RIDE no :: 259
Sat 14th Nov 2009 Our Mutual Friend, Stevenage
Hares :: Re–Membered, Crabbo
We were promised a wonderful trail and a wonderful trail it certainly was. But you’ll have to take my word for it as nobody else saw it in all its glory. But let me start at the beginning.
It started well with even TB and Lou making it onto the 9.55 train from Cambridge. In all there was a pack of 7, plus two hares (Re-Membered and Crabbo) on the train. Even Crabbo pulling Lou’s saddle off couldn’t dent the enthusiasm. Not bad considering the forecast force 10 winds and the inch of rain.
Which there was. More (much more) of that later.
After enjoying Stevenage’s cycle paths on the way to the On-Out we met up with Pin and handed out the maps. There weren’t quite enough for everybody, so I valiantly handed mine to someone else. After a short, but moving, ceremony we set off to find the flour. The hares had done a pretty good job getting us out of the city and very soon we were checking out leafy bridleways and muddy paths across fields.
Over the hill,
Down the green lane,
Past the Crematorium,
Lovely.
After about an hour we had gone about 6 miles and had reached Datchworth. A simple crossroads checkpoint. What could be simpler? How hard could it be?
Quite hard, actually. We checked out all three routes several times and after about 10 minutes, we divided our efforts and the pack went East and I went West. I found the trail down a fairly obvious bridleway running off the village green. I called it, waited a while, called it again, waited again and went back and marked the check and the road in three places. They can’t fail to find that, I thought.
Never underestimate the pack’s ability to get it wrong.
I went on down to the bottom of the track and waited for the pack. 5 minutes – nothing. Sod ’em. I pressed on to the next checkpoint and waited for the pack. 5 minutes – nothing. It started to rain. 5 more minutes – nobody. It rained harder with extra wind. I phoned JohnBoy and left him the message “where the f… are you?”. He never called back. (he told me later that he did’t answer the phone because he didn’t want it to get wet). 5 more minutes – still nobody. Sod ’em. I cycled on.
The trail was fantastic. Lots of wonderful green lanes on undulating coutryside. There was a lane underneath the Welwyn railway viaduct, which would have been really impressive had I been able to see it through the storm clouds.
And then, a visit to a beautiful ancient woodland containing the ultimate checkpoint at the top of a monster hill – a junction of 6 paths. It would have made excellent bashing had there been more than 1 person in the pack. As it was, there wasn’t and my heart sank. It was still raining, by the way. Like before, but harder. Luckily, fate smiled on me and I found the trail on the fifth attempt.
The trail continued down a gorgeous disused railway track – part of the Sustrans network and then on along more tracks, woodland and country lanes until I reached the “Beer Near” checkpoint at 2pm. Yay. About time, I thought.
A word of advice, dear reader. If you ever see a “Beer Near” checkpoint which has been laid by Re-membered, what it actually means is “Beer Not Very Near”. But I didn’t know that, so I thought “Beer Near” and set off with fresh vigour.
Did I mention the rain?
It was still raining very hard. Now, it turns out that if you lay a trail and put small blobs of flour on the road, in the bit where the cars drive, and where the water flows, then that flour will stay there for up to an hour. But by this time I was about 2 hours behind the hares and there was bugger all flour to follow. Still, it was “beer near”. After much searching I did find the trail which led me to a pub. The “Sprocket Arms” in Arse-End-Nowhere. That’s funny – no bikes outside. Never mind, it looks really nice. Nope. Wrong pub.
I set off again and rode for several miles (about half an hour since passing the “Beer Near” checkpoint.). Bollocks – I must have missed the pub and was now riding the afternoon trail. In desperation, I swallowed my pride (which made a change from swallowing rain) and reached for my phone to call the hare. No signal. Bollocky-bollocks.
More cycling. More rain. Finally I arrived at the “Something Arms” in West Nowhere at 14.30. A charming pub full of warm, dry bashers. Apparently they had found the trail a bit hard in Datchworth and felt a bit wet, so they had opened the map (remember the one that I didn’t have) and had short cut straight to the lunch pub. They had finished their food and beer and were tucked up in front of the fire. Laughing.
After a quick sausage roll, which the pub had kindly kept warm for me, it was time for me to leave. I had to catch a 4.15 train home so I borrowed a map and headed straight (or as straight as you can using bridleways in Hertfordshire) to the station. I arrived in time to hear the announcement about the cancellation of my train owing to extreme weather conditions.
I would love to report on the delightful afternoon trail and the multitude of fine ales in the on–inn, but sadly I was sitting on Hitchin station waiting for Last Crapital Disconnect to choose to run a train to Cambridge. I even missed my down–down, which I shall be pleased to collect next month.
So a few points for my fellow bashers:
Next time the hare lays a trail and bills it as one of the best he’s ever laid – do please ride it. It will be lovely. Even in the wind and rain. And it will be a lot more fun when there is more than 1 person in the pack.
For the record, this is the route. And for your amusement, I will post the route my GPS remembers I went when I find it.
You missed a good un.
On!On!
Pisspot Andrew Ede
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