A not-that-brief history of my bike rides
History ◦ TPT ◦ Llandegla ◦ Mcr to Blackpool ◦ Manchester 100 ◦ Mcr to Chester ◦ GM Cycle ◦ Clayton Vale ◦ Other rides ◦ Tour de France (UK) ◦ Sportives ◦ Up in Scotland ◦ Adventures abroad
This is one of those "while I remember, I may as well get it all down" histories. It's not a detailed diary, but it's worth going back to the beginning to set the scene. Well, not so much "worth" as "necessary for the sake of obsessive completeness".
I was late to learn how to ride - I think was about 9 and I remember going back and forwards across our front lawn until I got it right. After that, the first real bike I had was a Raleigh Grifter (a BMX was not for me), which had three gears, a feature that very much felt quite sophisticated at the time. In the land of the one-geared bike, the three-geared bike is king. As they say.
A few years later, probably in my mid-teens, I was bought a cheap road bike (£99, I think) from Halfords. It had gear leavers by the frame, which to my later cost, loosened over time if they weren't tightened. But, more importantly, it was much faster than my chunky Grifter.
We had a neighbourhood of children of similar age, and many showed a keenness for cycling (because it was an example of "any sport"). Apart from aimlessly cycling round trying to act cool, or getting from A to B (basically, down to the field to play football or cricket), our main cycling activity in the early days came in the form of "Trolley on bikes", which was basically a faster, and therefore slightly more dangerous, form of tig (or tag, if you like, but we never called it that).
As we grew older, and became inspired by the Tour de France (and perhaps some British Olympic success - specifically, Chris Boardman's gold medal in Barcelona in 1992), we started to get a bit more seriously competitive with time trial and pursuit events, performed up and down the canal (largely unsuitable for road bikes; not that it deterred me) and round the block respectively.
Of course, there were many crashes over the years - from many skinned knees while riding the Raleigh Grifter a little too fast round corners, to two nasty, loose gear-related accidents on my road bike in one weekend. Both of these involved going over the handlebars at speed - the first, on the Friday, I got away with "just" pirouetting on my head (before the days of helmets) with no cars in sight (roads were a lot quieter 20 years ago); but the second, for which I was looking behind at the time (to see where the nearest competitor was) involved skidding on my face, shoulders and hands, and the results weren't pleasant. Luckily I was close to home so didn't have far to hobble.
Matt says: "Where is the mention of who we used to ride with when doing laps round the block? For example, Eddie, Doylie on his yellow Claud Butler which, because it was made of aluminium and because he was obsessed with weight, he drilled holes in it. Millar with his Chris Boardman-style handlebar forward extension thing; Crilly who just looked too big for his; and Hosie - can't remember his. We used to ride down Linden Road and try to pull the longest rear wheel skid."
I have nowhere near this level of memory about what people rode, that's probably most of the reason.
Anyway, going to university and then living in flats in central Manchester meant that I had no cause to ride a bike, and it was over a decade before I properly rode one again (drunkenly cycling down Oxford Road on a fold-out bike after a night out notwithstanding). We moved to Heaton Chapel in autumn 2009 and, not long after (in December 2009), I purchased a Pinnacle Peak 4.0 mountain bike from Evans for a meaty £550 (down from £700, which made it seem more tempting), much more than was paid for my road bike many years ago. Mirroring my upgrade as a youth, I then bought a Boardman Team road bike (not the carbon fibre one) for £1,000 through the Cycle to Work scheme (so it cost more like £700 over a year) in November 2012.
Trans Pennine Trail (2010-2011)
Having bought my mountain bike at the end of 2009, I soon stumbled across (not far off literally) the Trans Pennine Trail, part of which was located a mile or so south of our house. It enables a largely-traffic-free, off-road bike ride along the Mersey and beyond. Early 2010 saw some random exploratory rides, before Doylie and I started regularly traversing the TPT eastward, with a scenic cycle through Reddish Vale Park and Hulme's Wood, skimming past the southern edges of Denton and Hyde. As we built up fitness and route knowledge, we extended our reach out to the hills of Broadbottom and, eventually, Hadfield, ending up at the edge of the first of the reservoirs of the Peak District. The routes were approximately 15, 22 and 30 miles respectively (measured out using Bike Route Toaster, which has changed quite a bit since back then), and involved returning along a faster road-based route rather than retrace our steps, which had the added benefit of keeping the journey time a bit shorter than would otherwise be the case.
