Still, we left Mog, the new Mercu in the carpark and headed up the streets of Rochdale. Bad start, I set us on the wrong course and began following the route in the opposite direction. Fortunately, TSK noticed my mistake and we swung a U-turn and headed back the way after just 100m.
I realised I'd blocked most of this ride out of my memory from the last time. The roads through Rochdale seemed to go on and on. Miles of rows of shops, traffic lights. Boring, no scenery except looking forward to the hills on the edge of town.
And then eventually the hills came. Joyous long, lingering even kiltered climbs past tiny rows of houses, old mills, river valleys. A peloton of riders passed us, we caught up and were caught back by a couple of older chaps and the occasional hipster. Todmorden came and went, images of the Calder valley.
My bike had developed an uncomfortable clunk. Every 4 -5 pedal strokes, like clockwork. Probably a chain link working loose, I'd examine it at the first control or cope with the consequences when it failed.
TSK got a puncture and I was too busy helping him to bother to look at my own bike until I had remembered and it was too late and we were standing on the side of a pass, a big wind and rain going on. Down the other side and into Burnley.
As we descended into town, an Audi pulled out in front of us then proceeded to move slowwwwly down the road as I approached the rear bumper in the wet and I shouted, "Mooooove" to avoid running into the back of it. As we drew side by side to go straight across at the roundabout the driver simultaneously stuck on an indicator and started to turn straight into me. I braked, screamed and slid sideways all at once, fortunately managing to stay upright and scrub off enough speed to let them manoevre out of the way so I could straighten up and continue on my path. As I stood on the pedals to get off the roundabout my chain snapped and I limped to the side of the road.
My first instinct was to go and punch the living shit out of an audi driver or strangle them with the chain but fortunately it was too much effort to go into Morrison's car park so I set about calmly fixing the chain, except now my front light was inexplicably on and refusing to turn off too. I say inexplicably, I changed the battery on it recently and, recognising that I'd never get the seal to go in place unbroken, have resigned myself to the fact that eventually this light will short-circuit itself one day - and this seemed to be the day.
I did the only thing possible, had a very short-lived break down then fixed the chain.
By the time I'd done (took a little longer as I wasn't taking my glove off for anyone), my light had turned itself back off. I had a headtorch with me so not totally concerned if it wouldn't turn back on again but it was going to be uncomfortable and inconvenient later if it didn't.
Riding out of Burnley, a woman in a black Skoda drove straight at me (in the bike lane) whilst staring straight at me - well on her way to using the bike lane edge as the give way line. I looked her in the eyes and screamed, "What the fuck???" and she gave me the thumbs up and mouthed "sorry"...
Funnily enough, it took her a long time to make her turn and have the guts to pass us. In fact, I'm not even sure she did.
I was glad to leave Burnley and head for more hills. Out through Nelson, where the peloton were pulling into a cafe, probably now half way through their speed-charged ride, ready to dry out a bit before heading home. I on the other hand was still toasty warm and dry in my coat and settled into a 12 mph pace for the next 10 hours.
It's hard to imagine Nelson being so close to Burnley because Nelson is a precursor to Settle and we enjoyed the road between the two immensely although a number of drivers were taking more than a little liberty with space. I complained that I didn't remember it being so busy last time and we recalled that it is half-term week and vowed not to do this ride on half-term week again. On the plus side, a ray of sunshine, seen across the flat land valleys creeping across the rising hillside was starting to take hold and grow into some more meaningful relief from the persistent rain that had dogged us all morning.
Skip to the next paragraph if you're at all squeamish: A steady stream of snot and sweat had been cursing down my top lip all morning. Mostly, this infiltrated the edges of my mouth and drizzled over my lip and I licked it away and gulped it down. If I was going to sweat and snot this hard, I was going to take up all the salt I could get. So as we rode into Settle, yes my body was craving something other than the taste of my own body salts.
Settle brought immense relief. We'd both been getting hungry. I'd been eating snacks - an entire energy bar and nuts too. We locked up, stripped off the wet coats and settled in to cheese and chutney toasties, chips and coffee.
Who would have thought, coming out that we'd bump into a family friend?
 |
| Po is quite small. Yes, TSK is on his knees. |
We frantically unlocked bikes to get going and tried to catch up with Po - very briefly - and take some selfies.
TSK - who seemed to have come out with an empty Carradice - took my headtorch which I'd now put on battery charge to replace my light if necessary.
On up through the Limestone Steps of Clapham, Ingleton, past 3 Peaks landmarks and into Kirkby Lonsdale. Not far to control 2 but on the A65, we were desperate to get away from the traffic. A couple of short steep climbs told me that my legs were less than perfect now. The week's strength session left them feeling somewhat lactic-ey. But then all I needed to do was keep going.
To try to mitigate things, I made up the spare bottle I carry on my bike with energy drink powder and guzzled the lot down in one sitting. That was needed then.
We turned into the second control as part of a motorbike cavalcade and stopped to get our brevet cards stamped by willing volunteers. As one of the few bits of the last ride I remember, it was nice to be here and not be on my knees, sending TSK off to get my card stamped by a reluctant burger-van owner. I suspect by the time we arrived in 2012, we were either late or the organisers had given up on us. This year the burger van was buzzing with activity, bikers queueing, kids damp from playing near the river were waiting for their burgers, drivers parked in the extended carpark were waiting for tea. Four employees were working in the tiny caravan. We had a brew, shared a cake and stocked up on a packet of crisps and a chocolate bar for later.
