Last week was horrible- work, health, family business. I had a play date with Landslide and S2. I said I'd leave at 5pm Friday afternoon. At 5:20 1 stopped talking on the phone to my dad and still hadn't packed. I called in a bail so as not to keep everyone waiting but was reminded I could join later. So I packed and had my dinner at home, chilled out with TSK for a bit then left home on the cusp of darkness. I had the roads to myself and shared the trail with curlews and owls. I had to remove my windproof and roll down my knee warmers until I reached the A57 at Moscar where I wrapped up for the descent.
The reservoir was quiet without the overflow raging. I took out my phone to check on the boy's location and put an approximate spot on the GPS.
I rode up through the trees and fumbled about in the undergrowth, now desperate for a wee. The limited detail on Google maps told me they were about 1 km further along & below the trail. I bounced, huffed and rollicked over the trail, which I admit I've not ridden before (at least not in the dark) trying to discern between the route and a waterfall in one stretch.
The trail dropped me out in a woodland and I could see a small fire below but I knew that would not be them. I'd overshot. I made my way through the trees to an and dropped the bike to investigate on foot but there were only sheep and lambs staring back at me.
I returned to the bike and checked Google again: determined to give it one last try. They were no more than 50m away. I was just about to descend to the safety of the woods again when I saw an un-natural-looking pyramid shape sticking out.
I wheeled the bike up, took up an inconvenient space and unsuccessfully set about trying to pitch quietly. It had taken me an hour to find them and it took me an hour to pitch and faff. Still, once set up I wrapped my knees in the hood and ate a tin of tuna, the only savoury food I had with me to make sure I was fuelled for Saturday.
The night was slightly chilly with a cool breeze blowing through camp (it was still when they pitched). At 2am I had a wee and span the bivi 180 degrees to put my feet into the breeze and move the moon from shining on my face. I still watched the stars for a while before drifting off. My upper body was cold so I tried taking my synthetic coat of to get a bit more heat into the sleeping bag. Unfortunately I forgot my sleeping bag was sinched tight over my head and shoulders and ended up straight-jacketed with my arms above my head and wrists by my ears until I could find - and reach - all the toggles and zips that I needed to release myself. It certainly warmed me up and for all of 4 hours, I slept soundly until hearing L and S moving around in the morning.
We rolled downhill to meet Grace and Cad who'd hiked up from Bradwell and I borrowed a kettle as I remembered my 90's gas stove (un-used in 18 months) is too big to balance a modern 400m ti mug on it.
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| (c) Stefanamato |
• • •
After porridge and coffee we went our separate ways. Me & Landslide headed off for Ladybower then Lockerbrook and Derwent. Much to my joy I discovered I can carry Midnight again - to get up the berms direct. We followed Summer Pastures for a bit then posted L down Hagg Side descent to much grins since he is back riding on suspension forks. The second round of breakfast was consumed at Fairholmes with lunch purchased for later.
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| Happiest over second breakfast (c) Landslide |
We carried on over cut gate watching meadow pipits scurry across bluffs. I had to set about trying to dig up some glass from the moor to prevent starting, a fire. The task got more and more difficult as tools and a second person were engaged. The bottle resisted hard but was starting to ease out gradually so we persevered.
We debated what could be so awkward - a full pint glass? A litre beer bottle? a whole wine bottle?
Our snooty middle-class littering outrage was suppressed by the innocence of a seemingly "vintage" 3 pint milk bottle with the words "sterilised milk" thickly emboldened at the neck. Maybe dug up by a particularly active season of people and bikes treading this way. I packed it onto my saddlebag and we carried on up, meeting plenty of riders coming the other way. Near the summit all was quiet except my stomach so before descending to the hubub of Langsett we took a booth (a sheep trod in the peat) and lay in the dry heather listening to skylarks and making fun of the grouse which had one eye on our leftover pasties crumbs.
