RSF - The Off Road Cycling Club

The Adventure Starts Here


“When the spirits are low, when the day appears dark, when work becomes monotonous, when hope hardly seems worth having, just mount a bicycle and go out for a spin down the road, without thought on anything but the ride you are taking” – Arthur Conan Doyle


All content in the journals is copyright either of the RSF or the author or indeed both. It's use without permission will result in a stiff memo. If you would like to use an article or images please contact the general secretary in the first instance

1978 Jan-March Vol 23 No.1

As wc freewheeled down Dentdale on Saturday morning we were well satisfied with the new arrangements. Cyril said that the dale had never looked better which was a pity for he had left his camera back home on the sideboard! The rest of us recorded the autumn splendour on film and the glorious colouring on the bridge at Sedbergh tempted John to attempt a vertical descent to capture a difficult shot. We headed north from Sedbergh along the road tailor-made for cyclists, Fairmile, and found a sheltered spot for lunch near Carlingill.

1978 March-April Vol 23 No.2

There are 14 mountains in Wales with an altitude of over 3,OOOft. For some time it had been an ambition of mine to try a worthwhile rough stuff route over one of these summits. I studied the map and chose a route over Foel Grach, a mountain of some 3,196ft., situated in the Carneddau range. These mountains are rather remote and, in bad weather, navigation can be rather tricky.

1978 May-June Vol 23 No.3

We dragged the bikes over tangled roots, with sinewy branches snagging our clothes and catching in brake cables and spokes. By this time a small group of spectators had gathered on the quay, the presence of which did nothing to improve either our progress or frayed nerves! After having removed my front wheel to get through a particularly narrow section, and having my quick-release rear wheel dragged off by a blackberry’s tentacle, we reached the quayside,

1978 July-Aug Vol 23 No.4

I walked on through the mist, what little vision I had blurred by the damp ness. For a brief moment the breeze ripped the grey curtain aside and there on the right lay the Loe Pool, dark and forbidding, a sombre picture framed in a ring of mist. What was that? A ripple? A hand? A flash of steel? The mist closed in, and the scene vanished as suddenly as it had appeared. Perhaps it had never appeared at all, and it was just a Cornish fantasy. A

1978 Sept-Oct Vol 23 No.5

We avoided a group of walkers and took the stony path from the bothy to the Coire Odhar. Carrying was necessary on this steep rise of 400 feet and consequently Dave thought his heart was about to fail, and my pulse rose to 200. The path out of the corrie climbed more gradually, in a series of hairpin bends, up to a grassy plateau at 3,000 feet. Near here, we had lunch, overlooking the great rocky promontory of Devils Point

1978 Nov-Dec Vol 23 No.6 (Index)

A short distance away is the Merry Maidens stone circle. Many years ago, the maidens were making merry by dancing in the field to the lilting tune of the pipers. Unfortunately it was the Sabbath Day, and as a punish ment for this sinful pastime, maidens and pipers were turned to stone, and there they remain to-day. As my journey was also taking place on a Sunday, I fervently hoped that the same wrath was not visited upon cyclists

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