TOUR DE YORKSHIRE
I was bowled over with the prospect of the
Tour de France in the North of England, zooming around our beautiful hills,
barrelling under crags and flying up the best gradients the UK can offer,
teetering on tops before plummeting down descents which rival the Alps in their
trickiness rather than length. Not to mention the quaint villages, Yorkshire
stone, duck ponds, cricket matches, medieval castles, abbeys an' all. And then
there's the moors, plenty of them for a racer to get moody on as he forces his
legs to cleave through the hostile wind.
The joy of packing.......
....or forgetting
Half the group started at Leeds Town
Hall, and met up with the rest of us at Ilkley with a resounding rendition of "On Ilkley Moor Bah' t'at"
From Ilkley we warmed our legs up spinning through busy Skipton on market day, past the castle and winding up towards Kettlewell.
At Kettlewell some extreme members of
our crew shot off up the 1 in 4 climb that the Tour de France athletes fear to
tackle. I've been DOWN that hill, hugging Great Whernside for a perilous
descent. Now there's an idea: a women's
tour that tackles the climbs too tough for the men. Yes guys, on the day, if
you want a bit more excitement, just follow the Glows' wheel tracks up and down
the 25% incline out of Kettlewell. Chris, Bradley, Mark are you listening?
Hola! Alberto Contador? Allons! Thomas
Voeckler. Apres les Glows!
Meandering along Wharfedale didn't last
long and we were soon toiling up what is
cutely now called the Cote de Cray but when i did it last year it was Kidstones
Pass. The lung-busting climb is made more delightful by the superb views of
swathes of Yorkshire at its best - green fields, stone walls, luscious rivers
inviting you to splash in the fresh water, followed by a supposedly easy ride
to Hawes.
Easy ride my foot - blasting headwind
transforming it to torture at the end of the day.
Did I mention hills? Did I mention the
climbs the Fit Guys aren't doing. On Sunday morning two sturdy Glows continued
the theme as they toiled up Fleet Moss against a flood of descending riders on
the Etape de Dales sportive hurtling through their own Yorkshire experience.
The rest of us set out towards the rude
awakening of Buttertubs - sorry, M'sieur, Cote de Buttertubs. It was
hard, it was long, it was hot, it was steep, it went on and on, it was
beautiful, it was exhilarating, it was the top of the world. It was everything
a cyclist would want on a Sunday morning.
Coming down is tricky. You've got to
have your wits about you, feather those brakes for all they’re
worth, keeping one eye out for silent
sportive speedsters whizzing past who've still got 80 miles and another 6
climbs to go. I passed a terrified guy cautiously descending who must have come
from down South and had never encountered the glorious gradients of the North.
Soon we bowling through the villages of
Muker and Gunnerside to Reeth, along the valley flanked by more green fields
dotted with stone barns and obligatory gorgeous lambs.
The final climb was tough but the pull up to Grinton Moor
was merely sweaty and puffy compared to the
terror of Buttertubs. "This is why we cycle!!" I yelled
at the top of my voice as the expanse of majestic moor unfolded before us. The
moorland ride and rolling descent to Masham should have been a breeze, but
rather more than a breeze in our faces forced us to push every inch of the way.
God's own country can be harsh.
The last 10 miles of every long distance
ride is always a come-down - literally and metaphorically. The A61 has nothing
to say for itself except it takes you to Harrogate and that was our
destination. Pretty as a postcard, cycling past the famous Betty's tearoom (but
too filthy to go in), we all congratulated each other on our ride - not to
mention the achievements of the extra super-duper efforts.
So there you are. 8,000 feet of
climbing, 128 miles. Fastest speed 43 mph. The hardy types climbed 12,728 feet
over 143 miles.
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