RSF - The Off Road Cycling Club

The Adventure Starts Here

1982

"Whoever invented the bicycle deserves the thanks of humanity." — Lord Charles Beresford, British admiral and Member of Parliament

 

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1982 Jan-Feb Vol 27 No.1

We sheltered behind a rocky spur to eat our knock-chits and gazed back towards the Ryvoan pass. Ahead was a V-shaped gash as if a gigantic axe had smashed into the hill, clearing the rocks to leave sheer cliffs with an incredible jumble of vast blocks littering (hope I don’t get the blame again) the floor of the chasm.

1982 March-April Vol 27 No.2

After lunch we continued past Cow Castle, and then to our horror we realised that the small herd of cows grazing between us and the river were accompanied by a huge red bull with horrible “Pellisier”-style horns.

1982 May-June Vol 27 No.3

Unlike (say) the Avon, which bristles with boats, we only saw one or two cruisers and a few barges laden with cement or coal. A canal addict could spend weeks criss-crossing France on the tow- paths on which cycling is permitted, but cars and motor cycles are specifically excluded.

1982 July-Aug Vol 27 No.4

As usual the track looked inviting at first, being once made up with local stone, but as usual first impressions were wrong. After 100 yards I sent my stoker flying when I foolishly tried to ride out of a rut. Fortunately she took it as part of the fun and we continued.

1982 Sept-Oct Vol 27 No.5

This “road” was remarkably steep and curiously paved with a kind of “mini cobblestone” in some parts and loose stones in others. I walked most of it, not wishing to be found guilty' of “cruelty to bicycles”.

1982 Nov-Dec Vol 27 No.6 (Index)

Two parallel wires, one above the other, were suspended high over the river which was quite wide and full, and on the other side, no sign of any track at all. An active chimpanzee or a hiker with a head for heights would have been undeterred, but after a sandwich and a rest I reluctantly came to the decision to return the way I had come and abandon what had promised to be my greatest rough-stuff crossing.

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