Month: August 2011

Great British Breakfast, again. You know you can get sick of bacon, sausages, crumpets, toast, butter, eggs, marmite, tea and orange juice – but not today. The final day, the final leg of the Way of the Roses. Only sixty miles to go until we are finished – mostly flat and easy.

Managed to get out of York unscathed – although Mr Marr got scolded by a Mrs Plod for cycling up a one way street – naughty naughty – he was so surprised he even asked her if it was okay for him to push the bike the wrong way.. The effort (or beer) of the last few days was taking its toll – I was finding that every pedal round was getting more and more difficult. Span’s gears broke near the beginning, but after a quick pit stop we continued on, then mine went – leaving me with the choice of about 5 gears – and Marrsys bludy clicking went on and on.

About twenty miles in we came to the “Wolds”, which was the biggest hill of the day – it wound its way along and up some hills, it wasnt steep – but it was looong, about 5 miles or so. I was knackered by the top. Out of water I left the rag tag gang as they hung around for the Brend and headed down to HUggate on my Jack. About 10 minutes later Marrsy and Brend came up to me – seen Span they asked… We’ll Span had decided to take a little bit of the path without Marrsy to navigate, if you know Span you can guess what happened next – yep – wrong turning, even though we had signs to follow, Span decided he wanted to follow a different route. So we frantically try to contact him, Marrsy continues on his way (in case) whilst me and Brend wait in the cold as the storm clouds develop over head. A while later, whats that coming over the hill? Yep Dave is back with the living and we continue on our way. Cycle cycle cycle to Driffield and a garden center for lunch.

I really fancied a Yorkshire pudding with sausages and gravy, but Marrsy looked at me with disgust and said “how long do you think that will take” moan moan winge winge – so I ordered an omlette. He ordered the yorkshire pud the sly old dog.

Last leg to Brindlington – and it was mostly flat with one reasonable hill – it was wet, very at one stage, I belive the phrase is that it was pissing down. But on the final leg, the sky’s brightening and we saw the Bridlington sign – then it rained again. We stood in the shelter on the “promenade” in Bridlington and looked out into the rain as we knew our cycle had come to an end. Me and Marrsy had a paddle, Span did some work, Brend ran up and down the Prom looking for his girlfriend (she was actually there – so he tells us?!?).

I got in the car for the hour trip all the way back to York, and Span and Marrsy prepared for their mammoth trip back by train to their homes.. Cycle trip 2011 was over..

It was hard work at times, but very enjoyable. It does give you some warm glow of satisfaction to know you crossed the country with my fat gut, Marrsys navigational skills, spans bags and Brendons sparkly water we made it, reasonably unharmed.

My trip computer gave 178 miles, average 13 miles per hour and 38 miles an hour top speed – so around 13 hours in the saddle over the three days. It was great!

Big thanks to Nick Marr, Dave Allen and Brendan Thomas for making the trip bearable, without them it wouldn’t have happened. Here’s to Brittany next year ;o)

Morning world – easy day today.

Fabulous breakfast in the guest house, and onward for the easy day. Marrsy had warned us that it wouldn’t be as easy as we hoped, but we set off with Marrsys wheel a creaking – off the couple of miles to a local bike shop which was luckily open on a Sunday. We arrived just as they were opening, and Marrsy stepped forth in enquire about a new wheel. Please he begged, I need a back wheel, cycling 100 miles I’m desperate – please. Something tells me they see him coming I thought. “Yes sir we have a wheel” (wink wink) “just the one mind” – “pleeease let me have it” – okay – thats £180 quid!!.. hardy har… Well poor old Marrsy had no choice but to cough up the readies – he even had to put the wheel on himself. He gave it a spin – ooohhh smooth he said, its soo much better. Then came the clicking. The horrible, relentless, very loud indeed clicking. Every time he free-wheeled its sang its clickity click song – nah that’s never going to pee you off is it? By the time we left the shop frontage it did.

