Trans Pennine Trail

Trans Pennine Trail 2011

Friday 1st July to Sunday 3rd July

As we closed in on Selby, we caught a glimpse of what might have been Selby power station. Or might not have been, 'cos there were a few of them. In fact, it was disconcerting as we zig-zagged through the countryside to repeatedly see a power station in the distance, like we weren't getting anywhere, or were going round in circles. But we were following the TPT signs so we were reasonably (but not totally) confident we were going the right way.

Somewhere south of Selby, Gaz pulled out a sterling spot of the fact that we needed to be on the canal over to the right, whereas we were heading over a road bridge. There was plenty of eagle-eyed observations such as this that kept us on the right route all weekend, although there were inevitable moments when it was impossible to know where to go.

This was probably the tidal barrage near Barmby on the Marsh. About six hours in.

And so indeed was this. The map suggested we had to dismount, but we didn't really. It was just another ruddy gate to shuffle awkwardly through. Something I never completely got the hang of, due mainly to the stuffed-full rucksack on my back.

A photo of a church, just because. Like many bits of scenery, by the time I had got my camera out the best angle had been missed, but I thought I resurrected this one reasonably well. I can't tell you where it is, though. I suppose I could make a guess.

For some reason, I decided that this rail crossing was worthy of a photo. Andy thought something vaguely amusing anyway. Answers on a postcard, please.

Two things to note here. Firstly, there's a power station in the distance! That's all we saw for a good hour or so, just from different angles. (In fact, this photo was taken 90 minutes after the previous shot of a power station.) Also, there looks to be some sort of holy intervention in the distance. Perhaps this is the holy grail of which they speak, the Royal Oak pub in Hirst Courtney.

Those last two photos were talen very close to the end. What I did not take photos of was the depressing airfield, which had us cycling over very uneven surfaces whilst seemingly taking the longest way round possible. Given we had been on our bikes for seven hours, we were not really in the mood for this. In particularly, Tom and Gaz had mentally given up by that point, but bravely cycled on. I wasn't too bad - it was more that I was bored at not being at the end, so I cycled confidently ahead. And then, out of nowhere (well, not quite - we had a map, remember), there was a sign for Hirst Courtney and, seconds later, we were at the Royal Oak. Praise be!

We look a bit dishevelled in the shot above, and understandably so, so we need to sharpen these boys up. They actually look reasonably fresh from this distance.

And Tom kindly offered to include me in a photo. I look rather imperious, but I'm pretty certain I didn't feel it. We had cycled 65 miles in seven and a half hours, which wasn't bad pace given the number of times we got lost, although it was pretty much entirely flat. Not ideal preparation for climbing over the Pennines, but a fairly sturdy warm-up...

We gingerly stumbled towards the bar area and ordered a round of pints - it was the least we deserved. Phone calls were made, text messages were sent - all probably saying something like "we made it! And I'm knackered!". We'd only done one day, though, and potentially the easiest of the three too. We ordered food and then popped upstairs to get changed and to see our rooms. Yes, we were staying above a pub on a Friday night. That played loud music.

Back downstairs in the dining area, Andy was rather put out that Phil had dissuaded him from ordering a starter ("fish cakes are like a full meal!") but had the last laugh as Phil struggled through a very thick and odd-looking soup. Tom polished off his curry like it had never existed in the first place, whilst I moaned about the relative (compared to Phil's plate) lack of gravy on my bangers & mash - a cardinal sin (but I was too tired to ask for more). We passed on dessert and headed back into the main bit of the pub for a last beer or two. We were almost too weary to talk, but Gaz somehow found the energy for another stream of innuendos. And then it was time for an early-ish night and, despite the jukebox downstairs being seemingly on full blast, we soon drifted off (only to be woken up later by the snorers of each room).

Day 2 will follow in due course.

Day 2

So here it is. The big one. We were up reasonably early (about 8am) for a hearty full English breakfast for which I requested "a vat of toast" as accompaniment, which we pretty much got. At 9am, after a bike health check-up, we were underway. It was a glorious day as we cruised through the remainder of Hirst Courtney.

Andy had a moment of paranoia, double checking whether he had in fact packed everything. I think his iPod was the item in question here.

One false alarm later, we had a genuine reason to stop, as Gaz picked up a puncture from a thorn, despite us being on road. We had already talked about making good progress for the first half of today after having no stoppages the previous day (apart from constantly getting lost and consulting our maps). Doylie, already nominated as team engineer after sorting out Gaz's seat (and regularly fixing my tyre on our rides), leapt into action.

We seemed to have stopped on the lawn of quite a large house.

