"Chiller" February 19th 2011

These are the kind of days that sort the boys from the men. Indeed, these are the days where after half an hour on the road through chattering teeth you are telling yourself not to be soft.

The forecast was bad, snow or sleet on the Pennines and everywhere else freezing cold rain all day. On the road up through Todmorden it was pretty bleak. A slight headwind drove the sleeting rain into your face like daggers. As we pressed on up the hill the sleet turned to snow and the road started to turn white. At its worst we were following car tracks in a bunch of about twenty waiting for the inevitable crash that would bring us all down. It never happened, as we descended into Burnley the snow turned to rain and we pressed on satisfied that today we were hard enough.

In Burnley the bunch re-grouped and huddled together like penguins in an arctic blizzard. Distracted by the elements, the old industrial northern towns slipped by in a blur and as the road climbed again from Barrowford through Blacko and over to Gisburn it was clear that most of the pack didn’t have the legs. A group of about ten went clear including Arthur and I, the pace from then on went Stratospheric. Yes it is only February but the season openers are just around the corner, now is the time to hang on in there, take your turn and 'Smash it'. Gisburn, Long Preston then Ingleton flashed passed and we arrived at Kirby Longsdale quicker than the National Express.

From Kirby Longsdale the route turned southwest and headed for Lancaster. The weather eased off but remained cold, it had been a long time since I last felt my fingers or toes for that matter. The pace also slowed, perhaps as a reaction to the rain break or to conserve energy for the remaining forty miles over Haslingden moor. Either way I think it was universally welcomed within the group. We checked in at Scorton and had a cup of tea in the cafe. Arthur was particularly pleased we stopped (pictured above) and to be honest a cup of tea and a toasted teacake was just what the doctor ordered. However because of this we lost the group and picked up a couple of donkeys. Yes they did know the way but they were slower than a two ton one legged unicyclist. We stayed with them until Inglewhite and then enough was enough. Time to be bold and follow the route directions for ourselves.

Did we make it back? Of course we did. I handled the directions myself, round the outskirts of Blackburn and up over moor to Haslingden. The climb up over the moor was agonising, despite its deceptively shallow gradient the cold rain sweeping across the exposed grassy emptiness made the going extremely difficult for tired legs. One more hill or maybe three, I can’t remember and into Rochdale we staggered, completely knackered.

SR