Across the Trough

Please indulge me for a moment as I gloat about yesterday's ride. The
February half-term weather having been unusually kind, I set off for my
third 50km ride of the week in cool, almost windless conditions under a
glorious blue sky armed with six Geobars, a multitool and inner tube, a
credit card, a car key, my trusty Garmin Edge (and paper map in case of
technical difficulties), a waterproof and contrasting Rapha sportwool
jersey and arm warmers.

I was cheating a little as I was starting from Beacon Fell, aware that I
almost certainly would not as yet have the legs to complete my intended
loop if starting from home.

About 2 km from the start of my route I am reminded, as my rear light
bounces down the road [1], that I must buy some cable ties to attach it
more inescapably to my seat pack, the road surface on the descent to
Brock Mill having apparently been laid by Belgians.

Just before the first proper climb of the day, up to Grizedale
reservoir, I discover that my front derailleur is no longer working as
it has jammed against my big chainring. Conveniently, after a few
minutes staring at it and threatening it with a multitool, a passing
cyclist offers his assistance. 20 minutes later, and following some
comparison with his steed, we realise that the derailleur has slipped
southwards and that it is actually quite a simple problem to fix.

So, thoroughly warmed up (not) the 3km climb, up 140 metres or so,
brings me to glorious views over Forton services to Morecambe Bay and
the Lake District. The descent towards the River Wyre would have been
quicker had the local farmers not insisted on scattering it with cattle
grids. Still, it gives me plenty of time to enjoy the views.

A right turn brings me to the next climb and past some of the last
vestiges of civilisation for the next dozen kilometres. I am now glad
that my jersey has a full length zip as, even in the northern shadow of
Catshaw Fell, I'm getting rather hot.

Seeing a short but near vertical wall of road ahead of me, I try to
build up a good head of steam to get me up it, only to realise a little
late that another farmer (maybe the same one, who knows) has not only
placed a cattle grid at its base but also the road has a small but
incredibly sharp hairpin after the grid. The 16% gradient here makes me
glad that my front derailleur is now back in action and I realise that
I've not seen any cyclists (or, for that matter, motorists) for the last
10 kms.

The short descent leads to a right turn after a fine looking stream
before the road passes through the middle of Marshaw farm at the
beginning of the 4 km climb between Winfold Fell and Blaze Moss. The
start is gentle enough and the first two kilometres are demolished in
seven minutes. The road now turns once more to give me a glimpse of the
final mile of climb.

As the road snakes upwards and the gradient increases, I find myself
grinning inanely as my speed slows to a walking pace and I take to
counting roadside markings to take my mind off the pain. There are only
eight more markers to the summit and, as I count them down, noticing
that several more have fallen into the gulley below, I notice that I've
misjudged the hill and that it continues for another 200 metres.

As the road briefly widens, I allow a red saloon car to overtake me. I
will soon regret this move. Less than a minute later, I am over the
summit now with beautiful views over the geographical centre of Great
Britain. The descent is even steeper than the climb but the road is wide
and I could descend at a heck of a speed if it weren't for a certain red
saloon car which is now, to my mind, travelling at a ludicrously slow 30
mph, obliging me to keep my hands on the brakes for at least half of the
next 4 km through the Duke of Lancaster's substantial estate.

As I pass the Inn at Whitewell and enter the woods, the cold hits my
legs, the sun will shine directly into my eyes for the next fifteen
minutes and I realise that my legs have about had enough. The thought of
a large all-day breakfast back at the Visitor Centre keeps me going but
another 200 metres of climb over the next 10 kilometres separates my
stomach from its prey. I resist the temptation to call in at the Dog &
Partridge in Hesketh Lane as I can now see Beacon Fell rising ahead of
me.

Turning onto a singletrack road, sod's law insists that I should now
start to meet traffic and that that traffic should expect me to cycle on
the muddy verge. I decline the offer and concentrate on the next three
kilometres. Now that my legs feel most ready to give way, I have another
100 metres to climb. The sun is now at my side so I can appreciate the
scenery and can see a badger by the road. Obviously, it's not going
anywhere in a hurry.

920 metres of climb and just short of 54 kilometres after I set out, I
return to Beacon Fell's Visitor Centre and café, ready to tuck into some
lovely hot food. Service stopped twenty minutes previously.

Cheers,
Luke

http://longwayround.motionbased.com


--
Red Rose Ramblings, the diary of an Essex boy in
exile in Lancashire http://www.shrimper.org.uk

Ekul Namsob wrote:

Excellent report of splendid ride

As we occasionally say here in Northern Britain, "Ye canna whack it"!!

