TEES AND CAKE 50 k 14.09.2013
This was one of three inaugural Saint Francis of Assisi audaxes organised by Graeme Holdsworth of Ingleby Barwick Wheelers. For a first-time organiser, Graeme had really gone for broke, putting on a 50, a 100 and a 200. All the rides started from All Saints school in Ingleby Barwick, near Stockton-on-Tees, my ancestral home. The 100 would sample the jabbiness of the beautiful Cleveland Hills, the 200 would be immersed in it, while the 50 was almost a taster ride, heading west to make an anticlockwise loop across the magnificent River Tees, with only two or three very short hills and nothing to frighten the horses.
I had chosen the 50 because I wanted to ride with my brother Trevor, who has never done much more than ride to work but is always game for a challenge. In the week before the event he had been training by writing out the word “bike” every night, before opening a bottle of beer and eating a chocolate eclair. On the night before the ride, when I arrived from Rochdale, he was handling two bottles and three eclairs with ease, so I didn't anticipate any dfficulties. After a convivial evening looking at maps and singing harmonies, we retired.
The morning was bright and as we rolled along the excellent cyclepaths towards the start, I thought about those on the long ride, who would be well into the climbing by then. It was a bit depressing to me to think back to how this area had been when I left it in the late sixties. My old Bartholomew's map shows Ingleby Barwick as one building, in fact it was so small it was only called Barwick, although I seem to remember that the blue Middlesbrough Corporation buses used to have a designation of Ingleby Barwick. Now, it is a mixture of new housing and industrial estates about the size of Rutland. But the cycle provision is excellent and we trundled up at the start after a relaxed ride of three or four miles. I introduced Trevor to Graeme and his wife Carol and we set to folding brevet cards as people arrived for the two shorter rides which would set off together.
Thanks to a magnificent publicity effort, about a hundred riders were entered for the three events and I soon saw friends from other audaxes and rides arriving. Andy Clarkson arrived from Harrogate and there was a large contingent of his club members from VC167. The ride was well-supported by Stockton Wheelers, too, and it was a colourful serpent that wound its way out onto the route, including brother Trev, who was doing a good job of concealing his apprehension. I thought it would help him to get a better audax experience if I let him do the route-finding and had clipped my holder to his bars.
The Start Trevor and Graeme
After a mile or two of cycle path, we took the main road from Stockton south towards Yarm. Yarm itself is well worth a visit, having been a chief Tees port until the 18th century. It is now to the North-East what Wilmslow is to the North-West, a sort of reservation for footballers. Today, before reaching the village, we turned right to cross the railway, just before it crosses the iconic viaduct over the Tees. Ribblehead on the Settle-Carlisle line is probably better known for all sorts of reasons but the viaduct at Yarm is an amazing composite structure with 43 arches. The little rise to cross the line was Trevor's first test and he impressed me by soaring up it after emptying only one ashtray.
There followed mile after mile of country lane with hedges just beginning to speak of approaching autumn, willow-herb flaming and hawthorn and rowan berries glistening scarlet in the occasional flashes of sunlight. And ahead, as the road wound this way and that towards Middleton One Row, we caught glimpses of other groups of riders in bright jerseys. Middleton One Row does exactly what it says on the tin and the road passes between the river and the village spread along its northern bank.
In what seemed no time at all, we reached the first information control in Neasham. The village has a broad green and a magnificent shelter, which prompted me to explain to my brother the significance of bus-shelters in audaxing. I think this may have lost me some of the hard-won ground I had won in persuading him to start in the first place. Neasham also lay at the foot of the first climb of any significance and we must have puzzled some riders as we initially set off in the wrong direction so that we had a flat road to sort out our gears before turning around to “attack” the hill. Actually, hills are impervious to attack – but lungs are not and I could distinctly hear Trev blowing away as he toiled up behind me. I didn't look behind because I believe suffering is personal and not a spectator sport. However, when he came up to me and I asked if he'd got up ok, there was, I thought, a touch of pride (it may have been contempt) as he wheezed, “Yesh!”
At Low Dinsdale, we crossed to the east bank of the river. There is a magnificent church here and Trevor rolled on while I stopped to get pictures.
A little later, we passed a couple of riders dealing with a puncture and I took the opportunity to show my brother how to shout “Have you got everything you need?” whilst stepping up the cadence so that you can't hear the answer. A jink across the Middlesbrough road brought us to Hornby and then another information check in Appleton Wiske. There are so many interesting-looking pubs in this area that I imagine it will have taken Graeme about a week just to route-check the 50 k ride. And of course, you get to see the little Switzerland of the Cleveland Hills, without having to climb them!
Crossing the Northallerton to Stockton branch of the East Coast main line, we were soon in East Rounton, where Trevor carried on while I got a picture of what turned out to be the village hospital/alms-houses. I was surprised to discover that this village, which sits so naturally in its setting is a “new village” built by a local grandee just before the Great War. Another couple of miles brought us to the busy A19 trunk road and I was relieved to see that the crossing was via a fine new bridge. It seemed to me that the Black Swan, a pub in which my brothers and I had often sung in our youth, had disappeared. I must get Graeme to investigate
We were veering north for home, now and had only one more control, in Hutton Rudby, which is another excellent, well-kept village with a magnificent avenue of tree linings the main road through and a large village green. We got proof of passage at the Spar and rolled down the hill towards the river, this time the Leven.
Perusing the map the previous evening, I'd noticed the only climbing chevron of the day awaiting us on the other side of the river. So Trevor was forewarned and I was really pleased that he got up in good style. We percolated along through Middleton and Hilton before crossing the Middlesbrough road again at the famous Fox Covert, from where it was a only a couple of miles along cycle paths back to the start.
Signing back in at the school, it soon became apparent that the ride had been the easy bit. The refreshments provided by Graeme and Carol's team of helpers from St Francis Of Assisi represented a considerable obstacle to relaxed rumination, necessitating as they did repeated trips to the cake and quiche displays and not a little weight-lifting. We had a great time chatting to people, both riders and non-riders – friends of riders who had come to lend a hand or just be part of a wonderful inaugural event. I met several people whom I'd hitherto only known from electronic correspondence. It was a great day. I spent longer chatting than I had riding!
It's hard to praise Graeme and Carol's efforts too much. The event had been trailed for months, publicity disseminated through churches and the local cycling clubs and media. On the wall in the school there was a good display about the rides in particular and Audax in general. As for the spread – we did our best but after three hours, we hadn't even dented it. Magnificent!
But most of all I'm proud of my brother. Certainly, he's always been a sportsman, when his insane working hours have allowed, but he's really only ever used a bike on a flat commute and never been over about fifteen miles. He did this ride in some style, carrying his ex-works haversack (he's just retired), on a bike-to-work-scheme farm gate in three hours. It's true, he's going to have to work at his cake-eating but that will come. I can't wait till next year, when we have a go at the 100, or even the 200 together!
