Monday 14th March 2022
Regular readers will be aware that I primarily use Facebook to record a blog of cycle tours that I’ve enjoyed. (I’m not interested in what irregular readers may be aware of, and I’ve no desire to find out) Although I’ve not been on any tours recently, I’ve enjoyed some rides which deserve some recognition, so here’s some verbiage and a few snaps to add to the collective stream of consciousness that appears in Social Media.
In the winter, I usually need a reason to get out on the bike. In warm, sunny weather, I’ve no problem, but when it’s cold or wet (or both), I need motivation and I find this through data and maps. (Yeah, I know, sad, aren’t I?) This year, I am continuing my quest to explore places I haven’t yet cycled and, as a side project, I’m also ticking off English counties that I’ve visited on a bike. Not the unitary councils, mind, just the ceremonial counties plus the Metropolitan ones. My game, my rules.
That’s why I planned a trip at the end of January to visit the peninsular South of Morecambe to tick off some more Veloviewer tiles (If you’ve forgotten, see my post from 14th August last year). The weather was cold and sunny so I packed my bike in the car and set off early. When I arrived I discovered that I had everything I needed apart from a pair of gloves! It was about 3°C so this was a bad mistake. I saw four choices: a) head back home and abandon the ride; b) return home to retrieve the gloves and try again; c) try and find a shop & buy some more; d) go for a ride anyway. Being a hard Northerner, I opted for the latter. Another mistake. After 15 miles, I could hardly feel my hands so couldn’t brake or change gear, so I headed home disappointed.
By chance, an opportunity arose to try again a few weeks later when I was invited to accompany a long-lost school friend on a ride in that same area. I jumped at the chance, despite the fact that he had a mountain bike and I was on a steel tourer with mudguards. This time we set off from Glasson Dock and headed up the coastal gravel path to Lancaster and then meandered on country lanes down to Sunderland Point and Middleton Sands. It’s lovely round there; quiet and scenic, and since the tide times were favourable, we managed to ride across the causeway to the furthest point.
Lunch was taken in an enclosed area by Sambo’s grave where we sheltered from the wind and pondered the sad fate of the grave’s occupant who died in the early 18th century.
We opted to take the canal back and this was where the MTB came into its own. The surface was alternately very bumpy rocks and very slippery mud. Oh, and we had a 25mph headwind too. Thankfully, my non-suspension bike coped with all the rattling, but I’m not sure about my fillings. But I managed to collect a further 23 difficult-to-get tiles, so that’s all good. And of course, it was great catching up with my former school friend after 40-odd years.
If you would like to see a video that Michael shot whilst on the ride, click here.
The idea for today’s excursion was hatched in early January after I watched a TV series called Stay Close which was filmed locally. Locations included the Silver Jubilee Bridge at Widnes, Blackpool, the woods above Brinscall, a nightclub in Formby and The Dream sculpture in St Helens. I’d never seen the latter before, but it looked fascinating, so I checked out where and what it was. It seems it was built on the site of the old Sutton Manor colliery and sits in a landscaped park which was formerly a slag heap. The colliery was opened in 1906 and was declared unviable and closed in 1991. The Catalan artist Jaume Plensa was selected to design the sculpture which was opened in 2009. I knew that I had to visit it just like I had to visit the Angel of the North and the Kelpies.
The route to St Helens was more urban than I like (hence why I’ve never been that way before) but it filled in quite a few tiles in that area. Eating my butties in the beautiful sunshine at the foot of the 20m statue was very special even though I had to share it with dog-walkers (the place, not my butties). Why’s it taken me so long to visit it, if the idea was hatched in January? I hear you ask. Well, each time I was free, the weather was raining or snowing or blowing a hoolie which rather put me off. I don’t mind the wind, as long as it’s blowing me back home, and today was the first southerly wind we’ve had for ages.
Next week I’m away cat-sitting in Hazel Grove for a few days, so watch out for some tales from South Manchester/ Derbyshire.
Is this post too long, you reckon? Well, in the words of Les Glover (one of my favourite songwriters), “if you don’t like it, well, I don’t care, you see; I didn’t do it for you, I did it for me.” But if you enjoyed it, that’s great.
This is the track in question. (2.5 minutes in) I think you need to have Spotify to hear it.
Wednesday 23rd March
Cat sitting is great. The pay’s lousy (for me), but I get to stay in a different part of the country where I can eat someone else’s food and stroke their cat. What’s not to like?
