John Whiteley looks back a few years
This was late summer. We’d lunched at Dent, and we were at the tea wagon at Devil’s Bridge. You’ll know Devil’s Bridge; it’s at Kirkby Lonsdale, about a quarter of a mile outside the town, on the road to Settle. There are two wagons – one sells ice cream and the other bacon sandwiches and tea.
It had been a lovely, calm sunny warm summer’s day, you know the kind of thing, birds singing, meadows sweet and scented with occasional honeysuckle in the hedgerows, not a cloud in the sky. It didn’t happen in 2008, but here’s hopes for 2009! We hadn’t much noticed the blackening in the sky to the west, as we rolled down Dentdale, nor the increasing darkening to our right as we rode down the Lune Valley, southbound from Sedbergh.
The low deep-throated rumblings in the air as we drank tea and ate fried egg sarnies at the tea wagon couldn’t, however, be ignored, and half-crown sized raindrops on my sandwich suggested that the day was about to be spoiled.
We had our “hard riders” section in those days, and whilst we didn’t really ride “hard”, we rode fairly long distances. I can’t remember the year; I’m guessing at about 1980. Neither can I remember the full compliment of the pack on that occasion – there would be Carl Kershaw and Dave Regan, Graham Firth and probably Big Dave Fern. I seem to remember Nigel Bishop among us and Frankie Branch, but I do remember that Pete Whiteley was there.
There is no shelter at Devil’s Bridge, so sogginess set in immediately – a bit like 2008 really. The thunder became a constant rumble – the kind you feel through the soles in your feet – and the sound of the rain on the road was like pressure released from the safety valves of a steam locomotive.
We needed a solution to this; our options were limited, but this is why I especially remember Pete Whiteley’s presence. Pete liked to ride fast, and his solution, which was the popular one, was to take the fastest and least hilly route home. It’s still about 57 miles from where we were to Halifax, but the fastest journey would reduce the hours of misery to a minimum.
Everyone knows me, the awkward little wart who’s always contrary. I played true to form, arguing that the wet was going to be bad enough, without the ministrations of the motoring fraternity, and my preferred option was to ride south to the other side of the valley and ride along “our lane” to Gargrave, which would at least be quieter. My proposal did not get the popular vote, indeed I was in a minority of one, and the general view was that if that was my preference I was to go for it, but I’d be on my own.
The group sloshed off east on the main road and I sloshed off south towards Wennington. After a couple of miles however, I ran out of the rain; at Wennington the roads were dry and by Bentham I was nearly dry. Between Wennington and Gargrave, “our lane” and the main road passing through Ingleton and Settle vary between a quarter of a mile and about a mile apart, and whilst I was riding in the dry – if not clear sky and sunny, at least dry – I could see and literally hear the rain on the other side, together with the constant crack and roar of thunder. Sometimes I was riding on wet road and occasionally I got a drop or two of rain, but that’s all. It seemed that the storm and I were travelling in the same direction and at the same speed, but maintaining a respectable distance.
By Cow Bridge (Hellifield) I seemed to be closing in on the rain, so I turned south and went through Nappa and Banknewton, keeping in the dry to Gargrave. This was in the days when Colin and Marie presided at Gargrave,and the Dalesman Café really did stay open all day. There was the rest of the group, swilling gallons of tea out of the late-lamented giant blue teapots and cups, and probably devouring the “toasties” for which Marie was renowned. They’d all been there for some time – well they would, their route was certainly faster than mine, if a little longer - but they were sogged.
I was quite proud of myself, being dry and comfortable, expecting congratulations and some humble admission to the effect that I’d been right all along, and that they wished they’d listened to me. The greeting I actually got was “We’re off now – serves you right you should have stayed with us.”