A return to Tarleton TT course.

A long while ago, around 1990, I rode two ten mile time trials at Tarleton, well I started but never actually finished either. First one I arrived at the last minute and the timekeeper allowed me to start, how far behind the guy in front of me I’ll never know. I reached what I assumed to be the turn but being no marshals I was confused, I did however spot a cyclist walking away from the island and shouted, ‘is this the turn?’ the guy looked more confused than me before eventually nodding his head.

I returned to the finish area not knowing exactly where it was but I rode past a group of cyclists but no timekeeper so I carried on. Eventually I realised I was whistling in the wind and returned to my van in despair.

My next outing on this course resulted in my finishing up in Preston’s accident and emergency unit having been wiped out by a car crossing the dual carriageway, little wonder it is more than fourteen years since I ventured back to Tarleton.

Back to my latest venture at Tarleton, the recent hot weather must have addle my brain as I for some unaccountable reason decided to have another go at the ten mile time trial based here. I was at least a little more familiar this time as I attended an earlier one, though not as a competitor, in support of our members having a go for the first time.

Dave Owen, Chris Roach and William Cocker all rode putting our club colours on show to great effect while I rode up and down the course to familiarise myself with it. As I was still suffering a long lasting viral chest infection, competing was out of the question.  

I arrived early to the signing on HQ but even so was allotted number twenty four so my start time was almost an hour and a half away.

Number one rule for doing time trials is preparation, methodically pack everything needed, having in the past managed to arrive without shorts, take heart rate monitor but not the chest strap, also vice versa to that, no cycling shoes, no cycling top. I as usual prepared methodically, bike, wheels, helmet, mitts, shoes, (matching the pedals this time) heart rate monitor plus belt, shorts, turbo trainer for warm up, boy I was doing well and set off for Tarleton with great confidence.

Having signed on, set up the turbo and began my warm up it wasn’t long before a heavy sweat required the towel from my bag, see I have everything, err, not quite. While getting the towel I noticed my club jersey was not in the bag, Jeeze, here we go again. After a rummage round the car it was again a case of , oh no not again. Fortunately I did have a cotton tee shirt, the one with the photo of Dave Bisset with swinging onions printed on the front, it would have to do, at least it had a club connection.

It was a very warm evening so riding in a cotton tee would be quite cooling riding in the light breeze.

Five four three two one and go, all thought of everything beforehand gone, me against the clock, as Dave Bisset often says, ‘I may beat the hour’. My thoughts were would I get round, as long as I kept my eye on my heart rate monitor to control my effort all would be well. Again fate conspired to defeat my intentions, in order for the wireless cadence to be picked up I had place the computer on the top tube just behind the stem, when in the tri bar position I found to my dismay I could not see it, I was flying blind. In the normal hands on hoods position the monitor was clearly visible and that was all I thought about, so much again for methodical preparation.

No matter, just get on with it, and so I did and let my legs dictate how I managed the pain. All was going well, no one passed me until just before the far turn, I point out that the far turn is not the half way point, though I was feeling as if it should have been. Once round the large roundabout I was at least on the return leg and one by one every man and his dog overtook me, either I was dying or they were flying, I manfully struggled on determined at least to finish and beat the hour.

The finish is down a series of lanes with three left hand turns at junctions, all well marshalled, and it was on one of these short straights I managed to find the only ‘big’ pothole on the course. ‘S aitch one tee’ I shouted loudly as the front of the tri bars went down on impact while at the same time I was passed by another competitor, either he was lucky or I was unlucky, the latter situation fits me like a glove.

Eventually the purgatory was over and it was with great relief I engaged the small chain ring, I had punched the heart rate monitor just after the finish, and back on the hooks I was able to see the damn thing though the reading was now of little interest as I ambled back to my car. I was joined by a rider who was quite pleased with his time, another PB, little did he know I was more pleased than him just to have finished. The couple of miles back to the car in a low gear allowed a feeling of pleasure to return, my legs were beginning to thank me for the wonderful respite.

Everything back in the car I now turned my attention to what I may have recorded on my invisible heart rate monitor, I was in for a shock, well two at least.

