iandg
Legendary Member
- Location
- Dumfries and Galloway
Your ride today....
- Thread starter gbb
- Start date
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I had one thinking it was her phone ringing!
Last edited:
Threevok
Growing old disgracefully
- Location
- South Wales
Had a walking zombie in front of me this morning, zig-zagging with his hoodie up and earbuds on
I managed to get by him after nearly of minute of screaming at him.
He was quite startled, even more so - when I told him to turn Kylie down and pay attention to his surroundings (or words to that effect)
I managed to get by him after nearly of minute of screaming at him.
He was quite startled, even more so - when I told him to turn Kylie down and pay attention to his surroundings (or words to that effect)
- Location
- Cambridgeshire alps
A warm 10 miles this morning. It was like being in a sauna!
https://www.strava.com/activities/9670928873
https://www.strava.com/activities/9670928873
- Location
- Cambridgeshire alps
Another local ride of lanes and bridleways.
Along the Flete bridleway there was a hawthorn tree down, plus a few other things. I guess it’s due to the lovely calm summer weather we’re getting!
A little bit naughtier than usual, going into the proper private bits of Flete…. But if you don’t get caught.
https://www.strava.com/activities/9678805310
Along the Flete bridleway there was a hawthorn tree down, plus a few other things. I guess it’s due to the lovely calm summer weather we’re getting!
A little bit naughtier than usual, going into the proper private bits of Flete…. But if you don’t get caught.
https://www.strava.com/activities/9678805310
Mburton1993
Über Member
- Location
- Stalybridge
a.twiddler
Veteran
Not quite Bridge 74 -but close enough.
17/8/23
Since I rode the Montgomery canal from Welshpool to Bridge 74 near Rednal last year on a Brompton folding bike it’s been my ambition to ride the missing link from there to Frankton Junction for the sake of completeness. Having ridden the Linear fully loaded between Abermule and Newtown (a particularly nice, surfaced stretch of towpath) on a trip to Wales the year before last I felt that it should be the bike to use for this trip. The getting there and back was going to be the longer part of this trip.
I’d made several reconnaisance trips earlier this year in the direction of Whitchurch and beyond, and all the low traffic lanes involved some stiff HILLS which it seems there is no avoiding to get access to Whitchurch. I decided to use the A530/A525 route from Nantwich to Whitchurch as from my experience of cycling it and the A49 the year before last, the gradients aren’t too energy sappingly severe.
I hit the road at 07:00, got on to Swanlow Lane and made good progress. Although it wasn’t entirely traffic free, there wasn’t much about. Traffic increased slightly as I approached Church Minshull but they kept clear of me as I hurtled downhill into the village, probably where I gained my max speed. Most of the traffic turned off for Crewe giving me a temporary reprieve from the tyre noise.
A longish shallow hill out of Church Minshull before a longer winding dip leading to a climb over a steep narrow bridge over the Middlewich branch of the Shropshire Union Canal. Today was to be a day of humped canal bridges and waterway meanderings. Down the other side, through Aston Juxta Mondrum, Worleston, Reaseheath and in Nantwich about 08:20. Through the town centre, held up at the station level crossing gates with a queue of workward bound traffic, eventually on to the A530 for Whitchurch.
Initially it felt as though I was going well, up and over a steep light controlled bridge, around 13 mph at times, stopping occasionally to let traffic get past but in other places it felt unexpectedly hard without looking like a hill. Traffic gave me plenty of space when passing and it felt stress free. In places I was able to pile it on in high gear but not unexpectedly, the trend felt very much uphill towards Whitchurch. I looked forward to returning this way, as it ought to be easy to get up some speed. After the almost unheralded junction where the A530 became the A525 traffic increased. I stopped more often to let the big stuff pass, but still got plenty of consideration when I was rolling. The road undulated more and at one point the Garmin was showing 3.2 mph which seemed unlikely to me I as I was still tracking steadily in a straight line and I wasn’t in a particularly low gear even though I could have wished for more speed. I have increasing doubts about the accuracy of the Garmin at low speed and for short trips.
This stretch took longer than I expected but I still felt pretty fresh so after turning towards the centre I didn’t stop in Whitchurch. I came to the station bridge and followed the sign to the left for the Mercian Way. Just before I turned a couple on Bromptons turned in front of me so I thought I might have some company en route. They seemed to be making remarkably good progress as I followed them on to the rail trail but despite the fact that they weren’t pedalling very much the penny didn’t drop that they were on ebikes until they completely disappeared while I was struggling with the not particularly cycle friendly barrier after the first road crossing.
I cheated a bit and include this picture from my previous trip last May. Note the yellow Radical bag and the extra mirror,since removed.
I trundled on to to the next road crossing, then back on the trail until it turned sharp right through some more unfriendly barriers into an estate of houses. The original line continued straight on as an overgrown footpath. Very tempted to go and have a look but there was bound to be a stile or two along the way.
Left on the estate road then up an ever steepening hill till it levelled off to the junction with Alkington Road. Amongst the selection of signs was the one for NCN 45 Mercian Way so left I went, downhill under the bypass then up a long steep hill on the other side. Here was Alkington which I passed through in short order. A few miles down the road I pulled over for my first break in 25 miles to have a flapjack and a glug of water. A horse and rider passed by and the horse seemed very jumpy on seeing the bike, but they went on without incident. I gave them a bit of time before I followed them but they must have turned off, as I didn’t see them again.
I continued to follow the signs for NCN 45, keeping an eye out for signs to Whixhall but saw none. As I zig zagged through the lanes I began to wonder if I was being taken away from the route I wanted to follow. Just as I was turning right into another signposted lane a couple of heavily loaded cycle tourists turned out from it. I said “Hi” but got no response. The woman looked particularly grumpy. On reflection, I wondered if they’d just followed the route that I was just about to. I followed the signs and came out on a junction with the Wem to Whitchurch Road. The NCN sign said NCN 45 Shrewsbury. Looking at the map, I could see that the line of dots went left here then turned right through the lanes further on in completely the wrong direction for me. I turned back and retraced my route. I came out at another T junction, the left turn to Wem and Whitchurch, the right turn to nowhere near Whixhall on the map. I turned right expecting to see a sign for Whixhall any time but nothing appeared. I carried on to a crossroads and was still none the wiser. At the next crossroads there was a sign to the left to Whixhall Moss so I followed that. After several miles I unexpectedly came to a humped bridge and a sign for Whixhall. Soon after, I came to a sign for Whixhall Marina. I’d anticipated stopping here on the way back for some refreshments but since it was nearly 12 I decided to stop now. It’s so easy to lose time by getting off your route. It had become quite windy so I ate indoors rather than under the canopy where I’d eaten the last time I was here. Now I was here the rest of the route seemed straightforward.
So after a break I set off to Dobson’s Bridge, then Northwood (the Welsh border forms a V here so the crops in the fields on the right were probably in Wales), right along a minor road, then left through the lanes to Lyneal.
