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By Robyn Claire-Louise Anderson in General Published: Thursday, 16 August 07 - 10:50 AM (GMT) Last Updated: Thursday, 16 August 07 - 11:39 AM (GMT) |
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I did a very foolish thing yesterday... that is, some might call it so, but others might consider it heroic. Now that I have partially recovered, I shall relay the tale in a heroic style, as my head has stopped pounding and my tongue no longer sticks to the roof of my mouth.
Since my last entry, Roger and I set off for a little cycling holiday with Simmy (a man of Arthurian proportions) and the Preston Harriers. Nigel was our able route planner and navigator; Dave B was our accountant ensuring that all waiters and waitresses were amply tipped; Barry took on the role of Devil's advocate; Roy shielded us from the wind; John was motivator cheering us up with chirpy helloes as he passed us going up hill; Mick entertained us with odd shoes and tartan evening attire; George was our (mine anyway) mechanic, screwing on heads and such like; and Joe our resident local, who seemed to have spent lots of time everywhere we went and told us interesting things about everywhere. Phil2 conducted studies on how beer enhanced the cycling performances of Preston Harriers but had to leave for work on Tuesday; Roger cycled back to work from Stainforth on Sunday and Mali, Ann and Kath had to leave all too soon after the Saturday leg for dates back in the buzzing city of Preston.
Without going into too much detail, we covered between 270 and 300 miles over our 5 day cycle, stopping overnight at the Youth Hostels in Stainforth, Dufton, Grasmere and Ingleton. We usually set off from the YHA each morning between 09h00 and 09h30, stopping at about 11h00 for coffee and tea along the way, with a sandwich, chip and beer stop at about 12h30. During these lunch breaks, we conducted our own little survey of who produces the best chips and sandwiches. The hospitatlity prize must however go to Anton in Great Strickland, landlord of The Strickland Arms, who despite the unsocialble hour on Monday morning, welcomed us with open arms, throwing down his vacuum cleaner to make us coffee, tea and biscuits.
Depending on the length of the day's cycle (anywhere between 40 and 66 miles), we would end up for supper by 19h00 at the designated YHA, followed by, more beer.
By the time Wednesday arrived, knees were beginning to feel creaky and muscles stiff (we had ascended Buttertubs, Kirkstone Pass, and the climb out of Dent to name but a few struggles), so the last lunchtime stop at The Fleece Inn at Dolphinholme was taken as a right of passage and the Copper Dragon flowed freely. It flowed and flowed and flowed, and this is where I made my heroic but possibly foolish mistake.
After four pints of Golden Pippin and a good feed, we remounted our bicycles for the final push back to Preston, where all sensible, wise and experienced members of the tour retired home. The less experienced and over enthusiastic member of the group elected to travel with her newly wed husband to Helmshore later that evening, for the 6.5 mile fell race, hoping that her nemesis, Karen, might still be on holiday and that the first place 20 points would be for the taking...
On arriving at the start, we met with Harriers Mic, John C, John G, Pete, Brian, Bob... and Karen (Saint Roy elected to arrive late for the race and rescue children off the fells when he went for his own little jog). Soon afterwards, my hangover started kicking in, by which time it was too late to pull out. Only getting a little lost along the 6.5 mile way, I finally made it back over the line, with a Copper Dragon's breath and alcholic sweat.
Back in the pub after the race, I sanctimoniously sipped on my lime and soda, trying not to draw too much attention to my sorry feeling self having run on top of a 270 mile cycle and 4 pints for lunch. Lesson learnt? For now, anyway.
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