Much of the first day's riding followed Sustrans Route 6 along canal towpaths, abandoned railway lines and Milton Keynes' eponymous Red Routes. (After about two miles of riding on red tarmac Joe was awarded his Observer's Badge for his helpful comment that "This could be the red route you know".) Whilst the surface of these tracks sometimes leaves a bit to be desired- especially for those with full-on race bikes- they follow gentle contours, keep away from traffic & the tree lined cuttings provide a windbreak which was very welcome at times. In contrast, Sunday's ride was almost entirely on the road; the first half following a roller coaster route through the Northamptonshire countryside followed by the more gentle lanes of Bedfordshire.Predictably, we managed to stray off the route several times, usually when we allowed Mick and/or Everton to set the pace- neither having seen the map, but Chris H also managed to lead us round an unnecessary two mile loop through Aspley Guise- So much for local knowledge.
Much of Route 6 is clearly waymarked, but the best signage tends to be where the route is most obvious. In a number of sections the signs seem to disappear. Maybe they've been nicked but as a consequence we spent a good deal of time trying to find our way out of Wolverton & Northampton town centre- probably the worst bits of the route to be lost in.
Our travels took us through a real cross section of English settlements. The picturesque Northants villages have a look of the Cotswolds with their cream sandstone walls and tiled roofs. This was in marked contrast to the Saturday afternoon bustle of Northampton town centre, the sub-urbs of Milton Keynes and the railway town of Wolverton. The latter could easily have been transported from the industrial north west with it's rows of terraced houses, working men's clubs and empty rail yards. On the other hand Market Harborough is the archetypal market town which showed little signs of the recession.
It wouldn't be a tour without at least one idiot in a car. For good measure we had three. The first was an old git in ( surprise, surprise) a Rover estate who we met on a dead straight 'A' road while riding in double file. The view ahead was clear for at least 400m and there was no on-coming traffic. This was apparently not good enough for him- Why should he go to the trouble of turning his steering wheel 10 degrees to go round us?- The blast on his horn was greeted by a number of hand signals he'll not find in the highway code if he ever bothers to read it!
The second episode involved two boy racers in an M3 and an Audi. Obviously in a rush to get to the pub post Sunday football, both cars redlined as they came within a foot of our single file group on a very bendy country lane. Whilst the first incident was annoying, this was down right dangerous. We thought we might have to drag Everton away when we saw the culprits outside a pub half an hour later but he decided discretion was the better part of valour.
Having recently discovered how to transfer photos from phone to computer, Mick decided to go one better and appointed himself official cameraman for the tour. Riding from back to front of the pack as we rode alongside the Grand Union Canal, our very own David Lean proceeded to capture us all for posterity- It was all going well until he looked back for one last panoramic shot. Trees, sky and grass filled the screen as he went arse over tit. If he works out how to transfer the images from his phone, we hope to bring you the full un-edited version to these very pages.
Mick managed the only other crash of the weekend; completing a full somersault as he braked to avoid running into the back of the pack in Market Harborough. Unlike last year there were no injuries other than Mick's pride. This time the worst that happened to Loren was an un
planned paddle in a stream as he rinsed the oil from his hands following a minor mechanical. He thought he could get away with drying his feet at lunch time.....As usual, food & drink were pretty high on the agenda, and not necessarily in that order. On the whole we were pretty lucky with our choices- thanks to pre- planning by CP.
First stop was the Rose & Crown at Hartwell- a traditional village pub offering a good range of ales and value for money no-nonsense pub grub. I forget what beer was on offer but have a feeling Tim Taylor's was amongst the selection along with a couple of local brews- all well kept. Service was friendly- even when Loren took his socks off, but the locals seemed surprised to see only five toes on a foot.We didn't stop again until we reached the Three Swans in Market Harborough- our destination for the night. For the whole stay we got service with a smile; the rooms were good as was breakfast. Most importantly, the Bombardier served in the bar was tip top and it was hard to pull ourselves away to the Oat Hill- venue for our evening meal.
Something of hotch potch, this pub aims itself at the well-heeled trendies of Market Harborough (Another oxymoron?) The separate restaurant offers a good range of quality food and, whilst those who chose the lamb shank thought it should have been cooked for a few more days it generally got a thumbs up. Despite it's trendy aspirations the Oat Hill makes much of it's beer, offering a wide range of cask ales and bottled beers. Unfortunately this didn't quite come up to the mark and we returned a full round of Tim Taylor's. To their credit, these were exchanged without (too much) fuss.
By the time we finished our meal the place was buzzing but we decided to go in search of something more traditional. The answer to our quest lay almost opposite in the form of the Cherry Tree, an Everard's managed house. The garish external appearance belied the traditional interior complete with bare wooden floors and table skittles.
After a couple of beers and a few games of skittles we were joined by one of the locals. Built like a brick sh*t house and clearly the worse for wear, at first we weren't sure of his intentions, but after joining in a chorus of Delilah he decided to give us lessons in table skittles. Sober, he may be world champion and he could certainly throw the cheese harder than anybody but he was so pissed he couldn't hit the table and it was a relief when he went to sit in the corner. We staggered back to town where a few of us light weights wimped out- The rest went on to the pub opposite the hotel. Whilst there were reports that the real die-hards were going until 2 am, everybody made it for breakfast, even if some were not as bright and breezy as the previous day.
The cycle route along the railway line between Northampton & Market Harborough passes through two tunnels. They aren't lit and the only light comes from the exit at the far end. This has a strange effect as your eyes can't decide whether to adapt to the dark around you or the light in the distance. We walked the first tunnel in a noisy group but got strung out in the second one. Other users were much quieter than us and it was weird how their shadowy grey forms materialised from the dark as they past by- perhaps they really were ghosts. The setting was like something our of Oh Mr Porter and it wouldn't have been a surprise if Will Hay had appeared on a pump truck.
Anyway, after some debate we "agreed" not to follow the railway on Sunday and set off on the road. Spirits were high, despite the strong wind and numerous hills and after about two hours we crossed Pitsford reservoir via the Causeway. After yet another climb up to the village of Hulcott we stopped to regroup at a cross roads where a signpost told us we were only 6 miles from Market Harborough. This caused a variety of reactions with Mr P getting lots of stick about his choice of route. However a quick review of the map confirmed we were well on our way towards home and that the signpost was bo**ocks. Intrigued by the name more than anything, we decided to head for Bozeat for lunch. We were disappointed to find a grotty boozer with nothing more than crisps on the menu and our friends from the BMW and Audi sat outside, so we pushed on to Harold.
Again we were disappointed as we found none of the pubs was serving food other than full Sunday lunch. After much debate, and realising that time was pressing, we descended on the tea rooms in Harold Country Park. I'm not sure they quite knew what hit them (especially when Tom P ordered cream cake as his starter and baked spud for pud). It must have looked like an episode of Last of the Summer Wine.
After refuelling, we pushed on for home. Electing to cut through Marston Milleneum Park, our hearts sank as we discovered Millbrook cross roads was shut for repairs. A three mile detour via Liddlingtom hill looked inevitable but we sent our very own Henry Kissinger, aka Mick, in to negotiate and were soon waived through. One last climb took us up to Millbrook and then it was every man for himself as we charged back to the Old Sun to round off a superb weekend with a couple more beers.
A collective thanks goes to CP for great organisation, Anne R for dropping the bags off and Keith W for bringing them home. For a full set of photos see http://www.flickr.com/photos/bikesbeerbanter/
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