The Linear at Lyneal.
I followed signs to Colemere and ended following a “family route” through some narrow and badly surfaced lanes. I came across a sheep outside a gate where there were more sheep inside. When it saw me it made a run for it. I hoped that if I stopped it might turn back to the gate if the attraction of the herd was greater than its fear of me but it kept on running. After being preceded by the sheep for a couple of miles it turned left up a farm track so I continued on my way. It seems that the Linear is not so good for herding sheep. Before I reached Colemere I was distracted by a sign to Spunhill and found myself making a long and probably unnecessary climb before descending to what I assume was Lee. I reached a T junction. To the right, Ellesmere, to the left, Lower Hordley.
I had planned to go via Tetchill, Hordley, Rednall, pass under the railway then turn right on to the canal which should have been at bridge 74 (just like that!) but due to time galloping by, I saw the sign to Lower Hordley, so I followed that to the left instead, turning right at Lower Hordley. After Hordley itself there was a right turning to get access to the canal via Bridge 70. Just after I turned I saw a tractor turn in in my mirror so I pedalled on until I came to a passing place where I pulled in to let him and his trailer pass in a cloud of noise and dust. After a few undulations on this extremely narrow lane I came to a car park on the right then to the bridge which reared up like a cliff. I took a run up at it but it was too steep. I pushed the last few yards to the top.
It was a lot less steep on the other side. I rolled down and found a gate on the left and pushed through it on to the towpath. To my right, the towpath was well defined and gravelly. To my left, beyond the bridge it looked narrow and overgrown.
According to the map, the derelict Weston Arm goes off to the right. It never reached Weston itself which is probably why it fell into disuse though here it looks like part of the canal with a boat tied up on the far bank. Further on it is dry and part of its course remains as a ditch. It looks like the main line going straight on whereas the main line actually goes off to the left to Frankton Junction where it meets the Llangollen canal. If I’d had time I would have liked to explore it.
I followed the towpath, which was rather weedy and overgrown, to Frankton locks where the surface improved. Last time I was here was in 1978 on a boat trip on the Llangollen canal. The Locks were derelict but in the process of being restored by volunteers. Then, there was a great bank of mud and silt against the top gate to keep the water back. What struck me most was that the locks went downhill towards Wales. In my mind Wales was always uphill from England.
Frankton locks and bike.
Notice on Frankton lock keeper's cottage.
The towpath at Frankton Junction was narrow and overgrown above the locks.
Across the canal could be seen the signpost which presumably says Llangollen, Ellesmere, Montgomery but is so surrounded by foliage that it can barely be read.
I took a break on a bench by Bridge 1W on the Llangollen canal.
A curious feature of the Llangollen and Montgomery canals is the bridge numbering. The numbers count upwards from Hurleston Junction where it joins the Shropshire Union through Ellesmere and down the Montgomery canal to Newtown but the Llangollen canal bridges start at 1W west of Frankton Junction.
Though there was a capricious wind it was sheltered here and I was tempted to linger but having taken a few photos I had one more objective to achieve before I could head for home.
Once more the map didn’t quite match the ground layout. I pushed the bike up the ramp to join the road that crosses the bridge. I crossed the canal in the hope that I could get to the bridge that I could see on the other side of Frankton Junction. However I found myself looking at a farmyard. Just then a familiar looking tractor and trailer came out of the farmyard. Perhaps all tractors look alike but this matching blue pair rang a bell. It was the one that passed me earlier on the way to bridge 70. I watched as it turned on to the canal bridge. Could this be the road to bridge 70? I pedalled after it. The lane had a good surface and sloped downhill. It was largely straight and after it curved to the left I saw a canal bridge in the distance. I climbed it and saw a dizzying drop on the other side. Down I went, hoping I didn’t meet the tractor on its way back. A bit of climbing and I was back at the road junction, left then after less than a mile a turning through Hordley for Tetchill and Ellesmere. Soon through Tetchill, then on the outskirts of Ellesmere where I nearly missed the canal bridge. Down the ramp, shortly crossing over a more ornate black and white iron canal bridge then right past lines of moored boats to Ellesmere basin. I haven’t been here for a couple of decades when this wide open space wasn’t here. There must have been a massacre of old buildings in that time. There is a handy Tesco’s to note for any future visits. There is still the now derelict building bravely proclaiming “Shropshire Union Canal and Railway Co” in fading paint on its battered brickwork. It's a pity it's largely obscured by foliage.
The owners, or the council, need to do something with the building before it becomes irrecoverable. I took a picture of the Linear with the building in the background. This is the town end of the Ellesmere basin.
A swig of water, a flapjack then I gratefully succumbed to the magnetic pull of home, later than anticipated, but then it always is. Strange noises emanated from the wheels and I was puzzled until I realised it was loose paving blocks clumping underwheel. A few older people about, I seemed to cheer many of them with my passing by. I rushed the bridge incline, crossed over the canal then followed the towpath eastwards. The towpath was in good condition here. I passed a line of moored boats, got over the bridge crossing the marina entrance and saw the dour portal of Ellesmere tunnel ahead. I pondered how hard it might be to get up to the path over the top then I saw people walking out of the tunnel. I realised that the towpath went through the tunnel. One of the walkers said, “that looks like hard work”. I replied, “No, it’s pretty relaxing, really” and thought that I probably wouldn’t be able to manage such a ride on my upright bike. I could see that there was nobody coming through the tunnel so put my headlight on. It was not really wide enough to ride through as the space between the inwardly curving wall and the railing was only just wider than the bike. There were long gaps between the uprights. I held the railing and alternatively paddled and freewheeled my way through.
I came out of the other side on to a reasonable surface and there was a line of moored boats on the right, and Blake Mere on the left. The moorings came to an end and the towpath narrowed and it took some concentration to ride. It improved, deteriorated, improved though still remained rideable. I came to a bridge and looked at my map. There was only pedestrian access here but the next one looked promising. At bridge 55 I came off on to a lane.
I met a local mountain biker who confirmed that this was the way to Lyneal. I climbed a hill, turned right at a crossroads, and was soon in Lyneal. As usual, the next guess was unsignposted so I set off hoping the route I’d chosen was the right one for Northwood. The landmarks became familiar and from Northwood I was on more confident ground. Dobson’s bridge, Whixhall, soon I came across NCN 45 Whitchurch 10 miles. The wind was blustery but most of the time it was in my favour. It felt like I was making good time.
Soon it was Whitchurch 5 miles and I felt that I could take a break. I parked the bike on its side stand and was just taking a swig of water when a gust of wind shook the bike, it tottered briefly and crashed down on the left handlebar end before I could catch it. I picked it up and the air was briefly full of flying fudpuckers and various expletives as I saw that the hub gear bar end assembly had snapped off leaving the expander inside the bar. I checked that I still had drive, which meant that the untensioned cable had selected permanent high gear rather than being stuck between gears. The derailleur would still work giving 7 medium to high gears on the small chainring and 7 high to astronomical gears on the large one. Oh well, what was, was what it was. It emphasised how vulnerable gear changers are on underseat bars.
