Despite the 2 foot deep mud and constant rainfall, I’m told that spring has sprung. I suppose if nothing else we at least get to start our pootles in the light. With Keith’s car broken and Gezz’s many many bikes in various states of repair it was to be the party faithful only tonight. With Dave back from Florida and Amy driving up from Nottingham especially (I knew it’s flat down there but really an hour’s drive for an old mill town is something else) we were just waiting on Pete. After ringing both his mobile and home number multiple times we waited for ten and made our way to the trail.
The last three times we’ve decided on the Pudsey Plodder we’ve managed to bail out or chosen other routes at last minute for a whole host of fairly pathetic reasons. Pete had once more helped me out with a seized bolt in his garage/workshop/batcave the night before the ride and had joked that he would definitely there or we’d wriggle out of the ride again! So his absence was more than a little bit weird…
Internally I decided that it would be fantastic to see the sunset from the top of TFI, so with that in mind we set off with gusto. Rolling off the tarmac and onto the backside of Churwell I declared that we were missing the steep fun section as the runout bottom section is always so boggy at this time of year and I didn’t fancy struggling through the gloop. Following the contour of the hill gradually descending, we came to a gap in the fence to an innocuous looking puddle. Dave wisely skirted the edge, with an enthusiastic shout of “It’s ride-able†from the Fat Lad, Amy rocketed towards the wet and in an instant was axle deep in cold wet mud. After a brief high wire-esque balancing act attempt at staying upright she was over sideways sticking her leg out in time to be submerged to her ankle in sludge. After much giggling Amy extracted herself from the soggy ground, I then walked round the puddle too.
I think that Amy learnt a valuable lesson here. It wasn’t about attacking an obstacle whole heartedly, bike control or even tyre selection. Nope. Never listen to Fat Lad. It’s not good for your health. Or dry feet either.
Moving on we were at the beginning of TFI before we knew it. Now I don’t ever think I’ve ever described TFI on here before. All the pootle crew and some of the Bad Brains guys know TFI intimately. TFI is the acronym for That Fucking Incline. There are climbs that are longer, there are climbs that are steeper and there are definitely hills with more challenging terrain. However, for me at least, TFI is always a struggle that requires all my effort and will to conquer. It’s just that particular combination of these factors that have beaten me more times than I have the ascent. So when I managed to clear it, for the first time in the wet, I was more than a little happy. Who’d have thought it eh? Riding your bike shitloads helps you get better.
The top of TFI has been ruined by the gee-gees now that the path has been upgraded to a bridleway and so we had to amble on by foot at the summit. We got to the top and the sun had already dipped beyond the horizon. I’m determined that one pootle this summer we will catch the sunset from that point. I can guarantee, however, that I will forget my camera that day.
With a brief spin up the tarmac we were into the next wooded section and soon onto the new section Pete had informed me of earlier in the week. The top path in Cockersdale wood has always been a horrid mixture of gloop and roots in the winter and pretty much cancels all the riding this side of Morley for the cold/wet season. The new surface while built incredibly well and smooth is also very sterile. The path was fast and fun but with the tractor tyres I run in the winter it was a little sketchy in the corners.
Scooting onto the bottom path it was very apparent that it was the complete antithesis of the trail we’d just departed. From very early in it was at least rim deep in sludge for the duration of the trail. Now this particular bit is what some would call “cheekyâ€, or maybe a “night time bridleway†but it’s definitely a footpath. In the winter we spent avoiding this section someone has been a busy bee and has repaired all the stiles and fencing. I’m not complaining (it’s nice to see this sort of stuff still being done) but it did add a certain challenge lifting the bikes over these with such slippery conditions. Negotiating the bog Amy managed to get her other foot submerged in gloop at some point and with much slipping of tyres we were back at the path to exit the woods.
Because for the second time my winter boots (Shimano MW02’s) had torn open at the neoprene ankle cuff and I was waiting for Stif to get me my replacement pair in (they said to me with a straight face: “You must be putting them on wrong…†What the feck….) I was in my commuting Aldi specials. They’re great on the commuter pedals but with the caged spuds on my Kona they were pants. Getting back on the steed and setting off I slipped off the pedal and ran my calf along the big ring. Ouch.
Back on the tarmac we sailed to TFI and blasted down it in revenge for the earlier infliction of suffering. We made our way rapidly to the top of the climb by Rooms Farm and glancing at the GPS five satellites told us we’d only done nine miles. With no hesitation a unanimous decision was made to tag some miles on. Only twelve months prior by the time I’d got here I was wrecked and would be ready for home. (I think my very first post got deleted by a script kiddy so you can’t go back and check unfortunately) Confidence (and ego) inflated we hit Asquith woods and wrestled the bikes through the off-camber rooty sections and probably walked as much of it as we’d rode. Firing out onto the road we soon got back onto dirt and feeling stronger than I have done for a long time I blasted up the short technical climb at the back of the industrial estate.
Trudging through the death throes of the winter conditions we’ve done our fair share of shit weather this last season. By feck we’ve earned our summer rides.
Getting to the crossroads I added a waypoint so we could explore at a later date a glimpse of a path we could see. With only a long tarmac descent to finish I left Amy and Dave to roll to the pub while I popped home to squirt on some smelly and scrape the mud off my face. I strolled into the pub not much later with Mrs Fat Lad. Out of worry for a friend more than anything else I tried Pete’s numbers for a final time and got through on his landline.
“You’re gonna laugh at this Al†Pete declared. “Well I set off, got most of the way there and looked down to my cranks to see what ring I was in.That’s when I realised I was still in my slippers….. And then it just went downhill from there Al…â€
Fat Lad