Bolton Clarion Members Blog and Forum: Reliable at 76?

Bolton Clarion Members Blog and Forum: 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...

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.  

      

clarion Easter meet

Clarion Easter Meet, Beverly.

11 May 2014 at 21:51

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The day of departure to Beverly for the ‘National Clarion Easter Meet’ and as arranged Dave Bisset arrived to pick me, bike and luggage up.
1.30.pm and we were off heading for the M 62 and East Yorkshire with a slight wondering about holiday motorway traffic. The worry of heavy traffic came to nought as we had a trouble free trip all the way to Beverly, arriving in a couple of hours, the only traffic hold up was on entering the town itself.
We did have a pause in the journey as we neared Beverly, the sight of Martin Perfect on his loaded down bike prompted Dave to stop so we could give him a cheer. By the time we walked back to the main road to encourage Martin along on his marathon ride from London to Beverly, he had already passed us, ten minutes passed before it dawned on us that he had in fact sped passed.
Entering Beverly a London clarion jersey was spotted ahead, Martin had indeed beaten us into town.
HQ was found and after booking in I took a walk round the town as Dave began his task as National chairman of drawing together arrangements with ‘Meet’ organiser, Chris Goode.
Beverly is a great town to visit, full of interest and history with the impressive Minster and an equally impressive old church directly opposite HQ.
I wandered around before eventually arriving at the railway station, I was here out of a necessary need to find a wc. Suitably relieved I gave the station a good looking at and I have to say I have never seen a nicer, cleaner set of platforms all neatly shrouded by simple roof set off by the retained original cast iron entry to it.
Outside the station were bike racks and a row of hire bikes, interestingly the bikes were set up for twenty four hour use with impressive dynamo sets.
Back to HQ and a chat with friends old and new, particularly pleased as ever to see Ken Hemsley, club President. Dave and I then went in search of a chip shop and eventually found one, though I felt later that we should have looked a little further. The chips and fish were the darkest colour I have ever seen, well since my days in Cyprus at any rate, looking as though they were fried in(used) sump oil.
Starving as we were, we ate them, I pushed the possible consequences to the back of my mind.
Back to the impressive 300 year old HQ, where the famous Dick Turpin allegedly stayed, I think he must have been a forerunner of ‘Kilroy’ but ‘he’ visited mainly wc’s and not, as with Turpin, famous hostelries.
The visitor this evening was the Mayor who gave an inspiring welcome to the National Clarion with an invitation to explore the historical and interesting sights of Beverly. Socialising and eating of very tasty cake followed.
Dave and I then visited a local pub, a small place almost opposite HQ, and sampled a couple of pints of local brew while being entertained by the singing of an inebriate woman who seemed totally convinced she had star quality, she certainly had not.
Saturday morning and a good breakfast prior to the main event of the day, the A.G.M.
Now an A.G.M. is never particularly inspiring to the average member but this year the Clarion finds itself in a new era as membership increased at a rate not been seen since the dawning of the National Clarion in 1895.
We now have to face the fact that our trusty volunteers for committee are being stretched to the limit and some form of commerce will be a necessity, naturally this will come at a cost.
To meet these rising costs it will be necessary to increase the annual membership fee, in my opinion already far too minimal, by £2.00. It was thought that an increase in membership fees would be a contentious issue but common sense prevailed after the pointing out our already low fees were less than many monthly commercial cycling magazines, plus the fact that our national award nominated  ‘Boots and Spurs’, alone is worth our meagre fee, the £2.00. increase was approved.
There is always a feeling of liberation on conclusion of the A.G.M. a let the ‘Easter Meet’ commence feeling. And so it was that the gathering for the afternoon rides began, a longer ride and a shorter ‘easier’ ride began.
Opting for an easier ride seemed to make sense as past experience has always proved that ride to be shorter but not always ‘easier’. An interesting ride round the YorkshireWolds ensued, though the arrival at the cafe stop of riders in dribs and drabs proved once again the easy rides can be anything but.
There was a good atmosphere though at the cafe and the dry conditions allowed dining out in the sheltered courtyard, the now together group enjoyed what a Clarion Meet was about, the wheels of social riding being the bond.
After lunch we returned to Beverly via wonderful quiet lanes through typical Yorkshire villages, had I been on my own many stops would have been made to record the beauty of these quiet places.
As on the outward leg the front runners set a pace that frequently required some catching up to be done, as far as I know though we lost no one and Beverly was reached without incident. It was an enjoyable afternoon. Before I leave this bit I have to mention the interest shown in the London Clarion jerseys, on the jersey pocket is the clarion logo with the name ‘Bolton Clarion’!
Come the evening, come the dancing, not ‘come dancing’ but more in the style of Ceilidh. Now Dave enjoyed dancing the night away so much at Scarborough he bought a new pair of dancing shoes in anticipation of more of the same, alas it was not to be. After the opening country dance,the band by the way was fantastic, Dave sat the rest of the dancing out morphing into a wallflower, tight shoes?
The leader of the music trio was a fantastic fiddler and he really did entertain and was the star of the evening, the audience clapping enthusiastically after every performance.
Sunday morning highlight was a very good breakfast despite a thin veil of smoke over the dining room and the heavy smell of burnt toast.  Dave decided the toaster was toasting too lightly and put his two slices back in and out came two pieces of black charcoal,I chuckled at this for some time.
Two rides were on offer in the morning and before setting off we had a gathering for the traditional photo shoot and on a bright sunny morning we posed with the ancient church opposite HQ as an attractive backdrop.
After much dis organisation we eventually got it together and the two groups were off,the shorter ride heading for the mighty Humber Bridge.
 It was a sunny start to the day, quite cool but the forecast of bad weather came to nought, we however did have a little drizzle as skies became grey and overcast.