Hazel Grove is Southeast of Stockport and very close to the Peak District National park and the many hills of Cheshire East and Staffordshire Moorlands and so is perfect for cycling. Today, however, I decided to travel Southwest into the Cheshire Plains. On the road I met dozens of other cyclists and a surprising number of blonde women driving open-topped sports cars. I’m not sure whether these two events are connected, but the warm, sunny weather is probably a causal link.
The roads were generally quiet, and almost all of them boasted thousands of daffodils lining the verges. I was almost moved to poetry.
My route took me through Styal, close to Manchester airport, and this is where I had the biggest fright of the day. I was cycling along a fairly busy road, with traffic noise drowning out the birdsong when suddenly it went dark and a whopping great thing swept up the road in front of me, accompanied instantaneously by a huge noise. Only then did I notice the Qatar airways jet on its final approach just a few feet above my head. It only appeared to be going very slowly in the air, but the massive shadow overtaking me at about 180 mph (in a 30 limit, too!) certainly made me jump.
The rest of the ride was more relaxed as I meandered through the countryside at a gentle pace. All was most pleasant until I reached Poynton. Some of you may be familiar with the village (if that’s what it is), but in my opinion, it’s rather up itself. It appears to be trying to compete with Alderley Edge or Prestbury in attracting footballers (and their wives). For the last decade, it has been noted for having a ‘shared space’ main street which is a death trap to cyclists. No-one officially has the right of way, but I find that drivers of Range Rovers seem to assume rather more ‘rights’ than me. Which is why I try to avoid the area given the chance.
Sadly, the alternative route is a pot-hole-strewn alley which runs for about a mile to the East of the village past some seriously expensive properties. Part of it is beautifully surfaced, whilst other bits really need a full-suspension mountain bike. The main annoyance is that these two surfaces swap over about every 200 yards! So one minute you’re zipping along nicely, then next you’re being thrown around like you’re on a bucking bronco. My cycle app insists that this route is preferable to the main street, and on balance I may just agree but I just can’t understand when the good residents of this street don’t just club together and pay to have the road properly surfaced. I suppose they don’t notice the craters in their 4x4s. Oh yes, and another thing. The council (or someone) has seen fit to install a couple of speed bumps at the top end of the approach! Why???
Tomorrow I’m heading North to the badlands of Hyde and Denton, taking in part of the Trans Pennine Trail. Previously I’ve had cause to grumble about the surface on that trail, but after Poynton, it’ll probably feel like a velodrome.
Thursday 24th March
Today was a mixed sort of day, where I found myself variously in very remote and hilly parts of Greater Manchester, riding the Trans Pennine Trail (TPT) alongside the River Tame and cycling through the centre of Stockport. Oddly enough, each element was surprisingly enjoyable.
I set off at 8:30 to travel 18 miles to meet a friend at 10am. Straightforward, you might think. But if so, then you’re not thinking like me. I wanted to tick off a few more elusive Veloviewer tiles and so the route I planned a week or so ago was rather circuitous. It was also extremely hilly, a point which I should have noted and taken into account when thinking of the timing. I’d deliberately avoided one of the climbs on the route since it’s in Simon Warren’s Northwest Greatest Cycling Climbs book (and I’d done it twice before on a lightweight bike). The trouble was, my alternative route found a hill I don’t think even Simon knew about!
It didn’t help my timing when my route took me out and back for just 1/4 mile to bag another tile, a fact which I had inconveniently forgotten. The short diversion was downhill, and the exhilarating descent and wind noise meant that I never heard my GPS go ‘biddely-beep’ which it does when I go off course. I’d descended the hill and climbed halfway up the next one before I realised, thus adding a couple of miles to the journey, and an additional 100 metres of ascent! I had to come clean and admit to Michael that I’d gone wrong – there was no chance of making up the extra 15 minutes or so in the time I had left.
We met at a butty van in a layby at the end of the M67 (where the queue starts for the 4-mile drive into Glossop). The lady running the van was a real character, singing along with the radio at full voice. She made a decent brew, though. Cheap too.
We rode West along the TPT up to Reddish Vale, just inside the M60, where we had a snack before riding back. The surface was generally better than Poynton, but some bits were a bit sketchy for a road bike. I managed, though.
I always like to plan my return route via different roads, so I decided to head back through Stockport and this time my cycling app did me proud. Not only did it find a very safe and more direct route home, it also managed to get me a tailwind for the journey and I popped out in Hazel Grove not really knowing how I’d got there. That’s a drawback of not taking charge and planning the route myself.
