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.           

Pothole on the media, breakfast telly.

I recently posted on a forum, Road C.C. , after watching breakfast tele and was a bit incensed by the crass comments by the out of touch media personalities. The line ‘it’s the motorists who suffer most from potholes’ sent my blood pressure up considerably, so I posted the question. ‘What do cyclists and the CTC say to that?’

Below is a response that I thought was brilliant, a totally different outlook on the reasons for pothole formation and where the responsibility lies. Just thought members would also like the comments.

'Roads are there to be used and any damage caused by cars/lorries/buses is ALWAYS sited at the edge of some patch on the surface. The problem is poor quality repairs by utilities companies who are allowed to dig up the road then replace the smallest possible area with soft materials with no follow up repair. These companies would be screaming out if they were made to take the full impact of repairing the damage they cause. It is always the side of the road which is covered in this patchwork quilt of repairs. The middle of the road is smooth and well kept; if I can get to cycle there all is well, but cars do like to go faster then me so I am forced to cycle over all of these joints and holes.

Lets not blame drivers or even the council, it is British Gas, British Telecom, Virgin, Anglian Water etc. Council Tax payers are subsidizing these companies and allowing them to charge just £4.99 for broadband whilst cyclists are being injured and our roads go unrepaired. The wrong people are paying to maintain infrastructure and transport as a use for public roads is coming a poor second to servicing private utilities.'

A blog I missed out.

100k 2013 , Should I or Shouldn’t I?

The first reliability of the year has arrived but I am in a bit of a quandary, my chest infection has eased off considerably but will I manage to get round the short but quite arduous circuit of the mighty Pendle Hill.

I made up my mind to do it and posted my intention on Facebook whereupon David Bisset, also a chest infection sufferer decided if I could do it, so could he.

On reaching the town hall square early  for the 8.30 am start I found two other early birds, Dave Bisset and Steve Garthwright, like me Steve was a little unsure about riding but as he is undertaking a short tour in June he is looking for an increase in fitness..

Eventually more and more arrive meaning a healthy number up for a certificate, it was also quite obvious there would be at least two distinct groups making the circuit of Pendle, the fast lads and three others.

The three others comprised of myself, Dave Bisset and Steve Garthwright, two chest infections and an unfit wannabe fit.

The selection of the two groups were made as we reached the bottom of the first long drag of the day, Bradshaw to the old pub at the top. The fast group disappeared up the road while we, the ‘liability’ group got together at the bottom with Dave the volunteer pace maker. By the time we got to the top I felt I need a pace maker of a different sort, the one that’s inserted in the chest. The downhill bit to Ramsbottom was more that welcome allowing recovery before the climb up to Greenfield where a little break was taken, and, the first appearance of the ‘Jelly Babies’.

Off again on the Rawtenstall to Burnley leg with nice downhill stretches, particularly the old Bull and Butcher one into Burnley, wow, what speed down here, it would be hair raising if I had any.

Through Burnley and the fast drop down past Barden Mill is suddenly brought almost to a standstill at the sudden rise over the motorway bridge. This hill has nearly brought me to my knees time after time, the annoying thing is it looks so innocuous. Steve battles up a little off the pace but as Dave says we’ll rest ‘til he catches up, the lad’s back with us.

We climb out of Fence up the short climb that demands a sudden effort to get round the bend near the top then it is nice and rolling along the lane before the dramatic drop down to Roughlee. A female jogger with a dog on an extendable lead is coming up as I career downward at speed, the dog sees me as a threat and lunges at the bike, boy, we both had a lucky escape. I think these mobile trip wires should be banned.

A bit more gasping and wheezing and Barley visitor centre is thankfully reached, break time. My huge saddlebag is packed with enough stuff to feed a platoon, apart from the two water bottles on the bike I have packed 3 oven bottoms, with jam, a banana, six chocolate wafer biscuits, two apples, a bar of chocolate, a can of coke, a can of recovery drink, all stowed in with spare gloves waterproof spare folding tyre, and that’s not counting the bulging side pockets of my Carradice long flap camper bag. No wonder I am puffing up the hills.

While at Barley my tight chest remind me I have foolishly left at home my drugs, namely my asthma reliever, gosh and I am about to climb alongside of the mighty Pendle Hill next, the very thought has me out of breath.

After a decent break I hand out the jelly babes again anf off we go, Dave for some reason or other is clock watching, having decided to score the longest time ever doing our 100k perhaps he is having second thoughts.

Leaving Barley we are immediately on the long climb out and just as quickly I engage ‘Granny Ring’, ok fastlads when you get to seventy five you too will be looking for Granny.

