A week to remember Part 1 - Coast to Coast 2013

Morecambe Welcomes Us

Ten years ago some of my work colleagues thought that it would be a good idea to cycle Coast to coast from Morecambe to Hornsea. At that time i had an old racing cycle and cycling was one of a number of recreational interests I had.
It was a memorable ride which took three days on an assortment of different cycles with riders of differing abilities.
Since that time I 'Discovered' cycling which soon became my singular recreational pastime and a near obsession.
I was not alone - the expression 'On your bike' seems to have been taken literally with tens of thousands of like minded people swapping trainers for two wheels
Old routes were revisited which included this cross country adventure.
Three years ago Sustrans had formalised a cycle route from Morecambe to Bridlington with an assortment of designated cycle paths, minor roads, and the occasional quirky thoroughfare.
The later stages even took in some of our own cycle playground - So it was a no brainer
We took our respective partners and completed again in three days on touring bikes.
Although the ride was a great adventure for me it was more of an endurance feat rather than a bike ride.
Travelling unsupported with panniers could never be described as travelling light especially if your doing the honourable thing by carrying your partners baggage.

My pannier dispersant was consisted of 20% of my essentials and 80% of Joannes non essentials. When they were clipped onto the bike it resembled a 1000cc motorcycle with a 10 Mulepower engine.
After having to push this burden up a particularly tough section climbing from Settle up onto the moor I commented on what the ride might be like carrying lighter burdens
Like say two water bottles.
Three years later that thought was turned into reality and combined with a family gathering

Please bring me Sunshine

Highly recommended

My twin brother Paddy, younger brother Andy, great friend Simon and I made up the cycling quartet, whilst sister Linda and Ian were our SAG wagon.
Unhindered by hair straighteners and multiple shoe choices we decided that we would complete the ride in two days on road bikes starting early.
We arrived in Morecambe on sunday and stayed at The Crown Hotel.
Now Paddy is very fussy when it comes to hotels and I was concerned that a small seaside establishment might not 'pedal his wheels'.
But he had not reckoned on Steve the owner.
He was so welcoming, sociable and accommodating, stored our bikes and sent us off with a memorable breakfast.
The hotel was a winner.
If you plan to do C2C and want to stay the night before I highly recommend this venue one that I will definitely revisit.

Typical British Summer Seaside weather

Coats On, Coats Off, On, Off

This summer has been great for cycling apart from during our cross country gig, although we had the wind behind us we also had a procession of cloudbursts.
Some were so enthusiastic that they were accompanied by percussion and a light show
There were times that I felt my handlebars could be replaced by a rudder,as my primary steerage device

Bridging the Gap

Raindrops keep falling on my head

Wheres the Tail Wind?

Advertisment on the Hoof

Andy adapting to a bike with no other use than to ride fast

 

 

 

     

Strange creatures can be found on the Moor

Unburdened by unnecessary luggage we made great progress and as we climbed away from the coast towards the Pennines.
Paddy discovered that there was actually a use for the small chain ring having made it redundant in the texan plains. I smiled knowing that he would spend the rest of the day becoming more closely acquainted.
Andy at the same time reminded us that it also helps if you dont carry any personal panniers. Weighing in at the same weight as one of our legs he flew up the hills like he was born in Bogota.

Refreshments in Settle

After Settle we climbed onto the moor. It was not a usual climb but one that would have been devised in Hell and described by John Milton

“Long is the way, and hard, that out of hell leads up to light.”

As it ramped up to 10% I selected by lowest gear and focussed on getting into a rhythm.
Paddy slipped past me ignoring my cries of 'Keep your powder dry' - I knew what this beast had in store.
Around the corner it increased to 27% and Paddy was trying to work out how to unclip without falling off. It was his first Rodeo
I had this climb hard wired into my memory and my powder was just about dry enough to blast me to the top.
Of course everything that goes up must come down and as you leave the Pennines to the East you descend into Patley Bridge. If you were travelling East to West it is one of Britain's longest and toughest ascents so going down should be easy right?
For this section I wore a head-cam.
Unfortunately I cant post it, not because of its 15 min duration but because the British film censoring board have classified it as an 18 certificate on account of bad language and scenes that might be disturbing. I have to agree on viewing it that I was disturbed - close to 50mph on wet roads and 25% slope was a tad risky
When we got to the bottom my wrists ached from braking and the wheel rims were as hot as a smelting furnace.