Going quite well for the next mile or two then a long hill into Alkington where I had to get off and walk. Pushing a LWB under seat steering recumbent any distance is a pain. No handy handlebars to get hold of, having to reach down to control the bars while pushing the seat. No wonder I normally rode up everything I was presented with. The rest of the uphills before Whitchurch were pretty minor but the last downhill under the bypass before the hill into Whitchurch gave a chance to get some momentum up and I got through that without too much trouble. I decided to go through the town centre then past the station and it was pretty quiet. It was 7:30 pm. Where had the day gone? It was well past rush hour but I turned my knog style rear flashing light on before I ventured on to the A525. I immediately felt the wind in my face but plodded on. This route has no severe hills and is largely downhill but some of that is cancelled by the headwind.
I set off, climbed a few moderate climbs, pedalled doggedly into the wind on the flat, and made the most of the downhills. There seemed to be a lot of leisure drivers about tonight, and particularly motorcyclists. There must be some sort of event on, as groups of them came by at intervals some with positively ear splitting exhausts, others virtually silent. What surprised me is why you would put a loud exhaust on a 125 which would be running near its max at normal traffic speed and giving the rider a headache. What concerned me more is the number of learner riders who might be taken by surprise to find a slow moving cyclist on their chosen line as they rounded a bend. I did my best to stay well out from the nearside verge so as to be visible but still...Then there is tail end Charlie trying to keep up with his mates having missed the opportunity to overtake and pushing the boundaries to catch them up. In over half a century of motorbiking I have found that group riding is not something I’m comfortable with. Still, I was given plenty of space by everyone even though some bikers were handsomely exceeding the speed limit as they passed 1.5 metres away. As I was making the most of a downhill I saw a car behind in the mirror who beeped as he went past once I’d slowed down. Recognition for riding a weirdmobile or annoyance for holding him up? Who knows.
Or the driver who passed me giving plenty of room then caused an oncoming car to brake and beep at him.
Altogether, not a life enhancing experience. I can only contrast this with the same road this morning, when most of the traffic was seriously and glumly going to work, or at work.
It sounds worse than it was, but it was definitely better this morning.
I was relieved to be able to turn off for Sound once having got through Aston. The contrast was stunning. A quiet road, nobody about. It was worth the few extra miles just for that. Another dip near Sound where I struggled to get up the other side due to lack of low gears but I pressed on to Ravensmoor, turned right and faced another dip and rise which I got through without too much trouble. A mile or so after that I stopped at a roadside gate where some obliging person had left some large concrete blocks to lean the bike against and sit on. I put my gilet on, as it was noticeably cooler now in the gusty wind. I had a last Kit Kat and diet Pepsi, put the front light to constant, checked that the rear light was flashing then hit the road for Nantwich. After a run up, I got over the gateway canal bridge and was rewarded with a freewheel down to Welsh Row where I stopped at a roadworks red light which seemed to take forever to change. Once through Welsh Row to Welshman’s lane and across the Chester -Wrexham road the wind was behind me and I made easy progress. The Cateye AMPP400 front light was good on its lowest setting, allowing me to avoid the worst potholes now it was dark.
A dip to a narrow bridge then a climb out and steady progress. The world rolled by in the darkness with virtually no traffic to break the spell. A few dimly lit houses in Cholmondeston then back into darkness. This was great. I might motivate myself to do a night ride before the autumn, as I have a bike with a hub dynamo. My main concern at the moment was how long the front light battery would last but according to the instructions it ought to go into flash mode before it gave up.
Past Wettenhall Marina, then a long straight where the wind pushed me along, helping my aching knees which were beginning to suffer from pushing too high a gear. Although I’d been thinking about angling the headlamp upwards on this long straight a distant oncoming car driver disagreed with the angle it was already at and flashed his lights. I stopped and adjusted it downwards before proceeding.
Through Wettenhall village, the wind still pushing, a distant road works traffic light changing pointlessly in the distance. A solitary car passed and stopped at the light, then moved on.
The lights changed a few times before I arrived, but nothing else was about. It was red when I got there, but I just carried on. Dratted red light jumping cyclists! There was a dip coming up, and I got into a suitably high gear and belted down it and up most of the other side before I struggled up the rest of it in the least highest gear. Things settled down to a steady plod as I ate up the darkened miles. Eventually Darnhall loomed with the almost complete certainty that I was going to have to push up the other side of the Darnhall bridge dip. I rolled down towards the lights and stopped on red. A vehicle came up behind and stopped. The lights changed and I waved him on. He went, I went. He made it up the other side, I didn’t.
I couldn’t be bothered to get off but shuffled upwards bit by bit until the slope eased. Then I launched and climbed the rest of it. Oh my aching knees. Once over the top, I let the wind take the strain, intermittently pedalling. The distantly welcoming street lights got closer. I proceeded steadily to my back gate, opened up, put everything away, showered, and fell into bed. Mission accomplished. I got home about 10:15.
A lot of experiences crammed into one day.
The Linear may look rough and ready, industrial, even, but is well proven and fixable, and can get you home even after some mechanical damage.
I think I’ve got the Montgomery canal out of my system, for now. Enough canal knowledge. An itch well and truly scratched. Felt pretty good after I got back, though, and the next day.
But...
I see it’s easy to get to Cwmbran by train. I’ve read that the towpath of the Monmouthshire and Brecon Canal is rideable on a range of bikes, from Cwmbran to Brecon. Brecon to Hay, via Gospel Pass to Abergavenny and Cwmbran again...probably best spread over a couple of days. I feel a plan coming on. I must be getting adventurous in my old age.
Distance 88.2 miles. Max speed 31.5 mph. Average 7.2mph. According to Garmin.
Ascent 2101 ft according to Bikehike.
17/8/23
Since I rode the Montgomery canal from Welshpool to Bridge 74 near Rednal last year on a Brompton folding bike it’s been my ambition to ride the missing link from there to Frankton Junction for the sake of completeness. Having ridden the Linear fully loaded between Abermule and Newtown (a particularly nice, surfaced stretch of towpath) on a trip to Wales the year before last I felt that it should be the bike to use for this trip. The getting there and back was going to be the longer part of this trip.
I’d made several reconnaisance trips earlier this year in the direction of Whitchurch and beyond, and all the low traffic lanes involved some stiff HILLS which it seems there is no avoiding to get access to Whitchurch. I decided to use the A530/A525 route from Nantwich to Whitchurch as from my experience of cycling it and the A49 the year before last, the gradients aren’t too energy sappingly severe.
I hit the road at 07:00, got on to Swanlow Lane and made good progress. Although it wasn’t entirely traffic free, there wasn’t much about. Traffic increased slightly as I approached Church Minshull but they kept clear of me as I hurtled downhill into the village, probably where I gained my max speed. Most of the traffic turned off for Crewe giving me a temporary reprieve from the tyre noise.