Even during the summer, it could get a little muddy. We would often come back in a completely different state to that which we left in. As with many early TPT rides, it was me and Doylie who were subjected to a few hours of mud splatter.
Lest you think that's not actually too bad, check out my sock line.
This is from another excursion in February 2011. It's not a good look. Maybe I need some mudguards.
Meanwhile, we also tried out the route going westward, passing through Didsbury, Chorlton and Sale/Stretford, returning back along the Manchester Cycleway (including the Fallowfield Loop), sometimes linking it up with Reddish Vale. We got more adventurous (and fitter) over time, going further and further during the rest of 2010 and well into 2011, making our way to Altrincham, Lymm and Warrington, leading up to our traversing of the entire width of the Trans Pennine Trail, east to west, for charity in June 2011.
It was some effort, spending nearly 30 hours in the saddle (or sat in the car park of a supermarket) covering 215 miles over three days, not least because we often had to navigate our way through unfamiliar territory, despite the presence of the magical blue signs and the fact that we had taken maps with us (although the scale was such that we could not really see the intricacies of the routes very well. These days, each section is shown via Google Maps on here, which would have been very helpful when we completed our mammoth escapade.)
Oh yeah, and we had to go over the Pennines. Those bastard hills.
With appetite for off-road mountain biking whetted by the TPT, Doylie suggested a trip to Llandegla, just inside Wales, near Wrexham. And so, in spring 2010, we went on the red route, spending 1 hour 40 minutes traversing the 11-mile route. It was a bit of an eye-opener and I spent much of the downhill sections holding on tightly so that the most painful parts of my body when I finished were my wrists (from pulling on the brakes) and shoulders (from clinging on and the uneven surface). Great fun, though.
Here is a photo from fairly high up during the May 2010 ride, on what was a glorious day.
We went back a couple of months later to try the black route (which was made more difficult the next year). Whilst only being a couple of miles longer (13 miles), it took us over 2 hours to get round (to be fair, my fitness was hardly at its peak then), due largely to the inclusion an additional series of uphill hairpins.
We went again in October 2010, as well as a couple of trips in November 2011. All three times, we went on the red route, with me being too wary of the black route and not allowed to do the blue route (not even as a warm-up). I remember the first November visit with Matt as it was foggy and, as we climbed up the hill to the forest after the start, Matt slowly disappeared into nothingness and suddenly there was just me, the track and fog all around. Very atmospheric.
Here in fact is a shot from then.
The course had made a bit of a mess of my bike. Also available in black.
For good measure, here's another cracking view, from the following week.
Partly due to family distractions, partly due to spending more time cycling on the road, and partly due to laziness, I didn't go again for the next three years. However, a trip is planned for October 2014.
And lo, in October 2014, Phil, Matt and I headed to Llandegla for some mountain biking action. Jonny cried off due to a post-wedding hangover, whilst Joe and entourage were running late and we'd already waited long enough. This is the café at the start (and finish). On the right hand side, you can see the moon in the glorious blue sky. When Matt had picked me up at 8am-ish, there was a fairly thick fog but it soon cleared as we got going (and it was nice to see where we were going).
After the long climb in the open, we soon had some splendid views. Just left of centre, there was low-level mist in the valley, and just to the left of that Phil hurtles off round the course. Shortly afterwards, his chain fell off, adding to a number of minor mechanical issues we had, adding to Matt's squeaky brake (fixed out of preference rather than necessity), my self-ejecting water bottle (not so much a mechanical issue but a bit problematic as it was on quite a fast section - luckily Matt was behind me to pick it up), Phil's loose seat (easily tightened) and my rear mudguard coming loose (it rubbed on my wheel so I had to stop but, with Phil right behind me, we stood precariously on another fast section, with a drop off to one side, down which I had to crawl part the way to fetch the mudguard which I had carelessly dropped). All part of the fun.
