Author: JL
When: Saturday 26th April 2014
Where: Thirsk
Distance: 88 miles
Peloton number: 5
Disturbingly early hour, check; school car park, check; semi-naked men donning lycra, check. Nothing sinister going on here, just another sportive. The Daffodils from Velo 29, a choice of routes up to 88 miles in length, signing up some weeks ago the thought of 88 miles and an(other) ascent of Blakey Bank, seemed like a walk in the park. Doubts are insidiously undermining motivation, the poor weather forecast for later in the day providing a get out clause before we’ve even began. Four fifths of our peloton are wearing Cafe Racer’s tops, unfortunately hidden beneath windproofs, worn because the temperature is rather colder than we’d anticipated. Once Chairman Whelan had finished draining his peanut sized bladder we are ready for the off, dipping our lanyards on the magic box, myself, The Chairman, Adam, Jamie and Howard sped through the school gates in tight formation, immediately grinding to a halt,no idea whether to turn left or right, lost within sight of the start line,. Luckily some real cyclists showed us the way and we restarted heading along a residential street with a few dozen other riders, eventually reaching the picturesque village of Kilburn, this time turning away from the White Horse Bank. Some pleasantly quiet lanes led us to the first food stop in Church Houses, conveniently situated at the foot of the day's main event - Blakey Bank. The forecast rain arrived, although nothing like as severe as the weathermen predicted, mere drizzle, no justification for taking the bailout route avoiding Blakey Bank.
Unable to prevaricate any longer, we left the feed station, pockets bulging with refined sugar products and joined the long line of cyclists grimacing and gurning slowly upward, until the photographer appeared when it was time to turn that frown upside down for a vital fraction of a second, click, and back to the sex face. Regrouping at the top we all agreed it had been "not too bad this time" despite the breathless profanities being uttered. Apparently I’m not the only who believes in “sweary power”. Riding into a misty drizzle, we passed the Lion Inn, some more reluctantly than others - the anorexics have yet to appreciate the efficacy of beer in their nutrition and hydration regime. From Rosedale Head the route took us to the village of Rosedale Abbey, usually a welcome few miles in the gravity assisted direction, the weather decided we would be ruined with too much enjoyment and hit us with a headwind and some driving rain. A peleton was formed and we showed the weather who was boss - mainly by hiding behind Howard. Things improved the lower we went and it wasn't long before we where lurking outside the public convenience waiting for Chairman Whelan, who spends so much time in these particular facilities the locals think he's cottaging. Especially Cedric the farmhand for whom a pair of Lycra clad buttocks is a refreshing change from hard to catch ewes. Or his sister.
From Rosedale Abbey the route eschewed ‘heinous’ Heygate and ‘chew the bars’ Chimney, banks, opting for the gentler route toward Cropton, then Lastingham and Hutton Le Hole, heading South again, down into the flat(ish)lands. The broom wagon followed us for some time, like a vulture waiting to pick off the weak and straggling. Did this mean we were last? Surely not, we’re The Cafe Racers. By the time we rolled in to Hovingham for the food stop and inevitable Chairman’s toilet break, the sun was blazing and layers were being shed, at some point Howard had formed a solitary breakaway and pressed on to the finish while we loaded up with more refined sugar products just in case a sudden attack of malnutrition might strike us within the next 20 miles.
Back on the chain gang we began the climb out of Hovingham, which felt almost as difficult as Blakey Bank, tired legs and quite possibly hypoglycemia as insulin flooded our bloodstreams in response to the carb overload just inflicted. Adam and The Chairman suddenly got a second wind, possibly as a result of EPO doping although such unfounded speculation is mere gossip-mongering and as such has no place on the Cafe Racer’s blog. It’s only a possibility. Gradually the gruesome twosome pulled away from me and Jamie, who were riding in the true sportive spirit of non-competitiveness, and disappeared into the distance. Counting down the miles on the Garmin now, every turn of the pedals propelling us to the finish and suddenly we were back at the school and a disturbingly empty car park. Perhaps we really were last? Lanyards dipped, times confirmed, goody bags collected, we shoved some more food down our throats and congratulated ourselves on a good days riding.
Times: Here
Route: Here
Pictures:Scroll down page