A longish shallow hill out of Church Minshull before a longer winding dip leading to a climb over a steep narrow bridge over the Middlewich branch of the Shropshire Union Canal. Today was to be a day of humped canal bridges and waterway meanderings. Down the other side, through Aston Juxta Mondrum, Worleston, Reaseheath and in Nantwich about 08:20. Through the town centre, held up at the station level crossing gates with a queue of workward bound traffic, eventually on to the A530 for Whitchurch.
Initially it felt as though I was going well, up and over a steep light controlled bridge, around 13 mph at times, stopping occasionally to let traffic get past but in other places it felt unexpectedly hard without looking like a hill. Traffic gave me plenty of space when passing and it felt stress free. In places I was able to pile it on in high gear but not unexpectedly, the trend felt very much uphill towards Whitchurch. I looked forward to returning this way, as it ought to be easy to get up some speed. After the almost unheralded junction where the A530 became the A525 traffic increased. I stopped more often to let the big stuff pass, but still got plenty of consideration when I was rolling. The road undulated more and at one point the Garmin was showing 3.2 mph which seemed unlikely to me I as I was still tracking steadily in a straight line and I wasn’t in a particularly low gear even though I could have wished for more speed. I have increasing doubts about the accuracy of the Garmin at low speed and for short trips.
This stretch took longer than I expected but I still felt pretty fresh so after turning towards the centre I didn’t stop in Whitchurch. I came to the station bridge and followed the sign to the left for the Mercian Way. Just before I turned a couple on Bromptons turned in front of me so I thought I might have some company en route. They seemed to be making remarkably good progress as I followed them on to the rail trail but despite the fact that they weren’t pedalling very much the penny didn’t drop that they were on ebikes until they completely disappeared while I was struggling with the not particularly cycle friendly barrier after the first road crossing.
I cheated a bit and include this picture from my previous trip last May. Note the yellow Radical bag and the extra mirror,since removed.
I trundled on to to the next road crossing, then back on the trail until it turned sharp right through some more unfriendly barriers into an estate of houses. The original line continued straight on as an overgrown footpath. Very tempted to go and have a look but there was bound to be a stile or two along the way.
Left on the estate road then up an ever steepening hill till it levelled off to the junction with Alkington Road. Amongst the selection of signs was the one for NCN 45 Mercian Way so left I went, downhill under the bypass then up a long steep hill on the other side. Here was Alkington which I passed through in short order. A few miles down the road I pulled over for my first break in 25 miles to have a flapjack and a glug of water. A horse and rider passed by and the horse seemed very jumpy on seeing the bike, but they went on without incident. I gave them a bit of time before I followed them but they must have turned off, as I didn’t see them again.
I continued to follow the signs for NCN 45, keeping an eye out for signs to Whixhall but saw none. As I zig zagged through the lanes I began to wonder if I was being taken away from the route I wanted to follow. Just as I was turning right into another signposted lane a couple of heavily loaded cycle tourists turned out from it. I said “Hi” but got no response. The woman looked particularly grumpy. On reflection, I wondered if they’d just followed the route that I was just about to. I followed the signs and came out on a junction with the Wem to Whitchurch Road. The NCN sign said NCN 45 Shrewsbury. Looking at the map, I could see that the line of dots went left here then turned right through the lanes further on in completely the wrong direction for me. I turned back and retraced my route. I came out at another T junction, the left turn to Wem and Whitchurch, the right turn to nowhere near Whixhall on the map. I turned right expecting to see a sign for Whixhall any time but nothing appeared. I carried on to a crossroads and was still none the wiser. At the next crossroads there was a sign to the left to Whixhall Moss so I followed that. After several miles I unexpectedly came to a humped bridge and a sign for Whixhall. Soon after, I came to a sign for Whixhall Marina. I’d anticipated stopping here on the way back for some refreshments but since it was nearly 12 I decided to stop now. It’s so easy to lose time by getting off your route. It had become quite windy so I ate indoors rather than under the canopy where I’d eaten the last time I was here. Now I was here the rest of the route seemed straightforward.
So after a break I set off to Dobson’s Bridge, then Northwood (the Welsh border forms a V here so the crops in the fields on the right were probably in Wales), right along a minor road, then left through the lanes to Lyneal.
The Linear at Lyneal.
I followed signs to Colemere and ended following a “family route” through some narrow and badly surfaced lanes. I came across a sheep outside a gate where there were more sheep inside. When it saw me it made a run for it. I hoped that if I stopped it might turn back to the gate if the attraction of the herd was greater than its fear of me but it kept on running. After being preceded by the sheep for a couple of miles it turned left up a farm track so I continued on my way. It seems that the Linear is not so good for herding sheep. Before I reached Colemere I was distracted by a sign to Spunhill and found myself making a long and probably unnecessary climb before descending to what I assume was Lee. I reached a T junction. To the right, Ellesmere, to the left, Lower Hordley.
I had planned to go via Tetchill, Hordley, Rednall, pass under the railway then turn right on to the canal which should have been at bridge 74 (just like that!) but due to time galloping by, I saw the sign to Lower Hordley, so I followed that to the left instead, turning right at Lower Hordley. After Hordley itself there was a right turning to get access to the canal via Bridge 70. Just after I turned I saw a tractor turn in in my mirror so I pedalled on until I came to a passing place where I pulled in to let him and his trailer pass in a cloud of noise and dust. After a few undulations on this extremely narrow lane I came to a car park on the right then to the bridge which reared up like a cliff. I took a run up at it but it was too steep. I pushed the last few yards to the top.
It was a lot less steep on the other side. I rolled down and found a gate on the left and pushed through it on to the towpath. To my right, the towpath was well defined and gravelly. To my left, beyond the bridge it looked narrow and overgrown.
According to the map, the derelict Weston Arm goes off to the right. It never reached Weston itself which is probably why it fell into disuse though here it looks like part of the canal with a boat tied up on the far bank. Further on it is dry and part of its course remains as a ditch. It looks like the main line going straight on whereas the main line actually goes off to the left to Frankton Junction where it meets the Llangollen canal. If I’d had time I would have liked to explore it.
I followed the towpath, which was rather weedy and overgrown, to Frankton locks where the surface improved. Last time I was here was in 1978 on a boat trip on the Llangollen canal. The Locks were derelict but in the process of being restored by volunteers. Then, there was a great bank of mud and silt against the top gate to keep the water back. What struck me most was that the locks went downhill towards Wales. In my mind Wales was always uphill from England.
Frankton locks and bike.
Notice on Frankton lock keeper's cottage.
The towpath at Frankton Junction was narrow and overgrown above the locks.
Across the canal could be seen the signpost which presumably says Llangollen, Ellesmere, Montgomery but is so surrounded by foliage that it can barely be read.
I took a break on a bench by Bridge 1W on the Llangollen canal.
