HOSTEL WEEKEND - MALHAM COVE

19 NOVEMBER 2011

Malham and a Cove.

When the idea of an hostel weekend in November was first mooted, the destination seemed a little odd as this time last year we were in the depths of an early winter. I am well used to our seasons throwing up unreliable weather systems so took a chance on choosing Malham, an hostel we have had a good few weekends at over the years, given half a chance the ride there is superb.

A keen eye on the weather forecasts in the week prior began to look extremely promising, dry, then dry all weekend, then dry with sunshine, those choosing not to book early looked like missing out.

Ten members had booked but as we assembled at the Three Pigeons on a sunny morning it became apparent that two would not be riding with us, no messages of abandonment, just no show, we knew that one extra would be coming, Steve Menhams has a habit of booking on his own, this due to his often working away schedule.

An assortment of bikes, all weighed down with an assortment of luggage, panniers, bar bags, camper long flaps, traditional Carradice, showed that this was no ordinary club run. Dave Bisset's huge panniers were full, a declaration of carrying enough for the 'feeding of the five thousand' plus getting them all drunk on the bottles of wine also stowed.

Bernard Nicholson, though not coming with us, rode to the start with the news that Steve was coming, but, when he delivered Steve's new clarion top that morning, he was still in his pyjamas, he would catch us later, hopefully not still in his pyjamas.

We set off from Astley Bridge in the direction of Blackburn, at a pace deemed to be social, that meant me on the front as usual, via Darwen, where we would be picking up two members from Darwen, Steve and Bernard but on arrival only Steve was there, Bernard was apparently not well enough to ride.

A brief stop at Morrisons in Blackburn for toilets also became a social gathering of sorts with Paul handing out sweets he had brought along for the ride.

The first part of our trip out through Darwen and Blackburn is hardly inspirational but the sun was out and we travel this way so often we hardly 'see' it but coming out the other side is a different scene altogether.

As we ride through Wilpshire, just on the top side of Blackburn the whole scene is dramatically transformed, we are now freewheeling down to Langho with the whole of the Ribble Valley and Yorkshire Dales coming into view, the winter sun adding a crispness to the panorama before us, now we are really into our weekend.

Whalley, a popular tourist attraction now is rather busy as we pass through, unfortunately for us they get here by car, but we are soon through heading now for Clitheroe with it's castle ruins overlooking the town from a single escarpment, well worth a visit but not this time as food is now on our minds a couple of miles up the road at Waddington.

At Waddington, the café there is almost empty, service will be good as the village centre is not yet awake. This Café is hugely popular with cyclists around the region and features regularly on our winter and summer rides programme, Tim the owner obligingly, even lends out cycle locks to his cycling clientele.

We are really into the ride now as the pleasure of cycling in this god given area reaches sublime heights as the hill up to the village of Grindleton is reached, a nasty little steep bit that let's you know that you are carrying extra weight for the weekend, even without extra weight this is a little toughie. Steve Taylor has no such problems climbing hills and is sat on a wall awaiting our arrival at the top, not even out of breath, god I hate him.

Being a true social event the distance between café stops is not too great and our next intended stop is the Settle Down café in, wait for it, Settle! Settle is another tourist trap and a real gem, always thriving summer or winter, a starting point for anyone wishing to climb the famous 'Three Peaks Challenge', Penyghent, Whernside and Ingleboro. There is also a famous cyclo cross bike race over the same three peaks, real he man stuff.

As we near Settle the view of the North Yorkshire peaks is as ever exciting, especially in the winter sunshine with just a hint of cool haze settled across it, we can even see the ever rising road out of the back of the town that we will be taking, 'Excalibur Force'.

On entering the café Settle Down, we set in motion a humorous chain of events, 'shut that door', one of our crew entered and left the door open behind him prompting a lady to jump up and shut it. Now it's one thing for us to consider it mild as we are cycling but to be sat in a café near an open door is another, so Paul and I seized on the situation.

Every time the door opened up went a shout 'shut that door', two cyclists who were not with us looked startled at the shout and the couple who quite rightly did not want to sit in a cold draught began to see the amusing side of it all.

The culmination of this episode was when the couple left, we waited until the lady reached for the door then let out the cry, 'shut that door' a big grin came across her face as she quickly closed it. No offence had been taken.

It was now time for some real climbing to take place but there was a slight delay as Clive sought a new battery for his cycle computer and guess what, his computer began working again without having changed the battery, the old sod's law at work again.