As the day before, the fitness of the leader again was obvious as the group began to string out resulting in frequent regrouping. The Wolds, though not hilly but rolling become hard when tackled at speed. Again as the day before the leaders had to be praised for choice of route, quiet lanes and roads that eventually gained distant views of our destination, the bridge.
Just below the bridge is a kind of park with about three or four chuck wagons and here we dined on a variety of choice fast foods, mine being a giant hot dog covered in mustard, perhaps I was just starving but it tasted delicious and washed down with a mug of tea.
Time now to tackle the bridge and with a near gale force wind across the wide estuary we were virtually blown across, a wonderful experience though I was aware the return leg would be a trifle harder. A trifle harder was an understatement, it was very hard. Steve Menhams rode away from me as I began to wilt in the wind then a huge shape shot past me, with an all out effort I jumped across to catch the back wheel of Dave, it was like suddenly being behind a barn door.
On regrouping at the far end of the bridge we learned the group had split in two,the others opting to return without the bridge crossing. The return to Beverly was again led with perfection though when just a few miles from the town my aged legs began to falter, the dreaded bonk was rearing it’s head. Another regrouping allowed a bit of recovery and the will not to die returned, so much so that with just a couple of miles to go, and for no apparent reason an all out sprint began.
I was hooked, my seventy six year old legs were dragged into the mad dash by my teenage head, the thrill of the chase was not forgotten.
I was impressed with the youngest and littlest rider Alex Ball, I’m convinced this kid is going to be a star. How he manages to wind up those little legs without so much as heavy breathing at 18 and 20 mph is amazing.  I surprised myself with the effort I managed to drag from myself, though unlike little Alex, heavy breathing gave away the effort it took.

On the programme for the final day of events was an arrangement with a local pub to screen the finale of the classic Amstel Gold cycle race. The distance of the days rides should allow a return early enough to catch the programme, or so it was thought.
After stowing my bike away in the superb lock up provided by HQ I walked on wobbly legs to the pub and on getting there found Steve Menhams at the bar. Steve asked the barmaid about putting the cycle race on the large tv screens as it seemed Premiership football was the prime interest.
Steve explained to the lady that loads of cyclists would soon be entering the pub and if cycling was not screened they would move off elsewhere. A puzzled looking barmaid phoned someone, presumably the landlord, still looking puzzled she put down the phone. No cycling on tv, end of.