Wheel rims cooling down on descent to Pately Bridge

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Colour Coordinated of Course

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17th Century accomadation !!!

On arrival at Pately Bridge the sun decided to give us a brief visit as we consumed our lunch. With the bulk of the climbing completed all seemed well for our route up to Brigham Rocks before descending into Boroughbridge. Coats were packed away, lenses changed on sun glasses and protective cream was applied to filter the solar rays.
I smiled watching cyclist move in the opposite direction towards darkening cumuli nimbus clouds that were building over the moor.
Half an hour after resuming those darkened oversized clumps of cotton wool had moved.......they had seemingly wanted to check us out and were fast on our tail. Although out of direct vision their thunderclaps stood as a reminder that they could move faster than we could pedal and their presence shrouded the sun and cast a shadow over us. Each time I looked behind I was alarmed at the pyrotechnics.......It was not the 4th of July !!!!!!
Being a self professed meteorologist I reassured everyone that before the storm caught us we would change direction by 90 degrees and travel towards the only area of blue sky still visible.

My prophetic statement appeared to hold water- we turned right and accelerated as fast as we could possibly ride as if chased by the devil himself.
Once again into the sunshine again our anguished faces turned to smiles as we watched the storm seemingly move away from us. We took a moment to check the route and get our breath back.
Wrong decision
The storm had obviously thought we were mocking it and decided to teach us a lesson.
A huge thunderclap signalled its change of direction and despite renewing our escape endeavours it was on us in minutes.
If the lightening was not bad enough the roads became small streams and branches were torn from trees presenting us with a dodgem course.
For once in my life I rejoiced at not being tall knowing that Simons head was closer to the cloud-base than mine. Surely he would get struck first if I stick close to him.
Andy and Paddy had left their coats with Ian and linda at lunch time and were now drenched a mistake that they foolishly repeated the following day too.
As we arrived at Boroughbridge the sun came out and our drenched clothes started to steam, for the casual observer it may have looked like smoke from a lightening strike.
Maybe Mules have more lives than cats?
With beer all round we had a restful night.
The following morning started with the obligatory 'full English' not the fuel for the pros but definitely fuel for Mules.
The weather was forecast to be warm and sunny with no rain and a light tail wind.
We certainly got that later but after Andy and Paddy opted to not carry coats a rogue storm held back for us to give us an additional morning shower.
By lunchtime we started to see seagulls and soon after the north sea.
Epic ride - great people - well worth doing every year

C2Cin 2 Next year 1 Day?

The End Game

Crash, Bang, Wallop

In the world of the road cyclist they say that there are two types of riders.

Those who have crashed, and those who have not yet crashed.

The emphasis is seemingly on the inevitability of the occurrence.

Its funny how many anecdotes start with the collective 'They'

Sometimes there is a slight deviation where their certainty appears to waver.

In these rarer moments and they 'reckon' rather than 'say'

Either way Id like to know exactly who THEY are?

As far as cycling is concerned, don't we have any other options?

What about 'If you ride carefully and defensively, calling out wherever possible and wearing enough reflective gear to be seen from outer space?

Apparently 'They say' - that it does not matter! You will eventually CRASH

Charming !!!

But they were right

After a terrible winter that lasted right up to and beyond Easter, there was not much room for spring,

It came and went, barged aside by summer who gate crashed over the horizon.

With the warmth came the Lycra and gleaming bikes with shiny cassettes.

Much too new to have been cleaned that way, and surely never caressed by a chain.

Inexperience too.

The weekly Sportives post Brad have multiplied with as many each week as there were previously filling the entire calender.

In the Middle of June we did the Hornsea 100 km.

An Anglo Mule train across the Holderness Plain.

The poetry may have been lost on some, but our fluidity was something to admire.

Nigel - steering our paceline was more difficult than his Helicopter



Hitting the Holderness Plain



This was a warm up ride for our annual adventure down to Cambridgeshire for the 112 Mile Flat out on the Fens the following week.
We set off at 7am maintaining a speed close to 20 mph with a paceline the envy of many.

So much so that it grew and grew with solitary riders avoiding the strong winds at our expense.

After about 80 miles one of the signs appeared to have been moved which resulted in us (And everyone else on the road) taking the wrong route.