Dave is away up ahead while I, despite being at the side of Lancashire’s most beautiful sight see nothing but tarmac, glancing occasionally up the road at more tarmac wondering when the end will be in sight. Steve is behind me content to also engage a manageable low gear. At the top we are together again with another dramatic drop in front of us, the scenery in front of us is equally dramatic, the Ribble Valley and the hills of the Yorkshire Dales unfold before us.

All too soon the view is gone, descending at speed in the direction of Rimmington, another of Lancashire’s famous beauty spots, before we get there however another pig of a climb must be overcome, short but sweet as they say.

Now if you do not pass the white chapel with the sundial on the wall, you have not completed the 100k route, think about it you guys, did you?

After Rimmington comes Downham, truly god’s own village, a sight to be savoured and photographed too. The day may be overcast but the beauty of the village is in no way demeaned and we drink it all in as we take another short break and more jelly babes. As we pose on the ancient village bridge a guy who is a keen runner around here takes a photo of the three of us on the bridge with the attractive church high on the hill in the background.

Next on our Pendle circuit is another Lancashire gem that has hit the headlines recently for all the wrong reasons, without wanting to ‘speak’ about why, Pendleton village is such an attractive place.

The country lanes take us next to Whiswell, pronounced locally as ‘Wizzell’ and from here it is another nice easy downhill stretch to Whalley.

As usual I bomb down the hill with nary a backward glance, save for a quick look behind as we reach the busy main road we have to cross to continue the downward swoop, I am lucky, a break in the traffic allows me to cross safely.

On reaching Whalley I pause at a spot we use to regroup, out of my saddlebag comes the can of coke, very welcome it is too, and I drink while looking back up the road for Dave and Steve, no, they’re missing.

After a while I realise a problem must have arose and continue to wait, while gazing up the road a group of cyclists are heading toward me, are they among this lot. The jerseys begin to look familiar, Bolton clarion tops dominate and I realise that they are the ‘fast lads’, our lot, I am gobsmacked.

With shouts of recognition and cheery arm waving they carry on and I am left to finish my can of coke.

Eventually it is make your mind up time, finish the cokedeposit the can in the dustbin and begin to retrace back through Whalley to search for the lost boys. I have no sooner set off when two cyclists appear heading toward me, we pause again and the tale of the puncture begins, punctuated by the appearance once more of the jelly babes. Dave declares once more ‘it is the law to eat the heads off first’ before devouring the the body in double quick time.

Now we have the long laborious trundle up to Wilpshire after which another easy stretch into Blackburn, beyond then is the dreaded Bull Hill, what purgatory awaits today?

I have been riding all day with my pulse monitor on, the idea being not to over stretch myself on the climbs of the day, that went out of the window early, as early as Tonge Moor actually, never mind we’ll see what happens up the monster.

We are more or less together up to half way, at the cemetery the road kicks up a little more and I change down a gear, I think Dave was waiting for the moment, as my speed dropped he shot past with a whoop, the swear word ‘bastard’ never really left my lips but it was in my head.

I plugged on, ‘wait ‘til my chest infection is over Bisset and I have a few puffs of  salbutomol, I’ll get my own back’. Back to the trudge I check my pulse rate from time to time, jeeze I’m working harder than I do on a time trial and hardly moving, 182, 183, 185, and still rising, bugger it, just keep going. Steve has dropped off again but Dave has waited at the top so we once more celebrate the ascent with another jelly babe, head first of course. Dave pleads with me not to die yet as a bout of coughing besets me, wait until we get into town.

Now for the real excitement, the downhill rush virtually all the way into Bolton, a mere pimple at Dunscar bottom to overcome, as Steve said, in our younger days we would use our momentum and sprint to the top, but then that was a while ago. However it is nice to get over the last bump, the feeling of ‘I’ve done it’ is there even before entering the town hall square. We arrived back at 3.30 pm bang on, six hours after setting off, not bad when you consider all three of us had set out to ‘attempt’ the ride not knowing the outcome due to our own problems, chest infections and general unfitness. Taking stock as well of our leisurely breaks on route, we have done well on our ’Jelly Babe Circuit’

Dave treated us to a Costa Coffee as we recovered on the marble slabs while discussing our problems prior to the ride, we had all arose that morning with a ‘suck it and see’ philosophy, we had all succeeded.          

My year with the clarion, 2013.

So much has happened in the year and added to that is the fact it has passed so quickly.

As usual my year starts with a will to lose weight for the coming year, as usual that resolution fails within a week.

The Christmas festivities are out of the way but the sense of relief is short lived as we now have to look to ‘Presentation Night’, Clubman of the Year, Guest of Honour, certificates for reliability, awards, medals etc.

The advent of social evenings for club members, introduction of ‘Book Night’ lend lease borrow, Fred’s fitness talks, a really positive move even if we have moved into the den of the traditional enemy for our events, the conservative club premises at Bradshaw. This was largely due to Bolton Council’s price hikes for community premises.

