Words by Eric, Pics by Slim
Crew; El Pres, Coley, Butty, Mr I, Dunc, BEB, Eric, 3 Sheds initially, Slim eventually!
Route: BL, NBR, Tea Shop, HooleyHay, Standing Stone, Sutton Hall
Conditions; Dry and cold.
Offs; BEB x 3
A lack of wind of the metereological sort was the deciding factor in going high tonight so we set off on a route Grande Direct to the Tea Rooms. The absence of the expected looney bikers on a clear and pleasant evening was very welcome as we enjoyed the climb. However Slim in his last week as an M56 customer was always running late and various communications ensued; “I’ll catch you up”, “I’m ten minutes behind you” lead us to hang around at an increasingly chilly tea rooms. After 15 minutes and with an absence of lights on the horizon we uttered his own immortal words, and set off for Shining Tor.
The climb to Shining Tor soon had everyone warm again but further comms suggested Slim was still only “10 minutes” behind so we waited again – well all those planning to take the plunge waited. 3 Sheds decided that the descent would be one slither too far and headed along the Yorkshire North Shore – brave move unless you are happy to fix snakebite punctures on your own. As some of the party started to show signs of hypothermia a light was seen heading up from the Cat – even Nino Schurter wouldn’t do that in 10 minutes but we waited anyway; so that we could hurl abuse.
Despite some misgivings about the going being in the soft to soggy category we headed for the descent and were soon hurrying through various levels of bog – but most of the way gravity is your friend. At the bottom most confessed to talking to themselves – “ weight back, keep your weight back, no further back back than that, further, oooooh…..sh*…..” As we regrouped at the bottom telling tales of scary eyes seen in the woods (Deer rather than Bully Thrumble, for those who have read Thursbitch) we were two chums missing. Eventually they appeared, BEB having fallen off 3 times. An examination of his tyres revealed the root cause – hybrids, bald hybrids, for a surface that required every ounce of grip available.
After the substantial amount of standing around tonight the clock was beating us and without sandwiches a quick re-plan had us heading towards Sutton Hall via the forest rather than the fleshpots of Bollington as originally intended.
As ever the hospitality at Lord Lucan’s gaff was fine, with at least two of our number struggling to cope with the fare. The shock came when after suitable lubrication it was decided that a round of the “whisky of the month” was called for before heading home. – The price of a wee dram has now reached that of a gallon of unleaded.
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