After about 7 miles we came to a T  Junction leading to a busy main road.

By this time one of the Motorcycle Marshall's had realised what had happened and escorted us back on track.

On the way we collected all of the oncoming riders and had soon amassed a large group of mixed abilities.

Unfortunately the true course presented us was a strong headwind and  narrow road to contend with. 

If you were at the back the pace must have seemed too slow

If you were at the front you were struggling to make headway against a blustery wind.

It all got very messy with riders pushing to the front  thinking they could pull the train along quicker.

On encountering the wind they often went slower still.

This created an inconsistent pace which constantly fluctuated and a concertinaed like a Squeezebox being played on acid

I guess it was inevitable as all the danger signs were there.

Crash, Bang, Wallop

Everything seemed to be in slow motion.

Screeching brakes, bikes, bodies and bottles, bouncing and bumping.

I avoided all and listened to my heart racing as I brought my bike to a stop, my hands frozen in a vice like grip on the brakes.

I took in a deep intake of breath and thanked my lucky stars.

Premature.

Crash, Bang, Wallop..........Struck from behind my seat post swivelled turning me around to witness the mayhem.

Sadly the impact also buckled both my wheels and my event was over.

Thankfully it was only the event over and not the season which is now in full swing.

Over the coming days and weeks It will be a case of playing Catch up.

I have 'An adventure to the Moors', The Big G, and Katy Flatlands (USA) to write about.

In the next two weeks we also have an Anglo/US Mule adventure Coast to Coast and Ride London.

Its the Golden Era of Cycling.

Id better get typing

Coast to Coast - Day Three

Appleton le Street to Bridlington

After ordering everything on the Menu and over hydrating myself at the wonderful Cresswell Arms I felt a bit Peaky on wednesday morning, and was grateful in the knowledge that we were close to our journeys end. As we flew down into Malton with our 'Wheeled Mules' proudly displayed on the backs of our jerseys we were joined by about 20 other fleet four legged beats. Thery came in the form of race horses who were exercising on the gallops which ran parallel with our road. Our horsey emblems were not lost on them and there were some supportive whinnying and neighing being emitted from both of the equine groups. After Malton we followed the road to Settrington which was the start of the only big climb of the day. Although the wolds bore no resemblance to the Pennines as far as elevation was concerned, its access roads were certainly comparable and uncompromising in the gradients they offered.

By the time I had reached the top, my thighs were so tenderised that any passing Cannibal may think that Tartare steak were on the Menu.

On the plus side it cured my hangover.

Once onto the Wolds the route was familiar with a long flat section from West Lutton to the outskirts of Bridlington.

On this stretch the Pace and tempo increased and Joanne made a guest appearance at the front. It reminded me a bit of Mark Cavendish, Totally anonymous in the mountains where he suffers, but as soon as if there is a whiff of fast flat riding hes hovering at the front somewhere.

As we passed through Grindle the smell of the sea was unmistakable and as we approach the brow of each new hill we looked expectantly for the 'blue stuff'. Eventually it came where photo opportunities presented themselves.

On our arrival Bobby being Scots got out his Quaich in celebration of our achievement.

It is a scots tradition of sharing Whiskey from a communal cup. It was actually something that I warmed to over the three days as it seemed to make the most odd appearances, and never semed to empty.
With the task completed we now look forward to our next event 'Flat out in the Fens' a 112 milen sportive next weekend.

Coast to Coast - Day Two

Grassington to Appleton le Street

Having previously studied 'The Way of the Roses' route it was clear that much of its third part covered areas that we cycled regularly. It also meant that our second night stop would have to be close to York.
Not wanting to be bored or out of pocket, we decided to deviate from the map and use other cycle routes to take us on a more northerly tract towards Malton and The Cresswell Arms Appleton le Street.
The day threatened sunshine and showers (Heavy ones) with the mix being more in favour of the wet stuff than the bright stuff.

