TPT link Day 8

2012 04 23 Monday

And finally . . . .

 . . . .  it was a hard day yesterday. I was falling asleep by 22:00 so got no blog done. As it was two days since I wrote one I got up when I woke at 05:00, made a brew, and installed myself downstairs for the duration.

As usual it took three hours but remains enjoyable reliving the ride in words and pictures. There have been difficulties getting used to the idiosyncrasies of the blog website and blogging on the smartphone but the more I use the technology the more I learn how and hope for perfect presentation every time before too long!  

The last leg of this ride will be one of the hardest, comparable with the height gain on the day of the Woodhead Pass ride. I've ridden over to Harrogate a few times so know that it's a typical Pennines crossing in and out of valleys. The rivers defining the ups and downs are, from east to west, the Washburn, Wharfe, Aire, and Calder (the Lancashire one) producing a climb total of over 3000 feet.

Rather than retrace my steps along the back lanes route previously followed from Harrogate to Ilkley through Otley I had a look at the maps for a different way and found another river crossing higher up the Washburn Valley. However, it occurs in a steep sided part of the valley below Swinsty Reservoir. Not only that but the map suggests it deteriorates to the status of a Byway so I must prepare myself for a stony surface and the possibility of having to get off and push. To me an anathema!

Before setting off today I wanted to get my footwear right. Yesterday my right toes were crushed up in my three layers of socks. I didn't want the same happening again. By putting each sock on carefully I knew I'd got it sorted yet, no, just the same discomfort again. A quick dive into the dark interior produced a piece of white fluff? A more concerted effort produced a ball of screwed-up newspaper. It was only then that we remembered we'd put them in to assist the drying process. In spite of the extra effort the shoe still wasn't dry so it's good that I am using waterproof socks!

Armed with Chrissie's three-cheese and chutney sandwiches and Celia's lemon drizzle cake (well, I am in Harrogate after all, don't you know!) I got away just after 10:00. The best bit about clambering onto the bike for the last day was feeling last evening's servicing would stand me in good stead.  I'd sorted the gears and brakes in readiness for the extra hillage (no, you're quite right, hillage isn't a word . . but I like it anyway so it stays! This isn't Scrabble after all.) The worst bit . . . well it wasn't the discomfort of sitting on my sore soft tissues again, or the white finger or a cricked neck or a sore back. In fact I didn't appreciate at the time . . .

Harrogate is on a bit of a hill, I've come to appreciate, and a windy one at that. In fact my start point is 400 feet above sea level, exactly the same as at Read. So, if sea levels get to that height both places are doomed! The cycling routes in Harrogate have been greatly improved so I followed them round the Stray and up onto Harlow Hill out of town to the village of Beckwithshaw. After a short distance on the busy Otley Road I turned onto Norwood Road which is the Norwood road. Aha, semantics! But having never heard of the village and Parish of Norwood it wasn't obvious to me! This road traverses the Beckwithshaw Moor to get to the Washburn Valley so we, me and the bike, summited for the first time at about 800 feet by Little Alms Cliff (bless). The incline was gradual making it a cycling friendly climb and the descent was welcome as always.

At the Norwood Village junction Swinsty Reservoir lay in the valley below. By "contouring" a little I got to the Jack Hill lane which was to lead me to my chosen Byway but it didn't appear until after a very steep and fast descent on tarmac. That's what I like and the readjusted brakes were necessary! Then, as expected the tarmac ran out. The lane arrived at a drainage channel the size of a Norwegian Fjord then carried on steeply downhill becaming loose stone. What fun.  

The reward was at the bottom. A cobbled ford and a magnificent packhorse bridge of some age (1767 #accordingtogoogle and not #accordingtococker as you thought. No? In fact I joke not! Look it up! "According to Cocker" is a genuine "proverbialism". I'd better explain. Edward Cocker, an English mathematician wrote a book entitled Arithmetik, sometime in the Dark Ages, or before electricity at least, about mid 17th century. As a result of his book and his wisdom he got a name for himself, better than the one I've managed for myself that's for sure, and so the world referred to him and his masterpiece as an authority on the subject. When I read his profile I can see myself in him: calligrapher, poet, writer, moralist, pauper! But we're not related. Grandpa Frank researched the family tree in the hope of finding a connection but I gather there is none. So, back to the plot . . . )

Alongside the bridge is the ford in a parlous state of repair. Ho ho, the excitement of cycling through it, but no, the temptation to seek a thrill-crossing was overtaken by the certainty of getting a royal soaking. It will remain 4x4 territory until the temperatures rise to the mid-20's C.

Photos taken and tweets, well . . . tweeted, I started on the climb out of the valley onto Dob Park, a summit of nearly 900 feet this time compared to 300 feet above sea level at the ford. The map suggested steep but thankfully it didn't materialise until the easier gravel track had become a decent tarmac surface . . . and then the work started. In our "club" we don't like getting off and walking, I did say, and so it was I thought I was going to die! but I made it up the steepest bit onto a resting place by an upended quern stone name plaque. We've had cases this year of undetected congenital heart conditions killing people, some higher profile than others, but becoming big news. It's always happened but you do wonder . .  

Once I'd recovered bottom gear got me to the top of Dob Park: summit two. There would have been fabulous views but the hazy day was persisting and it mizzled a bit for good luck. As time was going on riding was becoming harder. To some extent my fatigue will have been a factor but it felt like cycling through treacle. I got off yet again and wielded the oil can at all moving parts in the vain hope of making an improvement.

Another fabulous descent led me through the village of Askwith, past a satisfyingly noisy playtime at the village school and down the Denton rat run to the River Wharfe at Ben Rhydding at 230 feet. During that section, outside Denton Hall, I made another unscheduled stop because of extra noise from down below, from the bike, from the bottom bracket it transpired. A sound later described by Michael as a pepper mill.  All was now clear. There had been a bang from down there when we were in the village of Hale, Liverpool and at the same time the chainring gearshifter packed up. I'm not sure there's an obvious connection but it had happened and the efficiency of pedalling had dropped off from then on. With the extra noise coming from down there the breakup of the component was becoming serious. It even raised the question whether I would even limp the bike home.

It led to a change of plan: first of all get to Ilkley, stop for high-class butties and cake to stoke the boiler in readiness for the hard work to come. There I had time to cogitate as I sat eating in one of the delightful, sheltered alcove seats on the Ilkley/Middleton new bridge. It was so pleasant I even dined baht 'at. Aye thank you!  and I concluded I should keep off the planned, very high level moor lane route to make it easier. Also to be nearer help in an emergency.

So, I just pushed and pedalled through Addingham and over to Silsden staying on the main road over Cringles, the Addingham Moor pass at 750 feet. The descent through Silsden was long and fast again and put a smile back on my face. Into the third valley bottom, the Aire at Steeton, 300 feet above sea level, past Airedale Hospital then through Eastburn and Crosshills all ran into one and got me to some shops. By this time I was ready to pay a call and eventually, after asking three people, managed to find the only cafe there disguised with the name of "Lunch". On the way past the till to the Gents I ordered tea and a slice. The girls said it was a Bakewell. The toilet was in the basement next to the cafe dining room which was very empty. No matter. Once comfortable I took up a table and waited. When nothing happened I poked my head round the door upstairs and asked if it was waitress service to which the answer came back "we're closed". It was half past two. I suddenly felt I was back in Royston Vasey minus the local people! I ended up with my tea and slice on a concrete bollard outside with an unexpected shot of vitamin D! I predict a For Sale sign on number 10 in the next six months.  

Next goal Cowling Moor at 875 feet. After much grinding and lorry dodging I arrived in glorious sunshine. It does happen from time to time but the Yorkshire Lancashire border crossings usually herald the opposite weather pattern. This was the fourth and final pass and gave way to a big descent, and it was long one, about five miles all told to Colne and Barrowford. By now I knew I would get home under my own steam. 

The local back road through Wheatley Lane, Fence and Higham is very familiar. Strangely though, after a trip of 400 miles it seems smaller than usual and soon ridden. Before I knew it I was back in Read.

To complete the trip in style I detoured via George Lane to Michael and Judith's for photographs otherwise I would have been Billy No-mates again. No-one would have known I was back!

