The Tour De Yorkshire
Road Bike Ride
Oz, Simon W., Dom, Pete, Jamie, Adam plus a supporting cast.
Today I went undercover, slipping into my road biker disguise so I could infiltrate The Cafe Racers, that bunch of anorexic Lycra fetishist's who (very) occasionally drag their bikes from the warmth of kitchens and garages, entrusting their precious steeds to the harsh vagaries of weather and unsympathetic road surfacing. It’s rumoured the word Tarmac still may not to be uttered in the presence of The Chairman, after some careless road workers engineered a plot to splash his bike with hot bitumen. Today we are riding out into North Yorkshire to spectate at the first day of the inaugural Tour Of Yorkshire, which goes from Bridlington to Scarborough by a circuitous route, avoiding the obvious attraction of local test piece, Chimney Bank. Apparently, it would have made the professional cyclists too tired, too early and spoilt the race.
Fast forward to half a dozen Mamils and lycra louts congregating in a Yarm cul de sac, eager to see what Wiggins, Voekler, Kittel et al make of our local pedaling grounds. To be honest, some of us were more eager for the brunch stop at Glebe Cottage. After the usual faffing and group photography, we hit the road and pedalled steadily to Kildale, many other groups of cyclists seemed to have copied our idea and the closer we got to Kildale, more like minded folk thronged the country lanes. And the cafe, unfortunately. Colin and Heather were coping admirably, before too long we were coffee and caked up, remounted and struggling up the first hill of the day, the less than gentle qualifier on the road to Commondale. Regrouped at Commondale, we waited for the most senior rider to catch up before pressing on to Castleton. Perhaps it was the urgency of knowing we had a time constraint to reach our viewing point, or else find ourselves riding head first into the oncoming peloton but our own peloton, now swelled with the addition of friends and colleagues, fell to pieces. The breakaway group, a la tete de la course, led by Jamie and Peter, missed the turn off to Ainthorpe and were speeding towards Whitby until a timely phone call reversed them. The Lantern Rouge, a colleague of Dom's, disappeared completely and was never seen again. A tactical move by this Terra Trailblazer as The Chairman and other Cafe Racers yet again voided their peanut sized bladders, meant I was first up the New Way climb and technically king of the mountains but the rules of The despot Chairman don’t recognize first past the post, robbing the true leader by using fastest time instead.
Parked cars lined the road from Rosedale Head and down into Rosedale Abbey, disgorging chubsters with DSLR's, all intent on catching a glimpse of someone famous. We regrouped near the top and The Chairman redeemed himself by producing a gas stove and pans, knocking up bacon sandwiches for all. The essential equipment had been kindly brought up in the car by his better half, along with our warm clothes, which were very essential, although now the first day of May, the wind was still blowing from February; it was snowing on us not a mile from this spot two days ago. Bellies filled, down jackets donned, we waited for the peloton to whizz past and waited a bit longer, every police motorbike in North Yorkshire appeared to have turned out, or maybe it was the same ones riding in a big loop, they passed, lights flashing, occasionally sounding their sirens to see how many cardiac arrests they could induce in unsuspecting spectators. Then some cars came, more police motorbikes, some other motorbikes, camera operators riding pillion, then a lone cyclist, quietly pedalling away as if it was a Sunday afternoon cafe ride, some more cars and motorbikes went by heralding an echelon of Team Sky riders spread across the road, the remainder of the peloton behind them. All the spectators looking for famous faces but cheered and clapped anyone on a bike. The riders, having just finished a KOM stage lower down, were, what can only be described as, ambling along, not exactly chatting amongst themselves but definitely lacking any sense of urgency. Sir Bradley Wiggins came past, looking quite bored by the whole business, he probably realised he was passing through a fantastic mountain biking area and was missing out on descending the Glaisdale Corkscrew or seeing where I broke my collarbone on The Rosedale Round.
A few stragglers came through and it was all over. Bunches of enthusiastic amateurs followed the route, we reluctantly shed our extra clothing and set off in the opposite direction, down a congested road into Rosedale Abbey, where a party atmosphere was in evidence, particularly for the person who was charging £3 a go for parking in his field. No party atmosphere for us, our major challenge of the day loomed - Heygate Bank, not as harsh as The Chimney on the opposite side of the valley but still steep enough to engender some heavy breathing. Alright, it was worse than that but thankfully not too long. From the summit, some pleasant moor top riding took us to Glaisdale Rigg, then the downhill plummet to the hamlet of Street in Fryupdale. Parts of this road are like falling off a cliff, riding down was not a glorious freewheeling blast, more a buttock-clenching, brake-squeezing crawl. Impressed with our efforts, the weather Gods began to look upon us favourably, dropping the wind and introducing some meagre warmth into the sunshine. Pressing on through Ainthorpe again, we returned to Castleton for a late afternoon coffee stop before the haul up the road out of the village, which was the point, owing to some tardiness on my part setting off from the cafe, I was abandoned by the peloton. The most senior member who ought to be cosseted and protected, abandoned in the wilds of North Yorkshire, left to the mercy of wolves and bears or more likely, white van men and chavs in little cars with exhaust’s like flues. Several miles later I rejoined them somewhere beyond Kildale, as they indulged in another group hedgerow watering session.
Some mention ought to be made here of The Chairman’s system for breaking the monotony of road riding, based on KOM’s and intermediate sprints as in a professional race.It must be pointed out that his system shows a disitinct bias in favour of cycling cheats, those who rely on artifical aids such as training and diet to help achieve their goals. However during one sprint he found himself being overtaken by someone whose body fat levels actually exceed that of a prepubescent girl and was so shocked he rode into the grass verge. The remainder of the ride continued at a more leisurely pace, through Great Ayton and back to Yarm via one more, somewhat unwelcome, bank, which proved a little trying after more than seventy miles.
Returning to Dom’s cul de sac eight and a half hours after leaving, we basked in the satisfied glow of a most enjoyable day before cooling sweat sent us home in search of hot showers and cold beer - not necessarily in that order.
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