I’m sure I’ve mentioned on here somewhere before now that I’m not very good at mornings. In fact I’m quite possibly the worst person I can think of anti-meridian. It’s not that I’m surly, I don’t have the energy to be honest, I’m just, well, mleh.
Anyways, a quick look out of the kitchen window foretold that it was to be a wet and dreary ride. I poked my head out of the front door to see how warm it was quickly returning to the living room. “It might be raining but at least it’s mild†I grinned at Mrs Fat Lad, and with that stripped to the waist and changed into my short sleeved base layer.
Milling round the car park it was soon apparent that it was only to be the four of us as Keith had left the map light on in his car and couldn’t get there from Headingley. How much map reading you have to do to navigate the kebab shops and ale houses back to your student digs I don’t know, but he had the good grace to let us know on the Bad Brains forum before hand.
With a quick democratic decision and the only time limit being the desire to get back for the afternoon rugby we decided on the Middleton Mosh. With only four of us out; it was a decent pace (for me) down to the field and we were over the fence and away sliding in the gullies but otherwise pedalling happy. By the cricket club we negotiated the narrow ground between the boulders and made our way to the path to see the gate normally locked wide open. Bugger.
Over to the next climb pedalling our way under grey skies the ground was soft and wet but everybody cleared it with little hassle. After a short breather we carried on, sliding down the side of the British Oak to Pete’s new section. They’re building some new houses here and the run up to the drop has got a concrete lip. Like a complete muppet I got and lifted my bike over it while the rest rode it effortlessly. Into Haigh woods we slipped and fishtailed our way through the slime to the top. Out on the exposed grass climb there were a few people out walking their dogs. Neither Pete nor Amy are good round man’s best friend. Funny thing though is how the canines are really attracted to Pete. They always bounder towards him above everyone else. I’ve told him to stop showering with Pedigree Chum but he’s not listened so far.
The climb up the grass banking was like riding through treacle, dog shit flavoured treacle in fact. We moved on to the reservoir wizzing round to the world’s worst bike gate. Seriously this thing is fucking useless. You can barely walk through it let alone get the push-iron through. This prompted our pluck female rider to come up with a plan. To the side of the gate is a short (maybe 8 feet ) steep climb to a low wall. Amy proposed that you could get up that bit and then climb over said wall with bike over the shoulder. With everyone through that bloody awful gate Martin and Amy scrambled up the potential descent like giddy school children. Pete and I looked at each other and shrugged. However curiosity got the better of me and I had to grope my way up the slope to have a look too. It looks do-able. Getting back down the slide with winter boots however was… entertaining!
Everyone through the bombhole and onto the tarmac to get to Beirut, Pete attempted to take us down the wrong turning. We all reckoned on it being the first time down here in daylight for a while and Pete should try squinting or maybe riding with his eyes shut to aid his navigation… Down Thorpe Lane and into Beirut and it was an absolute disgrace. Piles of litter, still smouldering rubbish and broken glass everywhere. The inhabitants of here get the environment they deserve; it’s just a bitch for the rest of us.
Inevitably with all the shards of cheap cider bottles dominating the track, Pete ended up with a puncture. All regrouped, Amy took the opportunity to have an energy bar while Pete worked his magic. Breaking a small piece of for me, I popped it into mouth and I have to say, hand on heart, it was one of the most disgusting things I have ever tasted. Probably really good for you, but to quote Martin “It tastes like slurry!†The only thing I would add to that statement is “with a hint of lemon…†While Pete was muttering something about “Only when it’s pissing it down do I get punctures…†Amy asked who the mascot attached to my camelback. “That’s Seamus†says I, “He’s the black sheep of the family!†Yay! I finally got to do my Seamus joke… Ahem.
Everyone fixed and suitably entertained we made our way across the really boggy field and up to the water tower in Middleton via a not-as-steep-as-I-remember-it climb. Past the only feature of note in this area, we sailed down the wide path into the woods and where the end of the path meets the road I leapt of the kerb too late to notice the couple walking their dog. Buzzing past it was all I could do to stay on. So, if that couple ever stumbles upon my humble digital abode, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean it. If I did I’d have taken out your poop-machines too!
Down at the jump spot my wheels left the ground entirely unexpectedly and scared the shite out of me and a little prayer of thanks was offered to the gods of the trail for not dumping my arse in the mud. It felt like I sailed majestically for hours and travelled many yards forward when the truth is it was probably more like I hovered a few millimetres and crashed down with the finesse of stoned pachyderm. Taking a few moments for a breather I wandered into the foliage to relieve myself. Performance anxiety out of the way I joined the others and it was time for the singletrack. I’ve spoken before about this particular little run in other posts so I’ll not go into too much detail, but the highlights include hopping over the logs put there to slow us down (yeah right) and a very slippery ride all the way to the bottom. With the grins subsiding we made our way back to the jump spot with me crashing my way through the undergrowth trying to find the main track back to the jump spot. Halfway up the double track drag to the jump spot I needed a rest and while the other discussed the benefits and disadvantages (mainly disadvantages) of vegetarianism I tried to not die. We got to the jump spot again and everybody had a crack at climb the steep exit point back to the park road with a random old fella shouting encouragement to Amy on her ascent.
Making our way out of the woods Pete told me about his walking friend who reads this and uses our rides as inspiration for some walks, glad someone is getting some joy out of my hobby of cocking around on bikes! Making our way back to Beirut I conquered some steps from about half way down while Pete launched himself from the saddle again. Martin glided down from all the way from the top.
Through Beirut and heading towards the White Rose centre Pete found a new descent and like the crank-lemmings we are we followed him. That is, until we saw where he was going. We watched him slide so far down the verysteep slidy embankment and all hoped he didn’t end up in the traffic. Leaving Pete to his death slide, we all regrouped via the normal path and made our way to the gravel stream. The other three disappearing into the horizon I think I spotted a way round that isn’t pants but still climbs to the same place. Oh well, serves them right for being faster than me 🙂 After the deep mud by the railway we lifted our bikes across the gate and had two minutes while one of the riders (I won’t say who) regaled a embarrassing yet very funny tale involving getting their head stuck in a full face helmet back to front, we set off for the final climb of the day.
At the top of the climb Pete and I had a shot of Big Al’s Special Hill Medicine and we all cranked our way home. Back to the house it was 15 miles dead. It had rained most of the way round and with the exception of Pete’s soggy deflating rubber we’d had a real laugh.
A really, really awesome ride.
Fat Lad
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