RSF - The Off Road Cycling Club

The Adventure Starts Here

2022

“Bicycling is a big part of the future. It has to be. There’s something wrong with a society that drives a car to workout in a gym.” — Bill Nye, US scientist

 

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Two hundred and fifty years ago this year – this year being 2020 – a man dangled on the end of a rope, kicking at the wind, his last few seconds of frightened consciousness spent listening to the blood screaming in his ears. Then a merciful and hushed blackness reigned. His working boots, tramping boots, heavy boots turned pendulum to plumb line. The crowd had cheered, justice had been gawped at. Then, curiosity sated, the rabble shuffled off, amusement done, away from the Tyburn Tree on York's Knavesmire to go about its business, and to think-on.
Dartmoor looms as a dark and cloudy presence on the horizon of the lush green cream-giving meadows and endearing thatched villages of Devon. It is an open, bare landscape of grass and heather, boulders and sheep, studded with granite tors. But the apparent uninviting emptiness belies a rich history. There are many ancient Bronze Age tumuli, hut circles and stone rows hidden deeply in the grass; more obvious are mediaeval crosses and boundary marker stones, and there are industrial-era mines, quarries and tramways, the dark grey stone making them seem older than the century or so of actual age.
The bridleway ends at Moor Lane (GR SE455665), just beyond Haddock's Farm, where a left turn brings us to the cul-de-sac village of Myton-on-Swale. In all probability this would have been the lane tram- ped in 1319 by the army raised by the Archbishop of York, an army comprising monks, clerics and choristers, to fight Robert the Bruce's men. The battle took place on a triangle of land where the Swale meets the Ure. The Archbishop's army was an unlikely collection of warriors; stabbing, gouging and screaming blue murder just wasn't their style. Never in the same league as the Scots, the clerics were slaughtered where they stood
07:40. It is an early start at the campsite of Andermatt. The soft red-yellowish sunlight seems to set ablaze the white shining surfaces of the Hüenegletscher on my left (Pizzo Rotondo, 3192 mtr) and the Galenstock (Belvédère Rhonegletscher, 3583 mtr) to the right. The end of September and Covid restrictions must have created the quiet atmosphere. I am cycling towards the Furkapass along a more or less deserted road, which is very comfortable. In ordinary circumstances these parts of Switzerland can be quite busy, especially in high season.
Inspired by the RSF Archive, my purchase of a Reilly Gradient gravel bike and a week of cycling on Speyside, I decided to rejoin the Fellowship in October 2021, after a lapse of some 35 years. It feels good to be back amongst like-minded folk. I hope that, as in the past, I’ll be able to interest others in some of my favourite routes through the occasional Journal article. Roads to Moscow is a 50 mile circular route that takes its name from Al Stewart’s epic song about the Russian Front during World War Two.
“ROUGH-STUFF BEGINS where the tarmac ends” said my late friend Derek Houghton, some- thing I mused on during an April 2022 tour of the Andean north west of Argentina. Based in Salta and Jujuy provinces and using classified Ruta Nacional and Ruta Provincial roads open to all vehicles, the tour was not aimed specifically at those who like to travel the rougher ways. But, over several days, we cycled more than 230 km on unpaved roads that might be considered as mode- rately challenging rough-stuff.

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