The hard work begins immediately we leave the market square, the road rising steeply from the beginning and getting ever steeper the further we progressed. Dave and I took our usual hill climbing position at the rear and eventually ground to a halt on the steepest section and began to walk. Even walking is hard as the calf muscles are stretched to their limit pushing our weighty bikes. We watch the others get smaller up the road but even they are eventually brought to a walk, with the exception of Paul with his super low gears and fitness. Steve Taylor bemoans the fact he only has a 'compact' chainset, a 'triple' would have allowed him to beat Paul to the top, whatever!

The climb goes on and as we get to the less severe bits cycling ever upward is resumed with the help of 'Granny' of course. For non cyclists 'Granny' is the term used for the smallest chainring on the triple chainset affording extremely low gears.

Eventually the top is reached and we are now on top of the world looking down and what a sight to behold, the late afternoon sun, very low now, is merely glancing across the tops dales below and a chill now envelopes our sweaty bodies.

The chill is enhanced as we now begin the marvellous descent to Kirkby Malham.

The descent is steep and with nice long stretches of straight narrow lane outright speed is reached though a wary eye has to be kept for cars coming up, especially when we reached the bends near the bottom. We have two miles of super descending culminating in a full stop at the junction in the village of Kirkby Malham where we regroup. 'Are we coming back this way' is a jocular question that needs no answer.

A couple of more miles of rolling road and we are in Maham, our destination reached with no mishaps to an engaging super ride, namely no punctures. The hostel is not yet open so after familiarising ourselves with opening times, registration etc there is a couple of hours to while away, the local pub is obviously the place to do this.

While enjoying a pint or two in comes Steve Menhams, he of the pyjama game, and begins to recount his version of the journey, pleased he had ignored Bernard's directive that we had started the ride via Bon Appetite near Preston.

We made our way back across the little stone hump backed bridge leading to the hostel by which time the reception had opened and registration began. Dave patiently dealt with the young man on reception patiently during his lengthy explanation of ten booked, now unofficially eleven, who was here and who wasn't. Eventually rooms were sorted and keys handed out, bikes stowed in the lockup and luggage transported to our dorms, all now was straight forward.

The showers, cyclists love showers after a hard ride, turned out to be as near to perfection as possible, hot and powerful enough to take the skin off your back was one very apt description. For four of us, a wait of a couple of hours was appropriate, a nice hot shower, a comfy change of clothes and, most importantly an hours feet up on the bunk with a few zzz's for company.

Making our way down for the evening meal to the dining room we found the place packed with so many people, it didn't seem possible that all these people could be staying at the hostel. It seemed to have been taken over by half a university campus, it seemed likely going off ages and dress, diversity of accents that a student outing was the answer. Shouting and noise was at least in good humour, all was brought to a brief silence when a loud banging of big spoon on a table by the head warden who issued directions for orderly conduct when food was being served.

Our reserved table of four were honoured in part as we were waited on by an assistant warden who hailed from Wigan and was pleased to see 'near neighbours'.

We were seated by a window for the meal and suddenly three leering apparitions appeared out of the outside darkness followed by a knocking on the window. Dave had treated Paul and Tony to a celebrity type pasta bake type meal that he cooked in the self cook part of the hostel, furnishing with it a bottle of fine wine, all brought in Dave's panniers all the way from Bolton. The ride up the days longest and steepest climb was now in perspective, it must have been a chore no celebrity chef would have undertaken.

Shortly after the ghostly apparitions disappeared in walked the 'cove' in the title heading, Charlie Whittle the cove, had arrived, as usual, larger than life. "can I book a meal", what a start, here we are half way through our evening meal and Charlie is two hours too late for food. "ah well, I brought some butties" and goes off in search of the others in the tv room.

A good meal over and we are ready for a trip down to the pub again for a relaxing time over a pint or two. The evening went as per usual, as in any club if you don't want calling you should be there, Bernard, Richard, Ian, and Ray.

Bernard's leg warmers were a hot topic and Dave Hessions birthday was noted with a dispute as to how old he was, just to confuse things one Dave was mixed up with the other, "he's 41" "no he's not, he's 56" "well his sister is only young" "what sister" and so it went on until the penny dropped.

Charlie then became top star as his medical record was laid bare as he recounted under cross examination by Paul his problems over the years, it was hilarious, a bum joke. Throughout it all Charles remained humorous joining in with jokes galore, again Hession could not be kept out of it. Unusually Charlie was drinking more than we had seen him before, instead of jugs of water it was pints, there would be a lot of running to the toilet during the night. The one thing I dread most about hostel weekends is the constant opening and closing of the dorm door as a steady procession of loo visits takes place.

