Fat Lad Rides the Thorpe Tickler

It snowed on the Tuesday we normally ride. Really snowed, and after taking my brakes to bits I couldn’t ride because somehow I’d managed to make the rear caliper leak during the bleeding process. As Mrs Fat Lad will tell you I was in a foul mood. I couldn’t get the replacement parts on Monday or Tuesday so I had to order them from Wiggle. (fantastic Service BTW). So it had snowed and I hadn’t got out yet. I sulked.

On Thursday Roachy and I (although mainly Roachy) fixed the brakes and got out finally. Unfortunately most of the snow had disappeared and had been replaced with goopy mud. There was one field deep in the stuff though which was ace to ride across. The only other thing of note was there was one occasion where we were riding down a hill and the hail was hitting us in the face hard! So, I did what anybody else would do in this situation. I stuck my tongue out.

It was just like that Magic Space/Star Dust you used to be able to get as a kid......

Fat Lad

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Fat Lad Rides the Abridged Pudsey Plodder

Back into my usual routine and I was late to the starting point. Shooting down the hill to meet Roachy I’d realised two things. One: it was too bloody early and Two: it was far too cold for the gear I was wearing. When I’d looked out of the window that morning it looked a beautiful, sunny and glorious day. Shame I’d not thought that it might still be feckin freezing.

We got off the road quickly and on the very first piece of off road we were greeted by a gaggle of geese. The not-so-little feckers would not budge and hissed at us as we weaved through them. The morning was already becoming far too bizarre for my liking.

We came to a path that had been blocked (we assume to stop motorbikes getting through) with a huge pile of thorn bushes and whilst having a twat of a time climbing over those with NuNu over my shoulder I realised I’d forgotten to turn on the logging for the gps. Doh. So if you actually look at these things you’ll see it starts in the middle of nowhere. Anyways...........

Down past Rooms farm and onto that twatting climb, it was not fun. The surface was that really slick mud where you seem to get no grip and we had a strong wind blowing across us the whole way up. Suffice to say I didn’t make it to the top. In fact I think thats the shortest ever distance up the hill before I’ve had to get off . Up on the top the trail was no better. Our equestrian buddies had made sure the top track was so churned up it was nearly impossible to ride.

Into Cockersdale woods and it was no better, the mud was even feckin worse. We tried a track we’d never rode before but it turned out to be a bit pants. Across the stream and guess what? More mud. (did you guess correctly? Well done if you did! You get 5 points on the Big Al’s Tell-it-to-someone-who-gives-a-feck leaderboard). The only moment of excitement through out the entire woods was when I snapped my mudguard crossing a stile. For a short while we stood deliberating wether to sail it down the stream or not. Being the earth-luvvin hippy I am; I stuck it in my camelbak and we made our way back home.

All said it wasn’t a great ride but it still felt good to be out.
To quote uncle stAn “ A bad day on the bike is still better than a good day at work!”

Fat lad

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Fat Lad Rides the Thorpe Tickler

I'd had one of those days, you know those real f*ck you and all your b*llshit days. To be completly honest the last thing I wanted to do was go riding. In fact I was " " this close to a large bag of Doritos and pints and pints of banana milkshake. "Go. You'll love it when you're out" were the fine words of my better half, Sarah.

We were riding on a Monday as Roachy was having his Mohawk redone or his nails or something on the Tuesday. When out the entire ride was a really really good pace with us only stopping the once. But otherwise uneventful. Just two mates blasting round the trials never quite growing up.

I've been riding Mountain Bikes for about eleven years now, starting out on my old faithful Raleigh Activator 2 and going through pretty much every sort of bike since. There was a time for a while where I didn't ride at all. But once you start it's in your blood, and nothing can quite replace that feeling of conquering that hill that you've never made or showing that drop who's scared of who. I needed a night like that Tuesday to remind me that while somethings will come and go in life, the riding, the love of riding will always be there, and it will be a friend forever, and always, always, make me smile.

Fat Lad

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Fat Lad Rides the Morley Meander

SHEILA! Is the name of Pete’s Missus. I found this out during this ride. I can’t remember whereabouts on the ride she told me but she did. Aren’t you glad I cleared that up? No? Oh well. NEW TOY ALERT 2: I got some new lights because my last ones were pants. They are the lovely shiny fireballs. All lovely cnc’ed aluminium goodness. So, naturally first time I fit them, I scratch them. I’m an idiot.

Anyways Pete Sheila and Roachy turn up at my gaff and I’m not ready (ahh back into the routine… Tardiness I’ve missed you so much). After four of watching my better half parallel park her car, really putting her off in the process, we set off down the lane near my house (where I got cramp).

Into the woods and Sheila was making light work of all the obstacles, roots and the off camber nature of the trails putting me to shame. I was having a hard time of it not made any easier by the fact that my brakes really need bleeding and so there was a sketchy moment or two.

