Thursday 11 April 2013

Easter Meet with the National Clarion 2013


Clarion Easter Meet
Scarborough 2013

Easter Meet time and I ready myself for a trip over to Scarborough for the first time since eight years ago, also a clarion meet.
As we were facing the coldest March on record, plus visiting the east coast, a place renowned for being cold at the height of summer, preparation was of the utmost importance.
The first consideration was thermal underwear, as a callow youth I would only have tee shirts and a crew neck pullover and a brave face, but advancing years have brought a little sense.
Unsure of what activity would be most prominent, pub, cycling or socialising, the number of items of clothing being taken just grew and grew. Whatever the activity one thing was certain, my collection of merino wool vests would outnumber anything else, some of which I thank ‘Aldi’ for.
Socks, ski socks, thermal socks, thin socks, wool socks added to these were my little hotty toe warmers, cycling boots and overshoes.
With the accent on warmth sorted the rest was easy, lightweight trousers, posh shirt, and an assortment of tees and finally a waterproof.
A request from the ‘Meet’ organisers for the loan of our club time trial numbers and high viz jackets added another huge bag to the pile I had already assembled, Would there be room in Dave’s car for this lot? The answer to that last question was yes, Steve Menhams had taken the courageous decision to ride all the way to Scarborough on his bike, what a guy!
Dave arrived at one o’clock and the bike and stuff went into the back of the car quite comfortably, but even so thoughts of the return with three of us and luggage meant a bit of squeezing.
We are off.
Onto the M62 and heading east in good weather we seemed set fair for a trouble free trip across the country to Scarborough, before too many miles however the outlook was decidedly taking on a bleak appearance. Flashing motorway signs were indicating a problem ahead, delays from junction 23 to 25, ah well just a minor delay we thought. As the build up continued we were down to a crawl and finally a full stop, the motorway was now closed from junction 23.
The best way of dealing with this was to have a picnic, I rooted out a pack of four Mars bars and a box of twelve Easter eggs from one of my bags, chocolate is said to be for comfort eaters and we needed comforting right now, if I’d known we were to take a break, Kit Kats would perhaps have been more appropriate.
After a couple of hours of stop start due to three packed motorway lanes being funnelled into a single exit lane we eventually left the motorway and sought a detour beyond the supposedly clear junction 25, a good move as it turned out. Eventually we joined a fast moving road and made good progress to the A64 leading straight to Scarborough, it was like having shackles removed.
Reaching Scarborough we had only to find the hotel, as neither I nor Dave had thought to bring a copy of the Boots and Spurs giving details we were lost.
After a good deal of driving round with not a policeman in sight we eventually spotted a car hire place, good thinking, they are bound to know. After a friendly driver said he knew, and offering to take us for £4.60. before he realised we were in a car, he did point us in the right direction, with an added, ask again when over the bridge, the ‘bridge’ being a famous local landmark.
A very friendly receptionist at one hotel actually came out on the street and gave us precise directions, spot on, and in a couple of minutes we were there, the feeling of relief was almost overwhelming. By now it was around seven pm and the first room sought was the little one marked, ‘Men’, as I said, overwhelming relief.
Handshakes and greetings to familiar faces then up the never ending flights of stairs with luggage to the room, arriving at the door in a state of collapse, thank god, we’ve made it.
The evening begins with a bit of socialising and a drink or two, it’s good to see the Mayoress taking the time to seek out all clarion members and engage them in conversation, usually the local dignitaries are cornered barely meeting anyone other than a few. It’s not hard to spot clarion members, they were all wearing the ‘Scarborough meet ribbon’.
Among the members is one from London who never ceases to amaze, Martin Perfect, he made the trip over on his bike, a mere two hundred and forty mile marathon. Martin did the ride over three days and in doing so won the award for most miles covered cycling to the meet.
Our own hero, Steve Menhams, also chose to ride from Bolton to Scarborough, in one day. Steve covered one hundred and thirty three miles into the strong bitterly cold east headwind, arriving at the hotel around nine pm, understandably after stowing the bike, unpacking his huge panniers and showering he retired to bed. We saw him at breakfast the following morning looking non the worse for his leg weary journey, and to think Dave and I were legless just climbing the multi stairways.
Saturday morning begins in bright sunshine but the bitter east wind persisted, not that it trouble us much as the morning is going to be taken up by the National Clarion Annual Conference, sounds grand but a real turn off for those wishing to get out and ride their bikes.
As usual the meeting gets underway with the hope that due to a reduced agenda business will be over and done with allowing those present, time to a bit of sightseeing and cycling. Dave and I look forward to a bit of cycling on the Saturday but as Dave is Chair at the conference the whole morning goes by without a pedal being turned.
However, also as usual time drags on, and as usual you have the member addressing the meeting with the classic, ‘ Mr Chairman, I can sum the resolution up in one sentence’ and sits down fifteen minutes later.
The meeting does draw to a close but already I have one eye on the clock, we have the responsibility of getting the Bolton clarion numbers and high viz jackets over to the time trial HQ. We had been hopeful of getting there, HQ was about twelve miles out, but there was no one to take the kit over so Dave and I drove over. Any one who has run or been to a time trial HQ will be aware that no matter how early the organiser gets there he is beaten by eager contestants wanting to sign on and get a number on their back.
We arrived and sure enough plenty were awaiting the arrival of the numbers in the village hall scented with the all too familiar smell of embrocation, I swear horse liniment is in use today, and with a cold wind blowing liberal amounts were being applied to shaven legs.      