Another excuse for a photo, which meant that they both sped off again ("I'll catch you up" was my ambitious statement). Shortly afterwards, Phil took a wrong turning. I nearly went down the same path (Phil wasn't visible as he was too far ahead), but I backtracked to double-check the faint red arrow that depicted where the red route headed next. I carried on to the next clearing, but there was no-one to be found from our mini-party, with Matt having got quite a lead by now and Phil somewhere behind having retraced his steps.
We finally all caught up here, at a classic spot for a photo (it would have been better had I been bothered to walk to the edge).
The photo below is from the same pit-stop. Matt eyed up the black route alternative from this point but we declined, this being our first time back for three years, although we promptly cycled off down a fire road, not actually spotting where the red route went. Matt shouted after me to say that I should lead the way having been here before a few times, but my blind following of Phil suggested otherwise.
There was a further point, after Phil had noticed a guy with a heavily gashed knee, that we got a bit lost and went off the beaten track, eventually rejoining the trail my scrambling over brambles. It's not easy this navigation lark, especially when it all looks the same.
There was some further fun as Phil managed to succumb to the perils of wearing clip-in pedals on a mountain bike course. I was a little ahead and heard a curse ring through the woods as he ran out of pace and, well, timber... That was all amongst some very steep hairpin climbs right near the end of the course which I remember from the 2011 visits but I don't think was there in 2010. Anyway, it's fairly close to the end at least, so not much further to go after those lung-busting efforts.
After we completed the 9-mile ride in 1 hr 40 minutes (although only 1 hours 20 minutes moving time, the difference mainly being due to the mechanical issues; here was the route we did), it was time for some breakfast-for-lunch. Matt and I had bacon & sausage baps (alright, I had egg on mine too), but Phil was enticed by the full breakfast on offer (pictured), which was notable primarily for the huge doorstop pieces of toast (pretty sure my toaster would not allow those within its confines). Impressive stuff and it was soon polished off.
Our baps took a while longer to get to us with our number seemingly skipped. When it was finally shouted, we replied with things like "Yes!" and "Over here!", then "House!" and "Bingo!", purely out of glee. The enormously rotund member of staff who brought us our pork(-and-egg)-loaded breadstuffs muttered "not heard that one before", looking thoroughly unimpressed with life (although he later seemed cheerier with other people - perhaps it was just us). Thankfully, he had resisted what must have been colossal temptation and we received our food untouched.
Phil says: ""Service with a smile" - Matt needs to work on his subtlety. I was expecting Little Chef to say something back, or at least throw a punch! I'd have thrown some toast at him if he'd done that, though, so maybe that put him off."
We will be back, if only to get a job lot of that mega-toast.
Manchester to Blackpool (2010 & 2013)
In my early days of mountain biking, I soon discovered Bike Events and signed up for the Manchester to Blackpool ride in 2010 with Doylie. My training for this was naively insubstantial - my longest ever ride beforehand had been around 30 miles, up to Hadfield and back, yet here we were attempting a 62-mile ride.
Starting at Old Trafford, we headed due west to go through Worsley and Boothstown, navigating Astley and Leigh, then north to Westhoughton north-west past Chorley, up to Preston, before veering across to Lytham St Annes, heading up the coast to reach Blackpool.
The first 20 miles or so weren't ideal. In increasing order of importance: I under-estimated how quickly it would take to get to Boothstown, so I had whizzed through before my mum had chance to pop up the road to wave me on (a text may not have sent properly when riding through Eccles); I was wearing a waterproof jacket as it was forecast to rain fairly heavily, but it never came and it just made me very warm and a bit dehydrated; and I also suffered stomach pains.
Doylie had disappeared off into the distance, but waited for me by the side of the road. I removed my jacket, my stomach pains eased, and my spirits were raised. We hurtled through the next 20 miles at quite a pace, helped by sticking largely to long, flat dualcarriageways. At 40 miles, we stopped for a leisurely pub lunch (home-made sandwiches plus purchased soft drinks - although a pint was tempting).