Trans Pennine Trail for Rosa Day 8
Route: Harrogate to Read
Distance: 52miles
Height gain: 3130feet
Time: 4hrs45
Av.speed: 11mph

Weather: cloudy but mostly dry
Wind: gentle westerly breeze

Route features: see below

And there we have it. A great ride. Bad weather/ good weather? It's simply weather which defines the ride and gives it shape. Over fish and chips in Hornsea Judith asked for the highlights. We will all have our own. Being outdoors all day our memories are inevitably weather related. For me the topography memory was the two vistas that opened up over the Estuaries, the Mersey and Humber, with their majestic bridges and sunny spells splashing silver paint onto the water. The camaraderie memory was the last supper at Wortley Hall, just us, dining like Lords in magnificent surroundings. And also the ever-present craic of course. The weather memory was the Woodhead Pass in fog and rain followed by the flooded Upper Don Trail in the gloamin. The history memory is indefinable as we in the north are so lucky to have such a wealth of industrial archeology. And finally, as a Yorkshireman I have to have a financial memory and that's an easy one: the hugely successful fundraising for Rosa's charity CLIC Sargent. It has surpassed my expectations. I'm sure it will be at least £1000 actually given which, with enhancements, becomes as good as £2000. Thanks for all the donations. Also, thank you lads for your company. And finally, thank you family and friends for your support and friendship en route, whether real or virtual.

TPT link Day 7

Before I start on today's blog I want to take advantage of writing this blog on the pc instead of managing on the smartphone which means I can slip in a photograph or two of our final day on the TPT. So, here goes:

2012 04 20 Friday
TPT Day 5 Photographs

The first is the monumentally superb Humber Bridge, a design icon

then, here we are at the finish on Hornsea Promenade. At both ends of the Trans Pennine Trail the specially designed seamark masts mark the spot. On top is a logo for the route representing the waves at each coast which are repeated on the waymarkers, only on these tall masts they are weather vanes as well explaining why they aren't facing the camera!

OK back to the penultimate blog.

2012 04 22 Sunday
TPT link Day 7

Today started with a lie-in. Oooh, the joy of not having to respond to an alarm call. But it wasn't out of choice, believe it or not. When we looked at the timetable for the train times to get me back to York station where I left off yesterday the first train wasn't until 11:30! I know! I couldn't believe it either but there it was. I was forced to have the aforesaid lie-in! Of course, the reality was different. There were preparations including another much needed bike wash and rucsac weight reduction. The ride today was the shortest of the trip so the late start wouldn't be a disadvantage.

The train trip gave me some time to start writing the blog for Saturday but at an average of three hours a time for a blog on the smartphone thirty minutes was glaringly inadequate. All too soon we were in York disgorging from the station with the masses simultaneously leaving an inter-city train. A short trip on the west river bank and lifting the bike onto the Scarborough Railway Bridge placed me back on the Way of the Roses NCN65 on the east bank heading for Beningbrough. This route is now entirely familiar having ridden it as the WotR and used it for access into York City Centre to go sightseeing and shopping.

Leisure cyclists joined dog walkers today making the cycleway busier than usual but with careful use of the bike bell there's rarely a problem. That's ignoring the loose dog that diced Dave off his bike at Altcar on the first day injuring him and causing his retirement on Thursday!

The ride was a slog. The gentle wind was a factor but I think the bike's need of a serious service was growing. A little bit of inefficiency here and there all adds up and means, unless it's downhill, more rider effort is required. By the time I got to Beningbrough I needed a serious service myself. I should have eaten more for breakfast. Constant cycling every day means we burn twice as many calories as normal, around 5000 per day! The question was, NT cafe or Farm Shop cafe? In the circumstances the Farm Shop was nearest and that made the decision for me. It also meant I could sit outside with my bait and enjoy the watery sunshine with the other cyclists. The number included a tandem couple on a very nice modern bike. Well, a boy can dream!

Once refuelled things seemed a little better. The entrance to Beningborough is at the village of Newton-on-Ouse but the one-way system means it's a long way to get to the other end of the village. No sooner had I left on the road out to Linton-on-Ouse I spotted some more roadkill. Having successfully cooked a roadkill pheasant in the recent past I see the roadside as part of nature's larder. Yesterday I'd had to cycle past a well-preserved dead wood pigeon and pheasant. That was bad enough but today it was a deer, a whole small deer. It would have been magnificent. Oh for that tandem. I could have brought it home on the back!

Past Linton's RAF jet trainer airfield to Aldwark Toll Bridge. This single track bridge is an anachronism in this day and age but it's the only Ouse crossing in the 20 miles between Boroughbridge and York. It's very rickety so drivers must percieve a lack of maintenance and begrudge their tolls. Cyclists go free! Over on the west bank there are few route choices to Knaresborough so first port of call was Great Ouseburn. These Yorkshire villages are quite pretty usually with some sort of village green with a memorial, honey coloured stone cottages and houses around it and on the main street and usually of some age, with archetypal roofs of red pantile imported over the centuries from across the North Sea. A very pretty sight. particularly when there's a pub nestled among the buildings. Even though we can't make proper use of them it's sad to see them closed down and boarded up or converted to other use. Not so in the next village of Marton-cum-Grafton.

Ye Olde Punch Bowl was the subject of a tv documentary when actor Neil Morrisey and restauranteur Richard Fox took the lease and made the place over. They also installed a micro brewery in the outbuilding. Their tenure lasted no more than a year before it went belly up about three years ago and, as the local sage informed me tapping his way home on his stick to a roast dinner, the village is on its second tenant since then and now "it's a bit pricey. T'John Smith's is £3.30". I take your point lad!! "Sam Smith's is less 'an two quid tha knaws!". And there you have it. It's a no-brainer.

Marton is on a brow giving distant views of the North York Moors, York Minster and Menwith Hill golf balls. I know that because my friend told me. Also, the bus pass is the best thing since . . . . you know what. I know that because I have one!!

Onwards and upwards, well more acrosswards to the west really with a big sweep south into Knaresborough to cross the Nidd Gorge. Home was in sight now and I was on very familiar territory as we use the Harrogate to Knaresborough cycleway along Bilton lane to spend the day out in this beautiful, historic almost forgotten town. Not today though. Straight through at a rate of knots and up the hill to Bilton. I do like the downhill bits best! Finally on yet another railway cycleway almost to Chrissie's door and the promise of a hot bath (technically wrong I gather but very nice) and refuelling on risotto. Lucky me.

Trans Pennine Trail for Rosa Day 7
Route: York to Harrogate
Distance: 31miles
Height gain: 840feet
Time: 3hrs10
Av.speed: 10mph
Weather: sunny spells, cool, light shower
Wind: W 10mph
Route features: York, Way of the Roses to Beningbrough, Newton-on-Ouse, Linton-on-Ouse, Aldwark Bridge, Great Ouseburn,(leave WOTR) Marton-cum-Grafton, Arkendale, Ferrensby, Farnham, Knaresborough, Harrogate.