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| (c) Landslide capturing me trying not to fall off. |
• • •
The descent and climb back to L's cut off point was too short and we promised one more adventure before Scotland. He buzzed away. My route took longer to load and I switched my dynamo from charging my light to charging my storage battery.
There still weren't many folk at Langsett at 1230. I took the Woodhead bridleway between the litter from the motorists and the snow barriers. It was all solidly rideable this week.
My tolerance of continuous traffic rumble and moorland efforts were rewarded by a wheatear posing on a stone gatepost like a tiny Highway man, his eyewash and tailcoat and proud red waistcoat. The drivers thundered by unawares.
The crossing to the Dunsford bridge road was peaceful as ever.
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| Smiles, pretty smiles. |
While I was tempted to try riding the steepest section with my dropper post down, pre race conservatism got the better of me and I didn't like the idea of being glassed by a 3 pint milk bottle if my arse overtook my elbow. So I walked.
• • •
I was hoping on an ice cream van at the sailing club carpark but no such luck.
I trundled on around the bridleways to the Ramsden Road but turned left at the bottom, alongside. the reservoir below Holme Moss transmitter station which towered above me.
A group of moto-crosses were lining up their machines on the dam for a pic & I had to work hard not to join on the end. They laughed + invited me to join on. Sadly I had no kick stand so I left them to it. They passed me later, carefully and at a distance so as not to cloud me in dust. I wondered why they were all congregated at the next byway turn - a very green, very vertical trail up the face of Holme Moor. Moments later I found the mini lake where a stream is still discharging its contents onto a 40ft stretch of the track. I didn't fancy finding out how deep it was at such an early stage of the day so picked my way along the high bank where there was a narrow ledge and only the one pedal strike squarely on my right ankle tendon.
I carried on to Digby reservoir before finding the much coveted icecream van. While I'd been holding out for a clean water resupply (I forgot at Fairholmes) what I actually ordered was a Magnum and a coke in case I needed a caffeine hit, having not had any since 10am. There's a beautiful lane/quarry above Digby but the climb to get there is not doable with a Magnum in-hand so instead of joining everyone sitting on the grass in the car park, breathing diesel fumes, I pushed the bike along the path to a big flat stone overlooking some treetops and killed some time not-giving-dogs-some-of-my-icecream.
The quarry above made for some fine offroad riding (I learned of this place whilst chatting to some 15 yr olds at the end of the TPT while they waited for a pickup from their dad).
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| Above Digby - tempting bivi spot or not in a million years!? |
By the time I got to the edge of civilisation I was beginning to get peckish again. I pulled in at a spar in what felt like a place not to leave an unlocked bike.
• • •
I had a thorough check of my bags but still no lock. I did drop off all of my rubbish-including used coffee, so not entirely wasted. By now I'd got attached to my vintage milk bottle and was bringing it home as a memento. I re-packed it into my frame bag for safety.
The village of Holme was more familiar and I instantly recognised the shop where people are either passing or already in the pub. I tucked most of my bike behind the bins which were obscured from the road by cars and helmet locked the wheel. Purchase of a litre of water and an apology for forgetting my mask was quick and easy & fuelled me through the gruelling hillclimb out of the Holme Valley.
What a great route I/Garmin had plotted around sub-suburban Huddersfied. Dead end lanes past stone-fronted terraces that turned into scaly little single tracks through woodlands, cobbled descents, tiny stone humped bridges, it had it all. There's no easy way to get to Honley Tower but when you find the icecream van is still there, it's very easy to forget you promised yourself that water and instead fall for the £2.50 hot dog-with onions and sauce - and because he's about to go, you have to get the top up icecream just in case.
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| Main |
The only nearby spot out of the breeze for a woman balancing a hotdog, a bike and a cup of icecream (what stem cells were made for) was the pavement at the bottom of the footpath. I left one end open for people to cross the road safely & occupied the other - legs outstretched-to eat my (early) dinner while cars drifted by - folks heading home after a day of Yorkshire sun worship.