Progress was slower after the long break and things got significantly more difficult as we turned up the coast in Lytham, into a fierce coastal wind that, in my exhaustion, rendered my pace little quicker than walking pace. Doylie again had more stamina and gradually edged away, whilst I had run out of water (more big ride naivety). At one point, I got off and lay on the grass by the side of the road as I was pretty much shot. A nice girl stopped and asked me if I was ok - pride meant that I said I was, although I later wished I had at least asked for some water.
After a five minute or so break, I hauled myself back on the bike and continued. I have no idea how long Doylie had been waiting for me, but it must have been a while. Then, as we turned inland, the wind was behind us and we got a good head of steam up. Reunited, I had the renewed motivation of breaking the 6 hour barrier, and adrenaline fuelled the last few miles. Like a big idiot, I even sprinted some of the home straight and we passed through the finish line in 5 hours 58 minutes.
That finale had pretty much used up my last ounce of energy, and I spent much of the next half an hour lying on the grass, at one point just about summoning up enough will to graduate to a sitting position. All very melodramatic, but I was truly wiped out. A couple of hours later we took the coach back to the event's starting car park - I recall re-alighting the bike to ride across the car park causing much discomfort of the rear.
This is the only photo I took of the whole day, as somewhat of an afterthought. In the distance you can see the finish line as we hang around near the coaches for our lift back.
When I did the ride again three years later, in 2013, it was a completely different story. With three thousand miles under my belt over the immediately preceding years and a road bike between my legs, Joe and I were confident in getting to Blackpool in under 4 hours, including a 10-minute break we allowed ourselves after 42 miles had been completed. Our final time, including the break, was 3 hours 54 minutes, with an average moving speed of 16.5mph. So we succeeded in our goal. Go us.
Joe says: "You should mention how you crashed into someone on the Blackpool ride". Ah yes, we were spinning along nicely sat behind two chatting cyclists going fast enough for us to sit comfortably behind them. The fact that they were side-by-side meant we could adopt a similar, sociable position whilst also drafting them. I ruined it somewhat, though, by clunking into the back of one of them at a roundabout as I expected him to go but he didn't. In my defence, he had plenty of time to go but he was worried about a truck or van on the inside of the roundabout. I caught him up to apologise but I'd rather blown our chance of surreptitiously following them.
Lynne and Daisy met me in Blackpool (Louise came to meet Joe then left a short while later), but the tide was right in so we headed over to Lytham St Anne's.
Manchester 100 (2010, 2012 & 2013)
Later in 2010, having survived the Manchester to Blackpool ride, I fancied another crack at a similar distance and eyes turned to the Manchester 100km. I roped in Doylie once more, as well as Phil. Here are the plucky "contestants".
It's a reasonably flat course, circling Cheshire's country lanes. Starting in Wythenshawe Park (picture below), the route takes riders south-west through Hale, Knutsford and Northwich. Here is the start line.
After Northwich, a choice is given depending on whether you had chosen the 100km ride or the 100 mile ride. We were careful during our 2010 ride (on mountain bikes) not to miss the left-hand turn which took us looping south round Winsford, merging with the longer route, and heading back up to Middlewich, then north-west to Wilmslow, before heading up Styal Road (literally up in the case of the initial hill, but then it's a fast finish back to the Park).
With a few more miles and a bit more experience under my belt, I fared better. I started quite keenly but soon felt over-extended and throttled back a little. I think we mostly stuck together until reasonably close to the end, when Phil wanted a crack at five hours. I may have drifted off the back at some points during the latter stages of this ride; I think struggling with a knee injury which I created by trying to go too fast up a hill. Foolish.
Our stopping points were inevitably pubs, but we didn't succumb to alcohol (in fact, I never do on bike rides). We did use it as a feeding stop, though, as Doylie demonstrates.
Here's Doylie, eating again. You can tell Phil is thinking "I'd have finished already if it wasn't for these sandwich-munching laggards".