TPT link Day 6

2012 04 21 Saturday Right, keep it short Peter. Not likely though is it! Hornsea in the early morning, a Saturday in spring, with a trickle of watery sun peeping through the clouds and glinting on the crashing waves? Only joking! I wouldn't know. I was just going to bed after a night's blogging. In truth though, when I did get on the road half an hour later than I intended at 09:30, it was a morning very like the flowery prose. Before setting off proper I rolled down the sea front to photograph the beautiful Hornsea Town station, now converted into homes. The magnificent, squat brick building with its romanesque round arch openings stands at the entrance to the TPT trail, about 200 yards inland of the official start-finish mast, just past the tacky but colorful amusement arcade. This secondary start point is like a mouth swallowing up unsuspecting adventurers Z only it's emblazoned with unmissable signage of the destination towns and distance involved so that no-one can say they weren't warned! A quick visit to the co-op for victuals and I was on my way. I'm learning! The memory-map the children bought me came into its own straight away. It corrected my first mistake before I'd even reached the mere. Great bit of kit kids, a real boy-toy, thanks. Silly boy though even thinking of going uphill when heading for a massive mere and onto Mill Lane at that. All the mills on this windy coast are windmills! Normally, Michael is our tech navigator and the rest of us tag along. We do chip in from time to time and negotiate with our own knowledge, folklore or just to be bloody minded. MJO can't be allowed to be right all the time! Today's trip is in three stages really: the coastal plain, the Wolds and the Vale. The first part was very, very arable. Quite uneventful under a heavy sky. Over breakfast I'd entered the route onto the memory-map from the smartphone Cyclestreets app. and just pedalled and followed. Marvellous! Towards the end of the first section I turned at a junction in the village of Skerne and recognised the road as where we'd been on last year's Way of the Roses. This is where I'd been aiming for. Navigation would be much simpler and I could switch off the gizmo to conserve battery power, the Achilles heel of all tech. From now on I was on familiar territory and it was only a matter of following the WotR waymarks, but in a westerly direction this time. In Hutton Cranswick I debated stopping where we did last year at the garden centre for a coffee but felt I needed to make progress. I would be slowing down on the long climb up the wolds and my uncertainty about getting to Chrissie's tonight in time for the gig we were going to go to drove me on. After the 50 mile days we normally arrived at our evening destination around 18:00 or later but today I was aiming more at 16:00 in York leaving me adequate time to catch a train to Harrogate, scrape off the grime of the day, get changed and eat. Having already rested at a field edge in the weak sunshine and refuelled on a pie and a sandwich I didn't have the luxury of spare time and didn't need to stop again to make me ready for the next leg. It was while lying in the long grass looking at the scene, a ploughed field, a field of yellow oil-seed rape a deciduous woodland backdrop and an ever changing leaden sky that I could see what David Hockney was all about. Back in Yorkshire at Bridlington he "paints" the Wolds landscape on an ipad and today I see how his almost childishly colorful oeuvres are a genuine representation. The woodland is particularly colorful at this time of year with the obvious new greens but also purple tinges for some strange reason. The dream was soon shattered as I began the long climb up the Wolds out of Tibthorpe. It was made much more pernicious by the onset of a long and heavy shower and a gentle westerly breeze, which felt like a gale! I began to get cold and uncomfortable. It's on these occasions that we want to get off the bike and get into the warmth of a cafe but on these hills there aren't any. Huggate near the summit was my goal for the reward of the long descent towards Pocklington, almost four lovely uninterrupted miles. At the bottom of the hill the map reading restarted as my more direct route skimmed round Pocklington. I was aimed at Stamford Bridge for a brew to warm me up. In the event I stopped for 10 minutes on the way and hung my tired bod over a gate to dry in a momentary sunny spell, and eat fruit Michael! The warmth was invaluable and recharged my batteries sufficiently for the four miles yet to come. Now, for there to be no cafe in Stamford Bridge would be incredible, but I couldn't see one and so took refuge in the Swordsman Inn and was glad of it as a another heavy downpour started. It was so tempting to have a pint. Sam Smiths is legendary for being good value but I refrained and hugged the radiator by the pool table on my own as I tweeted to amuse myself. In the background there was a chatter from the bar regulars. I kept tuning in but somehow it seemed impenetrable and I was in no mood to take part. However, having removed my outer things to dry my CLIC Sargent T shirt was on show and drew their attention. By the time I left it had earned its keep pulling in £10 for the cause and brought back memories of Edinburgh on the E2E where something similar happened. These experiences, I find give me a strange feeling of bewildered disbelief mixed with great satisfaction. Either way there are no losers! Last lap now along the old railway viaduct crossing the Derwent valley, scene of puncture action last year, then across the muddy and flooded field tracks to Dunnington, Murton and Osbaldwick on the outskirts of York. Threatening skies did little to suppress my relief that I was nearly at my destination. York is great for cycle routes and I commend the City for what it has achieved. Last time on the WOTR we missed the main east route and lost time because it. Oddly the route was closed this time so I lost out again. The diversion signs were poor but, with the memory-map and an increasing knowledge of the place I got to the station without difficulty, and in one piece in spite of the taxi drivers' attempts to see me off the road. It was dead on 17:00, only an hour later than I'd hoped and all this evening's options were still in tact. The illuminated departures board announced the Harrogate train at 17:20 so I needed to get on with it, and did. Then, at last, that blessed relief that comes with stopping, sitting down in a warm environment and relaxing. I thought I might get some of this blog done in that half hour on the train but it wasn't to be. Entertaining Emily in her paint-spattered joggers arrived with her bike and . . well that's another story. All in all it was good to be back in Harrogate, have a long soak in a bath, eat well and in good company (ah yes we do that already but there was less bike talk tonight!) and go out to the pub for a pint with music, by family at that. Only two more days to go now. Trans Pennine Trail for Rosa Day 6 Route: Hornsea to York Distance: 54miles Height gain: c.1300 Time: c.5:20 hrs Av.speed: c.10mph Weather: showers turning to rain Wind: W 10mph Route features: Hornsea, North Frodingham, Skerne, Hutton, Southburn, Tibthotpe, Huggate, Millington, Yapham, Stamford Bridge, Dunnington, Murton, Osbaldwick, York.

TPT Day 5

2012 04 20 Friday Thankfully today isn't last Friday, Friday the 13th. Mind you, after yesterday and the day before I don't think things could get worse but let's not tempt providence. Susan, our landlady at Hazeldene, the one with the quirky haircut continued to entertain us this morning with her ways and her banter. When she confirmed she came from Barnsley I knew why. I'd loved listening to the accent when changing buses on a Friday in the early 70's. I'd be on my way home for the weekend from Sheffield Polytechnic, and I'd positively look forward to changing buses there. Indeed, I would chose a bus that forced me to change so that I could go into the market to watch the salesmen's patter. (footnote: fell asleep and woke exactly two hours later, yet again) Ah well, all good things come to an end. Also, last day on the Trans Pennine Trail. We were soon gathering our belongings. Thankfully, nearly all my last night's washing was dry as I'd kept the heater on, sweating buckets into the bargain. Outside, preparing the bikes went well because it was dry and as soon a photos taken we were away. The first part of today's ride took us onto the Selby Farms estate along concreted farm tracks through acres of well tended arable land where we splashed through residual puddles, and there were still plenty of them. In the distance Drax Power Station still dominated the scene tho' today the plumes were painting the horizon in totally the opposite direction. We were in for a good day with a following wind. The farm tracks soon gave way to flat, largely unfenced country lanes with little traffic. They occasionally passed through small, peaceful villages such as Hemingbrough, fortuitously supporting The Bread Bin, a perfect little sandwich shop. Dinner was in the bag and something to be looked forward to! And, where today would Michael's coffee fix be satisfied? Howden is the answer to that perennial conundrum, a sleepy East Yorkshire village. It calls itself a market town but, until we got close up and realized the magnificent church was what was left of a Minster remodelled by Henry VIII there was no way! Taking directions (yes folks, men asking the way!) we ventured on The Cheese Shop Cafe in the buzzing Market Place. What a good find. Great coffee plus cake shop. As Michael assiduously pursued his toasted teacake research Stephen and I made mincemeat of a rocky road, if that's possible. Before this ride you'd never think crossing a major road could be a significant event but here you go. We then climbed the local "hill" and passing over the M62 again upset drivers with our florescent jackets. Our route this morning was taking us eastwards north of the swollen river Ouse. For a while we cycled what was potentially a boring bit at the base of the man-made river flood control embankment but even here passed over huge engineered locks and sluices controlling tributary rivers like the Derwent, and big dykes. Strangely, even at the boring bits there' s always something of interest like Stephen losing and retrieving his "needle in a haystack" odometer or curious or informative place names like Saltmarshe or Yokefleet. Then there was Faxfleet which drew my attention as the confluence of the rivers Ouse and Trent, a hugely significant location in geographical terms, yaw! Not for me though. We went up onto the embankment to admire God's handiwork and, to my surprise were impressed. We also encountered Netta. While I was busy tweeting about the confluence Michael was being jostled and made very nervous by a veritable pack of long haired Alsations in the charge of armless local character Netta. No, not harmless, but armless. Netta had no right forearm. She lost it at birth and has triumphed over it. And, in its way this meeting defines another of the joys of our rides, the real people we meet on our way. The examples set by them living their lives as given to them by the fickle finger of fate. I will never forget Netta. As ever, time was marching on. The only shower if the day at Weighton Lock, another Intercity Train at Broomfleet level crossing, a heap of biomass masquerading as cut branches for the boilers of the industrial acres of greenhouseas, a leggy hare running for cover, a nervous deer watching from a safe distance, common courtesies of drivers familiar with single track roads including Maureen Pat and so on. Todays hill climbing was always going to be limited but this was it. Up onto the lower levels of the Wolds which provide a backdrop to this extensive flatland scene. Back down again and, after numerous bridge crossings of the M62/A63 we zig-zagged our final traverse on a dedicated cycle bridge to get to the estuarial foreshore at well-to-do North Ferriby. Failing to ignore the precocious globe water feature in front of one of the aforesaid we arrived at a Country Park. But not just any. THE Humber Bridge Country Park. And what a sight to greet us: the huge Humber estuary with the sinuous catenary of the bridge stretching over the muddy waters. Magnificent. The perfect place for a picnic watching the everchanging, weather-driven landscape. This year I’m off to France to the wedding of a very good friend Benjamin Grellier. I’m reminded of his visit to Read around ten years ago when we took the opportunity to come over to Hull simply to cycle The Humber Bridge. Opened in 1981 it was the longest suspension bridge by span in the world at 4626 feet, a record it held until 1998. I remember watching the bridge being build when we visited my polytechnic friend John Holland with the children. Very impressive and a fabulous experience to cycle, or walk over like the Ormonds did a few years ago. Not to be today but even passing under it by the leg of the massive north pier still warranted a photoshoot. And now for the urban bit. Hull, with a relatively small population of a quarter of a million is the most densely populated urban area in the uk. Wow! Not! but it still has its own Corporation-owned telephone system with unfamiliar white telephone boxes. Next! We picked up speed on the western boulevard into the City Centre and lingered for a tea and much needed cream scone before legging it up the disused railway to Hornsea. And that's it. The TPT all over and unlikely to be repeated by us. Indecent haste do I hear you say? OK the final details. Michael fell off his bike. Yes. And whilst discretion is the better part of valor he did properly fall off. Mind you, even though he was nearly stationary at the time, it proper hurt. Well, he did complain a lot anyway! As for the old railway line cycleway, it is almost the perfect environmental solution. It links Hull and Hornsea centres and is almost totally straight. At 14 miles long that's quite impressive but it's bone-shakingly bumpy near the trees lining it and like many former railway cycle routes, a bit boring. The good news was the speed it delivered our tired bodies into the arms of Judith ?! and then the bosom of Whitehead's fish and chip emporium, and we still avoided the rain. Another puncture delayed my arrival at the b&b, probably a pinch puncture, until after dark but all was well and not too problematic. The incident at least more than adequately proved the success of my new tyre pump purchase from good old Halfords at Elsecar, my souvenir from the trip! The verdict over tea: another good ride of mixed weather and fortunes with some real highlights, see above! The TPT is actually quite an old long distance route and only the end part of the massive Trans Europe Trail to Poland and I think its age shows. Modern versions would be better designed from the interest viewpoint but I'm really glad we did it. We discussed the choice of bike but conclude that it's personal. I'm really glad I used my mountain bike but maybe that just sums me up. No not rugged and bouncy and always breaking down! The only disappointment was the absence if our buddies. Next time eh lads?! To be continued! Trans Pennine Trail for Rosa Day 5 Route: Selby to Hornsea Distance: 55miles Height gain:765 ft Time: hrs Av.speed: 9.6mph Weather: sunny spells Wind: SW 10mph Route features: all gge abovenamed places and THE Humber Bridge. As for our beautiful Rosa, she had an anasthetic-induced traumatic mri scan today and we have to wait until next week for the results. Here's continually hoping. She so deserves a fighting chance. Thanks again to all for their generous support of our chosen charity CLIC Sargent for Children living with Cancer. Well over £1000 will be raised.