--
Brian G
www.wetwo.co.uk

Ekul Namsob wrote:
Please indulge me for a moment as I gloat about yesterday's ride.

Nice ride, nice report.

So, thoroughly warmed up (not) the 3km climb, up 140 metres or so,
brings me to glorious views over Forton services to Morecambe Bay and
the Lake District.

There are certain peoples' ride reports which make me feel envious of
the views they get. I'm in the Cotswolds and get the Severn valley and
Forest of Dean, which aren't bad, but I'd rather have the Lake
District.

The descent towards the River Wyre would have been
quicker had the local farmers not insisted on scattering it with cattle
grids.

A rarity round here, livestock tends to be tucked up in fields.
Actually, I do cross one fairly fast descending a 1:10 hill, and don't
think of it as a problem. Maybe because I'm worrying about the height
barrier over it to stop tall vehicles (it's at the start of a bypassed
stretch of A road that's used as a car park). It feels as though I'd
hit my head on it if I sat up, which I don't think I could, but that
doesn't stop me worrying.

Rob

wrote:

Ekul Namsob wrote:
Please indulge me for a moment as I gloat about yesterday's ride.

Nice ride, nice report.

I thank you and Brian. I was concerned it might have been a bit long.

So, thoroughly warmed up (not) the 3km climb, up 140 metres or so,
brings me to glorious views over Forton services to Morecambe Bay and
the Lake District.

There are certain peoples' ride reports which make me feel envious of
the views they get. I'm in the Cotswolds and get the Severn valley and
Forest of Dean, which aren't bad, but I'd rather have the Lake
District.

I am passionately in love with the Forest of Bowland. It is truly one of
the most beautiful and quiet areas of England that I know. I suppose the
danger is that some of you might be tempted to make it less quiet.

For years, my local scenery put me off cycling as I'm from Essex
originally and found the hill I had to confront each week too painful
for words. Ironically, it was only 300 metres of 10% climbing but I
suppose, as all the rest of my cycling was either on the flat or
something close to it, I just didn't get the necessary practice.

The fact that, by the time I moved here, I smoked 10 to 20 a day didn't
help.

The descent towards the River Wyre would have been
quicker had the local farmers not insisted on scattering it with cattle
grids.

A rarity round here, livestock tends to be tucked up in fields.
Actually, I do cross one fairly fast descending a 1:10 hill, and don't
think of it as a problem. Maybe because I'm worrying about the height
barrier over it to stop tall vehicles (it's at the start of a bypassed
stretch of A road that's used as a car park). It feels as though I'd
hit my head on it if I sat up, which I don't think I could, but that
doesn't stop me worrying.

Should I just be braver and hurtle right over the things?

Cheers,
Luke


--
Red Rose Ramblings, the diary of an Essex boy in
exile in Lancashire http://www.shrimper.org.uk

Ekul Namsob wrote:

As the road briefly widens, I allow a red saloon car to overtake me. I
will soon regret this move. Less than a minute later, I am over the
summit now with beautiful views over the geographical centre of Great
Britain. The descent is even steeper than the climb but the road is wide
and I could descend at a heck of a speed if it weren't for a certain red
saloon car which is now, to my mind, travelling at a ludicrously slow 30
mph, obliging me to keep my hands on the brakes for at least half of the
next 4 km through the Duke of Lancaster's substantial estate.

Lovely ride report, and brings back happy memories of cycling those roads...
But the geographical centre of Britain is in Dumfrieshire. It's 1237 Km from
Muckle Flugga to Lizard Point, and 670 of those kilometres are in Scotland.

--
(Simon Brooke) http://www.jasmine.org.uk/~simon/
; gif ye hes forget our auld plane Scottis quhilk your mother lerit you,
; in tymes cuming I sall wryte to you my mind in Latin, for I am nocht
; acquyntit with your Southeron
;; Letter frae Ninian Winyet tae John Knox datit 27t October 1563

Clive George wrote:

"Ekul Namsob" wrote in message
news:1icbb1e.d2884m1urwaayN%notmyaddress.1.ekulnam ...

Should I just be braver and hurtle right over the things?

Yes :-)

(ok, I'm normally on a tandem which isn't going to be put off by them, but
generally speaking taking them fast is fine. Possibly unweight a little to
avoid a pinch flat if you hit a dodgy bar.)

Fairy nuff. I would unweight a little to save my tender bits as well.
After all, 700x23s are likely to have rather less cushioning than the
tyres on your tandem.

