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Travel StoriesAshover Derbyshire 2012 - By Ren Withnell
Ashover Derbyshire 2012 - Going Home From Ashover
Of course being in bed early means I rise early, too early. HM's half awake and informs me that after I put my earplugs in last night everything went quiet anyway. I'm not sure if she's referring to the noises of running a pub or about me talking too much. It can't be the latter, I barely get a word in edgeways when she's in full flow. The thing I like about a B&B is you climb out of a warm bed, wander across to the en-suite for a wash and brush up in privacy, get dressed in a big dry room and all this goes on while a TV plays in the background. It's so much more civilised than camping. It's also a lot less adventurous and challenging, just a little too easy. I don't care, I'm looking forward to breakfast this morning.
The breakfast here is a little later than normal, 0900 to 0930 so I'm sat in my chair pouring myself a bowlful of cereal by 0855, I can't wait any longer. Breakfast is of the usual English variety and most welcome, washed down with endless tea, orange juice and racks of toast. Suitably stuffed I sit and digest whilst another couple tuck into their meal, the pub is otherwise devoid of customers yet quietly busy as various staff clean, polish, prepare and keep on top of the chores. It strikes me why this place appears to be successful, there's an awful lot of hard graft going into it.
We accost one of the staff with a view to paying the balance of our bill. The chirpy lady from yesterday is summoned back again, she's here hard at work yet still sporting a smile and bucket loads of enthusiasm. After payment we return upstairs and I throw my clothes back into the saddle bags while HM folds and wraps but this time she seems to put less effort in. It doesn't take long and soon we're kitted up and ready to roll. I check and double check the room to make sure we've left nothing behind and in my head I thank the Old Poets Corner for looking after us so well. Good staff you see, many thanks to them for a warm welcome.
Outside it's cold. There's a layer of crispy frost across the seat, tank and top box, it's a dry sharp chill. We are in the middle of nowhere and I am a little concerned there may be some ice around on these narrow back lanes. It feels dry though, not ice conditions today, but I think I'll take it easy on any side roads never-the-less. HM's all wrapped up in her bike gear, possibly overwrapped as she's got thermals and jeans under her quilted bike pants. I just have jeans on underneath but my bike pants are baggy, deliberately so I can get layers under them. The sun is shining and we've got pretty much all day to ride just 70 or 80 miles. I can feel a detour coming on.
Oooooohhh...chilly bits...
Rather than head North on the main road I turn southbound. First off we hit Matlock, a bustling town this Saturday morning so we pass through the centre and on through a deep gorge and into Matlock Bath, a well known biker haunt. It's not changed much since my first visit which must be 20 years ago now. There's only one bike here at this time on a Saturday morning, an FJR1300 and I park next to it just for a quick break. The owners sit in a cafe and order their breakfast while looking out at HM and I. HM asks about the FJR and we discuss the different merits of tourers, sports bikes, trailies and roadsters and share a smoke. She's not very well up on bikes, I don't mind, I can look really knowledgeable and she doesn't know any different. I suspect she'll be bored of my bike talk soon enough.
Matlock Bath leads us down to Cromford and I take a road to the West. I'm lost now, happily so in the countryside with a day ahead of me. Where the sun breaks through the trees it's warm enough but in the shade the chills bite hard. I'm cruising, relaxed, chilled (sic) and taking in my new surroundings. Mile after mile of green farmland and rolling hills pass by. Small houses, large farms, hamlets with no more than a post box, tractors rusting in ramshackle barns, 4 by 4's, woodlands and old red phone boxes pass us by at a leisurely pace. Everything's great, except HM's got the fidgets this morning. Sit still you silly woman.
A typical Derbyshire lane. The sun is shining and the day is warming up, but there's still a nip in the shade.
Somehow more by accident than plan we manage to pass through Bakewell. Time is still on our side so rather than follow the A6 I find another westbound road and end up passing through Monyash before giving up and following the signs to Buxton. HM's still fidgeting and it's starting to get on my nerves now. She wasn't like this on the way down, well, not so much, so either some thing's wrong or I'm going to have a firm word with her. The long road to Buxton seems to take an age to complete. I need a wee, HM's shuffling like she's learning to dance behind me and my hands are getting cold. I think about stopping but I'm ready for a brew and a warm too, which we should find in Buxton.
