There were many walkers gathered at Delamere Station, and no vacant parking spaces apparent. Having popped my head into the café to ensure we had some candidates for a club ride, I managed to squeeze the Berlingo in between the line of cars and the far fence by the forest entrance gate. It was good to chat to Steve Hughes, Clive, Alan, Dave Matthews and Pocket Rocket Ray, but Dave was in civvies and there were no “moderate” riders around. George and Andy Barber have been rarely sighted recently, and Large Ray and Keith were somewhere (separately, thankfully) in the Caribbean. Then Trevor arrived having ridden from Guilden Sutton, so I no longer had to contemplate a solo ride. Three possible destinations were briefly considered, but as I would find it easy to fashion a route to and from Knutsford and write it up, Trevor went along with my preference.
This was my first ride on my Marin with last week’s snapped rear wheel spoke replaced, so fingers crossed! When we reached Crowton my steering felt so odd that I thought that I had a puncture, but it turned out to be the headset had been tweaked up a little too tight. From experience I know that extra lubrication will not provide the solution, so that’s an adjustment task for the week ahead. It is surprising how unnerving a tight headset can be at low speed; we make so many constant steering movements in order to balance that any variable resistance is hard to manage.
While I’m on about mechanical issues, I have only twenty spokes in my back wheel. It is remarkable how it has survived for about two years with all spokes intact until last week. In particular, the wheel has had to cope with my Chris Hoy-like power and fifteen stone five pounds fully dressed weight. Trevor’s bike was built by the reputable Spa Cycles, and I could see at a glance that it had a zillion spokes in the rear wheel, and when I returned home I counted thirty- two on my spare road bike. So here I am, risking my neck on wheels for waifs. Marco Pantani on his 1998 Bianchi Mega Pro had sixteen Alpina spokes at the rear, which was considered “crazy!” but these were in some of the very first deep-section wheels, and Pantani was a sparrow(nine stone wet through). Even Pantani used twenty-four spoke Campagnolo Electron wheels for the Tour de France’s mountain stages.
Anyway, back to the ride description: from Acton Bridge we headed past Cogshall Hall and climbed up to Frandley, past the Quaker House. At Antrobus we turned down the quiet Keeper’s Lane passing Firtree Farm where family members once walked Alpacas with my son for a treat (he was nearly forty at the time!). We finished up in the grounds of Arley Hall, and I was able to point out to Trevor where I had crashed because I had stared too long at four birds in a field. I had been cleaned up in the equestrian centre at Arley Moss Farm where they were used to sending for ambulances after riding accidents, and I was eventually transported to Warrington Hospital where they spent hours trying to find someone qualified to stitch me up. This was no surprise as Warrington Hospital’s reputation has always been at Gregg Wallace level.
The sign at Moss End showed only six miles to Knutsford. You can make good time on this stretch to the A556 Roman road, so we resorted to alternating the lead to help the pace and provide some shelter from the cold easterly headwind. We entered Knutsford from Tabley Hill, and locked our bikes to the railings at the rear entrance of Costa. Costa was friendly, clean, cheapish and saved time. The food? Just what you would expect, but I can’t see Jay Rayner making a visit anytime soon. Amongst other matters we discussed holidays, and it turns out that Trevor is shortly holidaying in Sri Lanka. Trevor so often has an imaginative destination or experience lined up, whilst some of settle for Tui, the Canaries, and finding someone to take the dog for a winter week away.
Our return route was via Pickmere which once had a fairground on the banks of the mere, and you could take a ride on a large boat that plied the waters. There were dodgems, a ghost train, helter-skelter, and a café in the large house at the start of the lane down. We cycled through Great Budworth, passing the George and Dragon which has gone upmarket since Clive and I enjoyed liver and onions there on what I think was his first ride with the club.
We took the Little Leigh route back to the A49 adjacent to The Leigh Arms. The climb up to Acton Bridge never gets any easier, but at least we had been wind assisted on our return and made good time before the inevitable slogs from the Weaver Valley up to Delamere. A slight misunderstanding climbing up to Norley meant we split up before Hatchmere, but mobile contact established that there were no problems, so Trevor carried straight on home and I returned to the Berlingo at Delamere Station.
A very pleasant, relaxed day with Trevor clocking up something like fifty-nine miles, and approximately thirty-nine miles for me.
DH
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