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.