London to Brighton for Rosa . . on a Brompton

2012 09 16 Sunday

At last, the day of the London to Brighton charity bike ride has arrived. It all started in February when Rosa’s neuroblastoma cancer was diagnosed and I took up the cudgel to raise funds for the charity that gave us practical support: CLIC Sargent. But we’ve come a long way since then so I’ll update on Rosa first then blog the ride.

Rosa shows no signs of her ordeal for which I am so grateful. She never did really. The medical tests and the operation to remove the tumour were the bits that caused her grief. Six months on she’s a normal three year old. She’s completed her first week at nursery school and is loving it. Attending each day with her friend Joey she’s oblivious to the tears that afflict so many in the first days of their new school. In her Royal blue and yellow uniform with her red hair scraped back off her face she looks so beautiful and grown up. Rosa strongly resembles her granny Gill, who would have been 66 today, and her great grandma, Gill’s mum Cora and I’m glad of that legacy. I’m also glad her flaming red hair contrasts beautifully with her uniform. Lucky! That’s one thing a schoolgirl can only hope for.

CLIC Sargent Fundraiser Part 1 was in April when, with a little help from my friends I walked out of the door at home and cycled the Trans Pennine Trail, and back home again to increase the challenge, over 400 miles in total. The daily blogs below describe that journey. Now, I’m off again, on my own this time on CLIC Sargent Fundraiser Part 2. Strictly, this is a dream I’ve grown up with from my first viewing of the legendary film Genevieve. But now it’s a romantic interlude, of a 1950’s idyll rather than the Kenneth More and Kay Kendall variety! There the similarity ends. This London to Brighton cycle ride is a one day event organised by DOITforcharity.com. It follows a largely back road route over 54 miles of the Surrey and Sussex Downs and Weald. And let’s hope the analogy isn’t rekindled by my breakdown somewhere en-route!   

Planning to cycle the event on one of my standard bikes would have involved a great deal of additional work. The intention was to use the L2B opportunity to stay over for a few days with Rosa and family. For many reasons I mostly travel to London by bus and trains now so, the answer was very simple: to do it on my folding Brompton which is like a suitcase, both bus and train friendly. Its three speed Sturmey Archer gears are restrictive but, with some training ride preparation, I feel ready and I can always walk up severe hills if I have to!

And so it was, I travelled down from Lancashire yesterday and need an early start today to register at Streatham before the 09:00 deadline.

Alarm set for 05:00 I pre-empted it and was out of the house by 05:30 cycling the three miles to Heathrow Terminal 5 to catch the first underground train of the day at 06:05. Unbelievably, half a mile into my first leg and I was thwarted by closure of Sutton Lane at the M4 bridge for the recovery of a vehicle. Significant traffic round and about amounted to postal workers changing shift and it was one of them walking home that alerted me to the problem ahead, a serious crash in the early hours. Good job I knew my bearings from "playing out" in Langley. It would mean a longer journey but was the quickest alternative, diverting westwards to the corkscrew-ramped pedestrian overbridge to the Honda roundabout. I reassured myself that I was early enough to be able to miss the first train and still be at Streatham for registration before 09:00. Who needs pressure?!

It was seriously dark but my new lightweight bike light regime was working well: a 1 watt headtorch and the tiny but powerful seat stem back light birthday present.

I made Heathrow very easily following the Colnbrook/ Poyle route I've become familiar with this year during the Olympics. It was still dark when I arrived at Terminal 5 and, while I thought I knew where I was I couldn't find the entrance to the Underground Station. Eventually I realised I was disorientated because I’ve only arrived by train and never departed like today. Terminal 5 and Heathrow generally is quite something, very impressive, but big. So much so it has even become a “day out” for our family. There’s nothing quite like seeing the planes and riding the automatic pods and trains for amusing the grandchildren . . . and me, but I must concentrate. I’m only passing through this morning!

Following freely offered advice about the location of the down escalators to the Station the dash to the platform resumed! Who said southerners were unhelpful! Panic! The train was pulling in as I tried to retrieve my Oyster Card to open the barriers. It was buried in my upside down bag, under the truly squashed banana. Would I? Wouldn't I? With one minute to spare I did.

As I fell into my seat my phone went with a text. It was from my girl . . and, at 06:05 that’s dedicated support. It set me off with a spring in my step.

As I was sitting on the train thinking about the next step I was glad of the early start. I'd not reviewed the journey properly. I thought I needed to change for Waterloo but had totally forgotten my pre-purchased ticket was from Victoria. A quick look at the paperwork revealed the error. I found I needed to change trains and cycle from Sloane Square to Victoria.

Considering the early hour on a Sunday morning I thought it was very busy. Lots of people on the Underground and milling about Victoria station when I arrived there including a host of cyclists on the same train. Not long now. Only a short ride from Streatham Common station to the start. By now dawn had broken and the day had started very grey and cool.

Discovering the time of my arrival at Sainsbury's was 07:50 and finding the queue of cyclists waiting to register was out onto the main road I was relieved I wasn’t any later. There was an inevitable delay while everyone was processed and I lost 40 minutes. Unbelievably, by the time I came back out of Sainsbury’s car park at 08:30 the queue was over a quarter of a mile longer.   

Bearing the number 2741 I was off, following the orange marker arrows as instructed. Even without the orange arrows we could have managed by following the plethora of rider numbers stuck to the road. In the absence of pins they were falling like flies.

The weather continued grey and cool so I left my trademark dayglow orange windjammer on but I would want to remove it at some point to display the CLIC shirt I was wearing.

Oh boy, was it good to get going! The initial terrain was very suburban, residential streets with traffic bumps, then a main road or two. After about 5 miles it eventually became a leafy uphill lane that arrived in Chipstead. Many cyclists were walking up the hill so I felt quite good staying on the Brompton and exerting myself to get it the top. At the summit many were taking a rest on the Green. As I took a celebratory photo one of two three-man trandems reminiscent of the Goodies that I’d overtaken on the hill summitted. Now, that did look hard work. The reward for our efforts was the long downhill on the other side. It was the first of many. (to be continued)

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