Fat Lad Rides The Stanage Edge Stormer
Quite cool today.
Distance: 18.04 Miles
Total Distance: 103.50 Miles
Riders: Fat Lad and stAn.
Food scoffed: One slice of Malt Loaf.
Quote of the Ride: “How much travel have your forks got Al?” – stAn, this was followed by at least thirty seconds of maniacal laughter.
Current Mood: The granny ring is my friend.
stAn had earlier in the week promised a Friday ride with me. I got a text message at first promising me a Bingley Ride. This all changed with a different mysterious message I received a mere day later: “Fuck bingley got a a better ride. can you be at mine for 11ish – bring your camera it’s very scenic.” Replying with the positive and a request for location only resulted in stony silence.
I arrived at stAn’s a little earlier than the allotted time. One cup of tea, a buttered pancake and an awful lot of fussing his pooch later we loaded up and headed for our mysterious location. Speaking loudly over the complete history of punk stAn convinced himself that I’d never ridden the route before. Screaming down the M1 (speed limit obeyed all the way occifer) we were in the Peak District and I started to grin. Regardless of the route, it’s all good round here.
We skirted round Ladybower reservoir and headed up a very steep hill to our eventual destination. Out of the car stretching stiff legs stAn grinned and pointed out the crags ahead of us on the horizon. “We’re going up there kid, Stanedge” It looked an awful long way up.
Kitted up we headed out up the first ascent. To reach the century I only had to clock 14.54 miles. On home ground that wouldn’t faze me, but up here, in the hills proper. This was going to be fun. On the long drive over stAn had said to me the first climb starts steady enough but gets worse. He wasn’t kidding. Loose fire road gave way to golf ball rocks, which gave way to fist size rock, next to the football (that’s a real football to our transatlantic readers, what you call a football is actually a rugby ball.) size ones and finally bigger than I care to think about rocks. Pushing up the last bits we we’re at the summit sooner than I thought possible with such tired legs.
Barely stopping for a breather we rode past Stanedge pole. We were rewarded with some wide fast descending and turning a corner stAn neraly ended up cuddling an oncoming Motor crosser; “I could see the whites of his eyes Al…” Past the eerily empty reservoir and onto the road we climbed for a long while shooting the shit and setting the world to rights. Two blokes enjoying the amazing views and not being at work.
Peeling off the black stuff I shared my Malt Loaf with dAd and we were soon away again. Wheels pointing down the hill I just heard the man in front shout we would be back at this intersection later as he increased the distance between us. stAn chased the hill sheep out of the way on a technical yet rideable descent I pulled behind him. Back on the road the dirt and rock route over all too soon, stAn was pulling away on the road climbs and I found myself in that awkward state of gearing. One gear I was spinning and getting nowhere fast while the next gear down the cassette was to much for ride weary limbs. I chose to spin.
Back on the dirt we had a breather and climbed up for a little while spinning where required and hammering the pedals on the descents. We were we soon back at the long road climb we had under our belts on the way out and it was a blessing to roll down it and stretch out my lower back which had become as flexible a pig iron all of a sudden. stAn pulled over to one side and with a smile we hopped over to a section we really shouldn’t have. Shooting down an awesome piece of singletrack I should have been enjoying the cheeky twisty joy but I was watching the GPS with eager anticipation.
14.51
14.52
14.53
14.54
I’d done it. On a cheeky section of road in the middle of the Peak District. I’d achieved a milestone I’d never dreamed of when I started riding again all those years ago. The off-road century. The local expression goes like this:
Like a dog with two dicks
A little more tarmac, a breather and back to the deathly looking reservoir we were soon back at Stanage pole. The long steady climb out of the way we stopped for a posed shot. StAn removed his GPS for the shot placing it on the ground behind us. 
We mounted up and settled in for the big descent. I’ve realised this week that even with lots of miles under my belt I’m never going to be a great descender and it was proven to me as stAn disappeared into the distance. For the third time with this bike a spoke pinged in the real wheel very closely followed by a pinch flat. A little pissed off I shouldered the bike and started to walk. Just catching the white helmet of stAn in the distance I changed my mind and took of my camelbak to get a tube out.
I should never doubt the gods of the trail for they reward all those who put the miles in. As i looked over my shoulder the sky was on fire. 
With what will sty with me for the rest of my life the valley around me was bathed in red majestic light. Had I been the descender I want to be. I’d have missed this soul lifting moment of natural regality. 
stAn came climbing back up to find me and I reached him soon enough. He asked me to ride on a bit and take a picture of him descending a particularly rocky section and I obliged willingly. His moment in digital celluloid captured a glum realisation awashed stAn’s face. “I’ve left my GPS at the pole…” After much deliberation he set off back for it while I my knackered wheel and legs headed back to the car. Merely moments behind me with a sudden change of heart he rolled up. “Only cost me £20 on ebay, it’s karma mate someone’s going to get a free GPS”
It was then back to casa stAn to pick up my car with more Punk tunes blasting in our ears. Another superb ride to add to the weekly tally and as promised it was a scenic ride that will roll with me forever.
Day Six Route
Fat Lad
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