I dressed for riding into the evening - a trip over to Emley Moor then the Yorkshire Sculpture Park where I had sneaky thoughts about spending the night.
On the subject of another night out - I thought I'd eat again before bedtime so needed 400ml water for dinner, 400 for coffee &200 ml for my remaining porridge in the morning. Which really just left me coke to drink. Time to be on the lookout for outside taps.
• • •
The problem with riding to something so obvious as a transmitter mast is it can feel like you're doing pointless loops towards it then away from it. At least I managed to find a petrol station where I could leave the bike under the nose of the shop assistant at the night service till & hidden behind a car with a pretty lady in it who looked like she had not the slightest interest in stealing my bike.
I rushed in, apologised for forgetting my mask again & left with the water. The water went in the Camelback, the unfinished coke went in the slightly crushed water bottle in case I needed it later.
Soon after I dived in a bus stop to add long finger gloves and a buff to keep the breeze out of the neck of my windproof. It was getting cold again and I was finally dropping down, till the next up.
My route did a loop around Emley Transmitter station which I nearly skipped but the intention of the route was to "ride to there" so I did it and enjoyed the little off-road bits it added in to the route. I was rewarded at a farmyard by the sight of Yellow hammers flitting in the hedgerow and hopping around in the fields and a couple of quail running free. I waved to my neighbour who monitors the transmitter as part of his job - from his bedroom 2 doors up from where I live.
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| I see you |
Another rider caught me up as I waited for a tractor a trailer to pass on a dusty by way.
"You camping out?" he asked.
"Just training for a trip to Scotland, having a lo o n n n ng day out". "How far have you come today"?
I thought of asking him to define "Today". I looked at my Garmin. In the last 20 hours I'd done 98km. 48 of them were technically "yesterday" and I felt cheated saying "50" so I lied some more & said "60". I told him I had 50 to go. That could have been 5 hrs riding t had me home by 1am.
"Long night" he said & sprinted off up the hill.
When I reached the edge of the Sculpture Park it felt too early to stop even though the sun was doing its thing on my way up the hill.
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| Sunset over the YSP |
I dived into the Rhododendrons over the wall from the path for a wee and hoped to find a bivi spot but the area was riddled with mtb single track or thick with Rhodies so I pedalled/hiked to the top and instead found a large iron rusted vessel in the trees to hide behind. I won't lie, I was hoping it would be some scrap artwork I could hide under for the night-or at least make dinner in it... but it was just an open-top tank.
I left it behind and headed towards the park. Lots of signage advised that visits were only allowed pre-booked. I imagine during the day there are marshals checking tickets at the gates to check numbers of visitors since access is normally free.
• • •
I also assumed there may be heightened security in place as I toyed with the idea of unfettered access. Past the woodcarving area where some new shelters were a work in progress - a potential extension to their outdoor education facilities. It was painfully tempting but also felt woefully cheeky + I decided not to risk it.
The last piece I passed in the park is called "Maze" It's a big wooden box made up of (what look like giant Jenga pieces. It really would have made the best bivi spot but thanks to a cultured visit here with my in-laws I know that the sick joke of the maze is it's entirely impenetrable - impossible to get into. (I bet you could climb in the roof but there's lots of signs prohibiting it and earlier we'd already been in trouble for using another sculpture as a camera tripod - such heathens).
I popped down to the bridge over the pond from the stately home and confirmed my unease. The grand house was right there the lights still on. I was fairly certain there would be a good cctv surveillance checking for camp parties so I took some blurry pics and rode on - on across the barren farmland fully exposed to a breeze except for a few extremely tidy copse which had been trimmed of all brushy cover to within an inch and overlooked by two massive active farm houses. It's only redeeming feature? The gate that was locked last time I came this way was passable without me needing to climb over the 8ft high stone wall stile.
I was back on a road, had surpassed my casual plan and needed a new one.
