RSF - The Off Road Cycling Club

The Adventure Starts Here


“It is the unknown around the corner that turns my wheels.” — Heinz Stücke, German long-distance touring cyclist


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1993 Jan-Feb Vol 38 No.1

On Saturday we went cycle camping. We went on the Icknield Way all the way to Watlington and we bought sausages and lardy cake. We had lunch nearby. First we went to Little Bix Bottom and then to Stonor. When we got to Stonor we telephoned Mummy, we filled our water can and bottle and then went to our camping place. We put up the tent behind some bushes. I had a rest while Daddy cooked the dinner and then we went to bed. Next morning we broke camp and we went to Mass at Stonor, where we saw a stained glass window of Saint Gregory.

1993 March-April Vol 38 No.2

The wind was blowing very strongly from Longsleddalc and along Mosedale and as quite chilly even though the sun shone through the broken racing clouds above. II was 2.35 p.m. and 1 had thirteen miles on the cycle computer measured from my camp on High Street. But the prospect of finding a wall in the lee of which I could pilch the tent out of the wind looked remote according to my map, at least until I reached the Gatesgarth Pass area where I had once camped before. So I decided to camp in Mosedale even though it was early

1993 May-June Vol 38 No.3

The term “Uists” is a loose term applied to all of the Western Islands (Outer Hebrides), south of the Sound of Harris. These are generally low-lying lands inundated with small lochs but with a chain of mountains on the rocky eastern side, and are flatter on the sandy western side. To link certain of the populated islands causeways have replaced fords, and proposals exist to provide causeways to Eriskay and Bemeray which are at present served by small vehicle ferries on six days a week (not the Sabbath!).

1993 July-Aug Vol 38 No.4

I was recumbent, as I often am, and the sun was beating warm. I was recumbent by the Curling Pond, in high hot summer, and the air was thick with the sounds of insects, going as insects do, purposefully about their business. Hot winged insects making bee-lines, hover-flies hov’ring and dragonflies dashing. And as with everything else, there are of course exceptions. The one that springs most easily to mind is the unfortunate daddy-long-legs (Tipula spp.), well known for its prodigious incompetence and all round ineptitude. There weren't any daddy-long-legs about; I expect the dragonflies ate them.

1993 Sept-Oct Vol 38 No.5

It had been a long time since I had cycled in the North Yorkshire Moors, the Pennines forming a barrier that I all too few times had crossed. Good Friday 1993 was one such occasion when, garbed in a cape, I rode through drizzle and wind, hampered by the traffic and buffeted by the wind and spray from the heavy wagons on the A59, I nevertheless accomplished my aim - the crossing of the Pennines to Helmsley and the Easter Meet. Setting off from Heskin in Lancashire, in a cape at six o'clock in the morning, I arrived at Helmsley Y.H. at half-past-six in the evening, still in the cape!

1993 Nov-Dec Vol 38 No.6 (Index)

And there were in that country cyclists abiding in the field sat beside their tents exceeding cold, for Lo, the wood was wet and the fire would not burn. And Lo, an angel appeareth unto them saying, Wherefore dwellest thou hither, for Lo, I bring thee good tidings, away unto Bethesda and there, Behold, find an inn of great comfort and joy. And it came to pass, as the angel had gone away from them unto Heaven, the cyclists said one to another, Let us go now, even unto Bethesda, for it is not our want that we sit and shiver.

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