First was I actually finished under thirty minutes, I would have settled for forty five to be honest. Second, and this was a real surprise, average heart rate, 181 beats per minute, maximum heart rate reached, 189 beats per minute, little wonder when I got off the bike I was coughing, and coughing, and coughing. Had I been able to see the monitor while riding I would have settled for a heart rate of around 170, at that I should have been able to get round in comfort, well relative comfort. Little wonder I felt so much relief when riding back to the car. On reflection I think I must have been mad to enter but then again I suspect many cyclist are considered a little mad by others so I am in good company. If weather permits I may have another go, but next time I will make sure my monitor is visible, highly visible.

  

Chilly Ilkley - Mike Singleton Ride Report 4 August 13

4th August 2013 ‘A’ ride to Ilkley 7 of us set off for the ride to Ilkley with a slight chill in the air but that was soon alleviated as we ascended Bradshaw Road. The clouds looked ominous as we headed towards Burnley but we were hoping that the forecasted rain would leave us alone until 3.00pm by which time we expected to be well on our way home. Summiting the hill just before Burnley Karl appeared to be struggling a little so we asked if he was okay to continue as there was a tough days cycling in store, Karl assured us he would be okay & true to his word he managed the ride in stile. We passed through Burnley conscious of our white, Bolton emblazoned, shirts being spotted by the natives in the town where the Wanderers had left with a point in yesterday’s first match of the season, but we escaped without incident; maybe the townsfolk where still slumbering (or practicing their banjo’s). Leaving the town in our wake the sun appeared by the time we got to Colne & we were beginning to feel the heat, our route kept us on the main road, rather than the hillier route towards Lothersdale (the planned route had enough hills in it without adding more) & over the steady climb to Crosshills where we veered left then crossed the busy A629. This is where the real hills began, initially a short but steep rise up Priest Bank Rd, crossing the Leeds & Liverpool canal, then a very pleasant ride along Skipton Rd, with its gently rolling hills & magnificent vistas. We then passed through Silsden which also has a short but steep hill, before crossing Bolton Rd. onto Brown Bank Road which has yet another steep hill, this time of much longer duration. We waited briefly at the summit taking in the impressive views whilst we waited for all our gang to join us before making the long & fast descent to the main A65 Rd. into Ilkley. We plumped for the popular cyclist’s café in the small square in Ilkley; we knew it was the popular cyclist’s café because it was full of cyclist’s! There wasn’t enough space in the cafe for us all to sit down but this wasn’t a problem as the sun was now baking hot & the outside tables offered an alfresco brunch for 4 of our group. With bellies full & tales of our days ride exchanged with our fellow cyclist’s from Harrogate, who seemed rather impressed how far we had ridden, we did a short tour of this rather pretty & upmarket town before retracing our route out of Ilkley. The A65 is a rather busy road so to alleviate the traffic we opted for the very quiet lane that runs parallel to it (actually it’s a road… Ilkley Rd.), then through Addingham, followed by a right turn then up another steep hill before rejoining the A65, still busy with traffic but offering superb views of the surrounding Yorkshire countryside. This whisked us into the centre of Skipton which was buzzing with people, the main road closed to all traffic as it was filled with market stalls & I spotted another event taking place alongside the canal, again thronging with people. Skipton is a town that really has found the magic formulae for attracting people, it’s attractive, has lots of individual rather than nationwide stores & holds frequent weekend events making it a thriving town in these days when so many towns are in steep decline. Out of Skipton & onto more busy roads until we reached Thornton in Craven, where we turned right to Barnoldswick rather than continue to the previously visited Burnley (They were sure to be out on the streets by now). This route is really rather special, great lanes & fantastic scenery, but there are hills & lots of them, they might be relatively short but they’re steep, out of the saddle steep & the accumulated days climbing was beginning to take its toll, the descents are also rather technical ensuring that great care be taken at each & every twist & turn. Although our hoped for rain deadline had by now very pleasingly passed, the skies were beginning to accumulate clouds so we knew it was on its way. We were heading for Whalley where we were all looking forward to a refreshing cup of tea/coffee & a slice of cake but at one junction, where we turned right towards Barley, Pete expressed some concern that we were heading back to Burnley & all those hills we had just climbed were in vain. Uh oh, had the illegitimate device (GPS) struck again? Would we end up ploughing our way through a farmers field? Would we end up back in Burnley? ….. where I would now be more fearful of my companions anger rather that the Burnley hordes. I have to report that….. the illegitimate one is a little less illegitimate today . Through Downham, up more hills, then drop down into Whalley where we were undecided whether to go to the café on the main road or the usual Abbey, we plumped for the Abbey but once there discovered it was closed for the day. So, back to the café, which is now an Italian Restaurant! And they don’t do cakes but do expensive desserts. They do coffee, but it’s in very small cups, not cyclist’s sizes, & they charge extra for hot milk, me thinks we won’t be going there again. Anyway it was JUST enough to re-energise us for the climb home; as we left Whalley it was just after 4.00pm & we had still only seen the very odd flurry of rain so we were very pleased with the day’s weather, it didn’t in fact rain properly until we reached Blackburn & it had stopped by the time we reached Darwen. At this point Richard decided to take a short rest & head home afterwards at his own pace, a tough day for all but more so for Richard who has only recently rejoined our ‘A’ rides… well done Richard. The rest of us continued up Bull hill & down Blackburn Rd., where it began to rain again, heavily, we then gradually all went our separate ways, I rode alongside the Iron men for half a mile along Chorley Old Rd. (I don’t think the crowd were cheering me) as I neared my turn-off. 101 miles recorded, 6,660 feet ascended which now holds the record for the hilliest Clarion route during my membership. A cracking days cycling, great scenery, LOTS of hills, smashing company, fantastic weather, what more could you ask for?