Despite my slowness, I recall leading Doylie through down Styal Road for a reasonably long, fast-paced stint after he had waited for me. A handful of miles from the end, I got stuck at some temporary traffic lights having not quite managed to get through as Doylie had. So we didn't finish together but I did make it round in 5 hours 13 minutes, a 45-minute improvement on the Blackpool ride.
Just to prove that I did do it, here is a picture of me afterwards. I don't look this good after anything other than 100km on a mountain bike.
In 2012, it was time to try again, this time with Phil, Matt and Joe (riding a road bike). I seem to remember having a ridiculous run of punctures in the fortnight or so leading up to this event, often for completely different reasons, but Matt changed the tyre on the morning and that seemed to last me.
We set off at a good lick together before Joe spotted a friend whizzing past and hopped on his wheel. The remaining three of us continued our ride but, unfortunately, in the second half I started to struggle with lower back pain, something I had suffered on a couple of prior training rides (of which I hadn't really done that many of any distance, but I had at least started commuting into work on the bike two months earlier).
As a result, we splintered and I hobbled in (or the equivalent of what you do on a bike) a little while after Matt and Phil (they probably completed it in something like 4 hours 30 or 40). However, my improved fitness meant that I had beaten my time set two years earlier, with (just under) 5 hours 4 minutes being about 10 minutes quicker. I was still a bit disappointed not to beat 5 hours, though.
We upped the challenge in 2013 since I was now comfortable on my road bike, deciding to take on the Manchester 100 miler, easily the longest one-day distance I had ever ridden. After Northwich, the longer route continued further south-west, round Delamere to places such as Kelsall and Tattenhall, before heading east all the way to Nantwich at the southernmost point (during which I went past Doylie's house - he wasn't watching). North to Winsford prefaces joining up with the Manchester 100km ride again and the route back to the start via Middlewich and Wimlslow.
There were three of us this time: me, Joe and Andy. We had a rough plan of something like four 90-minute, 25-mile stints with three 20-minute breaks, aiming for a seven-hour overall time. This was all going to plan for a while but after nearly 3 hours (and 42 miles), Andy suffered a puncture, the break for which we used as another food stop. The inner tube was replaced and we headed on our way, but he suffered a relapse about 20 minutes later, which prompted another 15-or-20-minute stop (our third). The tyre had some damage so we used some innovative patching to fix that as well as replacing the inner tube once more (as a threesome, we were running out of spares).
This is one of the punctures, occurring at around 11.30am.
Our desire to get round together was more important than setting a time so when we reached the 55-mile stopping point, noticing it had a repair station, Andy took the opportunity to get his tyre replaced (and the wheeled trued up to within half a millimetre or something). This break was 30 minutes and took us up to an overall time of 4 hours 45 minutes with still another 45 miles to go. However, with new confidence in Andy's wheels, we headed off at a fairly decent pace.
That was not the end of it, however. On earlier rides, Joe had suffered from his chain coming off when using particular gears. This happened twice in the last third of our ride. Once, annoyingly, this happened when we were sat in a small group and getting a good tow. But never mind, we stick together. At one point, for a reasonable time, we seemed to be the only ones on the road but eventually we regained some company.
A final 15-minute break at 76 miles and we put our heads down for the last gruelling stint, with Andy in particular like an ox at the front of our mini-train on occasions. I led the way a few times too in that last session having spent a lot (but not all) of the earlier 75 miles drafting friends and strangers alike. We finished strongly, completing the whole 100 miles in 7 hours 47 minutes (with 6 hours 6 minutes moving time). (Annoyingly, my watch ran out of battery right at the end so I didn't actually get to record the full thing.)
So we made it. I even set a Strava KOM on the way home as I was still feeling pretty good despite some initial soreness of the rump when returning to my stead. In all, I cycled 112 miles that day. Joe, meanwhile, swore never again to do a ride so boring (i.e. too flat, too samey).
Joe and Andy were ecstatic to have got round. Well Andy was.
Proof that I did it too. Joe's looking a little happier. But what's going on with my forearms?
