There were just six of us turned up at Tilly’s. Tables had
been reserved for us, staff were very friendly, the interior revamp attractive,
and the free car park was handy. We were a bit of a mixed ability group, and on
top of that, Ray had special needs in terms of directional knowledge and pace
matching. Trevor, Kevin, Steve Tan,
Keith and I completed the party.
The weather forecast wasn’t great, but it was enjoyable to
be out as we climbed up to the Church and the Dysart Arms before swooping down
and up again past Bunbury Locks. I knew that my only problem navigating on the
way out was likely to be on the narrow lanes after Alpraham. Taking the correct
turns was made more difficult by this area being on the join of my 117 and 118
OS maps. Kevin offered to help with this, but because my route was not one that
AI would likely recommend, I chose map juggling and the metaphorical flipping
of a coin. Fortunately, we didn’t go wrong and worked our way around Calveley
to reach Cholmondeston. We were soon heading south past Venetian Marina and
Steve’s painful impression last winter of Ann Widdecombe on ice. From Rease
Heath college, where we once could ride past the old hall fronted by a
picturesque lake, we crossed the A51 to Henhull Hall. It was sobering to see
all the surrounding green fields being churned to mud by developers offering
maximum profit housing. I could see no evidence of affordable homes for young
people. On the flip side, Nantwich is an attractive, growing town with interesting
architecture and history, and its good to see businesses thriving in the town
centre on a Saturday. I just wish that half of the new residents wouldn’t stand
in front of me in The Cheese Shop tasting slivers and pontificating about the
relative merits of Brie de Meaux compared with Italian Taleggio; all with that
confident, middle-class demeanour, expressed in loud braying voices asserting
their well sub-gourmet judgements. They show a selfish lack of awareness of, or
lack of concern for those plebs waiting behind who are in a hurry to return
home and get the coal in before the day turns dark.
We wended our way south-west from Nantwich to Ravensmoor
before turning south to Sound and on to the moated Hall o’ Coole before
reaching our lunch destination: Café At Bridge 80 alongside the Shropshire Union
Canal at Overwater Marina. It was snug inside and most opted for the big
breakfast option, and did somebody eat giant pigs in a blanket in a muffin?
Anyway, it was hot comfort food, because it hadn’t been a too warm couple of hours,
and we had been a bit damp at times.
Our return was prefaced with a photograph outside the café
in a tearing, cold wind. Earlier, in the car, Steve Tan had floated the thought
of a circuitous route from Bunbury to Meadow Lea, with the advantage of a
strong tailwind after lunch. I could see his point more now, as we set off
straight into the headwind. There was some respite as we headed south towards
Back Coole Lane before turning for Aston and passing “The Bhurtpore” sign. It
was tempting to go inside our long-time favourite watering hole and eat pudding
and swig strong beers and order a taxi back. I took stock at Wrenbury, and decided as we
were close to the shortest day of the year the most direct route back was via
Ravensmoor and Brindley. Usefully, Kevin’s Garmin agreed. Trevor had a
different route in mind for cycling back to Guilden Sutton, so took his leave. On
reaching Tilly’s the Runcorn branch stayed for coffee and cake together with
Kevin. Steve, with minimal body fat was feeling the cold. I made sure the
Berlingo heater was on full blast on the way home. I think everybody was glad
that they had made the effort. The company was enjoyable, and it was good to
have Keith’s big personality regularly back in the group. It was also a chance to get to know more about
Kevin and appreciate his team-player approach. Ray’s continually improving cycling
performance is an eye-opener, but we must find a way of stopping him being
first in the queue at lunch every time. A reasonable thirty-six miles were
covered, and Trevor must have managed well over fifty, I guess.
DH
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