middleagecyclist
Call me MAC
- Location
- Prestwich, Manchester
Not necessarily speedier...just in a rush to meet a train!
FNRttC Friday Night Ride to the Coast York to Hull 19 April, 2013
- Thread starter dellzeqq
- Start date
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StuAff
Silencing his legs regularly
- Location
- Portsmouth
Yes you were- check out the segments on Strava
middleagecyclist
Call me MAC
- Location
- Prestwich, Manchester
Yes you were- check out the segments on Strava
In my defence I was being fuelled by jelly babies and flat full fat coke and was looking forward to a cold beer before my train. I fully intend to use this knowledge on LEL!
Andrew Br
Still part of the team !
- Location
- Chorlton Cum Hardy
On balance, I think that's the FNRttC that I've enjoyed most. It's a combination of loving the route, knowing more people and, on this ride, the lovely weather. Plus the half-way stop was particulalry good; the fact that the heating was on when we arrived there was a real bonus.
It was certainly a ride of contrasts: lovely warm sunshine in the morning, freezing cold during the night; gently cruising along talking to people followed by balls-out thrashes beneath the dykes.
What a way to spend an evening.
I managed to stay up to watch Match of the Day on Saturday while also finding time to have a pint when I got back to MCR before going out for dinner with some friends. More alcohol may have been involved..........
As ever, thanks to Simon for the excellent organisation and to the TECs and way markers for keeping us honest.
I had two big laughs on the ride; in York when someone yelled "Nice Trek" to Simon and then again as we approached Hull and we were getting scalped by the newspaper boy on his BMX.
Pictures start here:-
13-04-23 FNRttC York-Hull by Chocolatebike1, on Flickr
It was certainly a ride of contrasts: lovely warm sunshine in the morning, freezing cold during the night; gently cruising along talking to people followed by balls-out thrashes beneath the dykes.
What a way to spend an evening.
I managed to stay up to watch Match of the Day on Saturday while also finding time to have a pint when I got back to MCR before going out for dinner with some friends. More alcohol may have been involved..........
As ever, thanks to Simon for the excellent organisation and to the TECs and way markers for keeping us honest.
I had two big laughs on the ride; in York when someone yelled "Nice Trek" to Simon and then again as we approached Hull and we were getting scalped by the newspaper boy on his BMX.
Pictures start here:-
13-04-23 FNRttC York-Hull by Chocolatebike1, on Flickr
middleagecyclist
Call me MAC
- Location
- Prestwich, Manchester
To my shame I actually scalped the newspaper boy (I was catching up with the group after marking a junction!)
Andrew Br
Still part of the team !
- Location
- Chorlton Cum Hardy
No shame there; I was cycling next to Phanta when I noticed him catching us. I said that there was no way he was passing me...........
.
U
User10571
Guest
Yup. My kinda night too.
mmmmartin
Random geezer
Leaving aside the 351k ride back to London Bridge, I think next year I would be very tempted to buy a return ticket on the Sunday and pay £26 for the Saturday night in the Ibis, which I found excellent value. It was lovely to be asleep all afternoon, and night, and wake up feeling great on Sunday morning.
Andrew Br
Still part of the team !
- Location
- Chorlton Cum Hardy
U
User10571
Guest
http://www.flickr.com/photos/80496706@N05/8675588415/in/photostream
http://www.flickr.com/photos/80496706@N05/8676712194/in/photostream
http://www.flickr.com/photos/80496706@N05/8675605271/in/photostream
http://www.flickr.com/photos/80496706@N05/8676708176/in/photostream
http://www.flickr.com/photos/80496706@N05/8675599891/in/photostream
Here are a few photos from last weeks event. A great ride, good company & better weather than the first fridays ride I did (Manchester to Morcombe last year).
http://www.flickr.com/photos/80496706@N05/8676712194/in/photostream
http://www.flickr.com/photos/80496706@N05/8675605271/in/photostream
http://www.flickr.com/photos/80496706@N05/8676708176/in/photostream
http://www.flickr.com/photos/80496706@N05/8675599891/in/photostream
Here are a few photos from last weeks event. A great ride, good company & better weather than the first fridays ride I did (Manchester to Morcombe last year).
http://www.flickr.com/photos/80496706@N05/8676712194/in/photostream screams for a caption competition
I beg, sir, to differ.
http://www.bikehike.co.uk/mapview.php?lnk=http://peter.chesspod.com/routes/ousefleetkmsq.gpx refers.