We completed the ride on road bikes of course, but this crazy guy did the whole thing on a weird sort of cross-trainer.
Despite Joe's lack of enthusiasm, I would like to perform this ride once more. I missed out in 2014 due to arriving back from Scotland the previous day, but Andy did it once more. Maybe in 2015...
In the run-up to the Trans Pennine Trail in 2011, Doylie and I decided relatively last minute to try the Manchester to Chester ride, a fairly pleasant 48 miler. We turned up and paid on the day, as shown below, and just set off.
I don't remember too much about the ride itself, other than we completed it in just under 3 hours 40 minutes (according to my cycling spreadsheet - yes, I have one of those). I do remember cycling to the train station afterwards and just about making it on to a train back to Manchester. The station staff were very helpful in getting us to the platform, but I think there was an unhelpful guy on the platform who made us go into a different door. Boo him.
Great Manchester Cycle (2012, 2013 & 2014)
The first ever Great Manchester Cycle was held in early June 2012. It offered the chance to whizz along the Mancunian Way free of traffic. The route took you from Manchester City's ground, Eastlands, to Manchester United's ground, Old Trafford, and back again. This constituted one lap, advertised as 13 miles, and you had the choice of one, two or four laps.
The inaugural GMC was heavily discounted, sponsored by the Daily Mirror (I think it cost just a tenner), so Matt and I signed up with our mountain bikes for the 26-miler (two laps). The route took us through Media City, and through tricky pedestrianised bits ("mind the bollards!").
It was great fun being able to cruise round at a decent speed, not stopping for traffic lights (which took a bit of self-control at first, so used to it was I). I couldn't stay with Matt for the duration and he disappeared into the distance during the second half of the first lap, completing the event in 1 hr 34 minutes (50/44). I finished it a bit later in a little over 1 hour 42 minutes (52/50) but felt fine when I had done so. We realised later that we had only completed 25 miles. They had short-changed us!
In 2013, I was back, but this time on my road bike. I hadn't found anyone to do it with and I didn't manage to meet up with anyone I knew was doing it on the day, so I rode alone (sniff). It was even easier on my road bike and so the ride went quite quickly, although it was a bit boring. At one point, I suddenly realised I had no clue whether I was heading to or from Old Trafford, since it all looked the same. I had to stop at the halfway point to relieve numbness (not used to not stopping) and have a quick snack, but otherwise it was pedal-pedal-pedal all the way. They had even removed the Media City section, replacing it with some hairpins in the Trafford Wharf area, so it was a bit less precarious and, consequently, faster.
I finished the ride, this time only 50 miles as laps seemed to remain at 12.5 miles distance, in 2 hours 43 minutes (41/41/41/40).
Not to be deterred, I returned once more in 2014. I had scheduled to ride with Gary, but he was up all night with toothache and couldn't make it. So I was again alone. I did start with some KPMG guys but they whistled off through traffic and I didn't feel obliged to stick in their group, so I did it solo. I did, though, as for the previous year, join into mini-groups where possible to ease the workload.
I didn't stop at all in this ride, finishing again in 2 hours 43 minutes (39/41/42/41). I was hoping to have beaten the 2013 time, but they had once more tweaked the course, trying to cut out the really slow hairpins (although there was still one tight corner) whilst adding the half-mile they had owed us before. So it was the same time but for two extra miles, i.e. the full 52, and so I averaged nearly 1mph more (about 19.2mph this time).
Next year, I might actually see if I can get to do it with someone (that I will be able to stick with). I might aim for a 20mph average too.
In 2013, I got wind of a small, unyielding group of two-wheeled warriors who had discovered the delights of the 12km urban mountain biking course at Clayton Vale, near the Manchester Velodrome. Organised by Nik, they set off on Wednesday nights (sometimes Thursdays) to experience the twisting delights of the dark blue route, and sometimes bits of the red route if they were feeling daring. I got off to a cracking start, going over the handlebars on the skills track at very slow speed, having been caught out by an unseen (and pretty high) drop-off, landing on my face, suffering mild abrasions.