A curious feature of the Llangollen and Montgomery canals is the bridge numbering. The numbers count upwards from Hurleston Junction where it joins the Shropshire Union through Ellesmere and down the Montgomery canal to Newtown but the Llangollen canal bridges start at 1W west of Frankton Junction.
Though there was a capricious wind it was sheltered here and I was tempted to linger but having taken a few photos I had one more objective to achieve before I could head for home.
Once more the map didn’t quite match the ground layout. I pushed the bike up the ramp to join the road that crosses the bridge. I crossed the canal in the hope that I could get to the bridge that I could see on the other side of Frankton Junction. However I found myself looking at a farmyard. Just then a familiar looking tractor and trailer came out of the farmyard. Perhaps all tractors look alike but this matching blue pair rang a bell. It was the one that passed me earlier on the way to bridge 70. I watched as it turned on to the canal bridge. Could this be the road to bridge 70? I pedalled after it. The lane had a good surface and sloped downhill. It was largely straight and after it curved to the left I saw a canal bridge in the distance. I climbed it and saw a dizzying drop on the other side. Down I went, hoping I didn’t meet the tractor on its way back. A bit of climbing and I was back at the road junction, left then after less than a mile a turning through Hordley for Tetchill and Ellesmere. Soon through Tetchill, then on the outskirts of Ellesmere where I nearly missed the canal bridge. Down the ramp, shortly crossing over a more ornate black and white iron canal bridge then right past lines of moored boats to Ellesmere basin. I haven’t been here for a couple of decades when this wide open space wasn’t here. There must have been a massacre of old buildings in that time. There is a handy Tesco’s to note for any future visits. There is still the now derelict building bravely proclaiming “Shropshire Union Canal and Railway Co” in fading paint on its battered brickwork. It's a pity it's largely obscured by foliage.
The owners, or the council, need to do something with the building before it becomes irrecoverable. I took a picture of the Linear with the building in the background. This is the town end of the Ellesmere basin.
A swig of water, a flapjack then I gratefully succumbed to the magnetic pull of home, later than anticipated, but then it always is. Strange noises emanated from the wheels and I was puzzled until I realised it was loose paving blocks clumping underwheel. A few older people about, I seemed to cheer many of them with my passing by. I rushed the bridge incline, crossed over the canal then followed the towpath eastwards. The towpath was in good condition here. I passed a line of moored boats, got over the bridge crossing the marina entrance and saw the dour portal of Ellesmere tunnel ahead. I pondered how hard it might be to get up to the path over the top then I saw people walking out of the tunnel. I realised that the towpath went through the tunnel. One of the walkers said, “that looks like hard work”. I replied, “No, it’s pretty relaxing, really” and thought that I probably wouldn’t be able to manage such a ride on my upright bike. I could see that there was nobody coming through the tunnel so put my headlight on. It was not really wide enough to ride through as the space between the inwardly curving wall and the railing was only just wider than the bike. There were long gaps between the uprights. I held the railing and alternatively paddled and freewheeled my way through.
I came out of the other side on to a reasonable surface and there was a line of moored boats on the right, and Blake Mere on the left. The moorings came to an end and the towpath narrowed and it took some concentration to ride. It improved, deteriorated, improved though still remained rideable. I came to a bridge and looked at my map. There was only pedestrian access here but the next one looked promising. At bridge 55 I came off on to a lane.
I met a local mountain biker who confirmed that this was the way to Lyneal. I climbed a hill, turned right at a crossroads, and was soon in Lyneal. As usual, the next guess was unsignposted so I set off hoping the route I’d chosen was the right one for Northwood. The landmarks became familiar and from Northwood I was on more confident ground. Dobson’s bridge, Whixhall, soon I came across NCN 45 Whitchurch 10 miles. The wind was blustery but most of the time it was in my favour. It felt like I was making good time.
Soon it was Whitchurch 5 miles and I felt that I could take a break. I parked the bike on its side stand and was just taking a swig of water when a gust of wind shook the bike, it tottered briefly and crashed down on the left handlebar end before I could catch it. I picked it up and the air was briefly full of flying fudpuckers and various expletives as I saw that the hub gear bar end assembly had snapped off leaving the expander inside the bar. I checked that I still had drive, which meant that the untensioned cable had selected permanent high gear rather than being stuck between gears. The derailleur would still work giving 7 medium to high gears on the small chainring and 7 high to astronomical gears on the large one. Oh well, what was, was what it was. It emphasised how vulnerable gear changers are on underseat bars.
Going quite well for the next mile or two then a long hill into Alkington where I had to get off and walk. Pushing a LWB under seat steering recumbent any distance is a pain. No handy handlebars to get hold of, having to reach down to control the bars while pushing the seat. No wonder I normally rode up everything I was presented with. The rest of the uphills before Whitchurch were pretty minor but the last downhill under the bypass before the hill into Whitchurch gave a chance to get some momentum up and I got through that without too much trouble. I decided to go through the town centre then past the station and it was pretty quiet. It was 7:30 pm. Where had the day gone? It was well past rush hour but I turned my knog style rear flashing light on before I ventured on to the A525. I immediately felt the wind in my face but plodded on. This route has no severe hills and is largely downhill but some of that is cancelled by the headwind.
I set off, climbed a few moderate climbs, pedalled doggedly into the wind on the flat, and made the most of the downhills. There seemed to be a lot of leisure drivers about tonight, and particularly motorcyclists. There must be some sort of event on, as groups of them came by at intervals some with positively ear splitting exhausts, others virtually silent. What surprised me is why you would put a loud exhaust on a 125 which would be running near its max at normal traffic speed and giving the rider a headache. What concerned me more is the number of learner riders who might be taken by surprise to find a slow moving cyclist on their chosen line as they rounded a bend. I did my best to stay well out from the nearside verge so as to be visible but still...Then there is tail end Charlie trying to keep up with his mates having missed the opportunity to overtake and pushing the boundaries to catch them up. In over half a century of motorbiking I have found that group riding is not something I’m comfortable with. Still, I was given plenty of space by everyone even though some bikers were handsomely exceeding the speed limit as they passed 1.5 metres away. As I was making the most of a downhill I saw a car behind in the mirror who beeped as he went past once I’d slowed down. Recognition for riding a weirdmobile or annoyance for holding him up? Who knows.
Or the driver who passed me giving plenty of room then caused an oncoming car to brake and beep at him.
Altogether, not a life enhancing experience. I can only contrast this with the same road this morning, when most of the traffic was seriously and glumly going to work, or at work.
It sounds worse than it was, but it was definitely better this morning.
