Fat Lad Rides Again

For the second Sabbath running we had rode an absolutely stonking route. 16.5 miles of hills, thrills and bellyache. Taking in one of the most notorious climbs round these here parts, the week previous I managed to conquer it without coughing up any part of my respiratory system. However on this AM adventure it wasn’t to be as I spun out barely 50 yards into the ascent. In a pouting hissy fit I threw the bike on the ground and kicked a wheel for good measure. When I eventually hit the top my moaning and bitching was cut short by Amy: “Yeah but your rubbish now it better than your good this time last year” Thanks Amy, I think.

As it was my niece’s first birthday on my usual Pootle day I organised to go out for a spin with some of the regulars on the Monday with Picky taking the reins for the pootle the day after. After another truly awful day at the rudderless ship we call work, I was ready phnemoenly early again. While the grind is devastating for the soul, it’s great for getting me organised.

My legs were already aching on the stroll up to Pete’s. Glad for the flat already at Pete’s I gladly accepted his offered mug of tea while Amy got herself ready. Pete taking advantage of the dry conditions was taking his Harley out instead. We inspected the shoddy state of the rocking, creaking and groaning x-type bearings attached to the bottom bracket shell “Nothing money won’t fix” Pete lamented. Amy ready, the three of us wandered over to the car park to join the rest.

For this evenings off-road soiree we had, Picky, John, Amy, Little Al, new guy Daz and my good self. After chatting for an age Pete wandered back home and we all rolled off for the hills. Leaving the car park a patrol car passed by; I grinned and thanked Picky for organising our Tour of Morley escort for the night.

Definitely not riding on the pavement (sorry Bad Brains in-joke) we turned off to the simple joy of the gate open to the corn field descent. The incredibly warm and equally wet summer has turned some of our trails tropical in overgrown barbed and stinging foliage. Purely by mistake a couple of rides earlier we found an alternative way round. A perfectly rideable fairly steep run in, over a stream and up a steep bank the other side. When we decide on the best line through the stream it’s going to be good. One swift democratic decision later and it was decided to extend the ride and we headed over to the churchyard.

Approaching the steps Amy, Picky and John rolled through while us remaining cowards dismounted. The two old gents tending to the graveyard mocked us with taunts of “that young lass managed it” shamefully I remounted and shot off before I could be embarrassed any further. Climbing out of the valley I felt good despite the screaming coming from my thighs and quickly all regrouped we aimed for the next trail fix.

Not long on the tarmac Little Al flatted and it was all hands on deck (well Picky, the rest of us “supervised”). Tight turns performed in the road John launched himself over the saddle and onto the concrete trying to wheelie clipped in. For his reward he skinned his elbow! Muppet. All sorted we saddled up trying again for the drop. We were soon into the whoops and dips of the drop the expensive sound of Daz’s gears crunching into the humid night sky. Leaving the wooded playground I voiced doubts of my ability to middle ring the climb to the cross road tonight to anyone who’d listen but those fears were not realised. Picky chatted to me on the ascent and we both noticed the difference in his fitness mere weeks later.

Over the old landfill I took the lead to avoid the newly installed hindrances with the new route pedal worthy all the way. Up to the ruins my legs ached and asked my conscience for forgiveness but I overruled and we pushed on. Used to playing sweeper on this ride I took the descent path too early, the rocky loose descent replaced by the mundane switchback we found ourselves now on. Amy retaking the lead she lead the quicker guys up the stack and down the technical slope the other side. At the top Daz hesitated and Picky and I guided him down. “Roll it!” Our resident defender of justice called out and cranking on to our next section I discussed with Daz how it isn’t just your fitness that goes when you have time off the cranks.

Past the stream crossing and Little Al’s lamps had decided that they’d had enough. With warnings of knife edge to come he extinguished them completely hoping to save enough charge. Again I missed being in the tunnel as a train thundered above spinning over to better-climb-than-descent. I middle ringed it but much slower than usual as Sunday mornings pacy affair caught up with me.

We arrived at the gate and Daz very kindly lent Little Al his commuter light and it was no rest for the wicked as we attacked nab lane. The lead struts making a good impression of my legs were totally gone now and I twiddled up the steep tarmac snail like in speed and rhythm. Crossing the busy vehicular arteries running through this light industrial haven we soon caught up the rest at the nearby summit. For a long time we gazed through the sticky night at the lights below blazing sodium orange to the stratosphere. Banter flowing no-one possessed the desire to push on.

Some made the move and we rolled to knife edge. Amy took the lead and I played sweeper with Little Al just ahead of me. By the first roots section, luck was not on his side and his lights decided they were just not playing anymore. As I stropped through the boggy tree lined floor it was abundantly clear that summer was gone till next year. Little Al followed closely behind as we rolled up and down the slimy tracks. At the first off camber section there was a clatter and an “oof” to rival our dearly departed Keith. Back in the saddle we struggled on catching the rest at the start of the delight.

A quick inspection of Little Al’s injuries and Picky leapt in with his first aid merit badge skills to the fore. Little Al’s forearm looked grim covered in blood and grime:

but turned out to be just minor scrapes. At the trailside we were still none the wiser so our boy in blue bandaged him up quickly. With no safety pins or surgical tape to hand it was to be insulating tape to finish off the job.

All fixed up I let the other guys pedal away into the darkness as I struggle up the delight on legs that really did not want anymore. The gap finally narrowed betwixt me and the group we stopped at the other side of the bridge for Hill Medicine and Jelly Babies. Picky and Daz, athletes both, took the opportunity for a smoke (if you want to berate them there’s a comments box below…)

Our two tar lunged athletes finished we carried on over the moor to Brownhills. At the entrance we gave Little Al the final say if he wanted to ride the not technical but very quick descent. With the affirmative in place we clipped in to go when Amy’s lights decided that they too had had enough tonight. I made the decision there and then to call it a night and we headed for home peleton style on the roads.

Back at the car park I had to skip my pint and slice of cake to do the dutiful son bit and repair my old man’s computer. Big Al’s Printer Service to the rescue. That right if you’re ever in need just think of my BAPS.

Fat Lad

Epilogue

On Tuesday I had way too much party food and birthday cake but it was even [ital] worth missing a pootle for the site of this

It won’t be long before she’s out on the trails and beating her uncle Fat Lad to the summits….

Picky’s first pootle as ride leader went well I’m told and he even carried on the fine traditions of the pootle with fire water and Jelly Babies. Well done that man!