Cheers,
Luke


--
Red Rose Ramblings, the diary of an Essex boy in
exile in Lancashire http://www.shrimper.org.uk

Simon Brooke wrote:

Ekul Namsob wrote:

As the road briefly widens, I allow a red saloon car to overtake me. I
will soon regret this move. Less than a minute later, I am over the
summit now with beautiful views over the geographical centre of Great
Britain. The descent is even steeper than the climb but the road is wide
and I could descend at a heck of a speed if it weren't for a certain red
saloon car which is now, to my mind, travelling at a ludicrously slow 30
mph, obliging me to keep my hands on the brakes for at least half of the
next 4 km through the Duke of Lancaster's substantial estate.

Lovely ride report, and brings back happy memories of cycling those roads...
But the geographical centre of Britain is in Dumfrieshire. It's 1237 Km from
Muckle Flugga to Lizard Point, and 670 of those kilometres are in Scotland.

Well, the Ordnance Survey disagrees with you, as do BT who put a
commemorative phonebox a few miles from the exact point.
http://news.bbc.co.uk/1/hi/uk/2271914.stm

Apparently, the OS's method looks for the centre of gravity of a
cardboard cut out of GB and its associated islands.

Cheers,
Luke

--
Red Rose Ramblings, the diary of an Essex boy in
exile in Lancashire http://www.shrimper.org.uk

Ekul Namsob wrote:

The descent towards the River Wyre would have been
quicker had the local farmers not insisted on scattering it with cattle
grids.

A rarity round here, livestock tends to be tucked up in fields.
Actually, I do cross one fairly fast descending a 1:10 hill, and don't
think of it as a problem. Maybe because I'm worrying about the height
barrier over it to stop tall vehicles (it's at the start of a bypassed
stretch of A road that's used as a car park). It feels as though I'd
hit my head on it if I sat up, which I don't think I could, but that
doesn't stop me worrying.

Should I just be braver and hurtle right over the things?

Seriously, be wary of cattle grids. They're generally OK if you cross them
at exactly 90 degrees to the bars in dry weather, and I know some folk who
manage by bunny-hopping them. But in wet weather - very slightly wet is
probably more hazardous than really wet, because you don't expect them to
be dangerous - they can be lethal. A goodly number of the 'a helmet saved
my life' stories from these parts concern cattle grids. If you come down,
you come down very fast with no warning - your front wheel just goes
sideways.

I always cross em slow with one foot unclipped unless it's really dry.

--
(Simon Brooke) http://www.jasmine.org.uk/~simon/

pSchroedinger's cat is blinkstrongNOT/strong/blink dead./p

"Simon Brooke" wrote in message
...
Ekul Namsob wrote:

The descent towards the River Wyre would have been
quicker had the local farmers not insisted on scattering it with
cattle
grids.

A rarity round here, livestock tends to be tucked up in fields.
Actually, I do cross one fairly fast descending a 1:10 hill, and don't
think of it as a problem. Maybe because I'm worrying about the height
barrier over it to stop tall vehicles (it's at the start of a bypassed
stretch of A road that's used as a car park). It feels as though I'd
hit my head on it if I sat up, which I don't think I could, but that
doesn't stop me worrying.

Should I just be braver and hurtle right over the things?

Seriously, be wary of cattle grids. They're generally OK if you cross them
at exactly 90 degrees to the bars in dry weather, and I know some folk who
manage by bunny-hopping them. But in wet weather - very slightly wet is
probably more hazardous than really wet, because you don't expect them to
be dangerous - they can be lethal. A goodly number of the 'a helmet saved
my life' stories from these parts concern cattle grids. If you come down,
you come down very fast with no warning - your front wheel just goes
sideways.

I always cross em slow with one foot unclipped unless it's really dry.

Tee hee. Somewhat the opposite technique to me then. Though I do make sure
to cross them straight on, wet or dry - obviously if you're not turning at
all there's no reason for your front wheel to go whee.

cheers,
clive

"Clive George" wrote in message
...

I always cross em slow with one foot unclipped unless it's really dry.

Tee hee. Somewhat the opposite technique to me then. Though I do make sure
to cross them straight on, wet or dry - obviously if you're not turning at
all there's no reason for your front wheel to go whee.

Forgot to mention my favourite cattle grid story, which though I've told it
before always amuses me. Coming down the hill towards Arncliffe, just
winding it up on the open section before it gets all closed and scary, we go
past another tandem couple who are parked up. We some strangled cry
"aauragh", but we're enjoying ourselves a bit much to stop. We then realised
sometime later it was an American accented "Cattle grid", said in tones of
dire warning. Unfortnately we never did get to tell them "yes, we know, not
only do we know this road, but in case we forgot, there's a nice sign
reminding us before it". Well, we thought it was funny anyway :-)

cheers,
clive