I was relieved to be able to turn off for Sound once having got through Aston. The contrast was stunning. A quiet road, nobody about. It was worth the few extra miles just for that. Another dip near Sound where I struggled to get up the other side due to lack of low gears but I pressed on to Ravensmoor, turned right and faced another dip and rise which I got through without too much trouble. A mile or so after that I stopped at a roadside gate where some obliging person had left some large concrete blocks to lean the bike against and sit on. I put my gilet on, as it was noticeably cooler now in the gusty wind. I had a last Kit Kat and diet Pepsi, put the front light to constant, checked that the rear light was flashing then hit the road for Nantwich. After a run up, I got over the gateway canal bridge and was rewarded with a freewheel down to Welsh Row where I stopped at a roadworks red light which seemed to take forever to change. Once through Welsh Row to Welshman’s lane and across the Chester -Wrexham road the wind was behind me and I made easy progress. The Cateye AMPP400 front light was good on its lowest setting, allowing me to avoid the worst potholes now it was dark.
A dip to a narrow bridge then a climb out and steady progress. The world rolled by in the darkness with virtually no traffic to break the spell. A few dimly lit houses in Cholmondeston then back into darkness. This was great. I might motivate myself to do a night ride before the autumn, as I have a bike with a hub dynamo. My main concern at the moment was how long the front light battery would last but according to the instructions it ought to go into flash mode before it gave up.
Past Wettenhall Marina, then a long straight where the wind pushed me along, helping my aching knees which were beginning to suffer from pushing too high a gear. Although I’d been thinking about angling the headlamp upwards on this long straight a distant oncoming car driver disagreed with the angle it was already at and flashed his lights. I stopped and adjusted it downwards before proceeding.
Through Wettenhall village, the wind still pushing, a distant road works traffic light changing pointlessly in the distance. A solitary car passed and stopped at the light, then moved on.
The lights changed a few times before I arrived, but nothing else was about. It was red when I got there, but I just carried on. Dratted red light jumping cyclists! There was a dip coming up, and I got into a suitably high gear and belted down it and up most of the other side before I struggled up the rest of it in the least highest gear. Things settled down to a steady plod as I ate up the darkened miles. Eventually Darnhall loomed with the almost complete certainty that I was going to have to push up the other side of the Darnhall bridge dip. I rolled down towards the lights and stopped on red. A vehicle came up behind and stopped. The lights changed and I waved him on. He went, I went. He made it up the other side, I didn’t.
I couldn’t be bothered to get off but shuffled upwards bit by bit until the slope eased. Then I launched and climbed the rest of it. Oh my aching knees. Once over the top, I let the wind take the strain, intermittently pedalling. The distantly welcoming street lights got closer. I proceeded steadily to my back gate, opened up, put everything away, showered, and fell into bed. Mission accomplished. I got home about 10:15.
A lot of experiences crammed into one day.
The Linear may look rough and ready, industrial, even, but is well proven and fixable, and can get you home even after some mechanical damage.
I think I’ve got the Montgomery canal out of my system, for now. Enough canal knowledge. An itch well and truly scratched. Felt pretty good after I got back, though, and the next day.
But...
I see it’s easy to get to Cwmbran by train. I’ve read that the towpath of the Monmouthshire and Brecon Canal is rideable on a range of bikes, from Cwmbran to Brecon. Brecon to Hay, via Gospel Pass to Abergavenny and Cwmbran again...probably best spread over a couple of days. I feel a plan coming on. I must be getting adventurous in my old age.
Distance 88.2 miles. Max speed 31.5 mph. Average 7.2mph. According to Garmin.
Ascent 2101 ft according to Bikehike.
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After five consecutive days of necessary Brompton, yesterday was slated for an easy utility ride on the Fuji.
I wafted into the town that shall not be named in the very comfortable and pleasant conditions and lashed the bike to a lamp post. I only managed to get around 50% of the intended tasks done; most notably because the sewing shop I'd hoped to obtain base-layer-fixing provisions from shut at two.. I nipped into the grottyness of Poundland for some chav-fuel energy drinks, but swiftly put them back in the fridge after seeing the size of the queue waiting to be served by one very slow looking member of staff; feeling constantly anxious about leaving the bike for any period of time.
With sentiment heading downhill and not helped by the gathering storm clouds above, I decided to explore a hitherto untouched, somewhat well-hidden nature reserve to the north; which I eventually found after some squiffy moments on a brief bit of root-laden singletrack through some woods. The park turned out to be quite nice (if right next to the M40) so I sat in the sun for a while and watched the ducks / swans / the odd group of folks also enjoying the surroundings..
The route out passed a massive warehouse-type bulding that's probably there to serve some vile mass-consumptive purpose; however I did at least appreciate its nice graduated colour scheme..
I elected not to head back into town and peeled off North instead; down a stretch of road that evidently now has no access to cars since the area has been redeveloped, and is now slowly being reclaimed by nature. Probably a nice preview of how all of the country will look in time, once we've reached the natural conclusion of everyones' selfishness and greed..
Now finding myself in uncharted northern territory the once-utility ride slowly turned into a bit of a tour as I took in some nice villages; the sunny rural roads evoking happy memories of similar rides further south during lockdown. Since I was in the area I decided to pay a visit to the recycling centre on the way back. As is often the case I was taken in by an innocent-enough-looking, well-paved bridleway that inevitably descended into a free-for-all across open, hilly fields; but I got there in the end
Once at the recycling centre I found a few interesting things (summarised in the usual thread shortly) and was kicked out at closing time. The road back was utterly vile - an open A-road where I suffered numerous fast, close passes for no other apparent reason than the drivers not giving a sh*t about anyone but themselves. Escaping from this hell quickly led to more misery, as the skies opened above the little B-roads I'd diverted down; suffering yet more close passes. Had I actually caught up with any one of the drivers responsible I think I'd have got myself into trouble as I was absolutely incandescent with rage by the end of it..
I did stop at the top of a fairly substantial hill for a leak and to take a photo of the weather (which had cleared up a bit by the time I got a shot); a passing farmer affording me a welcome positive interaction with a wave and wry smile as I dragged my soaked bike out of his gateway to let him through in his tractor.
Otherwise the unpleasantness continued until I was nearly home; the closest being some prick taking a bend badly, probably cutting in too early and running wide at the apex - straight towards me. I reckon the corner of their vehicle came within 6 inches of me before they snatched at the steering and dragged the car back into line. I think this ride has been amongst the worst I've endured in terms of consistently terrible driving standards
The final insult came very near home; courtesy of some totally-situationally-unaware boomer muppet in a grotty soft-roader flashing to let me turn right across her. This was despite the fact that there was nothing behind her so her whole futile effort only served to waste her time and mine. I declined for this reason (plus the 50/50 chance in my head that she'd run me over regardless as she'd hardly slowed); causing her throw her arms up in disbelief at my perceived lack of gratitude. Bloody stupid woman.
Despite the significant ride of around 30-odd miles I was very, very angry when I got home thanks to the consistently abysmal standard of driving I'd endured for the latter part of the journey. After several large strawberry G&T's I remembered an old skool night on in Oxford that I'd hoped to attend. With the alcohol having taken the edge off my rage and opened the doors to the post-ride endorphins, in an uncharacteristic act of decisiveness I hastily threw my sh*t together and got the bus in. I spent longer travelling than at the event but danced like a muppet for a good chunk of time and really appreciated the escape.