Time for beddiebyes and we trudge back once more to the hostel, remarkably the student games seem to be over and it is quiet as we get back. Steve Taylor is alone in the tv room watching match of the day and his beloved Blackburn Rovers, thankfully we have missed Bolton Wanderers 2-1 defeat at WBA. We get the dorm key off Steve and off to bed we go, I am mortified as Charlie has still not made up his bunk and out of a choice of three empty top bunks (all bottom bunks in use) he chooses to bunk over me, just my luck.

Unusually for me I drop off to sleep almost straight away but at ten past one I am awakened by what seemed like a Tokyo earthquake as the bunk rattles and shakes furiously for what seems an age, Charlie is making ready for his first trip to the loo, and eventually lands with a thump on the floor like Batman dropping from space. Jeeze, here we go.

Another shake rattle and roll announces Charlie's return to bed and again I am soon back to a deep sleep only to be rudely awoke by a repeat performance of the double shake rattle and roll accompanied this time by a loud "what the bleep bleep bleep are you doing Charlie?"

Again I manage to drop off, by this time I am getting used to sleeping on Crewe Station listening to shuffling back and forth and spend the rest of the night getting my own back by snoring loudly.

Breakfast time arrives and I am one of the early risers, a quiet dining room and first pick of the superb breakfast menu ensures a satisfactory start to the day. During Breakfast the route back home is chosen by Dave and it so happens it is a favourite of mine and I know it like the back of my hand, tough it will be but splendid quiet rolling lanes for miles through wonderful scenery.

First stop is but a few miles down the road from Malham, Gargrave where tea and toasted teacakes top up the already digested superb breakfast. On arrival here we entered the café and as we settled down to await service in walked a black and white cow, everyone looked at each other then of course the cracks began, laughter began as the waiter, dressed up as part of the children in need tried to take orders with a straight face. 'what would moo like' 'a bucket of fresh milk' the costume was equipped with udders bring of course 'I'll have an udder one please' .

How the young man ever managed to take our order and get it right I'll never know but he did, two waitresses also in costume kept out of our way, a wise decision seeing as they were a black cat and a spotted lamb lamb. Contributions were made before we left and we managed to talk the staff into posing for a photo outside with us before we left, Paul has these in his camera soon to be posted on facebook.

After a very eventful interlude the ride back to Bolton continued toward Barnoldswick, a slight chill in the air and grey skies but while riding with lots of undulations and hills we were kept quite warm.

Just outside Barnoldswick we had the first and thankfully the last puncture, Steve Menhams being the unlucky one, real unlucky as some how he managed to find what looked like the tip of a sabre tooth tigers tooth that sliced into his otherwise 'puncture proof tyres'. Being puncture resistant tyres they are a very tough construction, ideal for keeping punctures at bay but a devil of a job taking on and off when one occurs. Steve's puncture history is conveyed without words as I ponder his 'marigold gloves' used to keep black oil off hands whilst carrying out repairs, only bits of yellow peered through the otherwise black gloves, testimony to Steves ability as a mechanic.

Off again down narrow gated lanes eventually coming out at Downham, the most beautiful village in Lancashire before coasting a long downhill to Chatburn where we pick up the lane back to our first stop on the first day, Waddington and Tim's café.

At the café we see Brian Timms who had ridden out from Bolton to meet us, he had been in the company of Bernard but having arrived long before we did, Bernard left for home leaving Brian with another pot of tea.

Fruit pie and ice cream was my choice to set me up for the last miles home and it was delicious, Paul showing that great minds think alike ordered the same. After another leisurely break we resumed our cycling once again conscious that soon the lanes would give way to the urban sprawl of Blackburn and Darwen, though we, four of us, would escape it a little earlier by taking the back way out through Tockholes village. Though narrow lanes and usually quiet this route can be extremely hard and avoided like the plague by some as at the end of a tough day it can break the strongest of hearts.

As we head up the long drag out of Blackburn the mist begins to come down, the higher we get the thicker it becomes. Brian Timms had told us earlier that Bolton had been shrouded in fog in the morning and I was to learn later that it had persisted all day in the town and the local motorways had been affected badly. We had been fortunate indeed on our run down from the Yorkshire Dales.

Paul and I left Tony Whittle and Clive on Belmont road for our last little tussle up Scout road, having to take great care with our right turn across the traffic in the fog. It had become quite dark by now though still not really late, my auto dynohub light had been lit for some time and a stop on the Tockholes road to light up the rear end with flashing LED lights was timely. Paul couldn't leave me as he had no lights so he was glad I had mine on as we cycled through the thick fog along Scout road.

It was easy cycling now, we both had nice downhill finishes to the weekend, a very enjoyable weekend, though I had a little further to go, I would have a longer downhill to savour, all the way to the front door. A perfect end to a perfect weekend.

Report by Tony Bowles