Club 200 kilometre Reliability Ride.
The day of the club reliability ride was
getting close, would I wouldn’t I make a final attempt to complete what has to
be a supreme way of explaining the true meaning of ‘self flaggelation’.
For a week I mused, have I done enough miles, no.
Have I got the fitness, no. Am I fit enough, no. What about the weather, it’s
been very changeable lately with lots of breezy days and lots of rain.
I studied the local forecast daily and Sunday
appeared to be favourable weather wise, with one big exception, the wind. Wind
direction, and strength is a crucial component on this, our challenging
reliability ride. Wind strength from a westerly direction read 20 mph, wow, add
to that expected gusts of 30-35 mph. All this was expected to be at the
strongest just as the stretch from Hellifield to Slaidburn was to be tackled.
Past experience tells me it is going to be hard.
The first part of the ride should be partly
wind assisted, Bolton to Pendle though is quite hard so any assistance is welcome.
I bade farewell to our super fit band of happy
members at the beginning of the long sweat inducing climb from Bradshaw over to
Hawkshaw, these days I am happy to do so. My own pace is much slower than
theirs and I have only one thing to prove these days, can I still at seventy
five complete the 200 k.
A few showers were of little consequence as the
ride through Rawtenstall and Burnley proceeded and to my joy the wind direction was
indeed of great assistance.
Barley visitor centre was reached and I looked
for a water tap to fill my bottle, to my dismay the tap on the toilet wall had
disappeared. Having another bottle as yet untouched I decided to push on and
try again at Bolton by Bowland toilets. At this time
the other Clarion lads began to vacate the cafe at the visitor centre, I wasn’t
that far behind them yet, and was greeted with the question, ‘have you seen
Chris ?’ It seems Chris having dropped off the back on the long haul up to
Fence, a real toughie that one, arrived at the T junction and was nonplussed as
to which way to go next, he guessed wrong.
I set off to tackle the next lung buster up the
side of the mighty Pendle, all of a sudden a ferocious downpour of rain came
lashing down, pain and rain on Pendle, boy, just what we need.
One by one the fellow club members passed me
but as they regrouped at the top I carried on my merry way thankful of the
swoop down to Downham, the prettiest village in Lancashire, thankful also that
the rain had just as suddenly ceased.
With a fair wind still on the left shoulder the
leg from Chatburn to Hellifield was
quite comfortable, a selection of a nice low gear and a steady plod was enough
to surmount the steady climb. I paused only to fill my bottle at the toilet
block in Bolton by Bowland, disappointed only in that half of the ‘white
powder’ in one of the number of plastic bags secreted in my saddlebag ,
finished up on the floor .
Wigglesworth was reached and by now the dreaded
wind direction was becoming apparent, I was heading into purgatory.
Purgatory began as I reached the open moorland,
ok the steep bits were also hard, but I’ll struggle on them regardless of wind
direction, the predicted thirty mph gusts were not far off the mark.
The war of attrition against the wind was
briefly interrupted at Slaidburn, the sheltered valley which the village
nestles was by now bathed in warm sunshine with visitors enjoying the country
delights. Less delightful was the fact that the toilet block still has no
running water, even the outside taps for washing hikers boots have now been
disabled, I need a refill for my bottle and therefore left Slaidburn a little
disgruntled.
Matters were put to right further up the road
at Dunsop Bridge where the toilets have all
facilities up and running including an outside tap ideal for filling bottles.
Bottles filled and suspicious white powder
added, again with copious amounts of it finishing on the pavement, I sought the
comfort of a bench on the village green to take a well earned break. I was just
finishing a Snickers bar and watching a crowd of noisy ducks being fed when
from the Puddleducks cafe streamed a full compliment of Clarion jerseys, Bolton clarion ones at that. Surprise,
surprise, I thought they would have been in Chorley by now, service must still be slow at the
cafe.
As I left Dunsop Bridge I passed the community centre and
was surprised at the lack of custom at the tea room, even the car park was
empty and just one bicycle propped outside.
As I began the rolling road that culminates
with the dreaded pass of the ‘Trough’ something even more dreaded happened,
cramp, oh no, as if the ride has not been hard enough. Getting out of the
saddle and stretching the hamstrings seemed to alleviate it to some degree but
effort back in the saddle brought it on again. A series of in and out of the
saddle eventually led to it subsiding and I continued with my conquest of the
Trough.
I use the term ‘conquest’ advisedly as the use
of ‘shank’s pony’ in deference to ‘granny ring’ was brought into play for the
second time today.
The swoop down the other side, headwind or no
was sheer heaven and the next few miles were also enjoyed even if they brought
me closer to the next big misery and delight of the day, talk about the agony
and the ecstasy, the tower on the hill, Jubilee Tower.
Another short shank’s pony up the 20% start to
the final ascent then it was a low geared crawl to the summit. There was a
little more to see by now than the tarmac in front of me, the afternoon was
indeed glorious, blue sky and fluffy white clouds that moved across the sky a
good deal quicker than I was moving. Views across the Fylde in stunning clarity
were beheld and as I did as a kid, inwardly declared, ‘I can see Blackpool Tower’.
My preference though at this time was a close
up view of Jubilee Tower bringing to an end the ‘agony and
the ecstasy’.
A brief stop at the tower where I talked a lady
into snapping me as proof I made it this far before the helter skelter descent
to Quernmore cross road, where again a by now for me, a traditional resting and
eating place before the final much easier leg of the ride. Incidentally, the
husband of the lady expressed amazement at the fact I was from Bolton, so too were they, in the comfort
of a car though.
Time to move my weary bones toward Bolton via the lap of the Fylde, despite
the suffering of the mega hills being behind me, the knowledge that a blustery
outward leg of the Fylde circuit may be life threatening, I was content to face
it.
The Garage at the end of the Fylde circuit made
a welcome stop to again refill water bottles and as refreshment, a litre of
milk, a grand mix of carbs and protein. A couple of muesli bars and two thirds
of the milk later I began the last leg of the epic adventure down the old
familiar A6.
A final brief stop in the lea of the Morman
church at Chorley before the easy drop into town had
me thinking I was as good as home. As good as the nice easy drop into Chorley was it did not compare to the
rapturous feeling I had when flying down Chorley New road at over twenty mph
and hardly touching the pedals. Triumph over adversity never felt better, to
top it all, the town hall clock gave me a big bong as I approached the town
hall square signalling the quarter hour.
So eleven and three quarters of an hour after
setting off in the morning I was back where I started, in a considerably worse
state though, but after 126 miles taking on a route deliberately designed to
live up to the title of, Bolton Clarion 200 kilomtre Reliability Ride, it was hardly surprising.. Next year ?
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