RSF - The Off Road Cycling Club

The Adventure Starts Here

1984

Mountain bikes? An American invention we can well do without - attr, Alan Pocklington - RSF Treasurer

 

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The early clouds had mostly cleared away and it was mild enough to climb in shorts! Only a sheep and a couple of ptarmigan saw the spectacle of a cyclist, battling in a gale-force wind, in shorts in January! I rode as far as the treeline, and it was here that I had my first experience of a deer fence— interesting !
The path passed beneath a tall solitary tree standing sentinel, then wandered through heath and bracken to where a wooden bridge spanned the river. Half of the slats on the bridge were missing, and the few remaining seemed unlikely to bear my weight—let alone a camping laden cycle!
I spent half an hour trying to find a place to camp. Eventually, a small patch of grass beside the track had to suffice. The ground squelched, but I didn’t sink in when I jumped on it, so it was termed “dry”. It was a somewhat weary rough-stuffer who crawled into his flea-bag at 9 p.m.— 14 hours and 28 rough-stuff miles after starting, not to mention nearly 40 road miles.
The track continued undulating, and then, as it began to descend more steeply, my speed increased as I approached a shallow bend. Touching the front brake on, I suddenly felt my bike fall away. As I flew over the handlebars the left knee of my trousers was ripped and, landing in a sitting position, I slid along the ground into a patch of slime, wetting the only part which until then had remained dry.
When I realised it was going to be like this, my thoughts were—“What on earth am I doing here?”, and “What a dreadful mistake I’ve made”, and with the advice fresh in my mind I weighed up the pros and cons of the escapade. I quickly passed the point of considering going back; I was now enjoying myself.
We must have looked ridiculous trying to pedal, more often than not ending up in snow-drifts. On a network of lanes and tracks we made our way to Heywood. Although flat pedalling was hard work, with hubs deep in snow, there was no such thing as tarmac that day. You-would have to get shovelling to find any—bridle way, lane and footpath became one and the same.

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