Buxton tomorrow, but that’ll include a 30-minute car journey first. That way I can get another 3 hours cycling in the beautiful Derbyshire Dales without the hassle of having to cycle there.
Friday 25th March
Derbyshire’s really hilly. Just want to put that out there. It’s not mountainous like the Lake District or Wales, but there are no flat bits. Not that I’ve found, anyway. Which is why today I managed, over quite a modest mileage, to ascend well over a mile in vertical height. And my legs know about it. I thoroughly enjoyed the scenery and the sunshine. (I should mention here that yesterday morning my heart sank when I reached for the sun cream (yes, my fair complexion demands I use it even at this time of year) only to pull out of my wash bag a tube of travel wash! They’re a similar tube size and colour, but thankfully a deeper search of my bag revealed that it contained sun cream as well as travel wash, not instead of.)
I’ve been very lucky with the weather so far: every day has been sunny and warm for March. Although seeing 7 topless young men on mountain bikes before 10am in Buxton this morning was unexpected. And foolhardy, I thought, but perhaps that’s just me showing my age.
I initially visited the hamlet of King Sterndale for no other reason than it exists. I’ve visited Earl Sterndale before and liked it, but oddly, its apparently higher-ranking neighbour appears to have less going for it, with a population of just 133 (in 2011). It has a pretty church and a wonderful moss-covered wall which I suspect if you crashed into it would simply buff up your paintwork without doing any damage.
There were very few vehicles on the route I took, apart from in Youlgreave where I encountered a very large traffic jam. I sneaked to the front (as you can on a bike) to find the cause was a Transit van towing a very wide caravan trying to negotiate lanes not designed for it. There was no getting past it, so it dictated my speed until it turned off into a caravan site. (I didn’t check the gender of the driver, Roy, so let’s just leave it ambiguous. Or androgynous)
I found a nice bench upon which to eat my butties, but later on in Bakewell, I indulged in a wonderful cream tea, with butter, jam AND clotted cream! (I’ll take an extra statin tablet tomorrow morning to compensate for the cholesterol overload).
Upon leaving Bakewell, I even discovered (entirely by chance) that I’d cycled up another 100 climbs hill, this time from the Midlands region. So that pleased me.
Reinvigorated after the scone and cream, I headed North passing through Eyam which was packed with tourists, none of whom were wearing masks. I’d have thought that here, of all places, they’d have worn them.
I’ve cycled in Derbyshire quite a lot, preferring it much more than the Lakes (too many tourists in cars), North Wales (too many REALLY big hills and too few roads). Derbyshire’s compact with open views everywhere you look and pretty villages every few miles. Which is why I’ll probably keep returning to find yet more hidden gems, but tomorrow, I’m heading into West Yorkshire on a short ride starting in Todmorden. Details to follow.
Saturday 26th March
I first visited Hebden Bridge when I was a teenager for no better reason than my Ordnance Survey map showed that the steep, narrow valley contained a river, a canal, a railway and a couple of roads and I wanted to see how they all fitted together. So like you do when you’re 15, I jumped on my bike and went off to see. (They all fit quite easily as it happens)
I was in the town again this morning, drawn once more by those closely packed contours, but this time because they have caused two “100 greatest cycling climbs” to start from Hebden Bridge. It wasn’t easy to do both on the same day: I had to do a loop to bag them both. I think I also managed to snag an unplanned one on the route to Colne, so I reckon I can tick off another three from the Yorkshire volume, as long as Garmin recorded them properly. I really hope so, ‘cos I’d hate to have to do any of them again. The shortest one to Heptonstall was already hard, and then at the steepest bit, the road became cobbled! That Simon Warren certainly knows how to turn the screw.
I continued over the moors past Colne to Foulridge before heading back, partly on the Leeds – Liverpool canal to Burnley before taking the Long Causeway all the way up to Todmorden. All the effort of climbing for about 9 miles up this road was undone in a one mile descent down a stupidly steep road into Todmorden where I’d parked.
Why Todmorden? Well the lead singer of a band I follow (Harp & a Monkey) is also an historian and he’s written a book about the Gallipoli Oak, and this afternoon he gave a talk about it since it is now the centenary of its planting. See the details here:
(TLDR: See the poster at the end of the photos below)
It was a fascinating presentation, enhanced by the band giving a live performance of some of their songs which are relevant to the period.
Tired now, so the cat and I are having an early night with a pint of beer. (Actually, it’s only me for the beer)