Reliable at 76?

The reliability of a seventy six year old cyclist

Three days before the club 100 kilometre reliability ride I had entered the Southport C.C. ten mile time trial, it was a fantastic evening, just right for a time trial, but unfortunately or otherwise, the event was cancelled just before the start.

What has this to do with our club reliability ride, just this, you don’t have to do mega miles to do a ten mile time trial, if you can ride a Sunday ride you can certainly ride ten. How fast you do the ten is another matter but you need to ride fairly regularly.

The weather for the ten time trial looked to be the start of a spell that would be a cyclists dream, blue skies, warm days, plus it would be perfect for the club reliability ride. Just one problem, was I fit enough to do the very tough circuit of the mighty Pendle hill? OK I can manage ten miles, forty two even, those two distances make up the circuits I do regularly but can a seventy six year old manage once again the long arduous climbs on a sixty two mile circuit?

Many many times I have done this ride, always I have found it tough, I’ve even done it on a fixed gear though I doubt I could now, it is always a challenge. With the disappointment of the cancelled ten in fine weather I decided I would once again tackle the 100 kilometre, even with the lack of miles in my legs, the lure of Pendle, Barley and Downham on a warm sunny day was hard to resist. Sod it, I’m going.

Thoughts of seventy six year old dodgy knees, sore legs and lower back, asthma are pushed to the back of my mind, so I’m mad but a challenge is a challenge, even if it only comes from ones self.

Sunday arrives and I pack my essentials for the day into my Carradice saddlebag, I can’t get what I need into one of those little pouches tucked under the saddle. Fig biscuits, jelly babies, tea cakes with jam, snickers, two 500ml energy rink bottles, not to mention the two 750ml bottles in their cages, two rather large flapjacks, three spare innertubes, spare tyre, last but not least, tools. All in all a rather weighty affair but if you can lug this lot round, along with a rather portly figure you can indeed claim the title ‘reliable’, in cycling terms of course.

A fantastic day dawns, the sky is blue the temperature already up and the guys are gathering on the town hall square in eager readiness, a round number of twelve are taking part, that’s a good number.

I look round at the lightweight bikes the members are riding, only Richard is on a steed the like of mine, steel tourer, but even he has opted for a small bag for essentials. Pete Lane is on a steel bike but a rather grand lightweight affair with an Italian flavour, the rest are made up of lightweight ‘alli’ and the now popular carbon fibre. I feel a little out of time and place but it doesn’t bother me as today it’s about me, my bike and the mighty Pendle, I wouldn’t have it any other way.

Off we go, the group are together for now but within a couple of miles or so there will be a split, this ride is quite predictable, the first split being up Tonge Moor road, the second on the long climb out of Bradshaw, the fast lads give nary a backward glance as they eagerly press on.

Traffic lights are also a reason for early splits in the group, some not so fast lads can’t make up the gaps if they are caught on a red light and so are doomed to be at the back for some considerable time of the day. Watching the faster group move away up the road can be a bit daunting to some but I’ve seen it all before, let them go, it’s you against the distance, take it as it comes.   

I arrive at my usual departure from the lead group, the long climb out of Bradshaw, I wish them a fond farewell and slip off the back and settle into my lowly but manageable pace.

The sun is gaining height and already it’s warmth is felt as I begin to climb, a rising wind is also felt and it’s right behind, what a bonus. Mindful of the conditions I begin to take drinks at regular intervals, along with a jelly babe or two, the fig biscuits also are beginning to be consumed.

On entering Ramsbottom I am aware I am not alone, how long I have had company I can’t say but a glance over my shoulder tells me it’s new member John Shaw, a very capable rider, what’s he doing tagging on behind a slowcoach. The answer it seems is gps, directions read in street names and if you don’t catch them as you ride you’re up Dickie’s Meadow.

I tell John he‘s free to go on the next climb before the drop into Burnley but he keeps me company anyway, I am mindful of the tailwind that persists and is even stronger as we gain height, first time in a long while since I came up here in the ‘big ring’.

At the summit I am shocked to see our tearaway gang taking a breather, crikey aren’t we doing well. The sight of me must have been a shock to them as well as they must have leapt onto their bikes in panic, ‘bloody hell Bowlesy’s here’.

John and I swept down the steep hill, 44 mph, according to John’s gps, before we were stopped at the lights half way down. Nearing the bottom of the hill approaching Burnley we are caught by the fast lads, obviously no red lights stopping them. As we are leaving Burnley John asks where we are, a surprise to me as he had the gps, that’s when I found out it was only giving street names but not where the streets were. Amazing technology!

