This is a lovely ride. It's of the place - a kind of regional delicacy. Vermuyden and his successors made the land (and, inadvertently, set off two hundred years of rioting) and we still traverse the roads that were laid as causeways across water meadows and marsh. The 'high' spots, clanking steel bridges, are as high because boats had to pass under. Where the traffic was intermittent they built swing bridges - I think we crossed four - and, finally, just thirtysomething years ago, they built The Big One. And, at the water's edge, inlets, sluices, docks and tidal flats teeming with bird life.
So, flat pasture, rich, soft arable land, bridges, ships in towns (although not on Friday night) and towers, some on churches, some containing water, some with lights on, and, lately, some with blades that turn in the lightest of breezes. And the vast berm. It's landscape as a diagram. And nowhere more of a diagram than when wayfinding on the road in to Garthorpe, watching the amazing beams of modern bike lights turn this way and that along roads without hedges.
The great thing about diagrams is that they let you calculate. We were due in Garthorpe at 3.25. The breeze was from the southwest. I knew from experience that the slower the front of the ride, the quicker the rear of the ride, and so we rolled along at a steady rate that got us to Goole ten minutes early (and as Olaf wisely said, a single puncture would have got us in bang on time). I sent a text to Garthorpe to let them know we would arrive at 3.15, and received a text back. Last year the fast group set off from Goole at 2.50 and rode like the wind to arrive on time. This year we had to do no more than roll along at about sixteen miles an hour to avoid arriving fifteen minutes early. Our timing was spot on, and the interval between first and last no more than ten minutes. The people who run the halfway stops like that confirmation - it's part of the package that has them hoping you'll come back next year (and we were asked to come back next year). We were short on numbers, but our hosts were the soul of charity and we split the difference, so no great harm was done to the Club funds (and, as the sagacious Olaf asked, what else is the money for?)
I'm not the greatest fan of the second half of the ride. The memorial to the dead of Flixborough http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Flixborough_disaster is moving. Winterton is sweet. The reflection off the millpond-smooth water of the Humber was remarkable in its intensity. And the Bridge is, as User10571's photo shows, mega. Then again...our destination is just wonderful. Hull's broad green avenues never looked finer, and the football colours (and coaches by the score) was a carnival at breakfast time. We had breakfasts that cost next to nothing (point taken) and, one by one, rode off or walked to the station. I slept on the train (hopefully not too raucously) and didn't quite make half time before falling asleep for twelve hours.
All in all, as good a weekend as one could wish for. And............next weekend it's Paris! Va-va-voom!
So, flat pasture, rich, soft arable land, bridges, ships in towns (although not on Friday night) and towers, some on churches, some containing water, some with lights on, and, lately, some with blades that turn in the lightest of breezes. And the vast berm. It's landscape as a diagram. And nowhere more of a diagram than when wayfinding on the road in to Garthorpe, watching the amazing beams of modern bike lights turn this way and that along roads without hedges.
The great thing about diagrams is that they let you calculate. We were due in Garthorpe at 3.25. The breeze was from the southwest. I knew from experience that the slower the front of the ride, the quicker the rear of the ride, and so we rolled along at a steady rate that got us to Goole ten minutes early (and as Olaf wisely said, a single puncture would have got us in bang on time). I sent a text to Garthorpe to let them know we would arrive at 3.15, and received a text back. Last year the fast group set off from Goole at 2.50 and rode like the wind to arrive on time. This year we had to do no more than roll along at about sixteen miles an hour to avoid arriving fifteen minutes early. Our timing was spot on, and the interval between first and last no more than ten minutes. The people who run the halfway stops like that confirmation - it's part of the package that has them hoping you'll come back next year (and we were asked to come back next year). We were short on numbers, but our hosts were the soul of charity and we split the difference, so no great harm was done to the Club funds (and, as the sagacious Olaf asked, what else is the money for?)
I'm not the greatest fan of the second half of the ride. The memorial to the dead of Flixborough http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Flixborough_disaster is moving. Winterton is sweet. The reflection off the millpond-smooth water of the Humber was remarkable in its intensity. And the Bridge is, as User10571's photo shows, mega. Then again...our destination is just wonderful. Hull's broad green avenues never looked finer, and the football colours (and coaches by the score) was a carnival at breakfast time. We had breakfasts that cost next to nothing (point taken) and, one by one, rode off or walked to the station. I slept on the train (hopefully not too raucously) and didn't quite make half time before falling asleep for twelve hours.
All in all, as good a weekend as one could wish for. And............next weekend it's Paris! Va-va-voom!