Presentation night, it was a pleasure to receive Peter Lickfold and his wife Val along with Bury clarion in our first joint venture. The night was off to a fantastic start with news of Simon Yates winning the World Points Championship, warm applause greeted the entry of John and Sue Yates, proud parents of Simon.

Easter Meet at Scarborough, the annual get together of all clarion sections, a great meet this time, just wish more of our members would attend. The big news this year was the National Clarion membership target for new members was well above expectations reaching some 1200 plus.

After Easter I was beset with what turned out to be a viral chest infection that turned my summer into a bit of a cycling misery, everything falling to bits beginning with the club ‘10’ championship event, not that I had any chance of winning, but the fact of complete loss of any sort of fitness had me worried. A worthy champion emerged in the shape of Dave Owen.

New members have made a huge contribution to the club this year, new look Sunday club rides, Saturday programme, Southport evening ten mile time trials participation. All this and an eagerness to get involved in distance events and sportives, such enthusiasm augers well for the club future.

Sad news did not escape the club, our presentation night guest of honour, Peter Lickfold passed away suddenly and unexpectedly. This was a blow to many northern cyclists, the huge numbers attending his funeral was testament to the sorrow felt at his passing.

There was successful participation in the club reliability events this year, the 100k, 150k, and the tough 200k, despite my viral infection I managed to complete all three, I was hugely reliant on my inhalers, drug abuse? Boy was I glad to see Bolton town hall on completion of the 200k ride. 

Highlights for me came with the eventual demise of my viral chest infection, use of the prescribed nebulisers and relievers no longer needed. I was able to partake in a few time trials, three ten mile events and the obligatory ‘combined clubs 25’. The very fact that I actually finished the 25 was for me a huge relief, it was a precursor to my 76^th birthday ride to Arnside for a hostel weekend. I could now feel comfortable about managing the ride there and back, it was a memorable weekend.

Throughout the year I have kept in touch with John Mann, despite medical setbacks John has battled through and achieved a desire to get back out on the road on his bike. John dedicated himself to getting fit to do so by non stop use of a set rollers, a lesson here to those who decry the use of indoor trainers. Rides to Lymm, Knutsford and Croston, all on nice summer days, were a huge achievement, at eighty three years old this was a fantastic outcome.

The year ended with the usual manic organising of the club Christmas ‘do’. The downhill competition that precedes the Christmas lunch was hugely popular and prayers for good weather were answered with a mainly mild dry day. £100 was raised for Bolton Hospice by the raffle, supported generously by Geoff and Yvonne Smith.

The day ended for a few of us with coffee at the barn, a soaking on the way to the Doffcocker Inn, and a healthy slaking of the thirst getting there. Good beer, good cheer, another good year and here’s wishing the club many more of them.

Finally the members should offer a vote of thanks to the committee, without them we would have no organisation, no club events and no club, but here’s to the members who have made this year a success and helped to secure the club’s future.    

     

clarion track night

Clarion Track Night

(and day)

As usual track night was a hit with the riders, Fred Smith doing a sterling job of coaching again, the complete novices definitely getting the biggest buzz, as always.

For the beginner nothing beats conquering the steep banking with heart in mouth and a feeling of impending doom, then gaining in confidence to such a degree they begin to feel comfortable.

Even those with previous experience, the thrill and rush of adrenalin is ever present.

Fred is ever alert to what is going on as riders circle the magic boards, frequent shouts remind those that need reminding, they are under a watchful eye.

Two groups exchange the track, each having time on their own doing the exercises Fred has planned for them, something for everyone and before the night is out all look forward to the ‘one lap sprint’ as a finale.

One by one the flying lap sprints are taken, the beginners in line watch those completing their lap with great interest, wow, the moment of truth, the moment their induction is put to the test.

Times have been relayed by Fred to John Yates, father of the twins newly signed by top pro team Orica Greenedge. John, from Bury clarion, was down on the night as a spectator but volunteered to assist with the timekeeping and despite my plea for him to deduct five seconds from my actual time, he did not.

A great night as usual, all the thrills without the spills, as it should be but unfortunately not always.

The one disappointment was the low numbers attending, but there is always another day and more members wishing to ride the famous boards where so many international records and world events have taken place.

 Just one final note, as the event drew to a finish, I was collecting money, taking names etc, I found myself in a deserted arena and as I changed, one by one the lights were being switched off. Gosh I’d better be quick before I’m locked in for the night and out I rushed. It was only when I got home I realised that the club banner I had put up before the event, (see pic above) had been forgotten, oh my! Saturday morning saw me back at velodrome at 9.45 am. to retrieve the banner, to my surprise, even at that time of the morning the track was packed out with young riders, dozens of them. What a hit this velodrome has been since opening for the Commonwealth games.