Road Bike Ride
The Chairman, Adam, Rich
For the second time this year the road bike surfaced from the back of the shed, the wear in the rear brake blocks was a little too much, even by my low maintenance standards. Pleasingly I discover a brand new, unopened set in the toolbox, it was even more pleasing when I realised this set of ten quid brake blocks would be the first penny spent on the bike (other than a change to winter tyres in 2013, which are still on) since originally purchased - in 2012. Not quite so pleasing was the realisation the back wheel is so buckled no amount of fettling would stop the brakes binding, so it was off to the shop for a true.
Chairman Whelan had managed to cajole together a meagre cadre of Cafe Racers for a slight variation of his magnum opus - The Serious Ride For Serious Men, beginning from The Lion Inn on Blakey Ridge rather than Ingleby Greenhow, the main reason for the change being the opportunity to stuff our faces in The Lion Inn afterwards. Driving up from Castleton evoked a definite sense of deja vu because it was impossible to see anything for the mist blanketing the high ground of North Yorkshire, bringing back memories of The Battle Of Bransdale, a similarly cold, grey and visually constrained start to a ride, the only difference, The Battle Of Bransdale was in January not June. Naturally The Chairman is held responsible for this meteorological faux pas as we shiver in the car park trying to rustle up some working lights between us and wishing we had brought more clothes, I did attempt to fabricate some kind of William Wallace type outfit from the tartan travel rug all us old people carry in our cars but the aerodynamics of the ensemble let it down, probably goes a long way to explaining the lack of 14th century Scottish patriots in the Tour De France. The broadsword could liven things up in the peloton though, probably only a little less lethal than those deadly brake discs.
Grateful to be moving, just to get warm, we set off along the road in visibility which was measured in centimetres, through damp cloud, which contrary to popular analogy was nothing like cotton wool. Dropping down toward Rosedale Abbey, we came out of the mist but into the anxiety zone as Chimney Bank (literally) loomed before us, one of England’s toughest road bike climbs, only an idiot would be attempting it for the third time in as many years. I daresay there are numerous descriptions of the ascent detailing every nuance in gradient and road surface; it is easier to imagine riding a bike through treacle while someone rips your lungs from your thorax and blowtorches them, only the thought of becoming an impromptu speed bump discourages laying down in the road and letting the crows peck the meat from your carcass. Or maybe that was just me.
The following section was remarkable in its pleasantness, comparatively flat, accompanied by bright sunshine and blue sky - summer in June, it’s the work of The Devil. Rolling into Helmsley for our first coffee stop, we could have been on a different continent, strolling day-trippers in shorts and t shirts, all oblivious to the nether world existing a few hundred feet higher. Unfortunately, after we had finished our coffee, our bikes remained unstolen, so we were forced to ride on, climbing steadily into the north wind up Helmsley Moor until the turnoff to Hawnby was reached. Our route passed through Hawnby on the undulating road to Osmotherley, nearing Square Corner, the mist reappeared , knocking about ten degrees off the ambient temperature and four months off the calendar.
A few miles on, the next major objective of the ride hove into view, Carlton Bank, a mere 7/10 in the Simon Warren book as opposed to the 10/10 Chimney Bank but not exactly a cruise after 50 miles. The best part of the ascent is the cafe at the top. Continuing, we dispatched Clay Bank by the “easy” side before plunging down into Ingleby Greenhow, usually the finish of the ride but not today, we still had to get back to Blakey Ridge, a dozen or so more miles and the Three Peaks to surmount before we saw our cars again. The Three Peaks is so called because three sizeable ascents have to be conquered before the main road to Blakey Ridge is rejoined, the first two take a bit of effort, the third, which goes from the village of Westerdale is interminable, today worse because the thick mist made it impossible to see any distance ahead, only aching legs and rasping lungs give any indication you are still ascending. And on and on it goes, our little peloton rent asunder by poor gear ratio choices (never mind Adam, being overtaken by a 56 year old will be our secret) and even poorer lifestyle choices - I knew the beer and kebabs would have some consequences later in life.
After a world of pain, the Give Way sign eventually appeared from the gloom, lowest gear was left behind as the wind became a tailwind and the road headed ever so slightly downhill; happiness increased in proportion to average speed, the only care now not to sail past the pub, which was not unfeasible given the conditions. Giddy with the excitement of finishing the ride without the need for paramedic assistance,all that remained was a quick bit of indecent exposure in the car park before some much needed sustenance courtesy of The Lion Inn, delivered with surprising promptness considering the amount of customers in the place. The food was magnificent, made by better by being earned with over six hours riding, seventy three and a half miles and about six thousand feet of ascent.
And (hopefully) that’s the road bike back in the shed until The Cafe Racer’s Xmas extravaganza around the roads of North Yorkshire, another product of The Chairman’s twisted imagination, chevron splattered and mostly vertical, probably with ice and snow to make things that bit more “challenging”.
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