A few disconsolate cyclists left the pub but were soon forgetting their disappointment as a first class chip shop was found close by, nothing beats the comfort eating of fish and chips.
As Dave was busy finalising matters with organiser Chris Goode for the evening, I accompanied Ian Clarke in tracking down Bob Harber at a highly recommended pub,good beer, lowest price and very traditional. It was as Bob said, cheap good beer, and as traditional a pub as you will find anywhere.
Back to HQ and get ready for the big night, the ‘Annual Presentation’, the night members contributions to the National Clarion are recognised on merit and competition, not forgetting of course, the ‘Big Raffle’.
Dave and I were honoured to be placed on the same table as the ‘Guest of Honour’, a man most if not all racing cyclists will have heard of, non other than Peter Read, author of the famed ‘white’ ‘blue’ and ‘black’ books on interval training. I was doubly honoured to be sat at his side.
After our chief guest’s interesting talk giving an insight to his coaching and his famous clients it was time for the awards presentation.
National racing Secretary Francis Grafton called forward the trophy winners who were then handed their awards by Peter Read. The last trophy to be awarded is the most revered ‘Tom Groome’ trophy, a stunning solid silver award that is priceless to the National Clarion. The winners this year being the East Yorkshire Clarion in recognition of the work they have done over the last two years organising the Easter Meets atScarborough and Beverly, both being exceptional events.
I have never won a raffle prize over the many years I have been to the annual meets, this year was an exception, I won, only one, a box of beauty skin soap,shampoo, and cologne, to think I have waited years for this when it’s all too late.
Well the weekend is almost over and we pack our stuff in Dave’s car, this time we stuff Steve Menhams in as well, Steve had ridden over but will be working the next day so a lift is more than welcome.
Before we leave Dave takes us back to the market square, he had spotted a sign of great interest over one of the shops, a cast iron ‘winged wheel’ of the C.T.C.
Another trouble free journey back over the Pennines, another enjoyable Easter Meet and we are back indear old Bolton. Next year? Well a fifty thousand dollar question, as yet we do not have an organiser, a rather odd end to a successful event,particularly as the club now has over 1500 members and still growing. Let’s hope that among our new members is someone keen to continue the tradition of the unique ‘Easter Meet’. 

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An interesting week in the life of a cycling 'Old Git'

An interesting week in the life a cycling ‘Old Git’

It’s been a very interesting week this week, it all started in the usual way for a seventy six year old, aches, pains and an outlook of more pain to come, ah, welcome to advancing years.

Not all the elderly are in the same boat, like their younger members of the human league, some are fitter and some are better disposed but as painfully pointed out to me by a very wise person, ‘you may look younger than your years but you are still the age you are’. Stop and think about it.

Anyway back to this past week.

My week began on Sunday, not the traditional start to the week but as the Southport road club’s ten mile time trials start this week so does my feeble attempt to gain enough fitness to extend my ageing body into being able to actually ride the ten miles.

True I can ride ten miles and considerably more, but, a time trial requires effort beyond the pottering I am inclined to do most of the time. ‘Training’, the very word seems to put up barriers to what I can achieve. After years of gazing at a variety of heart rate monitors I can vouch for the fact that it’s not only old age that brings about aches and pains. How can I possibly be looking forward to Thursday and the first time trial of the year.

Sunday was to be a day of testing just how far I can push myself by a turbo session that includes a non stop ten mile effort, no short painful intervals, just a long painful one at a heart rate and the same resistance throughout.

This week also I, along with Steve Garthwright, booked the campsite at Harewood House, Leeds for the weekend of the fabulous Tour de France Grande Depart.

The peloton and cavalcade pass through the grounds not once but twice, I don’t even have to get out of my pyjamas to witness this great spectacle.

Prior to my booking I had already submitted a photo to the organisers of the ‘Yorkshire festival of Cycling’, photographed appropriately in Yorkshire at a Clarion Easter Meet near Whitby.

I received an email from the organisers to say my photo entry for that week, (a weekly competition) had been nominated the winner and a few goodies would be winging my way, fantastic.

Thursday arrived and in the morning a trip into town on my low fixed gear shopper served as a warm up for the dread of the evening ten mile time trial.

The afternoon was spent in preparation, bike, wheels, clothing etc, all ready and packed ready to go, have I forgotten anything, with a sigh of relief, no!

I arrived at the time trial HQ thinking I would be one of the first, not so, already a long queue of eager cyclists had formed to pay their entry.

I was pleased to see William Cocker parked up, good Bolton clarion had a least two riding.

An apologetic and embarrassed William approached, like me he had prepared and forgot nothing, except his wallet. Fortunately I had mine with just enough in it for the two of us to enter on the line.

Numbers sorted and pinned I began my warm up on the turbo trainer, a long one I might add, the older you are the longer you need. By the time I was ready to go I had warmed to the point of a heavy sweat then found at the off just how cold the evening breeze had become.