After a summer of evenings there, I dragged along a motley crew of mud-loving criminals in October 2013. From left to right: Matt, Phil and Doylie.
Phil doesn't look too bad actually, but Matt and Doylie are absolutely covered. Phil says: "I still can't explain how my blue jacket managed to stay so clean. Must be some revolutionary self-cleaning nano-tech material or summink".
I was also very dirty, of course. That's a very natural-looking pose, isn't it.
The course was generally quite overgrown, but the high winds of the 2013/14 winter season had ravaged much of it. It was strange to see it so bare for a few months of 2014, but gradually it grew back.
Here is Adrian, one of the Wednesday night regulars, in the waiting-for-the-girl(s) pose back in April 2014. (We were gents, y'see. I say that, but later in the year I occasionally tore off to set a lap time. My best time for the dark blue route in 2014 was 18 minutes-odd, depending on where the lap was deemed to start.)
This action shot was taken by Matt as he took me round a loop near Mossley in May 2011. It wasn't an entirely proper mountain bike route and I remember descending a particularly steep section, seemingly going faster despite holding on to the brakes. I decided to abandon the bike by riding straight on into some soft grass and bushes. It would have been fine but my mudguard had recently fallen off and was stuffed down my top as I tried to catch back up. This unusually-placed bike accessory scraped my stomach. I'm pretty sure this is not a typical cycling injury. Anyway, I'm displaying my textbook "am I going to fall off soon?" grimace.
Late in the summer of 2014, we extended our Wednesday night remit past Clayton Vale and went to Pott Shrigley (I had missed the previous week's trip to [somewhere or other - Whaley Bridge, maybe?] due to being in London).
We went up and up and up, and saw some lovely views.
But we had arrived so late that it was soon very dark, and not all of us had lights (I did, but it was still good when we caught up amongst a group of riders with very powerful lights on the front). Here's a spooky looking chapel for you all.
Also to feature at some point: Bakewell & Aberfeldy.
In July 2014, the Tour de France came to Yorkshire. For a brief moment, it passed into Greater Manchester, before coming closest to Heaton Chapel when skirting past Woodhead Reservoir. Jonny at work was planning to go out there. Having been left alone for the day, I eventually decided to go along (not sure why such indecision - I was basically (and naively) apprehensive of road closures and over-crowding), and was glad I did. The road closures meant that we could cycle along scenic roads without traffic.
A row of buses waited patiently in a line for people to return.
We got there mid-way through the caravan, which basically seems to feature rabbits, cars and people throwing free things to the crowds.
The big event of the afternoon was whether this hairpin sign could be adequately secured. They did a pretty good job of making sure it didn't fall down for about half an hour. Later someone tried to steal it but got called out.
After we had a little picnic, we were definitely now ready for some cycling action.
Whilst we waited for the actual bikes to come through, and we had to be careful because cars came through at pace getting ever closer to the crowds at the edge of the road to give them a clear indication of just how close the peloton could get to us, I took the opportunity to stand on the road, encouraged to get into a goofy action pose by Jonny.
A small group of cyclists eventually came through first, followed by the peloton (pictured), which was spearheaded by the Sky team with Chris Froome perched in maybe fourth place (unfortunately he crashed out a few days' later on the tricky cobbles stage, but at that point we were all hope). As the peloton got wider and wider, they got closer and closer to us, and I soon abandoned the opportunity of taking any more photos, concentrating instead on getting the hell out of the way. There was a very powerful swoosh as they flew by at pace.
We could see them from a few different angles, which was a great feature of where we were stood. Before the roadside shot, we could see them swoop in from a distance. They then whizzed past, took the hairpin (our of our eyeline) before heading down the bridge over the reservoir.
Here is another shot of the bridge over the reservoir, with the helicopters buzzing around in the sky following each of the groups. I counted about eight of them.
When the last rider came through, we all walked down the road to the exit, but unfortunately it turned out there was still the odd rider left, so we all had to create a bit of room. Eventually we all shuffled out as the heavens opened, for what was mercifully a short shower, before we cycled home on our bikes.
And that's all.
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