Me and Dave were stuck on a crossroad about four miles from the finish as marshals, a cold draughty corner but fortunately the almost cloudless skies meant plenty of sunshine that struggled to lift the temperature by a degree or two, where o where would the sport be without suffering volunteers.
For us the event was underway when the first rider came into view, whizzed past, as Dave ticked the number off the list. The crossroad was at the bottom of a hill and as the riders had a tail wind on this section they took great advantage of it, carbon aero wheels and disc wheels shwishing and rumbling by at great speed. Nick Hall (Bury) went screaming past on his drops, I shouted to him, ‘get on your tri bars’ not realising as I found out later, he had non fitted to his bike, a bit odd for a man fancied to win the clarion event. As the last man, number seventy screamed past at warp factor one, we just had to hang around a bit to collect numbers of those yet to pass though a few of the missing numbers were obviously ‘permanently ’missing, one of whom was our mile eating Martin. After his marathon ride he was down to compete in the ten mile time trial.
On returning to the HQ I made a hot tea and cakes my priority before turning my attention to the result board, as yet incomplete but would soon contain a bigger surprise than the time of the winner.
The course was described as ‘sporting’, a bit of an understatement in my opinion as a pig of a long long climb at the start was made even more difficult by the strong headwind, such a course would have been considered suicidal by me.
The results began to trickle in and of course being a clarion event we eagerly awaited the results of our fellow members and for a long time a clarion member was the overall leader, not only that, despite generous handicapping, he was leading that as scratch man, it was some ride by Mathew Ball coming all the way from West Lothian.
Martin provided a bigger comment as he recorded a really decent time despite being seen only by the start timekeeper and the finish timekeeper, perhaps he had passed us, and other marshals, at warp factor three and therefore invisible. He was unfortunately removed from the result board, Martin accepted the verdict with a smile, nice one.
The outright winner was a local lad who posted a fantastic time, a onetime national junior champ, well clear of the next man but there was little between the second and third places, Mathew taking a very creditable third.
As the result board provided crowded interest I took advantage of the quiet tea bar with another two cups of tea and cakes, it’s hard work marshalling.
Back at the Easter Meet HQ we relaxed again and took details of the evening event organised by Chris Goode, who along with fellow east coast members had taken responsibility for the whole weekend, and a very good job they did too. The event was being held in a church hall, an evening of Ceili dancing. Interestingly it was a ‘bring your own beer’, being a church hall of course it was soft drinks only provided. Now Ceili dancing is not every ones cup of tea but bear with it, prepare to be entertained.
Dave and I walked over to the event by a coastal path that was animated by waves crashing over the sea walls then along the front with its penny arcades and souvenir shops prompting Dave to pick up a couple of fridge magnets depicting the town. Fish and chips from a branch of the famous Harry Ramsden chain were ravenously enjoyed along the way to the dance. Our knowledge of the town had been greatly enhanced by an hour of being lost the day before and the hand written notes Dave had thoughtfully scribed before we left HQ.
All we needed now was an off licence to take on board the ‘booze’. As we wandered in our quest we were asked the directions of a particular bus service by a young lady with a broad scottish accent made even more brusque by inebriation. As we had no idea where we were other than in Scarborough we were of no help, the young lady rather loudly confronted other passers by with the question, ’are ye on an adventure ?’, obviously sorting tourist from local. Eventually the young lady and her male companion drifted away in the distance in their unusual quest.
We neared our destination and lo and behold came across a local Aldi store, how good and fortunate was that, we had been looking for an off licence and here we were with one of the best.
Ten bottles of Belgian lager plus plastic carrier at less than the price of a pint back at HQ highlights just what good value the store offers, Dave with his alcoholic ginger beer and cans of ‘Murphy’s’ was equally sorted.
Entering the church hall it was immediately obvious that we were the first one there, apart from the band, who were busy setting up and tuning on the stage. What struck me was the fact that all the band, with possibly one exception, were older than me, imagine that!
Some preparation had been made by someone as the evenings buffet had been nicely laid out and very good it looked too.
Dave and I sat like two lost souls sat there with drinks awaiting the party to start.  Eventually the guests began to arrive and despite not everyone being present yet the band struck up and an enthusiastic leader soon had volunteers on the floor, strictly come dancing it was not. For a start Dave was unexpectedly one of the volunteers. Since not many had much idea of ceili and country dancing a good deal of explaining and rehearsing the moves soon had hoots of laughter, audience participation was superb.
As more arrived, more were encouraged on to the dance floor, first man up for every dance was Dave, now if you thought cycling was energetic, forget it, the sight of Dave careering up and down the hall, doing doe si doe etc. Intervals between dances were very brief, just long enough to get into the next can of Murphy’s , a wiping of sweat with his jumper and Dave was up again. Believe me, Mr. Chairman is a man of unplumbed depths. The bravery of the ladies was to be respected also, how would you cope with the sight of a very large man careering toward you with little chance of pulling up? It was a good job Dave had the Murphy’s to replace lost minerals, I have never seen anyone in such a lather, it was all good fun. Despite lots of cajoling, I took no part in the dancing though I enjoyed it immensely along with my Belgian beer.
We had a welcome interval during which the buffet was started, it was indeed an excellent buffet and very plentiful, so much so that at the end of the evening pleas were made for people to take home a doggy bag.
In the chill of late night we unerringly found our way back to HQ where the warmth was very welcome, a cup of tea would have been a welcome nightcap but the room was bereft of the usual tea and coffee facilities, or so I thought.