On the line I realized I had made a mistake signing on, I was number 24, William 25, I was about to be caught by a fellow club member, or so it seemed.

54321 go!! Within five hundred metres my heart rate was way above my good intentions and the ten miles was a case of tight control, I needed to reign in, at least until the last couple of miles. At the almost half way island I caught a glimpse of William, he was gaining and I was expecting a cheery comment as he passed. However passing me did not happen and I crossed the finish line with a feeling of satisfaction, one I had finished without dying, two, William did not pass me, even though he was a mere ten seconds or so off doing so.

I was happy warming down in a low gear riding the couple of miles back to HQ, I was inside thirty minutes, a full five minutes or more quicker than I expected and what’s more I beat my standard on the new tables that are much harder to reach the older you are.

An interesting week indeed, it’s good to be a cyclist of any age but at my age so much more appreciated.    

A cool and breezy ride

A cool and breezy ride.

Having looked at the local weather forecast from the Met Office on Monday, using the five day format, Wednesday looked quite good for a ride with John to Red House Farm for one of their delicious cream teas, home made scone, genuine clotted cream, butter and Jam, mmm!

John had been unable to make it earlier in the week due to domestic commitments so we settled on Wednesday, Thursday looked very unsettled with heavy rain forecast.

John rang on Tuesday with reservations about rain for the outing but I still had faith in my local outlook and a meet was arranged.

The odd thing here is we both arose on the morning around the same time, I looked out from the landing window and saw dry roads, good. John on the other hand heard heavy rain pelting down on his outhouse roof, so heavy he almost rang me to postpone the ride. How strange that a mere three to four miles apart, heavy rain in Hindley, none at Lostock.

I set off completely unaware of rain over in Hindley and soon was on the easy run down to the bottom of Schofield lane, legs swiftly moving, in keeping with the low fixed gear. John was already there as I approached.

I commented on the Beeb’s comment on Sahara sand and slow moving the problem was because there was no wind, no wind? Why then were the trees bending so.

John then related how the heavy rain led to him donning his waterproof over trousers, he had just removed them prior to my arrival.

We then had a small wager of fifty pence, I backed no rain, John having already been in it backed more rain.

Off we set taking the default route to Hollins Green pausing only for a toilet stop on my behalf at Bents Garden centre, I recommend this convenience to all.

Once over Warburton Bridge we coasted along to Lymm greatly assisted by the Beeb’s ‘no wind’.

The Poplar lined lane by the upper dam was as impressive as ever and at the top end I found out just why the poplars around here are such a landmark.

The bridge at the top of the lane though looking a little dilapidated now was once obviously a resplendent work of grandiose.

I spotted an information board placed on the bridge and we paused to glean the information it held.

Being from Bolton it was natural to be aware of the name Lord Leverhulme, the man who’s industrial empire spread worldwide, a man who also divorced himself from Bolton after the burning down of his bungalow at Rivington.

It seems the lord had, in the 1920’s, planned a purpose built workers village behind the impressive church on the hill overlooking the dam. A road and the bridge we were on were already built and in place but the village was never commenced, why not it does not say. However the bridge and the poplar lined lanes are a legacy of the village that never was. On the information board is an air photo of the planned site, again taken in the ‘20’s.

We took the wooded path along the top of the dam leading out at the back of the church by the community centre then into the narrow lanes leading to Broomedge.

From Broomedge the lanes then take us to Agden and Little Bollington. Crossing the narrow footbridge at Bollington mill we are impressed at the volume of water tumbling down the weir, it seems John was not the only one to have suffered heavy rain.. We paused to admire the heavy sluice gate that once controlled the water course feeding the water wheel at the mill. John was in wonder of how many apartments the mill now housed.

Not too far now from our destination, passing the Lavender farm cafe that our A ride called at the previous Sunday, only to be told that it would be an hour before they would be served. It was a busy sunny afternoon, and the lads had to reluctantly withdraw and leave without a sought after snack. It was very quiet today.

Red House Farm was reached and the well filled car park told John it was busy, fortunately the visitors were not all in the cafe and soon we were served with the delicious fare that we so much enjoy.       

The service was quick and pleasant, we were even told we could book a table and cream tea by phone on expected busy days.

The cream teas arrived and I used my video camera to record the occasion, I am not yet fully conversant with how it works but I did get something to share on the club’s facebook page.