Today I'm a little jaded but my legs feel suprisingly good considering; having covered 128 miles this week over six consecutive days; with yesterday's ride being particularly tough. That's the most I've done since September 2020 and it feels good to be getting in so much exercise - dickhead drivers notwithstanding of course..
I wafted into the town that shall not be named in the very comfortable and pleasant conditions and lashed the bike to a lamp post. I only managed to get around 50% of the intended tasks done; most notably because the sewing shop I'd hoped to obtain base-layer-fixing provisions from shut at two.. I nipped into the grottyness of Poundland for some chav-fuel energy drinks, but swiftly put them back in the fridge after seeing the size of the queue waiting to be served by one very slow looking member of staff; feeling constantly anxious about leaving the bike for any period of time.
With sentiment heading downhill and not helped by the gathering storm clouds above, I decided to explore a hitherto untouched, somewhat well-hidden nature reserve to the north; which I eventually found after some squiffy moments on a brief bit of root-laden singletrack through some woods. The park turned out to be quite nice (if right next to the M40) so I sat in the sun for a while and watched the ducks / swans / the odd group of folks also enjoying the surroundings..
The route out passed a massive warehouse-type bulding that's probably there to serve some vile mass-consumptive purpose; however I did at least appreciate its nice graduated colour scheme..
I elected not to head back into town and peeled off North instead; down a stretch of road that evidently now has no access to cars since the area has been redeveloped, and is now slowly being reclaimed by nature. Probably a nice preview of how all of the country will look in time, once we've reached the natural conclusion of everyones' selfishness and greed..
Now finding myself in uncharted northern territory the once-utility ride slowly turned into a bit of a tour as I took in some nice villages; the sunny rural roads evoking happy memories of similar rides further south during lockdown. Since I was in the area I decided to pay a visit to the recycling centre on the way back. As is often the case I was taken in by an innocent-enough-looking, well-paved bridleway that inevitably descended into a free-for-all across open, hilly fields; but I got there in the end
Once at the recycling centre I found a few interesting things (summarised in the usual thread shortly) and was kicked out at closing time. The road back was utterly vile - an open A-road where I suffered numerous fast, close passes for no other apparent reason than the drivers not giving a sh*t about anyone but themselves. Escaping from this hell quickly led to more misery, as the skies opened above the little B-roads I'd diverted down; suffering yet more close passes. Had I actually caught up with any one of the drivers responsible I think I'd have got myself into trouble as I was absolutely incandescent with rage by the end of it..
I did stop at the top of a fairly substantial hill for a leak and to take a photo of the weather (which had cleared up a bit by the time I got a shot); a passing farmer affording me a welcome positive interaction with a wave and wry smile as I dragged my soaked bike out of his gateway to let him through in his tractor.
Otherwise the unpleasantness continued until I was nearly home; the closest being some prick taking a bend badly, probably cutting in too early and running wide at the apex - straight towards me. I reckon the corner of their vehicle came within 6 inches of me before they snatched at the steering and dragged the car back into line. I think this ride has been amongst the worst I've endured in terms of consistently terrible driving standards
The final insult came very near home; courtesy of some totally-situationally-unaware boomer muppet in a grotty soft-roader flashing to let me turn right across her. This was despite the fact that there was nothing behind her so her whole futile effort only served to waste her time and mine. I declined for this reason (plus the 50/50 chance in my head that she'd run me over regardless as she'd hardly slowed); causing her throw her arms up in disbelief at my perceived lack of gratitude. Bloody stupid woman.
Despite the significant ride of around 30-odd miles I was very, very angry when I got home thanks to the consistently abysmal standard of driving I'd endured for the latter part of the journey. After several large strawberry G&T's I remembered an old skool night on in Oxford that I'd hoped to attend. With the alcohol having taken the edge off my rage and opened the doors to the post-ride endorphins, in an uncharacteristic act of decisiveness I hastily threw my sh*t together and got the bus in. I spent longer travelling than at the event but danced like a muppet for a good chunk of time and really appreciated the escape.
Today I'm a little jaded but my legs feel suprisingly good considering; having covered 128 miles this week over six consecutive days; with yesterday's ride being particularly tough. That's the most I've done since September 2020 and it feels good to be getting in so much exercise - dickhead drivers notwithstanding of course..
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Spiderweb
Not So Special One
- Location
- North Yorkshire
After the disappointment of the football I had to get out for a ride on the Tricross.
28.59 miles with an average of 16.8 mph.
28.59 miles with an average of 16.8 mph.
roubaixtuesday
self serving virtue signaller
Had an early blast before the footie, managed 16mph for 27 miles incl over 700m climbing.
Which for me, is literally as fast as it gets!
Which for me, is literally as fast as it gets!
Elybazza61
Guru
Pootle to Wicken fen via Padney with the better half this morning.
Nice temperature and pretty quiet considering we didn't leave that early; easy paced 28km.
Had a deer run in the field next to the road and then hopped out in front and over to the other side, plenty of poppies about and swallows.
Old 'fat belly' petrol pump in someones yard;
Bike in front of gates to a rather large private garden.
Same nice gates;
Typical straight road;
https://www.strava.com/dashboard?feed_type=my_activity
Nice temperature and pretty quiet considering we didn't leave that early; easy paced 28km.
Had a deer run in the field next to the road and then hopped out in front and over to the other side, plenty of poppies about and swallows.
Old 'fat belly' petrol pump in someones yard;
Bike in front of gates to a rather large private garden.
Same nice gates;
Typical straight road;
https://www.strava.com/dashboard?feed_type=my_activity
- Location
- Cambridgeshire alps
After a downpour dog walk and then the football I decided I needed a ride. I had a moorland hankering, the quickest and easiest ride is the puffing Billy track.
There weren’t too many people around, plenty of livestock and birds.
Wheatear, meadow pipits, skylark, kestrel and ravens.
The last mile or so to Redlake was wet, as the ground flattens out, plus earth banks that are there that would have provided protection from the weather.
The belted Galloway cattle, or Dartmoor pandas if you will were not really worried about getting out of the way! It’s their house!
16.5 glorious miles. Big clouds, no rain!
https://www.strava.com/activities/9686581173
There weren’t too many people around, plenty of livestock and birds.
Wheatear, meadow pipits, skylark, kestrel and ravens.
The last mile or so to Redlake was wet, as the ground flattens out, plus earth banks that are there that would have provided protection from the weather.
The belted Galloway cattle, or Dartmoor pandas if you will were not really worried about getting out of the way! It’s their house!
16.5 glorious miles. Big clouds, no rain!
https://www.strava.com/activities/9686581173
Sunday afternoon and an outing for the road bike – it unfortunately seems to have become a solitary monthly occurrence. Ostensibly almost the reverse of its last outing, I headed direct to Ripley via Killinghall to tackle for the first time on a warm afternoon the climb of Scarah Bank. Always tackled it on a cooler day – another cyclist ahead at Ripley had got further ahead by the climb but spinning with the 11-40 cassette up I made up some ground.
