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