Fifteen minutes of sheer indulgence later we were ready to start our return home and once on the go John remarked how great it was to have the strong wind on our back.

We again made use of the short bit of Trans Pennine way, much smoother going actually than the potholed lanes, to gain Heatley and the well trod route back to Warburton Bridge.

After the bridge we experienced a mix of head, side wind tail wind as the road twisted and turned, the headwind sections were a bit troublesome for John.

John declared he could ride all day with a tail wind, couldn’t we all, but the wind could not be beaten when heading into it.

Holcroft lane was a bit of a mix, side wind, side rear, but proved not to be too hard Though John was nearly blown off by the back draft of a huge lorry going at speed in the opposite direction.

We parted company at Daisy hill after a reflection on the delights of Cheshire lanes and cream teas, plus the fact we had no rain despite a mixed forecast. I playfully demanded the fifty pence from our morning wager, ‘what bet was that’ grinned John in response.

It’s nice to ride for the sheer pleasure of riding the bike, no rush, no push, when the clock and minutes do not rule, a bit like leaning on the five barred gate with a piece straw in the mouth. One thing is for sure, riding out with John is indeed a pleasure.    

Bolton Clarion Members Blog and Forum: Remembering Frank Wolstencroft.

Bolton Clarion Members Blog and Forum: Remembering Frank Wolstencroft.:                                               Frank, an unforgettable character. I have so many memories of Frank Wolstencroft it would b...

Remembering Frank Wolstencroft.

                                              Frank, an unforgettable character.

I have so many memories of Frank Wolstencroft it would be crass to try and divulge all, so, I will try and express a tale or two that will impress upon you the strength of character, the will and determination of a man who loved cycling.

Frank was a fiercely competitive rider, it mattered little whether it was a race or a club run and was always prepared for action. 

One of the most notable things about Frank on a club run was his jersey, in the morning his rear pockets would be bulging with food for the day, he would eat from his stash as he rode, not for Frank the 'bonk'. Such was the weight of his supplies the three pockets would be hanging so low as to almost touch the back of his knees.

As a member of the Leigh Premier R.C. Frank was always willing to help out with club events, marshaling, pusher off, machine checker, (yes we had to do that in the old days) in fact anything to help a smooth running event.

Frank would press his faithful mini into service on these duties, a couple of which were of outstanding note.

The club used to be first in the north with opening seasonal race events, the first open road race at Allostock in Cheshire and the first open Hill Climb up Frodsham Hill, also in Cheshire.

Whilst gathering to start the Hill climb one year Frank was missing, a surprise really especially as his son Stephen was an entrant for the hill climb.

Minutes before we were off to our respective stations Frank and Stephen arrived, on bikes, Frank was so obviously stressed with his face white with salts from a great deal of sweating, son Stephen looked as cool as a cucumber.

Eventually we learned the why fore of   Franks heated appearance.

Having volunteered to marshal Frank had set off in good time from Bolton with bikes in the back of the little mini but as they reached Leigh the transmission on the car failed, well the forward gears anyway. Frank, finding he still had reverse gear working un-dauntingly set about a return to Morris Green Bolton, my mind just cannot imagine the scenario.

However Frank's commitment to supporting the club event transcended all, a real time hero or what?

Another titanic almost surreal happening, again with the mini the star of the show, came about one morning when Frank, stepping forward as volunteer to marshal the far turn at Lancaster on the clubs Leigh - Lancaster reliability ride.

Back in those days, Leigh again were to the fore in early season reliability rides, starting in January the series of four would start with Leigh - Chester - Leigh and culminate with the Leigh - Llangollen - Leigh, hundreds would participate and funds from these events would keep the club funds viable for the whole year.

On this particular day Frank was up early and ready for the off in the mini to take station at Lancaster where he would book the riders in as they began the return leg.

Needing fuel he rolled up to the petrol station and promptly filled his tank only to find when full he had mistakenly filled with diesel, disaster or what, well to you and I maybe, but not Frank.

Frank had an engineering background but what came about was pure genius, not having time to empty the tank as by now he was running late, he simply filled an empty oil can, the big ones with screw cap, with petrol, put it in the boot and connected a fuel line from it to the carburetor, quite how we will never know but he was certainly there in Lancaster in time to book in the riders.   

This is just a snapshot of Frank but I hope it conveys something about Frank the man, a man who loved his cycling, a man full of competitive spirit, not many the like of him.