TPT Day 4

2012 04 19 Thursday Connie Jane Cocker 3 Today Happy Birthday to Connie, my niece Kate and Tim’s younger one. Connie has been named in honour of my mum but to live up to that name will be a formidable task! No savings here as I remortgaged the house to pay the PO's charges for her birthday card. Trans Pennine Trail Day 4 Route: Wortley to Selby Distance: 54 miles Height gain: 210 ft Time: 5:32hrs Av.speed: 9mph Weather: wet, showers turning to hail Wind: NW 9mph Route features: M1, Elsecar, Wombwell, Bramoton Macdonalds, Darfield, Conisborough, Sprotborough, A1, Doncaster Morrisons, Bentley, Thorpe-in-Baine, Braithwaite, M62, Braithwaite, Hirst Courtney, Selby. Yesterday the blog wasn't complete as the phone crashed. Tonight it's threatened the same again so apologies if it does happen. There were many things that I didn't get to say, like how the fog came down over the Woodhead Pass, how wet and cold it became, how good it was to summit and get off the dangerous and exceedingly busy A57, to descend and continue descending the Upper Don Trail for a very long way at a good speed, how Michael's famous Satmap battery finally gave out after 11 hours, how very relieved we were to see the magnificent Wortley Hall as darkness was falling at 20:00 . . . . and how glad we were to get fed. Not only was the meal very good but the surroundings left us with one of the seminal moments and abiding memories of the trip. We enjoy the camaraderie of our rides and our achievements. Long may we be able to continue sharing these times together. Having said all that . . . Sod's Law came into play and when Dave woke feeling less than well he and Brian, who travel together, had to pull out. We wonder if it was the falls, there falls and out seems rather prosaic! So breakfast in the magnificent panelled dining room was a little subdued. The partial view through the wet haze gave some hope of improvement in the weather but it was raining again as we set off down the long, old carriage drive to cross the M1 and continue the march eastwards. Today’s the day we cycled past so much of Rosa’s family history. The Barnsley area was where her great grandpa Tom Utley’s family originated. Tom was Gill’s dad coincidentally born on the day Titanic set out on its maiden voyage. He would have been 100 years old Tuesday 10th April. The Utleys, and the Astills on the maternal line, arrived in the village of Elsecar in the mid 1800’s as a direct result of the industrial revolution. They were all tenants of the landowner Earl Fitzwilliam of the magnificent pile Wentworth Woodhouse. It was his coal mine enterprise that created so much local employment. In Sellars and Yateman terms Fitzwilliam was a “good Earl”! So, on the ride we have passed: the Elsecar Heritage Centre which was the mine offices and engineering workshops, a phenomenal investment by Fitzwilliam; Church Street where Tom’s parents lived, 132 Wath Road, a cottage in Reform Row where his paternal grandparents lived and the hillside now mined where his maternal grandparents were dairy farmers supplying the burgeoning mining population. The area is now massively transformed into the South Yorkshire Forest leaving little sign of its former industrial landscape. Gill and I came first here in the 60’s to see Tom’s aunt Sarah but we had no idea that we would return 30 years later when were researching her family and see it in such a different light. We felt a real connection with the area. As a tribute to the coal miners I’ve included a sound track from the Barnsley Nightingale for your delectation http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=D9UJSZKsYwM It includes a section of support from the Grimethorpe Brass Band which is mandatory in Yorkshire! Here, after another section of muddy and difficult trails around Wentworth we used the road a little to make progress. As a result we missed part of the Elsecar Greenway which turned out to be one of the best trails so far. Probably created with regeneration or EC monies. This area was a network of collieries and railways. Over much of the route down the Dearne Valley there is evidence of this but the greenery is gradually making the evidence of its industrial past. Silver birch prevail on reclaimed spoil heaps, concrete mine shaft caps poke out. Embankments and cuttings form the lifeblood of the trail and even rails still prevail in places. New fast roads and retail parks are the downside. Even we were lured by the bright lights and warmth offered by a Macdonald's diner in a moment of weakness. Will we ever recover from the experience (when I say WE I clearly mean Michael of course. You knew? Yes!). The flipside of the coin was something like the huge Ings wetland Nature Reserve and Old Moor RSPB reserve. The rivers Don and Dearne came together without us realising near the Norman Conisborough Castle and the very modern, but SHUT Earth Centre. No proper coffee fix for Michael there then! The rivers were very brown and swollen with floodwater. Tell us about it! As we arrived at Doncaster along the river bank we had to negotiate the bikes over our own fallen tree but at least out didn't fall on us like it one did on my friend Bill in Scotland last year. Ever weakened by bad weather we succumbed to bright lights again, this time of the Morrisons store in Doncaster. Yet, we were rewarded with a quite passable meal. The only downside was having to largely disrobe our wet weather gear which was so filthy. From there on the ride became a sodden and miserable affair. The slight wind was like a veritable "Dutch wall". At only 10 mph its origin in the NE meant riding into it we were doubling its speed . . . and, it was cold. Hail and rainstorms ensured we were properly wet and chilled as we passed along the wide, exposed New Junction canal towpath. At least the well made path surface was a consolation. It should have been easier today than yesterday. It is so flat in this area where South and North Yorkshire meet Nottinghamshire at the Isle of Axholme. Where physical hills are no more than bridges over railways and drainage dykes (here endeth today's geography lesson lads!). However, at the East Coast Mainline we found a level crossing that was neither manned or unmanned but womaned. When the HST125 had whistled through at over 100 mph she emerged from her Portakabin keepers hut to open the manual gates for just little old us. As there was a big plate declaring JOAN CROFT on the hut we thought we would thank Joan for her efforts but sadly that's no more than the name of the level crossing frame! #wrysmile! Because if the pancake flat terrain we discovered the route utilising the remains of a disused WWII airfield, bumpy going over broken tarmac! We could also see for miles and the sight greeting us was the plumes of white steam drifting southwards from the Drax and Ferrybridge power stations confirming that the Yorkshire coalfield is still very much alive and open for business. The last lap took us past another level crossing at Henwick Hall and yet another lonely crossing keeper who needed to pop out and give us directions. That took us direct to the b&b on Doncaster Road something our trunk of technology would easily have done (batteries willing) but without the smile. Susan at Hazeldene met us with a very welcome smile and bike washing facilities, a hosepipe with a poor flowrate, something with which we have empathy, and overnight facilities for the bikes, a shed or hut, as Michael calls it. Looked like a shed to me! Last lap for the day, kit washing and a v e r y welcome warm shower. Before eating at the Italian by the Cathedral final phone calls were made including one to Brian who could tell us Dave would live to cycle another day, good news. Tomorrow hails Rosa's first mri scan so we hope it goes well and continue to keep our fingers crossed. You Can Never Have Too Much Poetry I thought I'd finish with a short poem by Ian Macmillan, the Bard of Barnsley, who still lives in the Yorkshire pit village of Darfield that we passed. Every day you need your breakfast And Every day you need a rhyme Start the morning with a cuppa And Every morning's poem time Poetry's essential just like porridge: Poems will make you smile, not curse So I say fine.start every morning With a fine Full English Break-verse! Next stop breakfast fuel for the final day of the TPT.

