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.
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
Route:
Distance: 52miles
Height gain: 3130feet
Time: 4hrs45
Av.speed: 11mph
Weather: cloudy but mostly dry
Wind: gentle westerly breeze
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.
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