There’s a surprise! The reported 16 degrees this morning almost felt cold. And then the zip on my lightweight jacket stuck, about halfway up. Minor niggles, pedal the geared bike down the street.
And find that the phone kept falling out. On the bike I carry the phone in a waterproof thingy on a lanyard around my neck and stuffed down the front of the jacket. Not today, swivel the lot 180 degrees and stick the phone in a back pocket. Such drama! But, ride on.
Cross the River Aire and ride up the hill to the Oakwood Clock, then decide to ride the A58 (aka Boot Hill) across the Ring Road. Another ride without a plan. The right turn at Red Hall Lane was hindered by traffic, so I carried straight on to Wetherby without bothering with junctions.
Crossed the Wharfe there and turned right for a second breakfast by the riverbank. I had to untangle phone and banana, a difficult task. It is a steep climb away from there, as is the bridge across the A1 M on the road to York, the B1224. Travel along the side of the racecourse for a distance, leave that behind and the next right is to Walton.
And a following wind. I had noticed that pedalling seemed to need more effort this morning, but that could have been anything. The wind was certainly being kind to me now, fairly whizzed along to the village. A left and a right, this road passes a few buildings then back into open country on the way to Thorp Arch. And I have just found out I was riding along Church Causeway to pass All Saints Church.
Back across the River Wharfe now, and into Boston Spa on the way to Clifford, then Bramham. Once out of there and across the A1 M again it is fields and woodland bordering the road again, and little traffic around. A couple of cyclists and two or three cars all the way to Thorner, where things seemed to be a little busier.
Ride up Sandhills and along to Skeltons Lane, where the previously helpful tail wind became a cross wind. But only as far as the A 58 again, and I rode down that hill quite a bit faster than the ascent earlier this morning. Back across town, and the river, then that last stretch to home. Thirty five brisk miles, thank you breeze, and 1800 feet up, and still I have a grin.
A map . . .
And find that the phone kept falling out. On the bike I carry the phone in a waterproof thingy on a lanyard around my neck and stuffed down the front of the jacket. Not today, swivel the lot 180 degrees and stick the phone in a back pocket. Such drama! But, ride on.
Cross the River Aire and ride up the hill to the Oakwood Clock, then decide to ride the A58 (aka Boot Hill) across the Ring Road. Another ride without a plan. The right turn at Red Hall Lane was hindered by traffic, so I carried straight on to Wetherby without bothering with junctions.
Crossed the Wharfe there and turned right for a second breakfast by the riverbank. I had to untangle phone and banana, a difficult task. It is a steep climb away from there, as is the bridge across the A1 M on the road to York, the B1224. Travel along the side of the racecourse for a distance, leave that behind and the next right is to Walton.
And a following wind. I had noticed that pedalling seemed to need more effort this morning, but that could have been anything. The wind was certainly being kind to me now, fairly whizzed along to the village. A left and a right, this road passes a few buildings then back into open country on the way to Thorp Arch. And I have just found out I was riding along Church Causeway to pass All Saints Church.
Back across the River Wharfe now, and into Boston Spa on the way to Clifford, then Bramham. Once out of there and across the A1 M again it is fields and woodland bordering the road again, and little traffic around. A couple of cyclists and two or three cars all the way to Thorner, where things seemed to be a little busier.
Ride up Sandhills and along to Skeltons Lane, where the previously helpful tail wind became a cross wind. But only as far as the A 58 again, and I rode down that hill quite a bit faster than the ascent earlier this morning. Back across town, and the river, then that last stretch to home. Thirty five brisk miles, thank you breeze, and 1800 feet up, and still I have a grin.
A map . . .
.