TPT Day 3

2012 04 18 Wednesday AT 04:13AM THE PHONE HAS CRASHED SO I'M POSTING WHAT I CAN Fred Wyeth 92 First and foremost Happy Birthday to Uncle Fred, who is my mum’s brother-in-law. Enjoy your day. I hope I make 92 and still have your energy! As you can see, I'm working on it. Today we woke in the Altrincham Central to light rain. It then became dry as we had our breakfast but as we prepared for setting off it started again. Michael's a foodie and, therefore, a food perfectionist. He wasn't looking forward to the offering but I would say we were all quite comfortable with the simple affair. Maybe because we're all stomachs on legs when we cycle and meals have a quantity over quality angle to them. After the weather from Carol, which could have been an announcement about the onset of WWIII and I still wouldn't have noticed, the lads did say that we were in for trouble. Wet weather gear out was then from the outset. After a failed attempt to find a bike shop to replenish supplies (the one on Google had closed) we made a proper start and found our way to the point where we left off yesterday, Black Moss Lane or some such. For an hour or more we meandered along commuter buzzing country lanes then paths in woodland, all the time in the gentle wet. Eventually we arrived at the river Mersey flowing between high bund embankments, and the M60. Our route is very green where we pass along through the Chorlton Water Park, a genuine city park in the Mersey Valley of significant environmental importance. We drive past it every time we travel on the M60 to the airport. It was created in the 1970’s when sand and gravel were extracted for the construction of the motorway. Jackson’s Bridge, a p u b, is a local feature very familiar to Stephen who lived nearby in Chorlton, just as Brian did in Sale. Here we are again on familiar ground, Memory Lane. Strange goings on in CWP turned out to be an NCT gathering doing bums and tums, with green scarves aloft as we cut through the middle of their group. Then Dave took his second tumble of the jaunt. Straight into the plastic contractor's fences onto plastic pipes waiting to be buried in the ground. No damage done but nerves suitably jangled off we went again for more, much more of the same, time consuming fiddling our way through the built-up area. Route changes in Northenden then Didsbury we'd been warned of. Construction of the new tram line extensions were what they were all about and signing for them wasn't bad. Cafe Nero couldn't have been better placed right bang on the route. We stopped for our ritual coffee, today mostly with croissants, then topped up with Simply M&S sandwiches. Brian had been troubled by the failure of his new Satmap. Unresolved over breakfast it continued and eventually packed up. Back to the manufacturer with that. We do rely heavily on this new technology to guide us. These urban sections are particularly tricky. One missing or vandalised sign brings us to a committee huddle to compare our devices . . . . . boys and their toys eh?! . . . . and often it's the old technology that saves the day, yes, a m a p! It all wastes time though. More of the same terrain and non-scenery then to Stockport with its more individual features, the Co-op pyramid and record holding, brick railway viaduct, not to mention the Hatter's Museum. Town Centre behind us, more troublesome route finding in front we eventually arrived in the Reddish Vale Country Park and yet another disused railway line. Somehow the mud and meanderings were taking their toll this morning and it took a series of stops to get through and we lost Brian in the process. We were convinced he had taken the lead finding it easier to overcome his ailments by proceeding at his own speed. It was actually the opposite and after two our three miles and another to-curling kamikazi Dave, SPD induced fall (that's his third) Michael and Stephen's strip stop gave him the chance to catch up. Up to this point we had enjoyed an improvement in the weather but the strip stop put paid to that. The weather Gods took umbrage and the deterioration started. Hunger, mud, climbs and c**p signing, yes, more of the same troubles, started to fray a few nerves and to find a sheltered spot for carbs loading was a result. The fact that it was the passenger shelter on Broadbottom station was s new departure. If only the old gimmer bore hadn't turned up with 20 questions it might have worked. Blow and bother trains using stations, how inconsiderate. Suitably refreshed we tried to get the momentum going. Time was against us and so was the weather and the Pennine foothills, all sorts of deeper and deeper valleys that would produce our biggest height gain day of the ride. We'd already lost the opportunity to take a slight detour to see the blue plaque on Lowry's home in Mottram-in-Longendale, I didn't want to miss my next celebrity opportunity. Today we passed through Hadfield. This is a particularly local place with loads of local people who live locally and do lots of local things. There are local shops for local people, some selling special stuff. There’s one particular local shop for local people run by very local people AND WE STEERED VERY CLEAR OF IT! Incestuous lot they are in Royston Vasey! Ah! Yes! My references are entirely fictitious . . . of course they are. The BBC filmed their long running series of The League of Gentlemen here in the 90’s. Never watched it myself. Don’t know what all the fuss is about. Anyway, Stephen had a blow out on the final approach to Hadfield at Wooley Bridge. It was sortable but, maybe needing replacement supplies from a bike shop I looked on Google and found one on Station Road, en route. When we got there it was gone and Cafe Royston (looking pretty gone itself) had been abandoned in its place. Perfect (in my head) to mark the occasion but before I could enjoy the moment the lads were gone. The pressure was now on to get today done. The happy mood had turned desperate. The TPT route looked to start at Hatfield station. It wasn't immediately beyond the buffers but we soon found it a hundred yards further on in the form of the Longendale Trail, and we were off. Wet, puddley and properly depressing, at least it saved us the map reading and concomitant stops and starts. It was uphill though, even if very gradual. I lost my phone temporarily so ended up doing it on my own until I caught them at the old Woodhead tunnel mouth. As we passed through Penistone I listened for the Barnsley Nightingale, a rare Yorkshire bird with a particularly enchanting song. She was last sighted in Grassington in June but wasn’t apparent in her home habitat. Shame because I could watch her singing for hours totally mesmerized. Tonight we end up in Wortley. Gill and I came here in the caravan and stayed on the farm site at the entrance to Wortley Hall. It gave us access to Sheffield where we lived when I was at the Polytechnic but it also introduced us to the fabulous history of the area. As is often the case, the major industries like the steel manufacturing for which Sheffield became world famous started in a small way and are very visible along the river in the Don Valley here at Wortley miles from the city where they expanded to become Meadowhall! Wortley Hall where we are staying is unusual in that it is now operated on a co-operative basis by its owners

