though John was nearly blown off by the back draft of a huge lorry going at speed in the opposite direction.

We parted company at Daisy hill after a reflection on the delights of Cheshire lanes and cream teas, plus the fact we had no rain despite a mixed forecast. I playfully demanded the fifty pence from our morning wager, ‘what bet was that’ grinned John in response.

It’s nice to ride for the sheer pleasure of riding the bike, no rush, no push, when the clock and minutes do not rule, a bit like leaning on the five barred gate with a piece straw in the mouth. One thing is for sure, riding out with John is indeed a pleasure.