Words by Eric
Crew; El Pres, Butty, PtD, Mr I, Slim, Ian, Dr S, Coley, Stunt, El Pud, Eric
In the pub; Dunc
Lame excuses; None registered.
Route; New Buxton Road to the Tearoom, Shining Tor, Hooleyhay Lane, Lamaload, waterworks, Rainow, Oakenbank, Poachers.
Conditions; Still warm and amazingly dry underfoot even in the wet places.
Stats; Puncture, The President , again
Offs; None
A crew assembled and assembled and assembled until we had a good surfeit of chums.
Long lost Ian turned up on some unpronounceable Spanish machine; all pivots and adjusters and things, and as shiny as ever.
El Pud’s return was notable for the return to a somewhat more earthy banter.
The dry September lead to suggestions of an attempt on the normally “too boggy” descent to Hooleyhay and so everyone set off with a will, the A group even managed a sneaky Charity Lane on the way.
The ride up towards the Cat gave some spooky views as what seemed like a sea fret enveloped parts of the climb. The wind didn’t help much either! The shortening days had it dark by the top and the already strung out group was further spread by a puncture for El Pres. In the interview during the tyre change he said that the valve was “OK when I pumped it up earlier” – does this mean that it was flat earlier before the puncture Mr President?
The trails were wonderfully dry making for fine descents, and at each stop the Pud machine became more and more serviceable.
Whilst the Offs section records “None” the descent to the waterworks gave everyone something to report, even if it was only the need of a change of “base layer”. The high speed change of surface from slippy grass to marble like gravel tested skill and reactions more than courage because it didn’t give the “discretion is the better part of valour” option and your correspondent for one didn’t dare to crash at that speed.
The climb out of the waterworks never gets any easier but beer legs were starting to kick in and Oakenbank is much more enjoyable heading towards the Poachers than away from it.
The usual beery chat was focused on the unfolding Scottish yes, no, which way will it go story. The banter moved between slight jingoism to full political incorrectness !
At one point the Duncs and Drews in our midst were bid farewell as we assumed they would have to go north to join the freedom fighters.
As the final hours of the count approached the possibly last ever round of scotch was imbibed – **** ‘em.