• • •
I zoomed out the map and found the route went past High Hoyland which (at the time) I thought was near Wortley Hall (I am mistaken) and another big open farmland track but there are enough hedgerows, nooks + valleys for a bikepacker to get lost in, so I carried on my course towards the metropolitan Borough of Barnsley. Things I know about Barnsley:
- There are very nice bits
- There are shitty bits
- Sometimes the two mix
• • •
At 9:30pm I wasn't looking forward to a succession of gnarly steps and there'd better not be any stiles, but I decided it might also take me far enough away from a nearby factory hum and give me enough cover to sleep the night. Within 100m there was a tiny narrow bridge over a stream. Even upending the bike was a bit of a chore but realised the infrastructure would at least mean I didn't have to deal with horse hoofprints.
After the bridge the track opened into a glorious wide tree rooted solid trail which undulated in a pleasantly rideable way. Almost enough to distract me from the thunderous vehicle that passed on the road I had just left, all red and yellow lights blazing.
For a minute I hoped its labouring engine might have been the source of the pervading mechanical hum but sadly as the vehicle noise receded, the factory/farm hum resumed and I noticed that the whole valley had a feint odour of industrial smoke.
A flat spot in the trees was researched - too many brambles- and the flat spot above it - when researched by torchlight turned out to be a dumping ground for grass cuttings and black bin bags from the house above.
The rest of the lane was pleasant but wound up a hillside with no discernable perching spots.
The next bridlepath didn't hold too much promise either. I was resigning myself to a long and painful crawl home into the small hours or hoping to recognise somewhere I could bail onto the TPTo take residence in the shelter of a picnic bench. I reconciled this with my desperation for a sleep or promised to keep looking just as my narrow cart track widened a little and next to its drainage ditch were two substantial trees with just enough hedge and saplings to keep off the breeze and hide a bivi bag from any passing walkers.
I checked ahead on the map. A rather tempting olde English "Barn" was marked near the end of my trail but I decided not to risk it & stuck with my ditch-spot which was growing to my taste with the incoming wave of fatigue, despite the ever-present odour of smoke. The hum though, was inaudible.
I finally put my warm coat on - suddenly organised enough to wriggle out of my bib arms first, then set about organising camp.
I felt like it happened in record time. I just wanted to sleep but changed into some non-sweaty leggings and force fed myself an Adventure Foods Mousse Au Chocolate.
• • •
I didn't really get the packaging sorted so all kinds of gritty bits needed to be mixed with more water and I probably overdid it in the end. It had the consistency of something brown and runny but was, nevertheless, delicious. I feel like a lot of it ended up on my face, gloves & pillow but I was soon too asleep to care. I tried the coat-off approach again and ended up shivering anyway. Because I'd used the coat to keep my arse and legs warm I sucked up the shivers and drifted in or out of sleep. There's nothing I could be bothered to do to stop the shivers before falling asleep again so my sleep can't have been that bad. I set my alarm for 5 - so as to not be discovered and also to catch the sunrise.
• • •
It woke me when I was very tired. I opened the bi vi - light was arriving across the fields to my right but it felt cold out there - on the brink of zero degrees - and I was warm inside. I snoozed a little but the desire to get up for a pee after a solid 6 hrs sleep soon overcame the urge to lie in and once I was up, I knew the best way to get warm and mobile was the physical exertion of packing up my stuff.
I did so in the company of the emerging sunshine - I had the best view of it before it disappeared into the cloud bank above.
Once I'd packed away my sleep kit I was hungry enough to eat and a successful campaign commenced of using up the last gas of an empty canister before reverting to meths again. I managed to balance the tiny mug on the big old stove, brewed enough for porridge then just got my coffee water to the right temperature before the canister expired. It was a perfect ending to the show the sunrise put on.