North-east through Markington, the tail wind assisted in a number of PRs. Traffic was still on the quite side post the football and the expected halt to cross the A61 never materialised. Straight through Bishop Monkton, a dog on walkies was having a great time splashing along the stream. The eastbound route of the Way of the Roses took me to Roecliffe where a snack break was taken and the saddle bag rearranged to resolve a rattle.
Continued to Boroughbridge turning south and running into a set of 4 way temporary lights with a long queue of traffic tailing back. Through them at the second change and going round the following roundabout the wrong way I mistakenly took the Minskip road straight into the headwind. Turned onto the motorway access road in order to gain the A168 south and the long drag away from Boroughbridge – quite pleased with a PR on it as that was definitely not wind assisted; the trees screening the almost parallel motorway often providing a useful windbreak to the cross head wind.
West though Arkendale to Ferrensby moisture was evident in the air. I did have to stop before crossing the A6055 and beyond drizzle started falling. Turned towards Knaresborough just before Farnham and thereafter the drizzle ceased. The rear mech had started exhibiting signs of cable stretch which worsened such that on the climb away from Knaresborough I had to keep the shifter active to keep the chain on the 40 as the only larger cog available.
Stopped at the bench beyond the top of the climb for a further snack and sought to tighten the sportscam mount but the multi tool did not have a small enough allen key.
Full length of Bilton Lane – on the climb on the urban section I kept a pretty constant cadence into the head wind. I had completely forgot about the temporary lights on the A59 and with the lack of any standing traffic did not realise they were still active; must have caught them just right as the queue the other side was immense.
The trimmed route meant what had been a 50km+ ride the other way came out a smidge less than 50km ; 30.96miles @14.2mph 1535ft climbed.
North-east through Markington, the tail wind assisted in a number of PRs. Traffic was still on the quite side post the football and the expected halt to cross the A61 never materialised. Straight through Bishop Monkton, a dog on walkies was having a great time splashing along the stream. The eastbound route of the Way of the Roses took me to Roecliffe where a snack break was taken and the saddle bag rearranged to resolve a rattle.
Continued to Boroughbridge turning south and running into a set of 4 way temporary lights with a long queue of traffic tailing back. Through them at the second change and going round the following roundabout the wrong way I mistakenly took the Minskip road straight into the headwind. Turned onto the motorway access road in order to gain the A168 south and the long drag away from Boroughbridge – quite pleased with a PR on it as that was definitely not wind assisted; the trees screening the almost parallel motorway often providing a useful windbreak to the cross head wind.
West though Arkendale to Ferrensby moisture was evident in the air. I did have to stop before crossing the A6055 and beyond drizzle started falling. Turned towards Knaresborough just before Farnham and thereafter the drizzle ceased. The rear mech had started exhibiting signs of cable stretch which worsened such that on the climb away from Knaresborough I had to keep the shifter active to keep the chain on the 40 as the only larger cog available.
Stopped at the bench beyond the top of the climb for a further snack and sought to tighten the sportscam mount but the multi tool did not have a small enough allen key.
Full length of Bilton Lane – on the climb on the urban section I kept a pretty constant cadence into the head wind. I had completely forgot about the temporary lights on the A59 and with the lack of any standing traffic did not realise they were still active; must have caught them just right as the queue the other side was immense.
The trimmed route meant what had been a 50km+ ride the other way came out a smidge less than 50km ; 30.96miles @14.2mph 1535ft climbed.
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Did the "Round Str'aven 50" today. https://www.roundstrathaven50.org.uk/
Starting and finishing in Strathaven in Lanarkshire, a 50 mile loop. A ride famous for it's cake stops.....
I was late to register, the "first wave" of 350 riders was full, but there were about 50 spaces left on the second wave, which left at 10.30, an hour after the first.
Parked up at a car park, got changed, headed to the school to register and then made my way to the start.
Dry day, but stiff breeze.
From the town, the route headed west then southwest, mostly single track roads through farmland, with a few nasty bends. No steep climbs or descents yet.
About 15k, we pass Loudon Hill, a well known local landmark. A few short steep descents with tight corners. Cross the A71, and back onto single track road, undulating rather than hilly.
32k (20 miles) we descend into the village of Sandford, where there's an incredible selection of cakes, sausage rolls, the, coffee etc in the village hall.
The next cake stop is only 10 miles further on. But there's a catch....
After Sandford, it's more narrow country roads until we reach Stonehouse. Loop round the town, through the centre, then a fairly steep drop and climb (about 50m) to the other side of the valley. Back down towards Larkhall, a hairpin to the left, then the long climb up to Sandford.
Another cake stop at Sandford (51k, 30 miles), then a bit more uphill to Chapelton, round the golf course at Auldhouse, then there was another roadside juice/biscuit stop before the last climb up to the wind farm, before heading mostly downhill back to the school in Stonehouse.
A pleasant day, albeit breezy. . It's not a race, but my times were about 20 mins slower than the last couple of times I've done it. Maybe that was the wind, maybe just my lack of fitness.
Organisation was excellent. Smooth registration, great food stops, and very friendly marshals at all the main junctions and road crossings. Chatted with lots of interesting people on the ride, including a group of tandem riders.
Starting and finishing in Strathaven in Lanarkshire, a 50 mile loop. A ride famous for it's cake stops.....
I was late to register, the "first wave" of 350 riders was full, but there were about 50 spaces left on the second wave, which left at 10.30, an hour after the first.
Parked up at a car park, got changed, headed to the school to register and then made my way to the start.
Dry day, but stiff breeze.
From the town, the route headed west then southwest, mostly single track roads through farmland, with a few nasty bends. No steep climbs or descents yet.
About 15k, we pass Loudon Hill, a well known local landmark. A few short steep descents with tight corners. Cross the A71, and back onto single track road, undulating rather than hilly.
32k (20 miles) we descend into the village of Sandford, where there's an incredible selection of cakes, sausage rolls, the, coffee etc in the village hall.
The next cake stop is only 10 miles further on. But there's a catch....
After Sandford, it's more narrow country roads until we reach Stonehouse. Loop round the town, through the centre, then a fairly steep drop and climb (about 50m) to the other side of the valley. Back down towards Larkhall, a hairpin to the left, then the long climb up to Sandford.
Another cake stop at Sandford (51k, 30 miles), then a bit more uphill to Chapelton, round the golf course at Auldhouse, then there was another roadside juice/biscuit stop before the last climb up to the wind farm, before heading mostly downhill back to the school in Stonehouse.
A pleasant day, albeit breezy. . It's not a race, but my times were about 20 mins slower than the last couple of times I've done it. Maybe that was the wind, maybe just my lack of fitness.
Organisation was excellent. Smooth registration, great food stops, and very friendly marshals at all the main junctions and road crossings. Chatted with lots of interesting people on the ride, including a group of tandem riders.
