falling off bikes since 1975

Not sure what the weather is doing this morning. Alternately bright then dreary. I decide that a thin wool top is the order of the day and carrying a waterproof won’t be a bad idea. Orange Oakleys will help make the world look a better place.

My first ford of the day isn’t on the wetroads website. I’m sure it exists though. I seem to recall the local doctor driving through it in his MG Midget - which gives you an idea of how shallow it is.

The rain starts as I leave the house, making Preston even more depressing. I lose count of how many traffic lights and speed cameras I have to ride through. Preston cunningly times the lights so that driving through town at 30mph hits a red light every time. Drive through town at 40mph and you get green lights all the way. But caught by every speed camera. You could almost believe it’s deliberate.

I’m soon out of town, round the outskirts of Longridge and heading towards Clitheroe. Turning off down Mill House Lane I am greeted by a Ford sign. Proof then that I’m not suffering false memory syndrome in my dotage. The dead end sign attached as an afterthought doesn’t look familiar though - this was a through route back in the late 80’s.

I plummet down the road, hang a left and plummet some more. I even remember the sharp hairpin in time to avoid an embarrasing fall.

Ward Green, SD634734, tuns out to be not one but two fords. I’d forgotten this first element.

The first is gentle concrete bottomed affair and after the obligatory photos I ride through. There’s a not so nice new gate in the way. Looks like someone downgraded the highway to a Bridleway. Where’s the fun in that?

Ward Green #2 is a similarly shallow concrete affair presenting no problems except a little rear wheel slippage under torque.

Two fords for the price of one. Bonus. I’m racking them up today.

The Lancashire countryside, sandwiched between the Forest of Bowland and the M6 is seemingly home of nothing but dairy farms. The Ford Lane sign kind of gives away the location of Goosnargh Ford, SD568385. I’m on my old familiar evening roadie stomping ground here, and can find my way among the little lanes without constant referral to the map.

Circling Beacon Fell and following signs for the Waddacre scout camp takes me towards Ford #4. Tarmac deteriorates and a strip of grass grows down the middle of the road. Then I arrive at a small car park and the tarmac disappears altogether. I haven’t been here since the early 1980’s when it was used as a practice area for trials riders. That’s motorbike trials when you rode a TY175 pretending to be Martin Lampkin. The track ahead is wet, slippery and rutted. Interesting on Fat Boy slicks. I’ve made a concession to the amount of off-road in store today and dropped the pressure. To 90psi.

I manage to survive to the bottom and come across what is allegedly a 3* ford. Out of 5. They are surely joking. Even the approach is beyond any soft roader and would require a 4×4 with proper off-road tyres. Gone are the “flat rocks in place for vehicles to use”. A quick experiment shows that one bike length in the water is at least 13 inches deep. i.e. up to the hubs. Not only that but large boulders on the river bed are protruding four or more inches above the ripples. Try crossing this in an average 4×4 and it’d rip your axles off. Someone obviously has as there recent tyre tracks. They look more akin to the ones on my 7.5 ton truck though than any Land Rover.

Waddacre, SD552442

I chicken out and take the footbridge.

The climb up the far side is too wet and slippy for slicks. That’s my excuse anyway and I’m sticking to it. Snape Rake Lane kicks back out onto tarmac at the bottom of the old club hill climb, so I engage granny and commence grovelling for ten minutes.

At Oakenclough I head across country on a convenient bridleway that cuts a corner. I’ve managed to ride through 3 fords today without getting my feet wet. At the second gate I manage to step into a bog up to my ankle. Arse. Lambs in the fields do stereotypical gambolling. There are two per sheep here. The farm they come from, Fell End Farm, is very, erm organic. Or rather it’s not. This farm fairly gives the lie to the “Beautiful Countryside c/o British Farming” myth. Farming may be an industry but that’s no excuse for shitting in your own back yard. Anyone with complaints about the CAP should come snooping here and see what a shithole the countryside is left in by someone showing no obvious signs of financial suffering after foot and mouth.

The ford at Sykes Farm, SD523502 washes the filth from my wheels.

The “cyclists dismount” sign isn’t there out of spite. The setts are laid with a nice tyre sized gap parallel to your direction of crossing. So I ignore the sign and tackle it at an angle. As this ford is the furthest point of my trip today, and the next one lies backalong I U-turn and take a second run.

I now have a choice of fast bridleway down Nicky Nook, or fast road. I take the bridleway. The hardpacked but rough surface shakes my fillings loose on high pressure tyres. Hovering just above the saddle I still get a couple of smacks in the testicles over some of the larger bumps. Good job I don’t want kids.

The two Irish Bridges on Higher Lane in Woodacre are running dry. Last time I rode here with the wife we got our wheels wet and tried to splash the other as we rode through. The broken stump of a depth gauge at the Southern End remains as proof that it can get reasonably deep.

SD509474

SD510471

Only one ford left today and I’ve saved the best for last.

A quick blast down some of the least used roads in Lancashire takes me to the Eastern approach to a 5* monster across the River Wyre. The only warning is an old, moss green “Deep Ford” sign. This turns out to be an understatement.

The Eastern end of Garstang, SD 498462, is a gentle ramp into the wide but shallow River Wyre. The stench of agricultural effluent from the waste pipe just upstream puts me off venturing too far. However a set of burly freeride tyre tracks and a set of 4×4 tracks show that the ford is still in use. I try the front wheel test, and again there’s no way into the river shallower than 13 inches. The exit to this beast lies 40 YARDS upstream on the Western side of the river. It’s not even visible from my current position.

Riding upstream and crossing the bridge I come to the Western approach/exit. The same sets of mountain bike/4×4 tyre tracks are visible as at the Eastern end. Someone really has ridden this recently. Or waded with a bike.

While I contemplate which fool managed to do this a flash of blue appears eyes left and shoots off down river. A kingfisher. Bonus. Climbing back up the riverback and walking along the West bank I see no more sign of it.

I can head for home now. Ten miles out the weather breaks and looks set in. Not five minutes after I’ve stopped to put on a waterproof it stops. Still, riding through Preston in a bright yellow jacket isn’t a stupid idea. The standard of driving is atrocious, especially as I’ve managed to time it so that I encounter school run mums more bothered about their prissy little offspring in the back of their unnecessary SUVs than keeping their eyes on the road.

I make it through town alive.

After a mere two fords yesterday I’m more than happy with progress today.

Though after 6 hours in the saddle today it feels like I’m carrying a golf ball between my buttocks.

Miles Today: Lots
Height Gain: Reasonable
Fords Today: 8
Total: 10
Remaining: 13