Fat Lad gets Political

One of the things I always promised myself about my particular corner of the t'internet would be that I always posted things relvant to the pedalling world and ther would be no bad poetry or inane references to Sylvia Plath. However, somethings always need a voice. This would be one of those things.

From Save Parliament:

The boringly-named Legislative and Regulatory Reform Bill is in fact a very dangerous piece of legislation. It grants any minister the ability to amend, replace, or repeal existing legislation. The frightening thing is this: they would be able to make major changes to the law without Parliament being able to examine it properly, taking away the ability of Parliament to meaningfully represent the citizens of this country.

or to put it into context:

This means that if a minister got up in a bad mood, he could decide to make laughing in public punishable by 2 years in prison by amending the Serious Organised Crime Act. Or if he was late to work, he could arbitrarily do away with speed limits by amending the Road Traffic Act.

More worryingly, the minister involved can amend any existing legislation; nothing is protected. So, as was pointed out in The Times by 6 law professors from Cambridge, a minister could abolish trial by jury, suspend habeas corpus (your right not to be arbitrarily arrested), or change any of the legislation governing the legal system.

Time to act people, my particular Westminster crony has just got the below. This is so disgustingly easy to do there are no excuses:

Click here and have your voice heard

Dear Colin Challen,

Our current government seems to be doing all in it's power to turn this fine country into a nightmare beyond the imagination of Orwell. As with any decent democracy the right for all to have their voice heard is paramount. I can't help but fear that the Legislative and Regulatory Reform Bill is going to go unchallenged and it is the biggest threat to democracy yet. I would like to know if you are gouing to oppose this bill and if not your reasons why?

Yours sincerely,

Alan Shaw


Please leave comments if you have any opinion on this at all

Fat Lad rides the Calverly Corker

You have to ask. No really you do. What sorts of idiots go out in the sort of weather we had Sunday morning. Below zero temperatures, lots of snow and a biting arctic-esque wind. Read on and find out…

For a guy who really does not like mornings getting out of bed on a Sunday am to go riding is surprisingly easy. Maybe it’s something to do with it not being work. After forcing my porridge down I covered my flabby body with Lycra and after sticking my head out the door changed into a slightly warmer base layer. Loading the car the snow was lightly drifting to earth but not settling.

Manhandling the tank of an automobile that I laughingly call a car I picked up Pete and we made our way up to the Old Brickworks. Pulling up to the car park Martin gestured towards his watch so I gestured back. Unloading the car a good crowd was already in attendance and it swelled a little more as Roachy turned up with two new faces. Roachy introduced us and explained that he’d found them riding not far from his gaff and asked if they wanted to join us. Stupidly they’d said yes and here they were freezing their nuts off with the rest of us, and I was fairly sure I recognised one of them.

Everyone kitted up and ready to go, I did a quick head count (nine) and off we went. Before we’d even got a mile under our knobblies Pete got us lost twice… on the right track we flew down past the farm where a few weeks previous the hounds tried to eat us. With a very small tarmac climb we we’re at the Valley pub and the ride could begin proper.

At the first proper climb the stronger riders blasted on while the hill sloths amongst us made their way up in there own steady way. Passing Amy and the dude I’m sure I thought I recognised, I pedalled on with Keith not far behind me. It was then I realised who that guy was…. turns out I’d gone to school with him many moons ago. Small old world… regrouping at the top Keith had a moment while he gathered his breath and Amy went a funny shade of green. “Did anyone ring my mobile?” I asked the crew and with nobody owning up we set off once more. I sped up to catch Pete and let him know I was shooting to the bottom of keeper to get photos of people coming down. Descending keeper lane with snow and gloopy mud was a grin inducing challenge.

Not far from the descent’s end my phone started ringing again and with the last few seconds of downhill remaining there was no way I was stopping to answer it. I propped my steed up to one side and got ready for the guys to come and be photogenic.




With everyone down safe and sound, I returned to my bike and picked up my voicemail to hear a very confused Donny Dave wondered quite where we had left him…. Bugger.
“Have we lost anyone?” I asked the pootle crew. With a sudden realisation Pete’s face dropped, yep we had. I did a quick headcount and got nine once more. Hmmm, oh yeah I not counted myself at the car park, schoolboy error. Sometimes, ok most times, I can be a right prat. Pete took the stronger riders up the nightmare climb to the Bank House pub and a after certain rider’s hangover subsided we followed the stream to meet up where the other were going to descend to.
We got to the crossroads in the trail just as Pete was rescuing one of the new guys from the stream after a failed attempt to cross it. Luckily he’d not ended up in the drink but was balanced precariously track standing for dear life until assistance was available.