The climb up to the village of Fence was approaching and I told John to carry on as I always toil up here tail or no tail wind, as the others were just ahead he had someone to aim at and duly took off.

I rode in solitude enjoying the fantastic country side we had now entered, this was Pendle Hill country and there is no finer place in Lancashire. Distant sights are taken in as the route progresses, the Yorkshire Dales and hills of the Lake District but still nothing finer than what is now closest.

The village of Barley and the visitor centre there is reached and to my surprise our fast lads are just leaving, apparently the place was so busy service would have been slow. They opted to visit a cafe further along the route on the A59. I had other plans anyway, my bulging saddlebag was due to be lightened on reaching Downham, a day like today demanded an outdoor picnic, so in the idyllic setting of the village I dined.

As I took in the beautiful scenery surrounding the village I drank and ate, at the same time feeding the local rooks eager to share my jam filled teacakes. I took a lengthy break, expecting to see at any moment Dave Bisset and John Martin who I knew for definite were behind me, to appear but they did not. I perused on possible mishaps that may have occurred, puncture, mechanical, after all hadn’t Dave’s pedal come off the other week.

Time to move on after my pleasing break, I could look forward to a less demanding ride though there were still some hefty hills to get over along the way.

The next gem on the ride is the village of Worston, being close to the A59 the local pub cum restaurant is very popular with motorists. A short bit along the busy main road then the lane to Sabden is taken, fortunately the route falls short of Sabden with a right turn to Pendleton, recently made famous by the shenanigans of local notables. Again a picture postcard of a village nestled at the foot of Pendle Hill and aptly named.

The going is considerably easier now as the lanes begin a welcome downward inclination of some distance through Wiswell and continuing down to Whalley. As usual Whalley is very busy, visitors seemingly throng throughout the year with the abbey being a popular attraction.

A long slog is now before me, all the way from Whalley to Wilpshire, the steady climb is not severe but unless you are very fit it stings the legs and my legs sting at the very sight of a hill these days. Today I am not alone in my quest to best the climb, I catch two cyclists one of whom is feeling the heat of the day, he is struggling and I feel for him. I slowly overtake him and tell him I’m not ‘racing’ and hear the reply, ‘neither am I’.

Wilpshire is reached and I can now look forward to an easy ride as the road drops lengthily into Blackburn. As I begin the drop a familiar sound from my back wheel followed by the rumble of a rim rolling on tarmac, ‘Jeeze’, indicates a puncture. A leisurely repair in the afternoon sun and I am about to hit the saddle when I hear approaching voices, looking round I see the distinctive white jerseys of the Bolton clarion fast lads bearing down on me, the fourth time today they have passed me.

I jump on the back of them, ably assisted by the fact we are going downhill but fully aware that once the other side of town my lonely trek back to Bolton would continue. Between Blackburn and Bolton is what should be considered a mountain and indeed is so by weary legs, but there is always the thought that once atop the heavenly descent into Bolton is to be savoured, whoever would have thought a descent into Bolton could be considered ‘heavenly’. A little bit of comedy on the way over, Paul Hackin had pulled to the side of the road and was furiously pummelling his hamstring, cramp, the dread of all cyclists had struck. Despite lots of liquid consumed Paul was still attacked, normally he is prone to cramp but usually after a ride and not during.

I rolled onto the sun drenched town hall square and the gang were still there, the only ones missing were Dave and John, they too had puncture problems. After a photo or two the group began to disperse but I decided to await the arrival of Dave and John. Whilst waiting I enjoyed one of two rice puddings from my saddlebag and the remaining energy drink, I was beginning to feel good again. The evidence of a puncture repair was all over Dave’s legs, thick oily gunge indicated a fight with the bike, the chain and chain rings resisting attempts to remove and replace the back wheel. A couple of Swarfega wipes from the depths of my saddlebag swiftly removed the evidence of a monumental struggle, three cheers for the humble saddlebag.

I made good use of the flat Middlebrook trail to Lostock, legs merely ticking over without strain, wonderful. The kettle went on as soon as the bike was stored, ah, a pot of tea and a jam butty, the only trouble was I had no bread, damn. Two mugs of tea and rich tea biscuits were my salvation but I was only truly relaxed after a hot shower after which I caught the last of the days Giro stage.

I reflected on the reliability ride with considerable pleasure, with the help of my Snickers, jelly babes, fig biscuits and cheap energy drinks and a determination to ride within myself, I had completed the ride without the usual knackered for a week feeling. I had been able to savour all the delights of Pendle on a day that had everything, warmth, sunshine and blue skies, views and scenery to die for, well hopefully not today.