Terra Trailblazers: Riding AB

Riding AB

It's not as though we haven't been riding since we don't have The Pensioner whizzing by on his electric bike anymore, we have and it's not been possible to shake him off; every muddy track, steep climb or wrong turn is accompanied by an inner dialogue of profane grumbling, berating the route planner or the weather conditions. Rides still end at a cafe from his approved list, which makes Michelin or Egon Ronay look lenient; surly staff, incorrect menus, poor quality tea bags, extortionate pricing, sticky tables, gritty tables (despite depositing the grit himself), insufficient lighting and, worst of all - the dribbling tea pot. Any of these could see a cafe perfunctorily dismissed, never for us to darken its doors or drip mud onto its floors.

Every ride is filled with memories, what would Bob (The Pensioner’s Sunday name) think of this track, last time we rode down here Bob was with us, the service in here is a bit slow, he'll be moaning in a minute, is there a pot of water with the tea?

The hour long phone calls following my shift cycle as we planned rides for the forthcoming days off, or he related tales of his “little adventures”, invariably involving many miles of driving at the mercy of his sentient sat nav, which was determined to show him as much of the area as possible, riding unknown tracks from memory because after days of careful planning he usually forgot the map. Raging against the dying of the light because even Stevie Wonder had better vision than him, just one of the multitude of physical constraints visited upon him by a capricious but nonexistent God. “If you had all the things wrong that I have you wouldn't even get out of bed on a morning” A regular aphorism, regardless of being fitter than 99% of people in his age group and invariably having enough energy at the end of a ride to overtake riders forty or fifty years younger, so he could be first in the cafe.

The outdoors became his playground, walking, cycling, skiing and for a short time, climbing, filled his days, not for him the tedious routines of many retiree's, there were still too many places to see, hills to ride down, hills to slog up, cafes to visit, little adventures to be had, alone or shared. Paradoxically, a grumpy old man and an eager, inquisitive youth, he never changed from the bloke I met in a dingy warehouse 39 years ago.

Now we've began a new era, riding AB (After Bob), half a dozen rides have already been clocked up without him but he's always there, every puncture, every jammed chain, buckled wheel, snapped seat post, over the bars tumble always with the faint echo of a belly laugh makes us realise those threats to haunt us from the afterlife he didn't believe in, were not necessarily made in jest.

A simple blog post of the recent rides seems to have turned into another epitaph, it didn't start out that way. All the rides are detailed below, highlights being the return of the Olly, the broken boy now responsible for the renaming of a favourite descent (renamed by Bob from his hospital bed) Olly’s Folly. And the new bit of track at Hamsterley, Polty’s Last Blast, brief but a welcome addition.

Bank Foot Farm. 11th November 2016. Route

With The Youth