All together again, we rode on as the inbound snow got thicker and heavier.

We played in the small wooded section and then made our way up the absolutely vile climb to our next stop.
After a brief breather, it was onwards again. At the first new section Roachy decided to bail out and took the new lads with him, leaving the party faithful to enjoy the rest. The brief downhill out of the way we attacked the next climb; a slippy cobbled mare of an ascent in the dry and an entertaining giggle in the snow. Sliding out early on it was impossible to get going again so I soldiered on, barely managing to walk it.

Catching up with everybody at the summit, they had all taken shelter from the bitter crosswind in the shadow of a gateway. For the last ten yards of the ascent I had managed to pedal it felt like my face was sticky, stopping to regroup I cleared the ice from my beard and onwards we rode.

Restoring the navigational balance Pete led us to the new section with barely contained gusto.

We traversed the railway crossing, continuing on and over the main road. After just a little more tarmac we hit the next field. Doing my best to retain control, I slid left and right through the snow. As Amy and I were joking about the lack of grip I ended up in a ditch but managed to stay upright while Amy went over sideways.

All upright again we rode into the woods following the trail up, down, left, right skidding and smiling all the way. With everyone caught up we lined up for what promised to be fantastic. With the trail a blanket of deep white snow all you could do was hang on for dear life as we followed the twists, turns and drops of the rider in front’s tracks. At the main trail we stopped for some lunch.

Everybody fed and watered we decided it was time to get back and save the rest of Pete’s treat for another time. Stopping for that brief interlude had giving us time to cool down and I was now starting to feel the weather getting to my hands. With all the ice and snow compacted in my pedals I was starting to have trouble clipping in but slowly onwards I pedalled.

Straight out of the woods and up the field we’d entered by the cold weather got the better of my bladder and I had to stop to make yellow snow. Back on the main road snow drifts were starting to form on the street corners and making our way back I was having to clear the ice from my goatee more and more. Back at the cobbled hill Keith slid out at the first corner and bent his mech hanger in the process.

Regrouping before the next climb I scraped as much ice as I could from the pedals using my Leatherman. Someone in the group reckoned I should have peed on them. Had I not had great fun earlier making yellow shapes in the now earlier I probably would have done it. We strted the climb and I rode as fast as I could manage with only one foot clipped in.

Cashing in on the altitude bank we fired down the horrible climb we’d ascended earlier and rolled onto the next climb to the farm. With the revolutions of the wheels slowing Amy’s rear wheel locked solid where the compacted ice could no longer get past the seat stays. While she pushed my bike up I carried hers until we could get on the flat and clear her bike.

With all of us wet and very cold Pete took the wise decision to cut the last off-road sections out and led back to the cars on the tarmac. Gliding back to the car if I could have moved my frozen face muscles they would have formed a feckin’ great grin

Fat Lad

Fat Lad and the Craic

I must have done something right, I can’t think what. Maybe I was some sort of saintly-type person in a previous incarnation… Like Gandhi only with better shoes and a tiny bit more round the middle.

Since Christmas I think I’ve missed maybe two rides, and every single one I pedalled has been superb. Some have been better than others without doubt, but I can’t think of one where I didn’t have a grin to accompany my aching legs.

I really am blessed with an awesome group of riding buddies, from the always reliable Pete to the original mountain biking punk Roachy. No matter the weather, the route or the mix of personalities the craic is always there.

This year I’ve seen spectacular dismounts, un-rideable descents conquered and lung busting climbs cleared, by veterans and beginners alike.

We’ve shared weather that would make Eskimos stay in on the sofa and crisp morning rides with paths clear as far as sight allows.

The Urban Dictionary defines Craic as

Irish word for fun/enjoyment that has been brought into the English language. Usually when mixed with alcohol and/or music.

Well music I can’t claim we enjoy mid-ride music but alcohol and enjoyment… there’s always plenty to go round.

To phrase the always quotable Chip “Are we having fun shag?!”

Always mate.