So, shall we go back a couple of miles and join the route, or go up this slight incline instead. “Slight incline” we all chorused. We went, it wasn’t. It was possibly in parts as steep as yesterdays, but no way near as long. I kept the wheels spinning – Marrsy had told me the only reason I had failed the big hill yesterday was because of my mental toughness – well sod him, my brain was going to get me up this hill. It didn’t – but my legs/arms/back/feet/hands and neck did. We paused for a while drinking in the rain whilst Brend caught us, then off with a breeze in our hair along a wonderful stretch of up and down – but mostly down – we continued on. Through Ripon, which I cannot even remember – even though I have looked at street view on Google Earth, weird. And into Boroughbridge and the Black Bull public House. Beer for Marrs, squash and sparkly water for the girls and a quite wonderful sunday roast. With a massive Yorkshire Pud. Forgot we were in Yorkshire. Marrsy had the “Veggy” option which was sweet and sour vegatables, with a lump in. A big lump, a big soft Yorkshire pudding shaped lump. Yes Marrsy had the fun of the Yorkshire in his sweet and sour – cool.

It was pretty flat for the rest of the trip and I cannot remember anything about it at all. Then we were in York – woohoo.

We got there about 3 ish i think, checked in quickly, then down to the river for a pint or two. then to an interesting pub called the matlings. It had lots of strange, but wonderful, alcohol in it. Erdinger was about as weird as I went, but Marrsy had an interesting orange (in colour) cider which looked rank – but he pretended to like it. Where next – lets go buy a tie each… Evening Thai was nice, Marrsys was too hot for some reason he had the same chillies as me, only much much hotter.. Fully beered and slightly tied up we went to bed.

Here we are, the first proper day. So we made sure we got a good english brekkie down our necks, said good morning to the weird woman who spent the whole of yesterday sitting in a chair outside with a fag in her mouth saying “hioh”. Then it was time to start. Well, it was time to start sorting out everyone.Pump up tires, dust off Brendons breaks, attach Span’s panniers, attach spans multiple other bags – take some things out of Spans bags and put them in the car – wait for Brend to get his big camera out – but, eventually we cycled the half mile to the start… After a few obligatory pictures at the start point off we went…

10 mins and a couple of miles in it rained.
It wasnt long before we came to our first grads just outside of Canton, going through a sort of park place – it was quite steep and i think this was a sign of things to come. At the top we noticed something – no Brend. What had happened to Mr Powerful, the awe inspiring Big Bad Brend, he was suffering on the grads!!! Oh dear. Thats what you get for spending the last year taking photo’s and doing no cycling… It starting raining more heavily.
The rains came down, the Brend struggled, we went up and down until the leader of the pack suggested it might be an idea to pause for cookies at Canton. It was bucketing down. We unpacked and walked into a little empty cafe and were served by a simpleton. As we sat dripping into our tea Span went off to the toilets only to return looking quite perturbed. He notified us that there were 100’s of spiders in the toilet, and told the simpleton in no uncertain terms how silly this was. I dont like spiders, I would have liked a wee. The rain rained, heavily.

After tea and cakes we set off again, wet and cold – in search of the safety of Settle and some lunch.After leaving Clapham we took the main road to avoid the rubbish cycle path, and at Austwick we tried to re-find the cycle path. Marrsy as always led the way and we were worried. We dared to subtle question his navigation, but he was sure – positive in fact (and too be honest slightly dismissive) so we followed like the lambs were are. Up and up we went with no sign of a cycle route – we passed signed which told us lunch was only 5 miles away whilst we headed in the opposite direction. But what-u-know, Farmer Marrs was right finally, after a 237 mile diversion we were back on track – and looking for nosh.