A Cheshire jaunt with John Mann.

Had a ride out to Cheshire with John Mann today and it turned out to be a great relaxing few hours. A strong breeze favoured a ride into it and so dictating an easy ride on the return leg. The forecast was for a nice mixed day but to expect sudden heavy showers here and there, fortunately for us, none came our way. The lanes were a delight and as we neared Bollington it was decided to carry on and visit Tatton Park entering via the Knutsford entrance. What we did not know was today was the first day of the Tatton Flower Show and we were soon engulfed in standing traffic queues. We took great delight in passing standing and slow moving cars, overtaking them with great aplomb. We reached the Knutsford end with no difficulty at all and again whizzed passed cars queuing for the car parks. We left the park at the Rostherne exit and found the village was out of bounds to the show traffic so we rolled along at leisure enjoying traffic free lanes back to Agden and Bollington. The weather was just perfect, sunny and warm with enough broken cloud set in deep blue skies to accentuate the lush greenery of the Cheshire landscape. We went down to Bollington past The Swan with Two Nicks pub and Bollington Mill crossing the tight narrow footbridge over a rapid flowing river, the water rushing over the weir indicating someone had had heavy rain overnight.
Passing Dunham Massey Park gates we took the next left and headed for Red House Farm tea room, this was a first for John, he had only ever seen it mentioned on club runs lists. I on the other hand have frequented the place many times and had a reason for wanting to visit again. The cream teas, wow, they are just devine here, nice scones, nice jam, and served with delicious genuine clotted cream, I salivate as I write, mmm.

Back on the way home from here I promised John another treat, a rare experience, so rare it defeats short term memory loss we oldies are prone to. The big treat is, a strong tail wind up the normally fatiguing 'Holcroft Lane', the scene of many " Leave me, I'm dying" scenarios. And what a treat it was, rolling along almost without effort resisting the urge to engage the 'big ring', not that I could have done anyway being on a low fixed gear. I was content to twiddle along as was John also in a comfortable gear, two contented old codgers enjoying a day in Cheshre.

John Mann's Classic rebuild.

John Mann's Classic rebuild.

Peter Moore expressed an interest in John's classic retro bike when I published it on Facebook with a view to presumably insert the details in a future club newsletter, I was asked for more info from John. 

I have now got more of that info and as I spoke to John a nice surprise unfolded.

