Sunday morning and for once I’m out of bed, fed, watered and ready to go. I pootle up to the Mermaid chippy to meet Pete and his missus. Again I’m early and this is really starting to freak me out. I don’t do early. I’ve got a reputation to maintain…..
Pete and his better half turned up at nine on the dot and after a little while chatting we were off. We followed the road up to the turnoff and started lifting our bikes over the gate. “I’ve never seen this track on the map†Pete asked. “Ah, That’s because it’s a cheeky bridleway Pete fella…..a footpath mate.†I replied. “Oh well, not to worry!†was his response and with that we shot off down the track and across the motorway bridge. Despite the drizzle it was turning out to be a good morning. We turned right after the motorway bridge and through the small wooded area and after following the track a little bit further down hill to the top entrance of Birkby Brow woods.
We sailed down the singletrack winding our way to the main path and came against our first obstacle of the day. A knobhead. A clay pigeon shooting Knobhead to be precise. After arguing with him about rights of way and if indeed he could actually point out a path on a map we were off again. To be fair the Knobhead was lucky Roachy wasn’t there because I think he would have probably flattened him. He had a stinking attitude.
Back riding we got to the gate and we had our first puncture of the day. Mine. Feck. I hate changing tubes while I’m out. Being a *ahem* larger fella I can never get the pressure as high as I want it to be with my trail pump. Tube changed and tyre inflated we carried on over the road and onto the climb up to Howley Hall Ruins. I came so close to getting all the way up that I really pissed myself off when I didn’t. Next time, next time……….
At the top we all had a five minute breather and it was Pete who made a good point about the shooting guys. “They need all the support they can get now, You’d think they might be a bit nicer to people and try and get away form the image they already have.â€
Back in the saddle and we followed the track down past Woodkirk Cricket Club and climbed up to the last bit of Off Road of the day. This is when I had a genius idea….. (I should know better at my age than to trust anything that comes out of my dark dismal mind….) Rather than following the path that we knew took us back home on the road… we decided to go left. Well in my defence it looked like the path carried on for a long way. It didn’t. It turned into a rather muddy field very quickly. I tried to remain upbeat and kept saying to Pete and his missus “We can’t be too far from the motorway bridge now…†After a fair old slog and some *ahem* creative navigation (Don’t ask) we got back to the main road. I think that everybody (including me) was starting to doubt my sanity with regards to that bloody motorway bridge. When we got back to the main road we could see it, probably about a mile away, at least I really wasn’t going mad.
I left Pete and his better half near where we’d set of from and shot off back home. On the way back I decided on a shortcut. The short steep cobbled hill that we sometimes climb right at the beginning of a ride was the goal, and I got there quickly. Without any hesitation or thought I flew down the cobbled hill way too quickly and when too lads turned the corner at the bottom I decided it was probably a good idea to slow down. So I squeezed the front brake.
Ever.
So.
Slightly.
Ouch.
I hit the ground with a real feckin clatter: rotated the handlebars back in the stem, landed really heavily on my arse and wounded my pride. The two lads rushed up to see me asking if I was alright and commenting that I was going way too fast. Cheers lads. After doing that “walking round in circles bit†when you fall I started laughing and so did they. I limped home the last half mile to a very hot bath and a cup of tea.
Fat Lad