TPT Day2

2012 04 17 Tuesday Miles+Miriam 2 Happy Anniversary Miles and Miriam! Kerching!! and back to the action. . . Hotel Holland, that's the place to wake: sunshine and a soothing shower and sunny-side-up eggs with a full English. Thanks Jocelyn and John. You made us so welcome. However, the early start was delayed by another flat tyre, mine! Looks like the puncture repair from yesterday didn't take. Also, my spare inner tube valve wasn't fully functioning so rather than have this whole rigmarole again later on I used Stephen's spare. In the meantime, Michael took off to buy sandwiches for lunch. We anticipated being away from shops, and civilisation actually on the aptly named backside of Liverpool when we most needed victuals so it was good to be able to stock up. Finally, photoshoot with the dogs done we were off. A visit to the local bike shop failed when we found it empty but the cycle warehouse on the retail park came to our rescue for replenishing stocks. And finally, finally we were off with the wind on our tails pushing us into the arable area of Altcar (yes, as Michael pointed out, of hare coursing fame of old). The sun was up too. Our sore bits were relieved and all in the world was good. Only half an hour late, we'd made it away by 10:00. Our rendezvous with Dave and Brian wasn't jeopardised but the venue was changed and reduced our day's mileage: under the over-bridge by the sewerage works. Of course, it never is as easy a you hope. There was no access between the two. Lifting the bikes over the stone bridge parapet and scuttling down the steep embankment gave us something to do while we waited. Eventually they arrived like an old stream train puffing their way down the old Cheshire Lines railway track. (Oh, OK! I only said that because it was more literary and colourful than just saying "they arrived!" Cut a man some slack and afford him some artistic license please!) It was nice to see them and finally get going if only to get away from the lingering smell from the sewage works. What we didn't anticipate was that it wouldn't be long before we were stationary again. Dave and the errant dog did it. Michael and I were discussing hare coursing on the very field we were passing when we realised the others were missing. After a wait Brian turned up to report all was ok but Dave had crashed into the loose dog we'd just passed coming off onto his shoulder. Phew, trip to hospital averted! Aaaand, off again. The ride had finally, finally, finally got going! We passed through the arable wasteland to get to the northern end of Liverpool, the sleepy suburbs of Maghull and Aintree . . . and promptly stopped for a coffee! Worse still it was at a Frankie and Benny's on the retail park. The nice bit was sitting outside and enjoying the spring sunshine. . . not watching Dave eating his pigs in blankets! After a little confusion over the route, like, where had it gone? we rediscovered it passing through the very unwelcoming tall spiked steel railings on the industrial estate separating the sheds from the glass and litter-strewn wastes, a sign of things to come. Further confusion a mere few hundred yards further on at an Aintree junction followed by setting off the wrong way on the next part of the railway line added to our delay. Jostling with two scouse ne'er-do-wells careering up and down the cycle path on a monkey bike in a threatening manner then running the gauntlet of loitering, sullen faced schoolkids clearly up to no good added to our anticipated discomfort passing through this notoriously notorious area. At least, we could use these small stereotypical details to draw the dreadful conclusion that we wouldn't survive the day in one piece having been mugged for all out worldly goods. The perfectly timed occurrences would enable us to revel in and thoroughly enjoy the friendly warnings that acquaintances and folklore had bequeathed on us. And, above all, please don't mention Norris Green! Lovely part of the world you come from Michael!!! In fact, that was more or less it for excitement. Riding these converted disused railway line cycleways can be monotonous and repetitive. Trees, cutting, dog walker, bridge, tight-fit gateway; Trees, cutting, dog walker, bridge, tight-fit gateway; Trees, cutting, dog walker, bridge, tight-fit gateway; you get my drift. . . . We passed by a few showers shortly after they'd heavily wetted the ground and got away with the whole day without getting wet. Before we know it we arrived at the gateway to Liverpool, the John Lennon International Airport in Speke, the great Ryanair ripoff mecca and proceeded to derive great pleasure from deriding the first Ryanair plane we saw landing. Oh the satisfaction of cheap pleasures! Arriving at Speke also meant we were nearing de Maaaarsey and our lunch stop. There, I've done it again. I mean dinner break! Someone near and very dear to me is teaching me dreadfully bad southern habits and I must be strong and resist this subtle attempt at conversion. Repeat after me: I am a good and trustworthy northerner. I come in peace with my endearing northern ways. I am invincible. God is Geoffrey Boycott. Hallowed be his name. Criikkkit be his game. Owzat Dicky Bird (and we don't mean the feathered variety do we children?!) Oh . . . oh . . . oh . . . sorry, it's getting late. Did I just wake from a nightmare?! Aaaand relax. . . . . . . Now, where was I? Ah yes, the beautiful Cheshire village of Hale with it's chocolate box thatched cottages. (That should read Maaaarsaysayde village blah blah but somehow that nomenclature doesn't do it quite the same!) A (fairly) quiet country lane later and we turned down a United Utilities riverside plant access road into Pickering's Pasture Local Nature Reserve, through a fledgling woodland and stepped, or cycled rather, out into the stunningly picturesque landscape on the banks of de broad an tydal Maaaarsay: an ideal dinner stop, and so it was. The view included the Runcorn Bridge, and whilst we will cycle through under the Widnes end of the bridge it's the idea of being at Runcorn that prevails here. Runcorn, apparently also known as “Woolywood” as so many films and tv programmes have been filmed there, is the home of The Waterloo Hotel aka “The Archer” where Two Pints of Lager and a Packet of Crisps is set. I craned my neck to see it across the water but without success. It's also the home of the legendary poem by Wallace Edgar. I hope the poem is successfully reproduced below (or Google it) as I'd like you to enjoy it. It's part of who I am, my childhood. Dad had the book of Edgar's work and was as happy to put on a northern accent and mimic Stanley Holloway as I was to encourage him, mostly Mr And Mrs Ramsbottom. Truly happy days. Dinner over we muddled our way through the streets of terrace houses, past the charming waterfront Victoria Park, over the mouth of the disused St Helen's Canal onto the pretty Spike Island and the long canalside towpath route to Warrington. On and on it went, through Fiddler's Ferry and past the eponymous power station (oooooh who swallowed a dictionary?!) to the next, equally smelly sewerage works. There seems to be a theme going on here! and to the famous Manchester Shit sorry, I do hate predictive text, don't you?! Manchester Ship Canal. Today we’ve kindly been offered hospitality at the home of my good friend and ex-colleague Dave Wright and his wife Lynne; afternoon tea in Warrington’s leafy suburb of Stockton Heath. What a good lad he is for a scouser! from St Helens. So we duly called and were properly looked after. Thanks both. Lovely to see you again. The final stage comprised a short section by the Ship pp Canal and then a long section of converted disused railway to our overnight stop of Altrincham. Our OLD bodies were tiring but we gallantly managed to drag them the distance past the now pastoral landscape to the mecca of hotel accommodation, the new Travelodge Altrincham Central: a converted 60's office block in downtown Altrincham, fully functional, definitely no-frills, bit like Ryanair really. Now, did you ever see the Fascinating Aida sketch . . . . . ? Last part. We ate out Michelin star Indian cuisine tonight at Dilly. A risky strategy that Michael wheedled his way into after failing last night. As for the repercussions . . . watch this space . . . . . Trans Pennine Trail Day 2 Route: Formby to Altrincham Distance: 51miles Height gain: 1000ft Time: too many hrs Av.speed: too low mph Weather: sunshine and showers Wind: C.10mph souwesterly Route features: the Cheshire Lines cycle route, Great Altcar, Maghull, Aintree, Fazackerly, Broad Green, Woolton, Speke, Hale Village, Widnes, Spike Island, Fiddler's Ferry, Penketh, Warrington, Stockton Heath, Thelwall, Lymm, Dunham, Altrincham. THE RUNCORN FERRY a monologue by Marriot Edgar made famous by Stanley Holloway On the banks of the Mersey, o'er on Cheshire side, Lies Runcorn that's best known to fame By Transporter Bridge as takes folks over t'stream, Or else brings them back across same. In days afore Transporter Bridge were put up, A ferryboat lay in the slip, And old Ted the boatman would row folks across At per tuppence per person per trip. Now Runcorn lay over on one side of stream, And Widnes on t'other side stood, And, as nobody wanted to go either place, Well, the trade wasn't any too good. One evening, to Ted's superlative surprise, Three customers came into view: A Mr and Mrs Ramsbottom it were, And Albert, their little son, too. "How much for the three?" Mr Ramsbottom asked, As his hand to his pocket did dip. Ted said: "Same for three as it would be for one, Per tuppence per person per trip." "You're not charging tuppence for that little lad?" Said Mother, her eyes flashing wild. "Per tuppence per person per trip", answered Ted, "Per woman, per man, or per child". "Fivepence for three, that's the most that I'll pay", Said Father, "Don't waste time in talk". "Per tuppence per person per trip", answered Ted, "And them, as can't pay, 'as to walk!" "We can walk, an' all", said Father. "Come Mother, It's none so deep, weather's quite mild". So into the water the three of them stepped: The father, the mother, the child. The further they paddled, the deeper it got, But they wouldn't give in, once begun. In the spirit that's made Lancashire what she is, They'd sooner be drownded than done. Very soon, the old people were up to their necks, And the little lad clean out of sight. Said Father: "Where's Albert?" And Mother replied: "I've got hold of his hand, he's all right!" Well, just at that moment, Pa got an idea And, floundering back to old Ted, He said: "We've walked half-way. Come, tak' us the rest For half-price -- that's a penny a head." But Ted wasn't standing for none of that there, And, making an obstinate lip, "Per tuppence per person per trip", Ted replied, "Per trip, or per part of per trip". "All right, then", said Father, "let me tak' the boat, And I'll pick up the others half-way. I'll row them across, and I'll bring the boat back, And thruppence in t'bargain I'll pay". T'were money for nothing. Ted answered: "Right-ho", And Father got hold of the sculls. With the sharp end of boat towards middle of stream, He were there in a couple of pulls. He got Mother out -- it were rather a job, With the water, she weighed half a ton -- Then, pushing the oar down the side of the boat, Started fishing around for his son. When poor little Albert came up to the top, His collars were soggy and limp. And, with holding his breath at the bottom so long, His face were as red as a shrimp. Pa took them across, and he brought the boat back, And he said to old Ted on the slip: "Wilt' row me across by me'sen?" Ted said: "Aye, at per tuppence per person per trip". When they got t'other side, Father laughed fit to bust. He'd got best of bargain, you see. He'd worked it all out, and he'd got his own way, And he'd paid nobbut fivepence for three! http://monologues.co.uk/Runcorn_Ferry.htm