And we were soon underway, thanks to Doylie's skills. Looking at the map, this waterway might be the Aire and Calder Navigation. If so, we had only travelled around 6 or 7 miles in about 50 minutes. Not a good start on flat, smooth road.

Here is a familiar sign, pointing the way of the Trans Pennine Trail, this time along a public bridleway into a poppy field.

And very scenic it was too, as I drifted off the back to take some photos.

I was a bit slow to get my camera out and take the shot here (since I was trying to catch back up), but at one point, as the pathway snaked to the left and back to the right, I could see all five other riders ahead. As it is, you can just about see two.

As we came out of the poppy field, I noticed that my traction was a bit wobbly. And sure enough, I had a puncture. Our second of the day after just over an hour. Sure enough, Doylie leapt into action, doing a quick change on a familiar wheel. It was mildly frustrating but surely that would be it?

Off we went again, heading on to a path next to the rather practically-named New Junction Canal, which took us from Sykehouse to Braithwaite. You've no idea where they are, of course, so let me just tell you that we were somewhere between Selby and Doncaster.

We flipped over to the other side for a long, long, straight path which we could only do single file, which scuppered any conversation but did enable some forced slipstreaming, albeit that you had to pay close attention to the person in front (in this case, Phil) as they avoided the more uneven parts of the ground. It was a bit dull, but the scenery nice, the weather fine, and it was the kind of smooth progress we needed...

Oh bollock. Tom's ambitious road bike gamble didn't pay off, although he fairly pointed out under my gentle challenge that we had both had the same number of punctures (i.e. one each). At this point, Tom seemed to think that I had a personal vendetta against him or his road bike, which wasn't the case. I just knew that the Trans Pennine Trail near Stockport was not of the substance which suited such a vehicle, slightly thicker tyres or not, and it was likely to be replicated elsewhere on the course. In fact, anecdotal evidence from some TPT-ers I bumped into whilst training suggested that even a hybrid bike would be subject to a lot of punctures. I was therefore a bit surprised to see Tom turn up with a road bike on Day 1.

Still, he opened his deluxe PwC laptop bag, a source of much hilarity for us all, and set to changing the inner tube. Unfortunately, the inner tube valve was insufficiently long to pump the tyre up, so he patched up the inner tube and switched tyres, the old tyre somehow getting lost in the bushes. Doylie did lend a hand here, but the handiwork was largely self done by Tom. This was our third puncture after an hour and a half, and it took a while to sort out. We were vaguely near Kirkhouse Green.

We traversed a number of level crossings over railway lines and travelled through Owston Wood, a pleasant section of forestation that overhung the track for a mildly exciting tunnelled effect. After shuffling through our third level crossing, it was apparent that Tom's puncture was back. Again, the deluxe PwC laptop bag was opened, designed as it was for just such an occurrence. Tom decided to start from scratch in repairing the puncture, while Phil consulted the map (not much point - we hadn't gone anywhere) and Gaz succumbed to his small bladder issue. We had now been going for two and a half hours.

Tom struggled along with an ever-deflating tyre as we turned up in a quiet-looking housing estate. I was fairly sure we had arrived in Bentley at this stage, and Tom hatched a plan to get a taxi to Doncaster to fix his bike and catch us up. However, the taxi driver (his cab was parked outside his house) informed us of two bike shops in the centre of Bentley. We thankfully found one which gave Tom an opportunity to patch up his bike and me a chance to purchase a fresh inner tube as back-up (we had wasted enough time already, without worrying about having to patch up damaged inner tubes). The town of Bentley was our saviour.

However, it was a little before 1pm (four hours in) when we arrived in Bentley and we had only travelled 23 miles, barely a third of the way. And on flat, relatively serene terrain (thorns aside). But we needed feeding, and lunch was the natural option. We favoured this local bakers over the nearby Tesco Express. Classically, Phil ordered a BLT without the tomato (so a BL then), and we stocked up on much-needed fluids.

We skirted around the west of Doncaster, coming across this viaduct in between Warmsworth and Conisbrough about 40 minutes later.

Shortly we encountered our first serious climb of the day. Hardly hors catégorie, but steep and bumpy enough to have non-seasoned climbers Gaz and Tom off their bikes and walking, thus making them favourites to take the double room at Hikers and Bikers in Hadfield. Phil, at the back thanks to an impromptu phone call, has no intention of getting off his saddle. At this point, we chatted briefly with a local about what we were to face, which was an immediate climb to the left if I remember rightly, less steep than the one below, though.

And that's all for page 2.

So you might want to move on to page 3.