So to my all riding buddies; who always inspire me to be quicker up that climb, faster down that hill or to remove my brain and engage my courage:

Sláinte!

Fat Lad

Fat Lad and the Tale of Two Rides – Ride Two

And on it goes …

Pete led us down the side of the hotel gliding over all the obstacles the trail could offer. Wizzing past the few walkers on this side of the park fence with cheery “hellos”, we soon made our way onto the main road, and onwards past the barking giddiness of the National Canine Defence League shelter. With a short stop for another mechanical involving Dave’s front wheel, Amy opened a sachet of energy gel: “It’s tastes horrible and it’s got the texture of vomit” was the opinion and with those soothing sentiments of rider fuel out of the way, it was time to weave our way in and out of the multitude of dog walkers.

With the terrain becoming more forgiving we were starting to make up the miles and soon passed the set of everyone’s favourite rural intrigue and drama; Emmerdale. Despite never watching it or having any plans to watch it, Amy was suitably impressed and I took a picture of us all hanging around all the same. Perhaps she’s easily pleased.... I couldn’t possibly comment…

Moving on we soon came to a short switch-backed section of singletrack at the top Pete foretold: “Enjoy it, you’re going to pay for it later!” Following everyone else I crashed down another belting descent enjoying every precious second of motion. We fired down a long path into the Harewood estate and after a brief climb we all stopped while I took a picture of Seamus’ family:



Onwards and upwards we climbed past the Harewood workshop area and through a rather nifty automatic gate. With Pete’s words ringing in our ears we started up an awful tarmac climb to exit the estate, granny-ringing it to the top we all stopped for a breather drinking in the view. Grabbing hold (metaphorically speaking of course) of a passer by I asked them as nicely as I could manage between gasping for air to take a picture of us:



We were soon out of the estate and onto the road for our next dirt jaunt. Pedalling steadily along the tarmac a roadie shot past us at warp nine and there was a few glib comments involving the swapping of bikes. Before serious consideration could be taken we were on the path to the farm.
Concealing myself as best as I could from the roaring traffic, I disappeared into the bushes to empty my bladder while some of the others wolfed down energy bars and the like.

Sheepishly making our way through the farmyard, despite Pete’s reassurances that there was a path through, we opened the gates before the descent. After closing the last gate a cow blocked Pete’s path and after telling the “Stupid beast” to shift it soon did. The descent was an insane mixture of gloop, broken ground and cow shit. The ascent was just the same. Lovely.

As the ascent levelled off; the level of gloop, unfortunately, didn’t. As we were spinning through the quagmire Dave’s left crank fell off. Pete realising that he couldn’t hear the constant drone of our moaning wandered back to us. “Some people will do anything for a rest” he added dryly. All mechanicals fixed and with the momentum lost we pushed on to the next ride-able path.

The laughs, chatter and pedalling kept going as we made our way on and passing a golf course with a bar it was all we could do not to stop and get food and a beer. Following the bridleway round I think it could well have been one hill too far for Martin, Amy and I as the only words coming from our mouths would have made navvies blush…

The following descent helped raised the mood a little and by the road edge I shared the only energy from my camelbak with Pete. But that was for food now and all talk was becoming culinary in nature… We followed the road to the trail heading for Eccup Reservoir and soon got there. I can’t speak for the rest but by now my legs had nothing left at all. Struggling, I think the pride element helped me past the groups of people there. Back on the tarmac I got a second wind and my cadence improved dramatically. By now we were all on familiar ground and the end was in sight but still a way to pedal, Pete led all the way back and the subject never left food for long.

Back into the woods and the technical stuff was even more challenging with no energy to call on. Back to the first section we all found the energy to manual off the steps however.

At the narrow bridges that had seen the beginning of our ride we walked our steeds past an older couple and with a mid-west fine American accent the gent said “ that’s a fine name for a bicycle club, Bad Brains… but I’m glad I’m not doing your laundry!”

While the rest of us struggled back to the car Piston Pete stilled had the energy and will to play around the ups and downs.

When Pete joined us at the car park we were all astounded at the time. Setting off at 9am we’d finished at half past two in the afternoon. It had been a real epic for the pootle crew in every sense of the word and from our experiences we’d discovered two rides as consequence.

With very tired legs but very wide smiles it was going to be tough explaining this to anyone who hadn’t been there….

Fat Lad