TPT Day 1

2012 04 16 Monday - part 2 I Here we are again. Blog time. It's 00:30 when all law abiding citizens should be in bed and fast asleep. But I'm still awake and raring to go with today's story. No surprises there then. We have has just the most enjoyable evening with John and Jocelyn. And Maeve. The girls are Michael's sisters. They are typically Irish/Liverpudlian. What a childhood Michael must have had with a house full of sisters and just him. Lucky s*d. Anyway, back to the plot. Today has been just sublime. We have has superb weather. It's been sunny in the right proportions and yet cool allowing us to sweat our way across Lancashire with no visible signs. We got off to a very good start at 10:00. We were waved off enthusiastically by Judith (what was that all about?! and Margaret is already in Cyprus!) and effortlessly (ahem!) worked our way across to Great Harwood via our local turnpike route now celebrating its 200th anniversary. Great Harwood is where we could pick up the old railway line and then the Leeds Liverpool Canal towpath to Blackburn. Sunny and uneventful. What a way to spend retirement! Best of all it was flat. To say Blackburn is depressed is an understatement. Journeying along the canal towpath is very revealing but is it different to any other regional town with it's empty shops and derelict or disused industrial buildings? Particularly in the north. But there are little rays of sunshine. One or two Victorian, brick built multi-storey mills or canal-side properties converted into flats or commercial space look great in the morning sunshine. Very inspiring. And the Graham and Brown wallpaper factory is a real confidence booster. Yes, I'm being serious! All is not lost. Michael's gastric juices needed satisfaction so we gave in to his demands and left the canal at Eanam and dropped into the Mall in Blackburn town centre for a coffee. Little did we know that he was perpetuating his reputation, according to Graham, and getting us into trouble. Bikes are NOT allowed in the Mall. The burly security men left us in no doubt yet where was Michael to take his punishment. In the John as usual!! Well, after a bit of jiggery pokey the bikes were locked up outside probably never to be seen again. Who cares? As long as there's a coffee and toasted tea cake in it! Back on track, we left Blackburn with Thwaites Brewery behind us, suitably refreshed it has to be said, and struck out west on the local roads. We soon arrived at the villages of Riley Green and Brindle. Once rat runs the roads serving them have quietened with the construction of the M65. However, we still moved off the main drag to a back lane to Leyland, and succeeded in getting views to die for. We could see from Cheshire in the south to Snowdonia in the west to the Lake District fells in the north. Oh, happy days! What a panorama. And with our local knowledge it was nice to be able to work out the features, even if they amounted to the holiday hotspots of the north west, including Blackpool Tower and the Big One! After Whittle-Le-Woods we dropped off the well quarried hill and turned towards the sea and, via Leyland discovered the New Town village of Buckshaw on the outskirts of Chorley. The redevelopment of the old Royal Ordnance Factory into estate after estate of houses and commercial premises means a very urban scene for a few miles until well-established Leyland came into view and my bike got a front tyre puncture. Soon resolved by a committee of three and my new gas pump we were free to go as we fancied provided we stick to to the route to Southport. Flat moss lands west of Leyland have created a very fertile arable area which are open to the winds. Never mind, those winds weren't too strong so we got through to the A59 and Tarleton on the flat roads fairly swiftly. Meaning? Afternoon tea, what else? Scones of course, eh Michael?! A diversion north to Hesketh Bank along the very busy local road took us away from the noisy and busy A59, but was still veritably congested with school traffic. It left us on the busy and exposed "Shore Road" through another fertile horticultural landscape. A definite for flooding if sea levels ever rise. It also pitched us into the gentle south westerly which felt so much stronger at the front. Banks, with family connections for Michael, lead to the Crossens pumping station, typical of these Dutch-type, low-lying areas, and the sewage works, typical of everywhere with habitation! A new dyke path short-cut put us on the exposed coast road to Southport pier and the start of the Trans Pennine Trail. Southport is renowned for the distance between the "beach" and the sea. Nothing has changed. Some intrepid visitors had ventured to the sea. They were tiny dots on the horizon about a mile away. I now remember why we rarely came to Southport with the kids. And then . . . and then, the, The, THE start to the TPT with a notice board declaring the significance of it all. Photos were taken. And more photos for the sake of perfection and for tweeting. Then the slog of the dune part of the coast road. So boring. So into the wind. So necessary to get to Formby for our b&b and fooood! An unexpected sign to Formby created a quandry. After the usual committee consideration Michael made an executive decision and off we went across the dunes, through the Scots Pines, across the golf course to the posh Freshfield then the not-so-posh Formby. We know our place! We were given a Royal welcome by John and Jocelyn, Michael's sister, and son Chris. They accommodated us last year before our last Coast 2 Coast and did it so well we are back! Showered and refreshed we made our way to the Cross House Inn for food and refreshment and got both in good measure topped up by a dram our two back at theirs. At this rate we will be on our knees by Friday! But it's a truism. John and Jocelyn prove without question that scouse hospitality is unbeatable. Trans Pennine Trail Day 1 Route: Read to Formby Distance: 48miles Height gain: mostly descent! Time: who knows hrs Av.speed: who cares mph Weather: fanbl***ytastic Wind: yes Route features: Great Harwoid, Leeds Liverpool Canal, Blackburn, Feniscowles, Riley Green, Brindle, Leyland, Tarleton, Hesketh Bank, Banks, Southport, TPT start Birkdale and Ainsdale dunes, Freshfield and Formby.

Administrative aberration or computer c***up?

2012 04 16 Monday Anne Blore 67 Another dawn another day: it's so beautiful outside I could shout for joy! Speaking of joy: Happy Birthday Anne! My word these blogs are going to save me loads on cards and postage! Anyway . . . . the point of this blog is by way of explanation. Last night's blog isn't what I set out. I've been rehearsing to make the process work on the smartphone. . . . .but it's so difficult. The blogspot webpage has a mind of it's own. I simply can't type on the webpage so pre-prepare it, as I am doing now with this on the touch screen of my smartphone, all nearly spaced, with text in paragraphs and with data in lists. I then use the copy and paste technique - all well tested routines. Well, last night that's when it all went pear-shaped. The text looked fine on the webpage so, feeling extravagant, I thought a photo was in order. To place the cursor in the text in readiness for dropping in a picture was my downfall. The text behaved like an errant schoolboy chasing all over the place but never still for a moment. Eventually forced to give up I thought, save and publish and sleep, that's the answer. In my wisdom I believed my own hype. But no. Had I been on the whisky I would have understood but no such luck, and the naughty schoolboy was off again. I chased the "save" interminably and eventually captured it. Corporal punishment came to mind. "Boy!" "me Sir?" "Yes Sir, you Sir. Come here" "but Sir . . . . . . . and all that caper, but no time for that luxury. Just press and "publish". . . and be damned! First the excitement, then the disappointment. All punctuation and setting out gone, just one long mass of text. Ah well! Time presses on. Temps fugit, as mum used to say. The frost's gone off the grass and there's the small matter of a bike ride top do. And, in a moment . . . I could be repeating the same scene all over again!! Wish me luck and of I put the photo I'm first maybe . . . . .

3 - 2 - 1 - bike off!