I elected not to wear my coat under the leaden skies on account of what I knew to be 'up ahead'.
I had previously suffered the long climb from Hebden in the Wharfedale valley up onto Craven Moor, so I knew that there would soon be more fluid emerging from inside my body than what the heavens could pour upon me.
As we stood astride our bikes ready to set off, I used both of my hands to gesture two 'V' signs which I crossed over each other and presented them to my fellow mules, who in turn looked upon me scornfully

The 'V' sign is a curious signal
The sign's meaning depends in part on the way the hand is positioned. With the palm of the hand facing the signer, it can mean:

An insult – largely restricted to Australia, New Zealand, South Africa, Ireland, and the United Kingdom,it means "fuck off".
Two – indicating quantity (but not in countries where it is an insult) although this is more common with the palm turned around;
Peace – in the United States and Canada without respect to the direction.
When used with other movement, it can mean:
Air quotes – flexing fingers, palm out, both hands.
This hand shape is also used in a number of signs, including "to see/look". When the pointer and middle fingers are pointed at the signer's eyes then turned and the pointer finger is pointed at someone it means "I am watching you."
With the back of the hand facing the signer, it can mean:
Two – a nonverbal communication of quantity;
Victory – in a setting of wartime or competition. It was first popularized by Winston Churchill. It is sometimes made using both hands with upraised arms as US President Eisenhower, and in imitation of him, Richard Nixon, used to do;
Peace or Friend – used around the world by peace and counter-culture groups; popularized in the American peace movement of the 1960s.
Rabbit ears – used behind the head of a subject of a photograph; OR...
"peace" or "everything's cool/OK" sign - by holding in front of oneself in a photo.
The letter V, in American Sign Language – used when spelling.

My fellow travellers clearly did not understand the further significance which is found on Ordnance Survey Maps to signify gradient.

Gradient steeper than 20% (1 in 5) Gradient between 14% and 20% (1 in 5 to 1 in 7) So I explained to them that the sign I was depicting was a goodwill warning of some steep climbs to come.

In return, I got similar signs directed back to me where the meaning had far greater clarity, and no requirement for explanation.If the climb to the top of Craven Moor was hard enough, the decent down Greenhow Hill into Pately Bridge would even have had Odysseus wimping out.

This particular stretch of road features high up in Britain's '100 greatest climbs' so by that alone it requires some healthy respect.

Within 200 yards I had reached 30mph, and the 70lbs in my Panniers was seemingly trying to race me to the bottom.

To ensure that they could not fulfill their ambition I applied half my brakes, but my speed continued to climb..........33...35.....

Full brakes applied......38, 41......42......44.......44.....43....

This was serious, my brakes were now full on and my hands were clamped so tightly that my wrists felt like they were about to disintegrate.

As each new bend was negotiated the hill seemed to get steeper and steeper, I felt like an old sailor worried about dropping off the surface of the earth.

Fortunately at the very bottom of the hill there was a Toilet, its funny how fear has a tendency to squeeze your bladder.

We allowed ourselves some moments of composure before setting off out of Pately Bridge and further East towards Brimham Rocks which was where our first calamity occured. Mark lost all power to his bike with the transmission stuck in freewheel mode.

Although the surrounding geological features looked like people they could not speak nor were they able to provide the required tools to rectify the problem.....to make matters worse it started to rain.

We managed to persuade Karen to use some feminine charm to bewitch a local farmer.

He agreed to take Mark a few miles up the road close to Ripon where he could freewheel town into this idyllic Market Town.

We agreed to meet him, and continued through the rain.

The Route took us through the beautiful Studley Royal Park which contains Fountains Abbey

As we entered Ripon Market Place I spied Mark.

Such was my delight at the prospect of the reunion I momentarily lost concentration. The type required to negotiate wet and uneven cobblestones within the market place.

The net result was a spillage, scuffed knee and elbow along with total embarrassment as a couple of old age pensioners ran to my aid. I rose quickly to my feet as a boxer slipping in the ring and declined any assistance. Gingerly I greeted Mark trying to disguise the wincing pain from my hip.

Its amazing what healing qualities can be derived from a bakery. Just entering the local shop made me feel better and before I had finished off a selection of local wares I was ready to re enter the Fray.

The afternoon took us onto the flat lands of the Vale of York and towards the White Horse carved into the Hambleton Hills on the South West side of the North Yorkshire Moors.

During this time there was thunder and lightening and torrential downpours all around us but we managed to dodge all of the showers. Maybe we had had enough excitement for one day.

