I went out on EmVee, my Highland Trail race bike on Sunday - fully loaded - and just rode it. No plan, no agenda, just fun.
Within 20 minutes I reached for my phone (camera) and realised I didn't have it with me. It made for a satisfying day of just riding. No need to record anything. I left the Garmin running but ignored it and otherwise, just observed and rode.
As I dropped down to Bingley Lane, a bunch of Roadies were going up. We turned down the same junction, me whooshing by with, "I'm really not racing you but I DO have more momentum" as I span past on my 23kg loaded bike. They rode alongside the rest of the climb, quizzing me on my bags, their content and my gearing.
I turned off to rejoin the A57 from a farm track and they raced off.
At the top of Wyming Brook I ate crisps and started phase 1 of project bike fix - tighten them dam brakes again. When these pads are done, sintered is back!
Stanage was bright and breezy, the descent all the better for brakes. It still wasn't too busy. I was hungry so I took the road to Hope (call myself a mountain biker!) and sat with a solo roadie. I think I persuaded him to take on an Audax and to ride home to Glossop via Mam Nick. We left together then I side-saddled Win Hill on the bridlepath with a boy on a bouncy yellow bike and a couple riding together. We swapped gate-holding duties all the way to the top. Hikers at the top were confused as bikers all scattered in different directions but us four, we stayed together. I didn't really know where I was going but followed the craic and enjoyed myself for it. I talked with the lady of the couple then forged ahead after the bouncer down the descent. I passed another couple too.
Instead of going straight up to the A57 to cross over to Hagg farm, I decided to see the track to its end as I'd never done that before. It was interesting, and a nicer way to see out the climb up to the Snake road but I'd now have to retrace the valley to Hagg farm.
I joined a line of traffic I'd seen from above and remember thinking there were traffic lights on the road. I had a faff with my front wheel which had been making clicking noises on the descent then got off and checked the back wheel then got on and waited a bit longer. I'd been snootily thinking the roadies pushing their way to the front were being a bit cheeky but we'd been stopped for a while now with nothing happening and nothing was coming the other way. I headed to the front where two fire engines were parked at 90 degrees to the road, blocking off an accident. I could see the blades of the rescue helicopter gently turning over in the breeze in the field adjacent. Oh.
Whilst the roadies peered around the edge of the fire engine to see if they could sneak by, I really didn't even want to look and decided to respect the person's privacy. Besides, the day was still young. At worst I could retrace my steps, at best I could go towards Glossop and see what else there was in store for me. I had options. In fact, I said to a motorcyclist, I had my options packed with me. If this turned into a long ride, I could make it into quite the comfy night.
With the road closed, I now had the Snake Pass all to myself - give or take an occasional U-turner. Now I'm a bit of a stickler for the rules so I didn't' take any of the trails off the Snake pass which are footpaths or unmarked tracks but stuck religiously to the road until near the top where a guy taking bikers' pics then alerted me to the existence of the "Old woman stones" bridlepath from almost the top of the Snake down to Glossop. It was to live up to its name. There were many stones and man! did it make me feel old! I picked my way foot-over-foot on the narrow lead out trail then bounced down some steep, rutted stuff before it was back on to rocks.
I warned a few folk about the closed road as they'd all be heading back to their cars but then a big slug of traffic came through - I'd made it off the main road just in time.
At the top of the valley, Glossop and Manchester opened up before me, as did the rain clouds. The coat went on - upgraded from my commuter roadie coat to one without armpit holes and with a hood. Still a running jacket but a little smaller than my big winter bike coat which (if I'm wearing it) I rarely take off as it's so un-packable. I've carried the running coat out to see how much better it is to have a coat with a hood and no pit ventilation to let the water in to my body.
The weather gave the coat a proper testing. Nothing got through that thing.
At the top of the steeps it was time to address the next of my Highland Trail anxieties - I had absolutely no idea how I was going to carry my loaded bike. Obviously I've spent years shouldering a 'cross bike but a fully bagged mountain bike is a very different beast - 10-12 kgs heavier and bags in all the places I'd usually put parts of my body. I'd tried to carry it before and found myself either beating myself soundly over the head with my forks / wheel / handlebar or toppling over backwards into the heather where I beetled until realising that all I needed to do to be able to get up was to let go of my bike.
In Scotland though, I'd watched someone else to it properly - possibly Sean - and thought, I can do that! I put all my confidence into lifting the bike over my head, setting it onto my back and across both shoulders. It was amazingly comfy. I clung on for life and edged my way down the steep, rocky hillside. One slip would have hurt a lot, dumping me on my coxcyc, still hurting from Scotland. Something uncomfortable dug into my neck and I remembered the massage my wonderful Physio Pete had given my neck, gradually manipulating each vertebrae to free it up, despite the fact that it was still a bit bruised. Now it was my pedal shoving in my neck.
A runner passed, giving me some acknowledgement as I unseaded my bike from my shoulders and lowered it back to terra-boggy with some level of decorum as mud dripped off the wheel, just missing my head. He proper held the gate open for me after that.
I went on to lift my bike twice more on the descent, feeling increasingly pleased with myself. Eventually I passed the runner back again when we hit the double-track and the usual citizens of Glossop started to appear in white coats, doc Martens and a grumpy dog lady who bitchily said I should use my bell despite looking straight at me as she threw the dog ball across my path... because the sound of a bell is so much less scary than the sound of jiggling bike luggage at 50metres. Not only did I assume she'd seen me, I was more concerned with steering around the border collie than adjusting my hands to ding a bell.