We retraced our steps by riding through the carpark, taking us as far as possible away from the main road before joining it and then turning off onto the more minor A 683 towards Hornby and Caton. Finally, pleasurable relief from the traffic and no more mad over-taking manoevres.
The sunshine had now well and truly taken hold and we enjoyed some wonderful shadows and silhouettes.
At Caton we deviated from the published route to go onto even more minor roads, taking to the hills around Quernmore and the Trough of Bowland. While the main road route is probably advisable on an icy February ride, we needed to stick away from Lancaster traffic and were happy to take on the extra elevation.
 |
| Choices / choices |
We finally crossed under the M6 at Forton Services and joined the A6 briefly before taking another cut off to Dolphinton to avoid the A6 horror, exiting onto the route further along. Another turn-off which I nearly missed.
Finally we were at Scorton for our afternoon tea (shall we call it that) which last year was a desperate affair again - in the setting sun, contemplating our demise out of time and worrying about a big finish. This time, with the sun still high in the sky, I knew I had mostly saved my legs for the final climbs and, aware of what was to come, only had minor reservations that we were going to make it on time. An 11 mph average would see us back in time so only mechanicals were going to interfere... and we had a tail wind. I was hoping we had had our fair share of mechanicals and the tail wind was just a bonus.
Tea cake AND lemon meringue pie please. And lovely lovely coffee. The older guys trundled in behind us and one of the younger hipsters.
We set off in earnest, TSK giving me my charged headtorch back in case I needed it and I took back off him my pack of crisps and chocolate bar for when I needed those. The next few miles were the best of the day, watching the sky turn golden then pink then rusty red as the city lights ahead, gleaming off the clouded sky took over from the sunset and a sliver of moon peeked out from underneath.
From Garstang it was over Longridge to Ribchester. The first of the climbs. On my mission to get us back in time, I purposefully let the legs go. The tailwind kicked in and all the "saving myself" was over. Time to let the legs do their thing. I rode the hills with purpose and now TSK was staying behind me (as I had the nav), not darting past me and therefore over-cooking whilst I was being a bit slow and crap only to have to slow down whilst he waited for me and get cold. I realised that if I am to get faster at doing this long-distance lark, I really need to keep developing these muscles I have discovered so that I can keep doing the big effort climbs for longer and keep the pressure on for longer instead of just letting the miles bob along uncheked.
Into Blackburn where we had very little trouble and next over to Rawtenstall and Haslingden moor where I'd previously had a melt-down in a driveway and only dried cranberries could help me. This year it was TSK who needed to stop which I initially found a little draining after all my efforts but, realising I'd do better to meet my timescales if I wasn't dragging a tired TSK around, I actually quite enjoyed as we sat on a kerb watching the stars and eating our crisps as a random family of 6 plus a dog walked past drunk from the pub making comment on our flashing lights.
My vigour was renewed and I set about towing us over the next climb and letting TSK do the town navigational checks as my brain, not my body, started to let us down. We were finally in Rochdale and not joining the M65 is a key skill we failed at last time and I almost failed on this time too.
As we sped down a dual carriageway, being told by tits to "Gerrof the fucking road", we later passed another tit sitting in his motor on the grass verge, strips of chromed plastic littering the scene around the deep tyre ruts sunken into the turf as he sat, abandoned, like an antelope up to its belly in mud, just waiting for the crocodiles to come. A passer-by was on his mobile, I assume helping out - if not, ringing his mates to laugh at the fella - so we assumed the situation was under control and kept riding.
I thanked TSK for stopping for crisps in case we had, otherwise, been at the scene of his whatever(drugs / drink / mobilephone)-fuelled excursion off the carriageway and onto the grass-verge.
It didn't make me feel anything though, but riding downhill at the end of the road, recognising the petrol station where we'd done our U-turn in the morning and taking the turn into the estate, carrying the name of the pub where we finished the ride, that made me feel good. As did the free pie and peas laid on for all finishers and the quarter (half shared) pint of beer, that made me feel really good.
It was a ride of mixed emotions. It had its truly uplifting moments - the sunset over Lancaster watching the sea and the distant view of Heysham Power station where I'll be working on Monday, the stars over Haslingden Moor. I even enjoyed the rainy hill climbs through Todmorden and the sunny ones through North Yorkshire. It was let down by the traffic, the shitbags and the prevalence for main roads - which I'd forgotten about from last time.
If I were to choose a route to do on an icy day in February, this'd be it. For it is sure to have been cleared and gritted. However, I enjoyed the Poor Student more, for its complete and utter lostness in the countryside of the mid to South West. There are plenty of lanes around the area where we were riding today which I would have enjoyed more - even if they are a bit steep for an early season ride.
SO, despite the invitation from the organisers to see us back next year, I suspect I will only do so if it's not half term week and only if there's no other events on in February and it's nice to leave an event knowing that it will probably always be there if you need it but you're looking forwards to trying something else next time. For as a dear friend once said, "If you don't like something the first time, try it again just to make sure".
Distance: 130miles
Time: 12hrs 41 mins (11 hrs riding)
El: 1044m
Splits:
Splits:
- 44.3 mile 12.7 mph HR 138
- 52 minute cafe break!
- 16.4 mile 12 mph HR 133
- 16 mins tea break
- 24.2 mile 11.6 mph HR 129
- 22 mins tea stop
- 43 miles 11.73 mph last big hill HR 137
Total time: 12:36. Riding time: 10:46 ish
No comments:
Post a Comment