The roads glistened and as the sun shone we were often riding through a thin film of steam evaporating from the road surface.
Even the local cows were pleased to see us.
Eventually we got to the Cresswell Arms in Appleton le Street which was a pub we knew little about, but one we all agreed would be well appreciated on anybodies itinerary. Great Welcome, Beer fantastic Food and beautiful rooms..
It was everything that the Forresters Arms at Grassington was NOT.

Coast to Coast - Day One

At 5am on Monday morning seven Anglo Mules and our driver congregated around our 14 seater minibus . It was comforting to know that the capacity of our carriage was greater than our requirement on account of our luggage.

I was the clear winner of the heaviest load and it was suggested that I ought to be accompanied to the local weigh bridge by 'abnormal load' out -riders.

The humour was not totally lost on me as the 0.9 mile journey from my home to the pick up point usually a sedate affair demanded the lowest cog of my triple chain set.

When stationary it was similar to handling a large motor cycle, unless the bike was balanced upright there was the perpetual threat of toppling over with the ensuing crushed legs and bruised ego.

With no cycle rack or luggage space available it was always going to be a challenge to arrange the bikes inside the vehicle. Thankfully the collective minds of years of high level decision making soon came up with a solution.

The side door was slid open, the bikes minus panniers where randomly thrown in and then the vehicle was rocked from side to side.

Once the bikes had settled all the panniers were scattered evenly on top with a layering of blankets.

This successful recipe created the availability of 2 spare seats up front and 5 in the rear, which was all that was required. The bikes took up the rest.

I sat next to Dave our driver and old friend who had set up his own transport business after retirement.

On our three hour journey to Morecambe I was intrigued to know who had previously used these seats and subsequently heard the Confessions of a Mini bus driver.

I listened in awe as one of the tales included him hearing the sound of a rattle from the rear of the bus.

The sound emerged 20 minutes after dropping a family off at a local airport and belonged to a baby who had been left behind. By the time Dave had got back to the airport and found his errant passengers they had not even noticed the void in the pushchair !!!!!!

After hearing all the tales it was apparent that our bikes fared well in both style and behavioural ratings, however they scored badly in their conversational ability.

We got to Morecambe at about 9 am and were greeted with a strong chilly north westerly blowing off the sea and making us all dash for our coats, whilst smiling at the prospect of a tail wind.


We soon set off down the banks of the River Lune towards the imposing Ingleborough on the distant horizon which is one of Yorkshires highest peaks. This was our gateway to Settle and onto the Yorkshire Dales. The Roses Way cycle route was well sign posted and tracked a route along cycle paths and beautiful country lanes. Alarmingly this also included a section from Clapham to Wharfe which was soon daubed 'boulderville' It consisted of a green lane which ran through a darkened tunnel and along a mountainside. Although it was outstandingly beautiful and offered zero traffic, It also presented a higher risk of punctures, broken bones and broken bikes. If you have a mountain bike fine but for tourers or road bikes great caution is required and if its wet I would strongly avoid.
The climb out of Settle would have been extremely challenging if unladen on my carbon road bike, but fully laden on my tourer it was always going to be a tough ask. I had previously descended this beast during the white rose classic so knew of its perils.

In the early part of the climb I had settled on steady but slow tempo, my only chance.

One of my fellow Mules gratefully overtook me whereupon I politely advised him that he should keep his powder dry.

Some 100 meters later around the bend I overtook him. He had dismounted his bike with his legs trembling like a worried dog. No dry powder I noted. I managed to get two thirds of the way up before I realised that I was running out of places to dismount gracefully. Seeing a gateway ahead, breaking the line of dry stone walling I sensed a lifeline. Instinctively I aimed my slow moving crawler right at its heart and launched myself onto its horizontal bars.

Pushing my load up the remainder of this MOUNTAIN was no bed of Roses (Pardon the Pun). If the summit had not arrived when it had I was about to jettison everything but my wallet, water and wristwatch to lighten the load.After a short rest and saturation of panoramic brilliance my spirits where lifted and my heart rate able to drop to a sustainable level. More importantly the panniers were undisturbed.

With the prospect of fine food, ale and rest we pressed on to Grassington and the Forrester's Arms. I love using my blog to promote cafes, places of interest and hostelries but The Forrester's Arms found no favour with me. The staff were rude and unfriendly and Id rather eat my food in a public latrine. Resourcefully we still sourced fine food and ale before closing our weary eyes on our first day.