There were four of us in the end, so I didn't bother with awards, except the Ever-Present Award*.
Dale warned me in advance that there were quite a few other campers there - the school lot were fine, if a bit jolly hockeysticks, but the walkers were quite irritating (not at didgeridoo levels of Annoying, but irritating to the point that Dale was complaining about them being a bunch of wankers within their earshot).
I'm not sure why their teachers pitched all their tents on the boggy bit, unless it was some obscure form of revenge.
A fine night was had, and this morning Dale and I went bog-trotting. Well, after a quick turn along the A66 in bunbury's honour, who was sadly unable to make it - it was fine.
None of my photos capture quite how wet it truly was, but the track was mostly pretty ridable, apart from about a mile of dragging bikes and hopping bogs, hoping none of the hummocks were going to give way,
a la Takeshi's Castle. It was glorious, loads of fun, and I don't think you can get more remote than that on a bike in England. The farmer popped out of the farmhouse down Baldersdale (BTW this was the first sign of habitation we'd seen for about three hours, since the other side of the Pennines), and was suitably impressed by our feat. He told us " No one's ridden that track since 1961!" - to which our reply was "What year is it now?"
The other photos are
here.Shall we say August for the next one? Dale was on about changing venue, and I'd like somewhere doable by public transport. Suggestions welcome.
* Winner: Me. My prize was a fry-up for breakfast, but I didn't top it off with beer. I did go and get some cereal from the non-campers' breakfast room, though. I keep forgetting you're not supposed to do that.
