Fat Lad Rides Again

The Pootle Crew, The Sunday Morning Family, Bad Brains Mountain Bike Club, Juancho, Sascha, Other Bike Blog Geeks too, Family, Buddies and feck it everyone else too:

Merry Christmas

Fat Lad

Hard to believe maybe, but, Fat Lad does have some friends. Despite the, at best, basic level of hygiene and his terminal foot in mouth disease: (to a female colleague on her new winter coat: “It’s nice that the collar and cuffs match…”) people do communicate with me. Mostly with kind words too. Chip contacted me to see if I fancied joining his good self and his lovely wife for a steady ride Sheffield way. With little trepidation I replied “Absolutely”. The proposed route was Silkstone to Wharnecliff and after agreeing to tag along it dawned on me Pete’s renaming of the infamous south Yorkshire woods: “Wharnecrash”. Bugger.

Far too early for the weekend and I’m meeting John to convoy over to Silkstone. “Do you know where you’re going then Al?” “Sort of…” Motorway miles noisily consumed and as we stop in a lay by to figure out where next; Chip and Amanda speed past “Follow that dude!” I cried and we caught up with him circling the next roundabout waiting for us to tag along. As a nice change of pace I was there very early and with all the steady riders ready we pedalled off for a head start.

Amanda, Dave, Carol (who is anything but steady but was tagging along anyway) and I ground our way to the top taking the long steady incline easily with effortless turns of the cranks. Not long at the top by the farmhouse the rest of the whippets caught us up and with little time for breathers we set off again. As we followed the tarmac to the first descent of the day I noticed just how many were actually out. On the approach Chip warned me about the 90 degree hander his words were something along the line of “Don’t overcook it or you’ll end up over the edge…..” At the head of the downhill he fired away to point it out and I failed miserably to stay on his wheel. Standing astride his Cotic, Chip pointed me in the direction that involved the least death. Cracking descent over I crossed the small bridge and joined the rest of the crowd waiting by the roadside.

We rolled along the road for thankfully short distance hitting the Trans-Pennine Trail at speed, the group in it’s entirety chatting and enjoying the crisp morning as we bumbled by. The grinding sound of gritty discs resonating to the heavens we pulled up by the entrance to a disused railway line another group passing us by simultaneously. From our rabble “How do?”s and “Morning”s were cheerfully donated to our brothers in mud, but few were returned. As they passed us by Chip in his finest and loudest voice (and for those us this side of the pond and anyone on the other familiar with UK regional accents imagine it in the broadest Yorkshire accent you can):

“They’ll not die o’ laughing will they”

All mounted up again we spun along the tunnel sheltered from the vagaries of mother nature voices bouncing off the curved concrete surroundings. All too soon we were spat out back into the winter mud. We slopped past a stable slipping and sliding all the way to the next climb. I kept Amanda company on the next incline the steady gradient consumed by our tyres. Amanda did stop a few times but as we hit the top I realised it was the best I had ever seen her ride. The black vodka from Chip’s hip flask warmed chests and a stunned look graced many faces as Hemsworth Steve rolled up to us, the many many miles from his home near Wakefield fulfilled. The not too shabby divide of West to South Yorkshire crossed had gobsmacked us all. The group composed and with bananas consumed we hit the trail.

Off the double track of the trans-pennine trail and into the woods proper and Martin was the first to dismount at speed taking a dip in the stream. Amy asked if he was looking for rare frogs. Barely ten feet later and Dave lost his front wheel on roots. Turns he was looking for rare beatles…. Everyone upright we left the woods and doing what Sheffield does best we were hit by a rain shower. Hitting Wharncliffe woods at speed we fired up and down rocky technical descents each stone and root laden path way beyond my limited abilities. Laughs, grimaces and the odd buttock clenching moment over we grouped at the bottom of the next heart breaker. Leading away from the group into the heavens the soul crusher was technical, steep and long enough to hurt. Being a tail end charlie when I got there some had already started but the drop out rate was already high. I declared to Chip: “I’m gonna conquer that…..” and granny gear selected I started to ascend.

By feck it was hard, line choice was key and where it wasn’t; momentum was helpful to keep me propelled upwards. I must have done something to appease the gods o’the trail, as with pounding heart, rasping lungs and burning legs I was doing it. Around halfway up Johnny and Dave were trail side talking to two downhill guys. I noticed that the white Santa Cruz Nomad was really bling and with a tinge of jealously I cranked on. Behind me I heard Johnny say something about a camera, “Cheeky twat”, I thought, I know I’m making this climb but there’s no need for sarcastic photos. Not many pedals later and the terrain eased off turning it purely into a fitness thing. I crested the hill and dropped the bike to the ground desperately trying to slow my pulse and breathing. Not too far behind me the rest caught up and with grinning faces to go with it. “We’ve just been talking to Peaty”. What? “Yeah Steve Peat, they’re doing some filming in the woods…” The words that then left my mouth are best left unwritten. To say Peaty is a hero is something of an understatement and in the mindless desire to conquer that fecking climb I rode straight past him digital camera and all.

Gutted.

The group saddled up we rode on for a little while coming to stop by the entrance to what the boys called ‘Nam. Many tales of terror were swapped and spills recounted. Like a complete numpty I got talked into having a go. 10 feet later and a very lucky dismount to boot I decided the trail would have to claim a different victim and I walked back to the top to eat my sandwiches and sit my backside down. As the boys played the group repeatedly shuffled about to stay in the warmth of the sun. Those who would never grow up joined us and after they had too consumed their fill we onwards once more.

The last technical downhill of the day once more pushed me to the limits of my ability and poor line choice forced me to stop and waddle the bike to a better one half way down. At the bottom the group split into two as Johnny led the fast guys and girls back up into the crags and we steadier riders took the calmer route out of the woods. Though less technical there was still plenty of climbing to be done and we only stopped as Steve suffered a “Nora Batty” (non-UK readers; google it) incident with his leg warmers.

Knowing damn well that Johnny and company would soon be snapping at our heels we carried on back down the Trans-Pennine trail flying through the tunnel. As we cranked through I fired a few pictures off and Carol and Amanda demanded to know how, as a man, I could multi-task! In the interests of not starting another battle of the sexes I just grinned and pedalled on.

We stopped for a breather and to feed again for those feeling peckish and as the banter flowed someone remarked on how lucky I actually am to have such an understanding better half. As Big Al’s Special Hill Medicine went round I gave a very risqué answer that set the group giggling plenty. If you want to know what I said there’s a comments section under this post……

Taking a slightly different route back we climbed the tarmac taking us back to the first climb of the day. It was payback time. Cracking descent sadly all too quickly over we were soon back at the car. The whippets soon caught up and as we’d parked opposite a pub it seemed rude not to go for a drink…. All in all it had been a fabulous ride and the old pins knew they’d been out. Besides it always a laugh, a very loud laugh, when Chip’s leading.

Fat Lad