Nosh came inside a little cafe, which had others cyclists in – who warned us about the “big *laugh* hill” just outside Settle. No probs we thought as we stuffed down our toasties. Fully refreshed and a little cold we started the famous climb out of Settle, the biggest hill on the route, and in fact the biggest hill in the world. It was steep, it was probably the steepest hill I had ever cycled up, but it was long too. Very long. Really very long, and steep. And long. I had gone up so far and then had to steer across the road to make the incline slightly less, each revolution of the pedals was harder and harder I just. could. not. pedal. around. again. As I had clips on, I had to try to get my feet out, at .012 miles an hour, I just manged, but then collapsed under the weight of my fat gut (and napsack) and literally slid a few feet down this hill. But pushing was almost harder. I pushed around 15 yards with Span then we managed to get back on board and way we went. The hill went on for ages, and had some other steep bits but the worst was behind us – it was uphill all the way.
Once we got over this though we pretty much had down hill for miles, wonderful and the rain had stopped and all was well with the world. Then it started raining again and we got wet, within 34 seconds it went from a light smattering of water to a torrential downpour and we sheltered outside a chruch, under the cover they have on the gate. It really rained, it was cold.

Coming to the end of the day, we started the final climb. Well the first of a number of final climbs. Everyone was tired and cold and wet, and we knew it was a hill up, then a very quick drop into the night stop over. The hill went up and up and when we got to the top it went up some more, and more and more and then we were at the top, but no, it still went up and up – but finally we were at the top. Then we had to go up some more. Marrsys bike broke at this point – his “bearings” had gone – and he was the navigator!!! Anyway, we did finally get to the top and Span the fearless shot down the hill at 1000 miles an hour, I went down with my breaks on all the way and Marrsy went down s-l-o-w-l-y. But we were there, first day of cycling complete. Easy Peasy Lemon Squeezy.

Stayed in a place called Lyndale Guest House which was very good. Big rooms, great shower and 5 mins from the pub. Got sorted and escaped to the crown as soon as poss.. Had a coupl eof pints of Stella “4” which was nice, and got my head spinning nicely, so we needed good cycling grub so nipped down the road to the Indian – bring your own booze. To say it was slow would be a slight understatement, it took around an hour to get our order taken (lucky we brought our own beer), then another half hour or so for the nosh. But we were hungry by then, and the curry was top draw. Up to the “other” pub then for some more beers and a whisky for the navigator (and another Sparkly Water for Brend) and listened to some bloke singing songs which Brendon guessed before he started everytime. Then Bed.

So, here we are one year older and one year fatter to attempt the yearly cycle run. This year we lost one, and gained one, so the participants were: ‘Big Bad’ Brend, Marrsy, Dave ‘the bags’ Allen and me. We had decided to attempt a real cycle this year – the way of the Roses – which was a 170 mile journt across England from one side of the country to the other, from Morecombe to Bridlington.

The day started with a pickup in Bristol Parkway where I met up with Mr Marr, he had already been on the train for a couple of hours. So we tucked his bike in the car, topped up the oil and off we went. Bristol to Bridlington took a good few hours, but at around two o’clock we rolled into the sprawling seaside town of Morecambe. (Its a hole).

Checked into the guest house and met up with Brend, who had been there for a short while – he was splendidly kitted out in very tight lycra with a large man bag (which to be fair contained his sophisticated camera) and a very dusty bike. Brend doesnt bother himself with matter such as ensuring his bike is ready for a 170 mile trip – if its got air in its tyres and a seat, he’s happy.

So we walked down the front to a little caff, and sat in the very strong wind drinking tea and pop and Brendon eating a lot of food. After a visit with Mr Eric Bartholomews (later to be Morecambe) statue and a paddle for me, and a bracing swim for action man Marr we found ourselves having a little beer outside the Midland hotel – probably Morecambes only redeeming feature.

Span rolls into town at around 7, after making the 3 mile journey from Lancaster station to Morecambe, and in true Span tradition nearly kills himself on the first Morecambe round about as we watch. He has a couple of bags, saddle bags, nap sacks, little bike bags and i think they are full of stuff – he’s a one is our Span.

Evening comes and we have some food at Franky and Bennys and a final pint in the Midland where we use some very nice toilets! Then its home to the luxurious guest house for a slightly too warm night of broken sleep (pausing briefly to check the weather – it is going to rain)