I didn't let her bug the wonderful experience I'd just had descending the A57 off-route. A wide Clough with only 4 other people and a lot of sheep, the rain to wash the heather clean then the sunshine taking over, all witness to me conquering the fear of carrying my bike.
Time for coffee where I peeled off coat and waterproof shorts to avoid getting the upholstery filthy and ate sandwiches whilst watching the bike in the sun.
I had another chat with a fellow cyclist outside and gave directions to motorcyclists, frustrated at crossing the Snake in post-accident traffic had returned to Glossop for a run at the Woodhead pass. Next for me was Chunnal. Call myself a mountain biker? I just wanted to get up to the off road around Kinder and not dick about trying to find a more sustainable way out of Charlesworth so I rode up the main road in sunshine. Peewits circled over their nests or searched for what had been their nests before the bracken was burned back. Cows eyed me vigilantly alongside their young and a few still-very-young lambs skipped about over the gritstone lumps.
I dropped down to Kinder reservoir, holding the gate for walkers at the bottom then spinning up the other side towards Kinder top and the Hope valley, past where TSK and I did our first bivi under the Manchester airport flightpath, a reminder not to make that mistake again passed overhead. They don't sound so close when you're not trying to sleep through it. The noise was totally alien to the otherwise remote and picturesque landscape, even if the belvedere windows of the old filter house are now shattered and starting to ruin, looking more like an old greenhouse than a water treatment works. I guess Hayfield takes its treated water from elsewhere now.
As I skirted around the side of the tops, effectively crossing into the next watershed, it was apparent that I was in for another soaking. My track crossed a Mountain Rescue Landrover below. I struggled into my coat in the onsetting weather, carrying surely on and using a stile as another opportunity to practice my carry. I'm sure it was a bridlepath yer honor.
The rain came down hard as I passed a group of DofE students with a resignation of, "here we go again". I struggled to free my hood as it really started pelting down and regretted not bringing my Scottish glove set (marigolds). We were back to Scottish conditions. The streams meant nothing to me now and I skittered down Jacobs ladder in the wet.
I tried not to clatter gates too loudly in Barber Booth, some people were just sitting down to their dinner. I was hungry but not ready for shortcuts so I set off up towards Mam Tor, stopping at the end of the road to eat a cereal bar as I pushed the steepest and slippiest section. I need better mud tyres back on for Scotland. I know this now... I knew it in Scotland.
At Hope cross I dropped my bike in the heather and walked up to the ridge to say hello to the one other walker up there whilst I looked into the Hope valley and across to Mam Nick then I descended the hillside in full sun to the sounds of an Indian wedding marquee drifting up from the Edale valley below. Rainbows splintered down from the clouds. My brakes were screaming so hard I started to plot a route home in my head that involved the minimum amount of braking. I decided I could get one more climb and descent in before I had to get on the A57 and freewheel all the way home, saving my last braking for the turning at the bottom of our road - besides, it was already gone dinner time.
I crossed the road and climbed the side of Win Hill from Combe farm, eventually passing the ridge path I took 6 hours ago to drop to the A57 on my original route. That had been quite the detour.
My battery flashed low on the Garmin so I plugged it in for the second time that day and hung the battery in my nosebag. Much to my delight, I found my Scotland bombay mix in the bottom, now tastily mingled with a bag of pecans. I pushed up to Hagg farm and on to my usual stopping point, pouring Bombay mix and pecans into my mouth as I walked. I drew a line at eating the duck wrap that had clearly fallen out of someone's rucsac a few hours ago (maybe days?) but left it where it was in case it was a careful food stash. DO pick it up if it's still there next time you pass.
Sheep lined up in the berms where they'd been sheltering from the rain. They were my only witnesses to my passage along Bridge-End Pasture and I gave up trying to find the line of least disturbance through all the slumbering lambs and adults there were so many. This bit of track is one of my favourite places to be in an evening and this evening was no disappointment. No-one on it. Bright sunshine, showers playing over distant hills. The crags defined by rain and sun. I dropped down to the road, easy on the brakes as much as possible.
I belted across the bridge, chasing a pb for the segment - childish but fun - but then had to slam the brakes on for the traffic lights. Bugger. At least I'd recovered for the off-road climb past the Ladybower pub - a bit more pushing and some twiddling. I'd spent the whole day getting further up everything before my legs burned out and this one was no different. I had to rush past to avoid falling into the pub for beer and dinner when there was a husband and free beer and dinner at home.
When I got to the end of the flat run-out before the rocky descent to Devils Bridge I indulged myself in one more hike a bike from the rock step down to the road - to show of my new skill to myself and to save my brakes in case I needed them on the road. It was the comfiest carry yet although I was a little graceless putting the poor thing down.
I stuck on the back light and set about eating pecans again. Traffic passed too close and too fast on the road but I didn't give a shit. I was too busy enjoying food, thinking about not spoiling my tea but also thinking about refuelling as early as possible so I kept on eating until there were none left.
The descent down the road was exhilarating, if a little dull and no close-passes was a result. I didn't need to use the brakes. I did need to hike up my own road I was so tired.
I'd learned so much today and gained so much more in active retrospection than I did sat on the sofa thinking about what might have been.
There's probably a metaphor for life in there.
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