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

John Mann's first ride this year

After a hard winter and in and out of hospital for treatment John Mann, our eighty three year old member, looked forward to a trip out on the bike again. John has not been out since the Albert Winstanley memorial ride after which he was beset with a medical problem. John alleviated his illness by riding a set of rollers, as and when he felt up to it, with two half hour sessions a day, morning and afternoon. In between the roller sessions he would hop onto another set of pedals, those on his organ. John has been awaiting a nice slot in the summer weather so we took advantage of this weeks nice day. John's choice for a ride was a trip to Lymm, not for him a short ride up the road. We had this ride planned for when a bit of decent weather arrived, and today was the day.
We enjoyed beans on toast and tea at 'The Bakery' in the centre of the village after approaching Lymm through a little known path that is really picturesque.
We continued our break with an enjoyable chat by the lower Lymm dam, oddly the ducks also took a siesta basking in the mid day sun. It was a day like today that I made my first ever trip to Lymm over sixty years ago, despite a few changes it is still just as attractive.
The return trip was much the same as our outward one, nicer weather though as the afternoon sun was really warm but here and there the strong breeze let us know we still had to push the pedals.
As we parted company at Daisy Hill, John thanked me for the rollers, without them he declared today would have been impossible, but I like to think that John's determination to overcome his health problems was really the bigger factor. Like a man released from isolation, John truly enjoyed today and is looking forward to another, 'Grand Day Out'.

Deflation, inflation.

Just another circuit ride?

Today I got back on my bike after nearly a week of sloth, the weather has improved greatly, a ride on my twenty six mile circuit will be just fine. Strap on the heart rate monitor, select my fixed wheel steed for the ride and away we go.

Usually the highlight of my circuit is a bit in the middle where a short steep hill raises my heart rate from zero to infinity in a mere ten revolutions with pedal revs going rapidly in the opposite direction to a point of, ‘yo-o heave-ho-o’. I gauge my fitness here, if I fall off, I’m useless, if I manage to crawl from bottom to top it’s success, riding up in a controlled manner, boy I’m flying. The latter bit does not occur very often.

So what was different today, well a lot actually. I usually start quietly, nice and steady, if I am feeling a bit stiff or jaded then my condition dictates the ride, today was going to be an easy day. Oh the best laid plans, etc etc.

A glance over my shoulder when approaching a parked car told me I was about to be gobbled up by a fast approaching cyclist, I hate it when they sneak up on you and pass at speed but I accepted that was going to happen.

I was being attacked by a young lady, she passed me with gusto and was clearly enjoying the taking of a scalp, even if there was only a few hairs on it.

Inevitably my rate of progress increased, a challenge is a challenge and this one was a rather attractive one. A set of traffic lights on red gave me the chance to even things up a little, and the drag beyond allowed me to bring the advantage of a low fixed gear into play. A bit of faffing with gear selection gave me the chance I was looking for and shot passed the young lady. Cresting the hill I turned into Lever Park Avenue and a quick glance over my shoulder told me the lady was for turning, and going my way.

She caught me again and as she swept past I chided her a little informing her she had removed me rudely from my comfort zone, the response was a beaming smile. I remained out of my comfort zone, the lady was raising my heart rate rapidly as she began to try to remove me from her back wheel, it’s a long while since a young lady raised my heart rate almost to maximum. Nearing Rivingto Barn I was beginning to hope she was meeting someone there but as we swept past it was obvious she wasn’t and was showing no sign of slowing down either.

At Rivington  Green she indicated right for Sheephouses Lane, ‘I’m glad you are turning right’ I said, ‘ I’m going straight on’ again a beaming smile was the response, she didn’t know how glad I was actually. That pace going up the hill the other side of the reservoirs would have seen me in bits.

Well, the excitement over, pulse monitor reading nearly normal again I settled into my easy going routine with little to look at other than the tarmac and occasional car bumper but thankful of the greenery of the back lanes to Chorley.

My route takes in back streets in a convoluted fashion eventually emerging on the main road to Coppull, it was here that my bike or me began to feel wobbly, a queer sensation that forced me to stop and investigate the cause. I got my leg over the crossbar to dismount so it wasn’t me feeling wobbly, front wheel ok, no loose spokes on the rear, but wait a minute, what’s that big bump on the tyre. The bump turned out to be about three in number, the carcass of the tyre was shredding and brasting apart, not too far from the dreaded almighty bang of an exploding tyre. Over enthusiastic inflation with a track pump on a tired tyre was bringing the tyres life to a violent demise.

First aid was release pressure before a quick search of the saddle pack, have I a spare folding tyre in there, no was the answer to that. Typical, of the three bikes I use most the two with spare folding tyres are back home in the garage.

Think! Ah yes there’s a local bike shop in the town centre, a mere half mile or so away. Back on the bike I slowly meander along fearful of the dreaded bang at any moment but eventually gain the bike shop. Now I often advise use of your local bike shop but unfortunately I am more than twelve miles from Geoff Smith’s shop but very glad that ther is one serving the Chorley district.

Entering the bike shop I am assisted in tyre selection by the proprietor, size, section etc are discussed, Paul Hackin recommends ‘Gatorskins’ so I opt for the one and only tyre on the rack that fits my requirement, a ‘Gatorskin’.

Now I have to purchase a new tyre, definitely not on my training schedule, but needs must and once sorted I change the tyre. Here is where a ‘proper’ local bike shop is recognised, attention to the customer. The guy comes out with a track pump as soon as I am ready for inflation and duly pumps up the tyre for me, he had previously enquired if I needed tools, and in no time at all I am fitting the wheel back in. As I finish chain tensioning, remember I’m on fixed gear, the shop owner hands me a hand cleansing sheet, now how good is that, if you’re ever stuck for bike stuff or service near Chorley head for Rivington Cycles for friendly and knowledgeable service on the main street, town centre.

Wow I’m having a great day, much better than the regular mundane, save for that pig of a hill, training ride.

I now carry on with my ride but due to the unforeseen delay I now head for Adlington and pick up my route again that takes me back to Rivington.

A final amusing encounter, boy it’s all happening today, occurs climbing the long drag up Babylon Lane. A cyclist just ahead of me also turns for Babylon Lane and the distance between us is fairly constant as we each tackle the climb in at a tempo suitable for the gear we are pushing. Part way up the guy in front glances over his shoulder and is now aware he has company and his cadence notably quickens, in response so does mine, the distance between us remains the same. On reaching the top and crossing the motorway bridge the cyclist does something strange, he empties his water bottle. Now I’ve seen the pros get rid of their bottles prior to a sprint, perhaps he’s a semi pro who can’t afford to throw bottles away, nevertheless a strange event.

On the drop back down to the reservoirs at Rivington it was no contest, my fastest cadence on a low fixed gear was no match for a big geared downhill sprint and he disappeared from view.

The rest of the ride home now was at the gentle pace I set out at, the only difference being I was a few quid lighter and the new back tyre being a 23 section instead of the comfy 25 section Michelin Dynamic, certainly let me be more aware of bumps in the road. An eventful ride, and an enjoyable ride that wasn’t even deflated by a worn out tyre. Happy Cycling.