Much to my joy, the track surface changed. The night before I'd pushed up wood chip - too soft to ride on - because the choice was pedalling over historic paving slabs & my bruised tush couldn't cope with the smack smack smack. I pitied the coach passengers of yester-years.
This morning after 20m, the wood chip stopped & the traditional "just dirt" resumed.
I was glad I did not hold off for the barn as it had been subsumed into the active farm - though the mottle and daub was very impressive. Sparrows fought over territory and the sun gained its strength. A man and boy gave me a cheery hello whilst out checking on their lambs and I sat down in a field in the dirt to change out of my big coat and find thinner gloves. I still felt like I was riding pointless loops around Emley Moor but they were pretty so it didn't really matter.
The end of one bridleway joined an A-road into Ingbirchworth. The course turned right and almost immediately right again to circumnavigate the small village, cross the A- road once more a ride away. After looking both ways I opted to ride up the right hand side of the road the 50m between bridleways.
I was glad I did as I was slightly dubious of the condition of the hot hatch driver passing in a cloud of weed smoke at 7:45am.
I went through a number of pleasant cow fields, missed my turn and retraced to a gate, turned my turn and buried myself a bit to ride up the hill to a gate signed, "Please use the bottom path due to the current situation".
I checked the route of the "bottom path" - either well off my route or back to where I'd come from.
I wasn't in the mood for entitled farmers so I didn't see the sign & continued through the edge of the farm though I did feel a little guilty crossing the cows path during milking time, they and the few farm staff I passed were all friendly. The real suspect I assume was the house at the end where the scrap rusting classic cars/old vans littered across the bridlepath didn't look like they'd been touched for 15 years, never mind 15 months.
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| Liz and Millie didn't seem to mind |
More pleasant lanes, fields and trails finally put the transmitter masts behind me and I dropped into Thurgoland down a ripping descent, the whole of Woodhead moor laid out in the white/silver light across the valley. It was as washed out as I felt after yesterdays sun.
I was kind of back on my own territory although the road up to the TPT through Penistone surprised me somewhat. Every single old property seemed to have been converted into a Grand Designs monstrosity like a developer's wet dream.
I had a quick chat with a runner trying to identify the way down to the TPT but it turns out it was his first time too. I set off down the promising-looking road that appeared to be the approach road to the old station. I took the shortcut, carrying the bike down the stone steps through a gap in the wall to find he had even less patience and had scrabbled down the cliff from the bridge. Only then did I realise my face was still partially smeared with Mouse au Chocolate from last night's binge.
All my hopes for 2nd breakfast now hinged on 3 TPT cafes. I soon realised I'd missed one because of where I joined. Penistone was still shuttered up when I passed and when I got to the new stables cafe it was still only 9:45 and it was shut without opening hours posted. Rather than hang around with the horsey people I opted to ride on to the end and hope the park cafe in Oughtibridge would be open.
Before entering Greno woods I opened my sweetie stash to the atmosphere & sugar loaded to give me the energy to continue and the alertness to avoid downhillers dropping out of the forest. It was enough to keep me happy for the last miles into Oughtibridge where there was still no food on offer. By then there was only one dodgy burger van between me and home and sitting in Hillsborough park trying to keep unleashed dogs off a burger at 10am wasn't top of my wishlist so I popped the last of my sweeties and pushed my bike up an extra 20 steps (that I forgot were there), trying to take "the easy way home" from the bottom of the valley.
I was pretty tired when I got in but mostly due to the lack of food and sleep deprivation on Friday night. Leaving for a bivi after a day at work always leaves me on the back foot for a day or so. Not that I regret it in the slightest.
I had a 2 hour snooze after my bath and felt like shite all day but I'm really well recovered on Monday after 8 hours sleep. I'm astonished at how well the body bounces back from winter. All it takes is improved trails and a few more degrees warmth and anything feels possible. And look, if I can do 150km on my heavy bike with 2 gas canisters and a 3 pint glass milk bottle stashed things are looking up right?
Improvements measured by smiles.
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