A PEAK DISTRICT RIDE - JANUARY 3RD 2015
The idea for the ride came from Andrew, who had been wondering about the possibility of doing an audax-style
ride that was off-road. Substantial stretches of JayP's official audaxes use old railway trackbeds, and Andrew
decided on a route that would be substantially the 120k Lutudarum ride in the Peak District. Plenty of (quiet)
roads but a lot of track, too. JayP quickly signed up to the scheme. I've already test-ridden a 200k DIY using
these old railways, so I was really keen to join this expedition (for so it turned out to be). Also, anything involving
John is guaranteed to be interesting; crazy, possibly, but never less than interesting.
I drove down from Rochdale to Broken Cross, whence John would take us down to Wyedale, near Buxton, where
we would meet Andrew. The dawn broke red, which was ominous but it had been promised dry till midday - by
the southern forecasters. We got to the rendezvous at the end of the Monsal Trail about seven minutes late; no
sign of Andrew. What to do? Maybe he's down the river at the other car-park. We rode the couple of
kilometres - and then we rode back. What if he'd got to the meeting place on time, decided we weren't coming
and had set off on his own? Decisions. All of which could have been obviated by us having taken the precaution
of having each other's phone numbers. John and I climbed onto the bridge on the old pack-trail, over the
trackbed.
Looking for White Rabbit
Two of the finest bikes on this bridge
We were still debating how to make the best of the day when a lone rider appeared in the distance,
closing rapidly on the track below us. As the figure grew closer we became certain it was Andrew; you could
almost feel the white-rabbitness of his "I'm late, I'm late!" as he swayed from side to side with the effort. Visions
of the perfect crime flitted through my head. Just a nudge of this coping stone and... a dead cyclist, they
wouldn't even investigate. Fortunately, I am a railway enthusiast and would never dream of damaging railway
property. Thank your lucky stars for nerds, Andy! It turned out that he'd ridden over from Sheffield. Honestly,
these cyclists, they're crazy.
Andrew pops out of the hat
Now that we were ready to ride, it was decided to walk. John had a short cut up the Pennine Trail which would
only take four times as long as riding up the road. But it was certainly off-road - and occasionally off-balance,
too. By now it was raining (two hours early) and we skidded elegantly up to the road and started riding. To be
honest, I've no idea where we went, in terms of what order we did it in, because John had sensibly modified the
route to take account of the expected and now already-arrived conditions. But as the rain got heavier, which it
did surprisingly quickly, the focus of our efforts became more and more sharply defined as the cafe at Wetton Mill.
This was proper rain, not that wafty, crafty artisan stuff they get in London, and we were wet through in very
short order. The trails themselves were perfectly rideable although very wet, with pools of water every few feet.
The sound of my brake blocks on the rims quickly grow to the proportions of running my nails down a blackboard.
John: "I think it's water, Andy."
The rail-tracks weren't the only off-road as John led us up an experimental modification to the official route,
which worked fine and gave our tyres the chance to study at close quarters the bouncy, deflective qualities of a
couple of kilometres of prime Peak limestone chippings. There was also walking.
From time to time, Andrew would ask casually (as casually as someone who has ridden thirty kilometres further
can ask), "How far is it to this cafe, do you think, John?" A master of psychology and the effects of weather on
the younger cyclist, John would field this with variations on "Oh, not far, not far at all," until eventually he resorted
to outright lying and said, "Forty-five minutes." But it worked and two hours later we arrived at Wetton Mill Cafe,
halfway up the Manifold Trail. Whatever he reverse of an oasis is, this was it; the one dry spot in a welter of wet.
Reader, there was cake, variety of hot pies and steaming beverage. What badinage was had with the other
customers, a gnarled bunch of motorcyclists and vintage car enthusuasts. We didn't even get the "How far? In
this weather?" routine. Well, not much, anyway, and I think we were pleased enough with ourselves to have put up
with it. There was a lovely, clean cat, which toured the cafe at lap level and was put out by hand but returned by
some form of teleportation.
Teleportation would have won the day for us, too, as we stepped outside and mounted up. The river (Hamps or
Manifold, it's the same water) was surging down the valley like molten brown glass. In a decent summer, you can
stand in the dry river bed for weeks on end, though you'd be advised to take sandwiches. We sluiced our way to
the head of the old Leek and Manifold Railway at Hulme End and pushed on through the torrents to Hartington.
Not long after this, we turned left into Longdale. The ride would have been worth it for this section alone. The
rain had eased slightly and the going was easy. The Peak District is so special and the landscape so gnarly.
Thor's Cave. (Did I mention the weather?)
There followed another plashy section on the High Peak Trail before Andrew peeled off to return via Monyash to
Rivelin in Sheffield (must find out about Rivelin; it's a great name). John and I continued to the end of the HPT,
near Earl Sterndale, before climbing up to the main road and straight across to Chelmorton. The elements hadn't
finished with us, though: on the way down to the A6 from Chelmorton there's a fast descent, with water running
across the road all over. I thought I was going to aquaplane at one point and then, very suddenly, we hit a flood
in a dip that was "solid" water up to the knees. This was unnerving at some speed and I think we both thought we
might come off. But we didn't, and were soon inside the Van of Delights, having a coffee and Christmas cake,
while the justifiably legendary VW heating got to work.
I guess Andrew will have done about 80 miles and John and I about 40. But it's not about figures. No points
(apart from the Aqua ones - nice work, Andy!) but lots of memories and an excellent reminder of why we are such
a great seafaring nation. Thank you both.
I'm sorry there are so few pictures but it was so hard to get gloves back on that I gave up in the end!
Off-road works!
