With only Pete and I out for the morning it was a leisurely ride up with no start time to panic about. The glorious sunshine of the day was cooled by the vicious winds whipping round the hills and streets of my home town. This morning was the maiden voyage of Pete’s gorgeous new steed; his sunburst orange Superlight.
Sat at the Master Mechanics kitchen table necking hot tea an idea thrown out became reality. Spurred on, pedals swapped from old to new, we geared up and set off, the morning already getting late. With the ride decided, tyres soon span noisily on the tarmac, the thgileD girD had been born and it was time for the fun to begin.
Hugging the sanitised trail behind the empty industrial buildings my front wheel bounced up from possibly the only rock in the trail. The wind pushed at this precise and opportune moment and I struggled to stay in control of a bike travelling in a direction I hadn’t intended to. Straightened up we shimmied trough the narrow alleys and back streets of Gildersome struggling to keep to the right ginnel with the mirrored route of this ride.
Heading off the paved and onto the dirt, disorientation of riding the familiar backwards forced us down and away from the accepted pathway. Corrected and climbing we had not been slowed, even with Pete’s incorrectly inflated fork. Crossing the A road veins of West Yorkshire to the all too small Drighlington Moor, miniature dust devils danced around blowing grit into our eyes. Looking down the delight Pete joked about how nice it was to be this end of the hill without panting. With barely a glance and a grin we exacted revenge on a climb that has made us suffer for months and years. The run was dusty, dry and rolling; even the inconsideration of one of the equestrian community could not spoil what we had earned in so many rides past.
Adrenalin buzz subsiding, we noticed a path never seen before at the base of the climb. Making but one mistake in exploration it was added to the trail repertoire for future use. Knife edge retained it’s challenge in a completely new way, requiring more of heart, lungs and legs then the usual mix of nerve and skill. Both promising a better attempt with a clear run we headed back out of cover into the gusts. Claiming the karma back for many a knee busting hurt upwards, it was apt to use the big ring on Nab Lane for the first time in riding memory.
Into Birkby Brow picking up speed rolling down the fire road, the shooters were in poor mood for such a glorious Sabbath. Bucking the trend one Englishly cheerful woman encouraged us onwards to the-better-climb-than-descent. The path barely dried out I bashed the top of my lid on a low branch trying to maintain some semblance of control amongst the top ruts and gulleys. Splashing through the seasonally shallow stream I completely mistimed the exit pedalling and Pete pulled away from me up the sharply steep bank. Desperately trying to catch up I middle ringed up to the ruin to see Pete taking no shelter from the vortex of air swirling around him.
Hurtling out from the soon to be overgrown path I bottled the church steps yet again. Not letting my blatant cowardice ruin a superb ride, climbing to the usual hip flask point, I suddenly realised that this jaunt had already gone beyond the original remit. The firm ground made the climb easier and I reunited with Pete for more pedalling. In Haigh woods the fallen tree that had so stubbornly blocked our flow since the last period of high winds was now smouldering away in one of the natural craters; the lads responsible sheltering, using it’s warmth. Up DSFT (which will be DSFD until mid Autumn) it sapped my legs of any go. Funny how some sections remain hard work year round.
Taking the short route around the reservoir the wind was creating waves upon the normally smooth surface. At the bomb hole local kids lay on the dirt BMXs by their side watching the clouds race by, only becoming aware of us as we did too. Crossing the final section of trail heading home we had our backs to the winds, it was nice to sail the last few miles with natural assistance.
Too many times we’ve been told “Don’t do that ride backwards, it’s not all that goodâ€. For once it felt good to prove someone wrong.
Fat Lad
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