Out of the woods we followed a small road section and cut down a path that during the summer is overgrown with nettles. Again I couldn't go as fast as I would with problems with the brakes.

After a short climb we had a long, dull, although downhill road stretch to our next off road section. We nearly put Sheila off night riding for life with Roachy shooting off into the distance and not looking back. Fortunately the next section more than made up for it. The path that takes down the back of the industrial estate by the side of the fields overlooks Leeds and on that clear cold night it was an awesome view to climb to.

We took a right turn down a path we've never taken before. It was just a lot feckin bumpy which was nice with reduced brakes. We climbed up past my old gaff and towards the train station carrying our bikes down the stairs. None of us we're daft enough to try riding down. Plus, I'm a bit of a fairy when it comes to steps.

Past the refinery and across the railway line Roachy made a discovery. He found a an old scythe. He decided he was going to ride home with it. Sometimes. Just sometimes. I despair. Half way up the last climb of the night common sense decided to make a visit to Roachy's brain and he dismounted the bike scythe in hand to stash it in a bush. While he was depositing it in some bushes to collect it later on foot a flock(?) of bats flew out in that beautiful erattic flight path of thiers. On this particular trail in the last year we've seen kestrels, foxes and now bats. A short blast and we we're back home.

God I love these Tuesday rides.

Plus I had many pancakes when i got home.

Contented

Fatlad

Fat lad Rides the Birkby Brow Bash

Sunday morning and for once I’m out of bed, fed, watered and ready to go. I pootle up to the Mermaid chippy to meet Pete and his missus. Again I’m early and this is really starting to freak me out. I don’t do early. I’ve got a reputation to maintain…..

Pete and his better half turned up at nine on the dot and after a little while chatting we were off. We followed the road up to the turnoff and started lifting our bikes over the gate. “I’ve never seen this track on the map” Pete asked. “Ah, That’s because it’s a cheeky bridleway Pete fella…..a footpath mate.” I replied. “Oh well, not to worry!” was his response and with that we shot off down the track and across the motorway bridge. Despite the drizzle it was turning out to be a good morning. We turned right after the motorway bridge and through the small wooded area and after following the track a little bit further down hill to the top entrance of Birkby Brow woods.

We sailed down the singletrack winding our way to the main path and came against our first obstacle of the day. A knobhead. A clay pigeon shooting Knobhead to be precise. After arguing with him about rights of way and if indeed he could actually point out a path on a map we were off again. To be fair the Knobhead was lucky Roachy wasn’t there because I think he would have probably flattened him. He had a stinking attitude.

Back riding we got to the gate and we had our first puncture of the day. Mine. Feck. I hate changing tubes while I’m out. Being a *ahem* larger fella I can never get the pressure as high as I want it to be with my trail pump. Tube changed and tyre inflated we carried on over the road and onto the climb up to Howley Hall Ruins. I came so close to getting all the way up that I really pissed myself off when I didn’t. Next time, next time……….

At the top we all had a five minute breather and it was Pete who made a good point about the shooting guys. “They need all the support they can get now, You’d think they might be a bit nicer to people and try and get away form the image they already have.”

Back in the saddle and we followed the track down past Woodkirk Cricket Club and climbed up to the last bit of Off Road of the day. This is when I had a genius idea….. (I should know better at my age than to trust anything that comes out of my dark dismal mind….) Rather than following the path that we knew took us back home on the road… we decided to go left. Well in my defence it looked like the path carried on for a long way. It didn’t. It turned into a rather muddy field very quickly. I tried to remain upbeat and kept saying to Pete and his missus “We can’t be too far from the motorway bridge now…” After a fair old slog and some *ahem* creative navigation (Don’t ask) we got back to the main road. I think that everybody (including me) was starting to doubt my sanity with regards to that bloody motorway bridge. When we got back to the main road we could see it, probably about a mile away, at least I really wasn’t going mad.

I left Pete and his better half near where we’d set of from and shot off back home. On the way back I decided on a shortcut. The short steep cobbled hill that we sometimes climb right at the beginning of a ride was the goal, and I got there quickly. Without any hesitation or thought I flew down the cobbled hill way too quickly and when too lads turned the corner at the bottom I decided it was probably a good idea to slow down. So I squeezed the front brake.
Ever.
So.
Slightly.
Ouch.
I hit the ground with a real feckin clatter: rotated the handlebars back in the stem, landed really heavily on my arse and wounded my pride. The two lads rushed up to see me asking if I was alright and commenting that I was going way too fast. Cheers lads. After doing that “walking round in circles bit” when you fall I started laughing and so did they. I limped home the last half mile to a very hot bath and a cup of tea.

Fat Lad

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