Sunday morning was the day of the social rides, two of, one short easy pace, one long at a more brisk rate, but first came the Annual Photo Shoot, a grouping of the sections from around the country, a colourful occasion with each sections colours proudly worn. Standing out above the rest of course were the Bolton clarion jerseys of Steve and myself, oddly Dave posed as best he could in the old red yellow and black but non the less a colourful figure who can stand out anywhere. The photos were taken against the backdrop of Scarborough harbour and cloudless blue sky, what a picture, what stunning scenery, almost as stunning as the cyclist in the foreground. Photo shoot done, there was a general melee as route sheets, signing on sheets, maps were handed out in return of a one pound coin, wow, how cheap is that for an organised ride, I use the word organised advisedly. We were even given an official card to be stamped at the half way point.
Having breakfasted well I was ready to go, as were loads of other impatient cyclists eager to be off. At last the organiser stowed his saddlebag with remaining paperwork and to a loud cheer threw his leg over the crossbar and engaged the pedals and toe clips, we were off.
The rides were a sociable A ride and a sociable B ride, the A being the longer ride to Flamborough Head, while we who had opted for the B headed for the now familiar HQ village used for the previous days time trial. The village is a typical lovely place so fittingly situated in the East Yorkshire Wolds, a fine area for cycle touring with a lot to offer.
The village has a very nice tea room and it is there that we are making for via some beautiful rolling lanes.
The two rides left Scarborough together with a separation point about three miles out of town, despite the so called easy social group ride, the separation came a little early for some, my heart and lungs conveyed to me that someone must be off the back as I clung to the wheels of the first half dozen riders. The fast lads and ladies up near the front were just pedalling in their comfort zone whilst putting a few of us older guys distinctly out of theirs. Every now and again some up front would ask, ‘are we altogether?’, a positive shout from the back led them to believe it was so, it wasn’t.
Finally we reached the point of separation, the B ride regrouped and I was thankful of the break. Interestingly one who was troubled least by the earlier pace was the youngest rider with us, Alex Ball, a mere slip of a lad still in the infant school by the look of him, nine years old I think, son of Mathew from West Lothian, he was riding fantastically strong. Ian Clarke correctly pointed out that the oldest and the youngest clarion riders of the day were almost side by side.
During the re grouping it was discovered that Dave was missing along with two young ladies, well from my perspective they were young, one of whom happened to be Ian Clarke’s mother in law, mother of Jayne. It was decided , after a delay that Dave’s ability to read the map provided, would allow them to find the cafe stop, we would meet them there.
With young Alex showing everyone a good turn of speed the rendezvous was reached and an eager bunch of cyclists crowded in. As I went to the counter a young lady thrust a signing on sheet and a punch machine into my hands, I was now in charge of booking everyone in and out, plus punching the cards with a musical note.
Later Dave appeared along with the two ladies and gave a long and detailed explanation of what went wrong, all could have been condensed into, ‘we got lost’. However they had made it and we were glad to see them, being the b group on their own now, no one would be left on the return to Scarborough.
The cafe was a pleasant stop and like a true club run there was much milling around in the now pleasant sunshine as we made ready for the off, being only one wc the off was much delayed allowing plenty of photo shoots.
The route back was practically all in quiet lanes, some would describe them as rolling, others would say hilly, but as we stopped at the top of every climb no one flagged or complained, this was a real social ride. The ride was so social we even stopped at the bottom of a very steep hill as one clarion rider took the unusual decision to ‘walk’ down the hill, how cool is that for social riding. The ride also gave pleasure to young Alex as he just romped up every hill, another couple of years and he will give Mathew, a more than capable rider, a real run for his money. My money will be on Alex.
A couple of miles from the HQ we were back on busier roads but still not bad and still together in one group, also it was still early afternoon, plenty of time to make for the nominated pub in town that was showing the ‘Tour of Flanders’. The bike race would turn out to be just one of the afternoon’s attractions.