Finally Buxton comes into view. Of course I'm on the wrong blooming side of town from the shopping mall I know so I have to do battle with the mad rush of the now very much awake and impatient Saturday shoppers. As I roll slowly up to a roundabout HM decides now would be the ideal time to bring on a big shuffle which nearly has us both lying on the floor in the middle of the road. I stop and as calmly and politely as I can muster in my current mood I ask her not to "effin" do that when we're moving slowly. I calm myself as the shopping mall I'm after comes into view.
It seems the jeans were indeed a layer too many for HM. She's not cold, dammit, she's too bloomin warm and the jeans are sticking in all the wrong places. We head into the mall, find a coffee shop, get a brew and I calm myself as I feel the blood coming back into my fingers. As we sit in the corner of the bustling coffee shop HM stands up, removes her bike pants, removes her jeans to reveal her black thermals then replaces her bike pants. Nothing is said, no comment is passed but a couple of customers do look curiously at the woman doing what appears to be an impromptu striptease.
She's in a good mood and now I've calmed myself I am too. The day is still ours, the sun is shining and I've had my pee and a brew. What more could a man ask for? Oh, how about a nice twisty road? Cat N Fiddle Sir? That'll do nicely thank you. I still have no idea what HM will make of such a road, it's a scary proposition being sat on the back of a bike with no control over the buffoon riding the machine. I know the Cat is now all 50mph but the corners are so sharp that 50 is more than enough for a little fear and fun. Warmed, relieved and refreshed we start the Cat.
As I pitch into the first of the uphill bends I'm trying to work out how the grip is today, how the bike feels, where the tyres are and where my head's at. It all seems to be on the right side of average so I press a little harder into the next bend. I'm expecting to feel HM's thighs tighten around me or to receive a panic punch any time soon. Nothing, not even a flinch. I curve the next set of bends and still no indications of concern from the rear. I keep below the 50mph limit and cruise the straight to the Cat N Fiddle pub and pull in just to check she's still alive.
She is. We don't get off the bike, we just admire the view a moment and I tell her why all the other bikers are here. I roll back out onto the road, I've gone from being worried about her reaction to bends to now trying to get a reaction! The section leading back down to Macclesfield is where the real corners are so I curve, carve, wrestle and throw the bike around each one harder and harder. Still nothing. What the hell is up with this woman? How's a guy supposed to impress this woman who seems impervious to my albeit limited skills?
It's hard to see, but that will be Manchester in the distance.
Just before we make the final drop down into Macc I pull into a layby to get some pictures. I ask her if she's OK, she is, damn!. She's not bothered by the twisty stuff at all, she enjoyed it! Oh yeah, she's scared of wind and motorways and trucks but dangling off a bike at 45 degrees and 50mph is nothing to worry about at all. That's what I call a twisted sense of danger. Not to worry, there'll be some motorways soon enough. I carve the last of the bends down into Macclesfield with a slight sense of disappointment. It's a delicate thing the male ego.
We are pretty much home by the time we've passed through Macclesfield and the upmarket town of Wilmslow. Rather than go home straight away I detour to Hunts, a bike shop in Manchester. The shop is filled with shiny bikes of all kinds and I ask HM which of these floats her boat. She seems rather drawn to the tourers with their large "helmet boxes" (cases) and comfy looking seats with back rests. I think she's got tastes that far outstrip my willingness to spend, nothing new there then. Upstairs I spot a 55 litre "helmet box" and the young salesman makes great effort to show this to me, to demonstrate how it takes two helmets and how good it is. I am suitably impressed, I really am, but not to the tune of £250. I like to keep my money in my pocket.
With time still on our side I ride back through the suburbs of Manchester. It seems that every traffic light is red, every road is being dug up and every vehicle is out to get us. It feels like a lifetime of waiting to get through the city, it makes me appreciate the countryside we've been riding through and the home I'm heading back to. It really is a different lifestyle in the city, I know some people love it, it's far too much for me.
It's been a good night away. I've found a few new places in Derbyshire and I really ought to get my sorry ass down there more often. It's something of a "forgotten" area to those on the North side of Manchester because we have to get around Manchester before we can get there. Riding with HM has been a new experience too. She's OK on the bike, fidgets a bit too much but I think I can beat that out of her. As for the Old Poet's Corners, remember it is a pub so it's not quiet but the staff were great and the welcome warm. The weather was good too, that always helps doesn't it!
Ashover Derbyshire 2012 - Going To Ashover
Day one, the ride from Bolton to Ashover in Derbyshire, and HM's first proper ride out
Ashover Derbyshire 2012 - Going Home From Ashover
The ride home from Ashover. HM's not scared of the big bad Cat n Fiddle...dammit!
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Travel StoriesAshover Derbyshire 2012 - By Ren Withnell