A serialisation by arallsopp (starts here)
— Buy the book here —

Monday 0955hrs. Minutes slept 90. North again.

Brian is in a small group about 6 mins ahead of me. I give chase through Moorends, and catch him mid way through the Dutch landscape into Rawcliffe. Curiosities of the FNRttC mean that I have only ever spoken with Brian when I haven’t had enough sleep. Today will integrate nicely.

We ride side by side for a while, Brian, his mate, and me. Brian takes exception on crossing a second canal (the Knottingley and Goole at Rawcliffe Bridge) and begins to rant at the lack of hills. This is classic Brian really. I sympathise, but have no empathy at all. In my book, hills are A Bad Thing™.

Brian is right though. As we skirt along the River Aire, then over the Ouse, even I will admit that its hard to get a sense of progress when the landscape refuses to offer anything other than a horizon.

On through Howden, Highfield (presumably ironically named, as its at the same elevation as everything else within 50 miles), Sutton upon Derwent, Elvington. We skirt anticlockwise around York, 5 miles out, to the South East, then due North. I pass places I visited with my school when I was 14. Seems very strange to be here on a pushbike. On the way out we are rewarded with a few bumps, which Brian tears into with enthusiasm.

Its just after midday, and the sun is out in force. Layers are removed and the group separate. As I pass Strensall Camp, I begin to detect serious hills up front. We alternate North and East around long shallow hedges, but there is no doubt they are getting closer. Exiting Stillington, one in particular looms up in front. Given the relative level of its immediate environs, it looks for all the world like the fields are a patchwork quilt laid over a bed, only someone’s left an umbrella stand on top of the mattress. The next instruction on the route sheet sends us directly towards it.

I’m looking at the GPS, which is telling me I need to make an L in 1.3 miles. I can see a suitable turning just before the bottom of the hill, and I’m desperately trying to gauge the distance. Looks about right though, and I ride on watching the “distance to next” slowly count down. Too close to call. We’re either going around, or straight over the top. The miles tick away very slowly. A mile later, I reach the outskirts of Crayke, and the bottom of the hill. I swing left out of blind hope, but the GPS bleeps at me until I give in and loop back. I pitch myself up, and when I do finally reach the L, find the road climbs even higher behind the houses. After a morning of being between 0 and 20m above sea level, 140m all at once is quite a hit.

I take my reward in the undulations following the descent, but climbing into Oulston I can see its going to be pretty bad from here on in. One final descent drops me from Newburgh Grange to Coxwold, and I arrive at the control full of smiles.

Can you spot Crayke?

… continued here.

A serialisation by arallsopp (starts here)
— Buy the book here —

Monday 0322hrs. Meet the pack.

Wragby drops behind me, long straight roads, continue. Instructions are few and far between. I chase down more cyclists as the road traces around field boundaries between Holton cum Beckering, Lissington, Middle Rasen, Osgodby, Kirkby. I’m starting to pick out hills on my right, but the road up ahead looks flat as Bb minor. Oswersby South and North drop away. I’m running out of country to the East, and the route responds by flirting at the border of North Lincolnshire with tentative stabs alternately West and Southward. I stay West through Thorton le Moor, South Kelsey, and Waddingham before finally slipping across the border a few miles outside Kirton Lindsey. From here, the land seems to get a little hillier. Its only gentle rollers though, and I continue NW inland, presumably routing for a narrow point on the Humber.

Messingham brings a sunrise and a nice downhill stretch with a long run off. I take the chance to claim a few more blinkies before they’re switched off. Just before 6am I hit a big river at East Butterwick, and am surprised to find it’s the Trent. To me, this means Nottingham, but in my addled state, I can’t work out if I’m north or south of it (45 miles North, it later transpires). I’m surprised to find myself keeping pace with a homebrew FWD recumbent I’d spotted at Lea Valley. Enormous front ring and square-section tubing, this is a serious piece of kit. The German at the helm probably weighs less than it does, but at the rate its rusting my guess is they’ll even out somewhere around Alston. Adding insult to (very probable) injury, he seems to have brought a suitcase on the rear rack. He’s fast though. As traffic builds, he drops infront with ease before swinging back to continue our conversation. Given that we’re rolling at 16mph all the way, I’m guessing he’s been able to convert some of the slack he must have earned into sleep.

I stay with him along the East bank up to the bridge at Gunness, where we clamber back South through ‘thorpes Al and Derry. Entering Beltoft I am very grateful to my wife for reading through the routesheet with me on the Saturday night. As each town comes up, I can hear her voice counting off its name. Continue East through Belton, Westgate, into South Yorkshire. Schoolboy geography tells me to expect hills, but there’s even a canal here. The German and I cross it together and roll into the rugby club on the edge of Thorne.

… continued here.

A serialisation by arallsopp (starts here)
— Buy the book here —

Monday 0225hrs: Into the darkness.

Nice flat run out through Booths Branston and Potterhanworth. The ground has dried up. Only a few hours ago, I was convinced I’d been routed through a ford. Now the sky is clear, the air is light. There may even be a tailwind.

I begin to see blinkies up front again. Over the river and through Bardney. The road begins to snake left and right around fields, each turn reveals another set of lamps to chase. I’m slowly moving into the pack. Its beginning to feel like a FNRttC.

Through Kingthorpe and I see the unmistakable altitude of a recumbent lamp upfront. I chase it down to find an American on what looks like a front faired Rans. Nice bike. Fields give way to houses. Streetlamps spring up. I’m 3 instructions from Washingborough, in Wragby, and the control is upon me.

… continued here.