In the main  :-  Frame Hobbs of Barbican. Frame tubing, Accles and Pollock, no transfers available,.
Frame is fillet brazed, a classic lugless method of lightweight building.
Wheels, again a classic of the day, 26 x 1 1/4" Conloy Asp rims, front wheel 32 spokes on a large flange Airlight hub, rear wheel 40 spokes laced into a three speed Sturmey Archer AW hub. 32 front paired with 40 spokes for the rear was considered the best all rounder set of wheels.
While browsing the saddlebag sale at York Rally one year John came across a bit of Lancashire history in the shape of a three speed quadrant changer, (see top tube on photo) the gear selector was made by 'Lodge Engineering co. of Oswaldtwistle' in polished brass.
John moved away from an original rebuild when it came to the brakes, the mountings for the old Resilion brakes were removed in favour of a more modern and reliable caliper brake, being a tourer, long drop brakes were required so Alongha brakes were chosen. Handlebar is Cinelli, mudguards are Bluemels as is the pump, the saddle is the classic Brooks Swallow.
The big surprise I mentioned a'fore was the information obtained by Terry Dolan who did the refurbishment of the frame, the frame numbers on bottom bracket and fork stem, C 714 31, relate to 1931 as the original date of building. The C (circa) 7 (July) 14 (day) 31 (year), even John was surprised at that date though he did suspect the 'thirties' due to the tubing used in manufacture.
While discussing the bike John just mentioned during conversation that he still had his Grandfather's bicycle pump, all that was left from the bike his Grandad had used as a railway signalman. Apparently the bike was disposed of while John was serving in the Airforce. Now as John is now eighty three we can only speculate what bike his Grandad wheeled around on, a valuable bit of history gone missing. Almost forgot, stronglight single ring chainset set fitted, a forty tooth ring.

So we are having a bit of hot weather at last, the last time I remember such a long hot spell was when I did my two years National Service. I wrote about my training at the beginning, it would now be called a 'BLOG'

Here is a copy.

National Service, 1959. 
By
Tony Bowles

I was home from work as usual about 6pm, but there was a strange atmosphere. 'there's a letter from 'On Her Majesty's Service' My call up papers had arrived at long last.
I was beginning to think perhaps I had been overlooked, after all I was now nearly twenty two years old having served an apprenticeship with deferred call up an option.
A bag of nerves I opened the letter with father, mother and sister quietly looking on. I was to report to Bury Barracks on the first week of Bolton's annual fortnights holiday, we still had 'Wakes Week' then.
I went to work the following day and found to my amazement, Stan Tudge, a fellow worker, was called up on the same day, same place, same regiment, The Lancashire Fusiliers.

We met in Bolton for a last pint as civilians at a pub just twenty yards from the 23 bus service to Bury. Looking at two years then it seemed a lifetime, looking back now at fifty years ago this year I wonder how it went so fast.

We arrived at Wellington Barracks somewhere around mid day and were ushered to the canteen for a taste of army food and our first taste of army life. It was also my first taste of meatballs and string beans. I was gobsmacked to be served by a cousin of mine serving with the Catering Corp.
After our meal we were assembled and given our respective platoon placements. Our draft proved to be a very large one, enough for three platoons, Inkerman, Cassino and Spion Kop. All very mysterious names to me at the time, but enlightenment came and we began to digest regimental history as we went along.
Sergeants Pritchard, Cassino, Smith, Inkerman and Lyons Spion Kop took charge of us and with great efficiency as if by magic we were kitted out, fitted out and quartered.
The tv hit 'Hut twenty nine' immediately sprang to mind, we even had a 'Ted Lune ' look a like, who in fact was a very nice lad. 
Our new abode, a wooden nissen hut, one of a row situated just below the playing fields toward the barracks perimeter. The three platoons accommodation were side by side and quite large really, large enough to house our intake of some one hundred and twenty new recruits.
My mate was allotted Inkerman and from that point on our social lives changed over the next two years.
Reveille was to be the most important call of the day and saw a scramble onto the road in front of our barrack rooms to the shouts of corporals and lance corporals giving out orders to a complete and utter 'shower', this was a new and demanding life for all of us and a sense of humour would be a blessing. It was on this road we were given the rudiments of moving in time, basic drill and obeying a given order, immediately.
Later we were introduced to R.S.M.Alley who managed with very few words put the fear of god into new recruits, his first orders for us was to get our hair cut, any thoughts of crew cuts and style were quickly put to rest, anything below the beret was shaved to the 'wood'.
The barber was a civilian who's barber shop was a hut just across from the barracks, no amount of pleading by the lads detracted him from the orders of R.S.M.Alley, down to the wood. One young man I can never forget was John Collins from Salford, he came in with an immaculate 'Teddy Boy' dress and the most glorious head of hair, thick black and curly with an equally immaculate 'D.A.'. I was present as the barber set to and removed the lovingly styled hairdo. A plea to leave on what he could only led to a great mop of thick hair being left under the beret but when the beret was removed the head looked like a black fuzz on top of a billiard ball, John was truly crestfallen. He wasn't alone, some one hundred and twenty other new fusiliers kept him company. I think the barber had a very good Bury holiday fortnight, which always followed Bolton's two weeks later.
During our early running around we caught sight of the draft prior to ours returning to barracks from a stay at Holcombe ranges, I was very impressed. Shirtsleeve order, marching smartly back with shouldered arms looking every inch like long time regulars, surely we would never look like that, I was of course going by the way early drill was working out with all the classic clangers. These guys had only been drafted eight or so weeks before us.