This blog covers the three day run up to our big event 2012 04 13 Friday The plan today was to get to Harrogate to join Chrissie for a party. To be able to get in some serious training was a bonus. For the best results decided to do the trip on the mountain bike. Route: Read to Harrogate Distance: 45.9miles Height gain: 3500ft Time: 4:47hrs Av.speed: 10mph Weather: fine, sunny spells and minor flurries Wind: negligible Route features: same as last time: Wheatley Lane, Barrowford, Colne, Lothersdale, Cononley, Kildwick, Silsden Moors to Ilkley, Denton, Askwith, Otley, Farnley, Lindley, Beckwithshaw, Harrogate. The day was again better than the forecast suggested. Although cool there were many sunny spells and it was essentially dry. As I set off I was really looking forward to it and was very confident as I’ve already done this route on bike and scooter so actual map reading wasn’t necessary. One of the challenges today was to map the route using the Strava phone app which uses GPS to track the journey in three dimensions. Sue Hollin reminded me about this useful feature on Twitter. I also wanted to test Tweeting frequently and sending photos and I knew this meant the phone battery consumption would be flattened. To keep the phone going I took the Pebble battery Alan bought me. It would be its first major test. I also strapped my memory-map gizmo on the bike for the first time to follow the OS map all through the journey. Altogether today would be a veritable technology test let alone another trial for my old bod! The journey went very well. According to the stats I was on the road over 6 hours but that included about 72 minutes of breaks. Almost every time I stopped I ate; little and often this time was the recipe and I knew I’d feel better for it. In truth I tweeted 12 times (so that is an average of 6 minutes per stop) and accompanied each tweet with one photo and by and large they went first time but I think I need to time stamp each tweet in future in case they appear in the wrong order. Only something else to remember! Of the photos the one of the Aire Valley was the most picturesque and seasonal. Steady away and the ride was fairly uneventful. Glad to get to Chrissie’s around 17:30 and had to shower immediately to be out and down town to the restaurant. We walked there and back and had a lovely evening. 2012 04 14 Saturday After breakfast I loaded my bike in the car and off we went to Colne for Titanic commemorations. Our afternoon trip was to be a bag of chips and a look at Wallace Hartley’s memorial and we would return in the evening. Wallace was born and bred in Colne and became the bandmaster on the ill-fated Titanic and reputedly was still playing his violin and leading the small band as the liner went down. It was sunny and quite beautiful as we read the history board. A stroll up Albert Road for Chrissie to see the Hippodrome and Colne centre led to the discovery of the Titanic Museum in the upper room of Old Grammar School beside the church. It was 15:20 when we arrived and the entry was free at that point because the museum was to close early. At 15:45 the staff attended the laying of commemorative wreaths at Wallace’s Memorial outside the former Carnegie Library, now a Baptist Church. We enjoyed our brief visit. It was enough for us to get a flavour. We then decided on the spur of the moment to go into Wetherspoons “The Wallace Hartley” for a drink instead of wasting time going home only to return for the films we were booked into. The joy of the pub today in particular was the bunting signal flags, although I’m not sure what they were saying. Also the beers were excellent. They included several from the Titanic Brewery in Stoke, not least the Captain Smith and my dark malt ale which was amusingly named Black Ice! The Grand National was on the tv and there was a lot of excitement but I can only tell you that a horse won and a girl came third on a fish, a Seabass. Should I have been paying more attention rather than tweeting about the beers to my newfound beer aficionados on Twitter! I don’t think so. A middle aged couple came in and we ended up in banter conversation with them and a very pleasant time was had. In the end the clock was marching against us and, needing something to eat we descended the hill to Carlos for a pizza and a pasta before the films. We had a look at the wreaths while we were down there. Quite touching. Chrissie was very impressed with The Hippodrome, rightly so as it’s well restored and a neat, small scale period theatre/cinema opened in 1914. She’d brought her cushion along and was comfortable for the performances. There two films. The main film was the 1958 British Classic “A Night To Remember” with Kenneth More. We both enjoyed it and felt it was better than the modern version. In black and white it had an authenticity and wasn’t over-played like the Hollywood films. The following biopic made locally told the story of Wallace Hartley and was almost a typical B film to accompany the A film like it was when we were young. We enjoyed that too plus the company of the very elderly charming Barlick couple behind us who recalled being in that same cinema in the 1960’s. Curiously, the funeral of Wallace was huge, akin to a state funeral with over 40,000 in attendance. Clearly he was seen as something of a hero. The whole day was a splendid way to remember the Titanic and gave the story a real human element seeing it with knowledge of at least one of those on board. We thoroughly enjoyed our day out in Colne and Chrissie vowed we will return, particularly to the Hippodrome. I can’t wait for the Blues festival personally. Back home we needed a fire before watching dvd’s supplied by Shirley of The Real Emmerdale filmed in 2006. It was a fascinating trio of programmes telling the story of the cruck barn constructed that year by the Ainsworths to form an extension to The Craven Arms in Appletreewick. It is specially built of traditional materials and using vernacular techniques. The Craven is very close to my heart as this is where Tom and Cora had their wedding reception in 1940 connecting us to the place for over 70 years. Other stories on the series were of Roy Nelson and Joan Leverton both being friends of Gill’s and mine in the 60’s. And finally . . . 2012 04 15 Sunday The sun was out again and the day ahead was taken up with minimising my packing for the bike ride starting tomorrow. All the tasks needed to get ready took me up to the wire but I got most of it done by midnight. Amazingly, when I picked up my hotmail.fr emails I found that over £100 had been donated yesterday to my JustGiving. Marian’s mentioning the blog to her friends on Facebook had quite an effect. Thank you to everyone that has donated. Managed to load my Friday ride onto the Strava website and was very pleased with the outcome bearing in mind I was on my mountain bike and carrying a rucsac for the party. Bed now in the hope of getting a few hours sleep ready for tomorrow’s ride to Formby.

Bloody Training

The plan that had evolved for today, Wednesday 11th was to give blood at Haslingden; to cycle there on the Brompton as a bit of a training run, leave enough time for recovery, give blood, have a leisurely brew then cycle downhill to Rawtenstall and catch the bus back to Burnley then the bus to Read. That way I wasn’t likely to fall off my bike!

The bike trip was very uphill. The steep bits are a struggle on the Brompton with its 3 speed Sturmey Archer limiting gear choices. The hill up through Altham Industrial Estate to the canal is deceptively pernicious and I was standing on the pedals which is not me anymore. It’s always good to get past the site of the old Huncoat Power Station up onto the wide flat main road but even the surface of that is poor now, no surprises there then. In Accy I crossed the town centre and picked up NCN6 the Hyndburn Greenway, all new to me. The first stretch is an office workers’ lunch break paradise. The cycleway passes the disused Globe Works mill lodge and the large stilts that once supported the railway line to Manchester over the lodge. The history in this immediate area is world history. The remnant of the original mill is now a swish office block. Platts as I knew the mill when I came to Lancashire or Howard and Bullough’s as it was previously, was the largest textile machinery factory in the world making power looms, the famous Lancashire looms. The factory was run by the Bullough family, who became very rich and a local legend, philanthropists too. They had their own yacht, ran a fleet of Rolls Royce cars and owned the remote Scottish Isle of Rum and there is quite a story about their excesses in Edwardian times . . . . . ! There’s nowt as queer as folk.

Back to the old railway cycleway and more climbing. Overall, from the River Calder low point to the high point at Haslingden it’s at least a 600 feet climb. The route is very sylvan now. You’d hardly know you were passing through the south side of Accrington, a real contrast of housing juxtaposed: very poor terraces at Woodnook and expensive, desirable detacheds up the hill around Howarth Art Gallery above the valley cycleway. Being the old railway it means a steady shallow gradient and that makes the climb more manageable. Onwards and upwards to Baxenden then along a short section of main road past Holland’s Pie works ooooooh! at Rising Bridge and on to Haslingden, a total of 11 miles.

Eventually I arrived at the donor session at The Community Link on Bury Road. It was very busy and that didn’t auger well for my turnaround. However, I did need the rest and, once reassured that I would be bled, I got a sugary brew and a pint of water and squeezed onto the last chair in the waiting room and settled in to await my callup. At least it gave me time to go on Twitter and tweet. I enjoy the challenge of using the 140 characters to good effect.

I knew from the start that it would be over an hour's wait. In the end I was the last. Almost everyone else has an appointment but not for me a fixed time and place. I never know where I’ll be so, when my four months wait between sessions are up I pick and chose between over six donor venues in NE Lancashire to get to the most convenient as soon as it’s practicable and then go on spec. According to the girls today that means I see three separate teams of donor staff! Anyway, some good news. At my donor interview I learned that I can speed up the pace of my donations. The scientists have decreed that male donors need wait no longer than 12 weeks between donations. That means at 84 pints today I should get to my 100 gong by the age of 65. Fantastic, after 43 years! But will I retire then? Doubtful as I can carry on until I’m 70 and I’d love to see how many pints I can give before I’m told to stop.

Eventually I was the last in the session at the drinks table taking my time to make sure I was stable. The plaster wasn’t leaking so my release was approved and away I went on the bike downhill all the way to the bus in Rawtenstall. And then I couldn’t find the bus stop! They've moved it because they’re demolishing the terribly grim 60’s town centre shopping centre next to it! Help! Bad signing! Eventually I got to the bus waiting by Asda and the rest was uneventful except . . . after the Burnley change I nearly missed the final connection in Padiham because I took the risk of buying milk at the Co-op. Anyway, I did it! And it took five hours door to door. Good job I’m a pensioner.

Looking back on the day I realise that my life and way of doing things might appear eccentric. Noooo, I hear you say but yeeees, it has been said! Yet, the juggling is my sort of crossword or Soduku. I love the challenge of achieving a journey without the car and without environmental impact or cost implications particularly if I am volunteering my time or services. Yet, I love being outdoors, in any weather it seems. I love the exercis and its benefits. I love discovering new places and after 40 years this summer in Lancashire I can still find new nooks and crannies and more history. Industrial archeology is my favourite and the north takes the prize for that. And then there’s just communing with nature . . . and being alive . . . It’s a win win life in many ways.

One of the tools that makes it all possible is the smartphone with its maps and internet access for bus timetables and social networks and texting and diary and Word document and music for passing the time and camera and . . OMG how did I ever manage before?!

When I got home look who had come to see me . .

 . . #lifesgood as they write on Twitter.

So, another ride done, the main event for Rosa and CLIC Sargent starts on Monday. For those interested our itinerary is scheduled as

Monday 16th Read to Formby via the Trans Pennine Trail start line at Southport
Tuesday 17th Formby to Altrincham
Wednesday 18th Altrincham to Wortley
Thursday 19th Wortley to Selby
Friday 20th Selby to Hornsea and the finish line of the Trans Pennine Trail
I shall then be cycling solo roughly as follows
Saturday 21st Hornsea to York
Sunday 22nd York to Harrogate
Monday 23rd Harrogate to Read Hooray! End of! Time to count the pennies! . . .

. . . and a huge thank you to the generosity of all who've been on JustGiving. CLIC Sargent, Marian, Carl and I all really appreciate the support given.