As you can see, I have drawn in the kilometre square in question. As it is bikehike, you have the bonus of the OS Landranger series accompanied by Google Maps. The above link will take you to the "Map" mode. Click the "Satellite" view and zoom in.
Behold, in all its glory, the pylon, whose metallic legs are entirely outside the kilometre square in question. I would argue that, since the oil seed rape shown in that image would not have been sown on that pylon's concrete plinth, that that too is completely without our Bleakest Kilometre Square. From that image it is quite easy to make out the pylon's cables, which do indeed encroach, but I would suggest that a request to the RPA (Relevant Pylon Authorities) for an extra pylon so that those cables could approach at a different angle would almost certainly fall upon deaf ears.
mmmmartin
Random geezer
Tortoise and the hares?
does Mr. Wow not appreciate that Swansonj is Mr. National Grid!
a lot has been written, and all of it wonderful to read. I'm going to indulge myself.....
the run down to Goole is what it is. For what it's worth I like it a great deal. I like the flatness, the big sky, the far-off lights of the power station, and (while they would not be obvious to those who've not done it at night) I like the turbines, which are, without question, changing the face of that part of the world. I like Goole. It might be an acquired taste, but if you've lately been in possession of teenagers, there's something charming about the boys and girls wending their way home to parents tucked up in bed. I like the steel bridges and the ships in the middle of town, and the dampness of the air that probably plays havoc with the lungs of the elderly.
But....most of all I like the Isle of Axholme. It's the flatness, the absence of hedges, the geometry of the roads dictated by the flow of water at high tide, the remnants of the past struggles that bear a bit of reading up. I know every yard of tarmac that arcs from Swinefleet east and south to Garthorpe and I know that if the weather is kind the flatness and the bends make it the kind of road that is thrilling to ride at speed..
So, having despatched Team Fast in the hope of making our date at Garthorpe more or less to the minute, I lead the rest of the ride out of Goole, along the A161, and to the turn at Swinefleet, where a chilled Charlie was waiting to direct traffic. Having sorted out a relief I found myself on the back road with one other. The wind was next to nothing. The road was open. It was a float morning, but without the morning. The bike had an idea.
Those of you who doubt the bike should have been there. A touch on the pedals for three or four revolutions and I was thirty metres clear of my companion. A shift of gear, a nod to the church, and a touch more and the gap simply stretched away. Where the road was broken the bike snaked perhaps an inch, perhaps less to the side of the holes. Where there was the slightest of rises, the bike simply swallowed them and then plunged down the shallow descent, taking another click on the changer. I'd rolled down to Goole on a 53/17. It takes four near-imperceptible shifts to get to 53/13, and that's how the bike wanted it, demanding that I take the tightest corners at a screaming pace, diving from the far side of the road, clipping the apex, before running out to the gravel on the verge, all at the same Mississippi Half-Step Toodle-oo cadence, the kind of cadence that makes the finest team out of saddle, handlebars and pedals.
There's a village halfway shy of Garthorpe, with two blind ninety degree bends. The bike wasn't doing caution. In to the left-hander without so much as a breath on the brakes, then cutting from the right side of the road to the left side before the right-hander, and then, upright, spinning southward, just my front light keeping the moon company. The right and left just north of Garthorpe went the same way, shot surface notwithstanding, and then, in to the village, the houses pressed close to the street, at the kind of pace that would have been just plain uncivilised at a more civilised hour.
I popped in to the village hall, checked the trestles loaded down with sandwiches and cake, and then went back out of the village to the open land, there to wait for the rest of the crew. There are two waymarking spots on the FNRttC worth fighting a duel for - the last one before Faygate and this blank road north of Garthorpe. At Faygate the advancing bike lights shine through the trees Spielberg stylee before they hit the top of the rise, and then cast lines ahead as they come down the hill in to the village. At Garthorpe the lights make a map of the Isle underneath the vast flat plane of the sky. They turn left, turn right, describing the ditches dug so farsightedly in the eighteenth century, The gigantic berm that keeps out the sea is, perhaps, ten feet above the heads of the cyclists, a backdrop of some significance. Sea, sky, straight lines, piercing lights - Kasimir Malevich would have torn his heart out to paint it. My heart soared like a dove as the Fridays hove in to view, two by two, to be accompanied to the crossroads and directed to the village hall, and I suppose that I might have made my way up and down the high street some ten times before Mr. Wow and the Tail End Charlies rolled in to town.