Among our training groups were a few young lads who were in between the two intakes, regulars who had signed on then mixed in with us. They were quite valuable in that they had already picked up a few 'wrinkles', bulling the pimples from our new boots, how to blanco, polish brasses, square our beds, press BD's, in fact all the basics, the best sergeants, the worst NCO's, we had apparently the best sergeant, sergeant Bill Pritchard, under him we would have the best platoon award. The three platoons would bring about a highly competitive edge to our training, ideal for honing teamwork to a high standard. Sergeant Pritchard was a confident man, although it maybe inspiring to his wards he predicted we would be 'best platoon' and not only that, we would also furnish the 'best recruit'. He was right on both counts.
Soon, against all odds we were beginning to resemble the draft before us, though we had some way to go, we jumped when told to jump, ran when told to run, doubled when told to double. As some one who hated the army and only here because I had to be, I was surprised to find myself being proud as we began to march and drill with an expertise not thought to be possible early days. I was a National Service Man, keep your nose clean, do your two years and get out, simple.
September arrived, passing out parade day was near and we had rehearsals after rehearsals with R.S.M. Alley getting more involved as the big day drew close culminating in our C.O. inspecting the parade and choosing the 'best recruit' of the intake from a guard comprised of each platoons candidates. 
Bill Pritchard was a proud sergeant as he gained the distinction of best platoon and best recruit, a double no less, and I was the dubbed 'Commanding Officers Stick Man'. Oddly enough, beside Bill Pritchard predicting I would gain that distinction, sergeant Lyons had asked me whilst on the firing rage if I would consider a transfer to Spion Kop, he was also convinced I would be best recruit. Personally I thought they were both wrong, I only wanted to get through with as little trouble as possible, they ( sergeants) saw something I didn't.

Come the big day, blues will be worn, band and drums, families invited, the ceremony began to take my whole being over, the proud traditions of the Lancashire Fusiliers were beginning to be instilled. 
I took my place on the square with an escort by my side, a corporal, again my perusal of LF's at rest brought back these vivid memories, by the name of Paul Harrison. Paul was respected by us as an, 'old sweat' with a good deal of service already in and was noted for being unflappable and, unlike some, a well liked corporal. 
Today I look at my memento of the day , a small silver plated cup engraved 'best recruit September 1959' and remember how proud I felt parading in front of my very proud father and mother, sisters and uncle and of course the rest of my fellow trainees and sergeant Pritchard. 
I also remember the board inside the archway entrance to Wellington Barracks, directly opposite the guard room, listing the best recruits of past intakes and the dates awarded, I often wonder what happened to it.
As a reluctant serviceman I have to admit, though I never would at the time, just how much the Lancashire Fusiliers enriched my life. The web page brings back so many stories and for every story, there is a story within a story. Captain Whacker Brown, Captain Cartwright, Lieutenant Jewkes, Joe Kelly, Ken Scragg, Corporals Pete Singleton, Kenny Stubbs, Ronnie McDonald, Jimmy Mills and his long time friend Jessie Owen, so many, and a story attached to each and everyone of them.
It is said that there is a book in all of us, I can certainly vouch for that.

As a footnote I might add that the summer of 1959 was one of the hottest and longest, for a period, water was only turned on for a few minutes in the morning and the same again in the evening, you had to be quick so as not to be on a charge for parading unshaven. Water carts were sent out to outlying districts, it was a very serious situation. Eventually those living within travelling distance were allowed home for the weekend to have a decent bath.

Tony Bowles, signals platoon 59/61.

Bolton clarion, love cycling love the clarion.

Bolton clarion cycling club 150 Kilometre reliability ride, Chester, Sunday 7th July.

The very popular Chester reliability ride this Sunday has been promised good weather by the meteorology office so get a bit of leg stretching in. A good ride guaranteed whatever the weather anyway so come on down, Bolton town hall square 8.30.am departure.

Dee on the Dee 2009