falling off bikes since 1975

On Monday* I had dropped off a CD of pictures at the local superstore to be converted to a set of seven by fives. I can’t believe that with the price I paid for fifty images on proper photographic paper people are still prepared to invest in and then pay up to 75p per short-lived bubble jet print on their own printer.

Anyway, that’s beside the point.

I needed to go back to the superstore to pick up the prints.

So I decided to go by bike. The store is seven miles away by road, but a lot closer as the crow flies. It’s also possible to get there on a mix of quiet roads, parks and disused railway lines.

As it was a sunny day I decided that this was as good a time as any not just to go by quiet byways, but to explore for local cheek.

My first mission took me to the local church steps. ‘No horse riding” and ‘No Cycling’ it proclaims at the top. Fortunately my mare can’t read, and anyway we ride up from the bottom. On my bike I just ignored the sign, and rode the steps and headed on my way. Just before exiting the woods a likely looking trail dropped in from the right. Too steep to ride up I hoofed up it, and the evidence of local jumpy yoof skidding their way down was clear to see. At the top of the climb I was able to remount and followed a hundred/hundred and fifty yards of swoopy wooded singletrack back to a secret exit back at the Church steps. Nought to do but turn round and enjoy it in the other direction.

The drop was challenging. Just before heading into a rather large tree, with both wheels locked there was nothing to do but release the brakes, steer round it and hope I’d make the roll out.

I’ve named this trail Tree!. It merits the exclamation mark.

Then I headed across the road, spotted a gap in the hedge and found myself on One Way Steps. Why one way? Because the trail led nowhere and there was nothing to do but ride back up them. A quick squint at the map on the way home has given some ideas for approaching the other end from a couple of directions in the hope of finding a through route.

A quick spin through the park led to the disused railway. Instead of following the trail all the way I diverted down The Thiry-Nine Steps. I set off confidently, but about halfway down it I wasn’t sure that I wasn’t going to cock it up. Thirty Nine? I was too busy concentrating on riding steps set exactly a wheelbase apart to count. There were thirty-two to port up on the other side, but what’s the point of a non-literary literary reference, eh?

Soon after a windy, fast, but too wide to be true singletrack cinder trail left the main line and I found myself riding alongside Potential Woods. Several little trails led into the woods but died out. But they had potential. Fourth time lucky. This trail led only a few yards into the woods but came to a T-junction heading backalong. I took this and enjoyed a hundred yards of twisty birch singletrack, finally spitting out into a grove of beech hedge and back onto the cinder, No wonder I’d missed this. I headed back down Cinder to Tinder and enjoyed a half mile of sub-shoulder width, flat but twisty trail running alongside the disused gasworks. This was riding. No more than twenty yards from Joe Public^™ riding amongst birch on a a sun-dappled trail. One corner in particular had a well placed branch that helpfully applied the front brake** as I made the apex of the turn. And there were a couple of turns I only made by leaning on the trees. Top stuff. I was grinning.

Just prior to exiting back onto cinder a hole in the fence grabbed my attention.

This led onto the ghost of the gasworks. No buildings now, just empty parking lots, their white lines fading as plants worked their way through the tarmac, nature reclaiming the land. Even the skate park was abandoned; no hooded yoof spending a sunny day on the ramps and rails. What a wasete of perfectly good, erm, wasteland. I’m not jumpy so things were wated on me, so I explored and practiced a few drop-offs before heading back into the woods.

A couple of miles later, and I had my pictures and could make the return journey.

I enjoyed Cinder to Tinder in reverse. It was just as much fun in this direction. Rather than try riding up The Thirty Nine Steps I lifted the bike over a stile, and followed the path among the Oaks at the bottom of the railway embankment. Oaky Dokey.

Eventually the trail climbed back up the embankment, which I followed all the way, across the river into one of the city parks. A gang of yoof, furtively smoking at the end of the old bridge asked if I was going to ride the steps. A look at the trail they referred to and it was clear the answer was no. Not without body armour, and about another six inches of travel anyway.

Instead I headed on, through a likely looking gap in the rhododendron, and enjoyed a very short piece of singletrack which spat me out in a rock hewn grotto. Otherwise occupied by a couple trying to sneek a furtive grope. I said a cheery hello as I attempted, and just made, the steps back to the main trails.

My work was done. I had arrived in the park by a route that cleverly missed Parkie and his signs insisting that cyclists wheel their bikes through the park. Cruising amongst the picnicing familes and loving couples I was followed out of the park by the local cops, who made no attempt to pull me over.

By the time I got home I had managed the seven mile trip to the store with no more than a mile of roadwork, and discovered some cracking local singletrack. Maybe not enough to put together a Thursday night ride. And besides, it’s too flat round here.

But another couple of trips like this wouldn’t go amiss.

* A public holiday, just to make all you Yankee Doodles jealous.

** That’s the right hand lever for all those countries that didn’t fall under the Napoleonic yolk, or blindly follow the example of the French.