The rest......if I'm honest.... it gets us there. I love those first views of the bridge, and I love the bridge itself. Hull is cool. Cafe Pasaz is the coolest thing in Hull. The train that takes us all the way to Kings Cross is a delight. All of which means nothing without the company, but if you're in great company why not do great stuff? That said.....if, in ten years time I'm leafing through what remains of my memory, it's the ten miles from Goole to Garthorpe I'll call on.
a lot has been written, and all of it wonderful to read. I'm going to indulge myself.....
the run down to Goole is what it is. For what it's worth I like it a great deal. I like the flatness, the big sky, the far-off lights of the power station, and (while they would not be obvious to those who've not done it at night) I like the turbines, which are, without question, changing the face of that part of the world. I like Goole. It might be an acquired taste, but if you've lately been in possession of teenagers, there's something charming about the boys and girls wending their way home to parents tucked up in bed. I like the steel bridges and the ships in the middle of town, and the dampness of the air that probably plays havoc with the lungs of the elderly.
But....most of all I like the Isle of Axholme. It's the flatness, the absence of hedges, the geometry of the roads dictated by the flow of water at high tide, the remnants of the past struggles that bear a bit of reading up. I know every yard of tarmac that arcs from Swinefleet east and south to Garthorpe and I know that if the weather is kind the flatness and the bends make it the kind of road that is thrilling to ride at speed..
So, having despatched Team Fast in the hope of making our date at Garthorpe more or less to the minute, I lead the rest of the ride out of Goole, along the A161, and to the turn at Swinefleet, where a chilled Charlie was waiting to direct traffic. Having sorted out a relief I found myself on the back road with one other. The wind was next to nothing. The road was open. It was a float morning, but without the morning. The bike had an idea.
Those of you who doubt the bike should have been there. A touch on the pedals for three or four revolutions and I was thirty metres clear of my companion. A shift of gear, a nod to the church, and a touch more and the gap simply stretched away. Where the road was broken the bike snaked perhaps an inch, perhaps less to the side of the holes. Where there was the slightest of rises, the bike simply swallowed them and then plunged down the shallow descent, taking another click on the changer. I'd rolled down to Goole on a 53/17. It takes four near-imperceptible shifts to get to 53/13, and that's how the bike wanted it, demanding that I take the tightest corners at a screaming pace, diving from the far side of the road, clipping the apex, before running out to the gravel on the verge, all at the same Mississippi Half-Step Toodle-oo cadence, the kind of cadence that makes the finest team out of saddle, handlebars and pedals.
There's a village halfway shy of Garthorpe, with two blind ninety degree bends. The bike wasn't doing caution. In to the left-hander without so much as a breath on the brakes, then cutting from the right side of the road to the left side before the right-hander, and then, upright, spinning southward, just my front light keeping the moon company. The right and left just north of Garthorpe went the same way, shot surface notwithstanding, and then, in to the village, the houses pressed close to the street, at the kind of pace that would have been just plain uncivilised at a more civilised hour.
I popped in to the village hall, checked the trestles loaded down with sandwiches and cake, and then went back out of the village to the open land, there to wait for the rest of the crew. There are two waymarking spots on the FNRttC worth fighting a duel for - the last one before Faygate and this blank road north of Garthorpe. At Faygate the advancing bike lights shine through the trees Spielberg stylee before they hit the top of the rise, and then cast lines ahead as they come down the hill in to the village. At Garthorpe the lights make a map of the Isle underneath the vast flat plane of the sky. They turn left, turn right, describing the ditches dug so farsightedly in the eighteenth century, The gigantic berm that keeps out the sea is, perhaps, ten feet above the heads of the cyclists, a backdrop of some significance. Sea, sky, straight lines, piercing lights - Kasimir Malevich would have torn his heart out to paint it. My heart soared like a dove as the Fridays hove in to view, two by two, to be accompanied to the crossroads and directed to the village hall, and I suppose that I might have made my way up and down the high street some ten times before Mr. Wow and the Tail End Charlies rolled in to town.
The rest......if I'm honest.... it gets us there. I love those first views of the bridge, and I love the bridge itself. Hull is cool. Cafe Pasaz is the coolest thing in Hull. The train that takes us all the way to Kings Cross is a delight. All of which means nothing without the company, but if you're in great company why not do great stuff? That said.....if, in ten years time I'm leafing through what remains of my memory, it's the ten miles from Goole to Garthorpe I'll call on.