We found the pub in question without much difficulty, ‘The Cask’, and rather surprisingly Martin Perfect was already sat outside, it seems he had prior knowledge and made good use of it.
We settled into a crowded pub finding a table right in front of the tele showing the race and with about twenty five miles left to race we had timed it nicely.
It wasn’t long before another attraction, (or distraction) divided attention among the customers, the arrival of a noisy hen party, a bevy of busty , high heeled, hatted young and not so young ladies, dressed to kill in a variety of mini and super mini dresses. The odd one or two in tight trousers looked like they had been painted on, all this as a determined bunch of cyclists pounded the cobbles of Belgium for all they were worth, now where would you rather be.
As we sat with eyes flirting from tele to man trouble, the drinks flowed freely and the noisy hen party was interspersed with frequent hysterical laughter, perhaps it was the sight of ‘men in tights’ gazing at them with intent that brought the hilarity about, who knows.
Eventually a mini bus arrived to carry the mini skirted bevy of ladies to the next port of call on their pub crawl, the quiet on their dispersal was sudden, the race on the cobbles was now centre stage. The culmination of the race brought home just how strong and fit the pro’s are, Cancellara in particular, but unlike his two previous classics wins he had to dig deep as Sep Vanmarkek took him all the way to a fantastic sprint out on the velodrome finish. Cancellara won but boy was it close. 
Race over the drinks continued  awhile longer, as did the tv entertainment, the Oxford v Cambridge boat. After the excitement of the bike race the boat race seemed quite tame, to us anyway, though the spectators on the banks of the Thames were very raucous as usual. Oxford won by the way.  Eventually we had to leave the warmth of the cosy pub and get back to HQ for the big occasion, the National Clarion Awards Night.  
We rode back to HQ a little un steadier than we left for the pub but all went well and without incident.  
Showered and shaved we were ready to join the party when I began to look for something in drawers and cupboards and to my surprise found the tea and coffee making equipment stowed away in a cupboard, I was flabbergasted. I make a point of taking or buying extra tea and coffee, as well as milk when staying in hotels, this time I had taken a good supply including the milk. Ah well, you live and learn, I certainly did as I found the milk to be well and truly curdled.
The dinner went well and most notable for me was the superbly delicious steak, after the afternoon ride in bracing sea air, the entertainment at the pub, I was more than ready to dine.
After dinner we had a rather unusual after dinner guest speaker, a man well known locally as a road safety officer, recognised for his work with children and cycling safety. He commenced to give one of his safety lectures using raw eggs, dropped from a height, some in protective cardboard , others without. No doubt you will have guessed what the message was all about, the great never ending helmet question, to save the cranium or not save the cranium. Needless to say, opinion was divided..
Finally the awards ceremony took place, interestingly the north was again prominent with Bury, Stockport and West Lothian gaining a fair share of awards. Nottingham though took home most of the major trophies including team awards. With trophies for all disciplines, road, time trial, track, cyclo cross and mountain biking, you can see there is something for all, including non competitive and social awards, it’s a while since Bolton made  the awards but perhaps we can do something this year.
The night was drawn to a close with the event that all cycling clubs are famous for, even Bradley Wiggins alluded to it when being acclaimed winner of the Tour de France on the podium, it is of course the raffle. Bolton couldn’t even win at that, me Steve and Dave drew a blank despite many prizes being raffled.       
After an early excellent breakfast it was time to stow the bikes and baggage into Dave’s  car, this time Steve’s baggage was included which made for a very heavily laden vehicle.
Dave had a bit more clarion business to complete, the dual role of chairman and treasurer requiring a bit of tidying up, cheques etc, then we were off.
Wishing not for a repeat performance of our motorway to Scarborough, Dave chose a more traditional route across to Bolton hoping to avoid the mass exit from holiday resorts, we certainly did that.
The journey across Yorkshire went very well, Harrogate and Skipton were reached quite comfortably but once at Skipton things began to unravel.



Skipton was so busy, people were thronging to the ever popular outdoor market that runs all the way down the main street, quite unique, if you have never been I can recommend it but go on a bike, you’ll be lucky to get on a car park. So it was with us as Dave sought a parking spot with a cafe stop in mind, up to now we had made do with the Mars bars and easter eggs for a snack. The search for a parking spot was fruitless as we circled the car park along with others also intent on a stay in Skipton, eventually Dave decided to hit the road again in the direction of Clitheroe.
Leaving the town heading for the bypass Dave took my advice and turned into the lane to the Thomas the Tank village, Embsay. Dave’s nickname for me has been the human satnav, but today sunspots seriously disrupted the magnetic field. I will say now, that the clanger I was about to drop would be the most beautiful clanger ever dropped.
‘Turn left here’ Dave dutifully did so, and why not, I had got us out of a tight spot on the way to York, the left turn brought us into a very narrow lane, one with ‘passing places’ denoting just how narrow. A main road loomed at a tee junction, ‘which way’ take a right , we’ll head for Hellifield, my wires were well and truly crossed.
After a while, the road looked distinctly familiar as did the road signs that definitely disagreed with the direction we were allegedly heading, Grassington brought an exclamation from Dave, as did the sight of a very familiar landmark, Kilnsey Crag. On a nice summer day rock climbers can be seen tackling this famous overhang, but not today. God how had we finished up here. ‘Take the next left Dave, it leads to Settle, I promise’
The next left does indeed take us to Settle via Arncliffe and the beautiful Littondale, I swear that if you ever come down it to Grassington on a summers day the memory will live with you forever, it is that beautiful. As I said earlier it was a beautiful clanger, Steve Menhams whole heartedly agreed, even if it was with a chuckle, Dave remained non committal.
Dropping down from the top of the climb out of Littondale we are dwarfed on the right by the huge icon that epitomises the Yorkshire Dales, Wherneside, this area is known as the ‘Gateway to the Dales’. Dropping down to Stainforth it is amusing to see standing outside remote dwellings and farms the ubiquitous wheelie bin, despite the narrow lanes made still narrower by stubborn snowdrifts, collections are still being made.
We arrive in Settle and within minutes the option of fish and chips in the old market place chippy is taken, and almost as quickly the delicious meals were devoured, after all, the detour had delayed by some degree, lunchtime.
Suitably satisfied we took a stroll round he small compact market centre where Dave looked for more fridge magnets as a reminder of the Easter weekend, thankfully there were none illustrating ‘clangers’. Steve’s  interest in a merino wool ‘Buff’ quickly waned when learning from the shop assistant they had a price tag of £36.00. and just as quickly he came out of the shop.
Back in the car we are now on our last leg of an ‘interesting’ journey home but still with interest along the way, Rathmell, Flass Farm, memories of the tea room there, and summer rides down the Ribble valley.
With no further ‘detours’ on the default route back to Bolton we arrived with just doorstep drop offs left, first Steve then me, Dave must have let out a great gasp of relief as he left my doorstep, the hugely delayed journey home was almost over.
I put my weekend notes by the computer, so much had happened in four days, should I curtail the story and condense it to a few lines or do I write a mini novel, it had indeed been a novel weekend.    
Having found it difficult to stop writing, members will have to forgive me for being long winded, but if just a couple of you are inspired to enjoy a weekend with the National Clarion on an Easter Meet, I will be well pleased, cheers.          

1 comment:

  1. I see what you mean by book, It will take me a week to read

    ReplyDelete