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Travel StoriesAshover Derbyshire 2012 - By Ren Withnell
Ashover Derbyshire 2012 - Going To Ashover
I was Talking to HM one evening and the topic came around to places we've been and of childhood memories. She talked of a holiday she once had in Ashover with her dad. She had happy memories of being a child and exploring the woodlands, hills and streams. That conversation was forgotten for some time until we decided to take an evening away, not too far and only for one night. Ashover fitted the bill perfectly so HM found a suitable place to sleep and that was that sorted out.
So it is on this chilly and slightly damp Friday morning I find myself throwing a change of clothes and basic toiletries into one side of my saddle bags while HM carefully folds and packs the other side. I'm a little concerned as this will be the first middle distance run she's done on a bike, I'm unsure as to how she will manage. Will she like it? Will she be scared? Will she be cold? Will she sit still? At least she's got herself some decent bike gear and borrowed some thermals, so she looks the part.
We bikers prey for sunshine and clear skies, but during these cold October mornings when the low sun shines directly into the eyes and reflects off the wet road it can be a danger in itself. Squinting hard I hit the motorway and ease HM in gently with a steady 60mph cruise. I'm happy to cruise, the sunlight is making visibility difficult and time is very much on our side so there's no rush. After 15 miles the motorway's turns away from the sunshine and finally I can see. I up the pace a little, moving out from between the lorries and joining the faster flowing executive cars. It's not long before I receive a couple of firm jabs in the kidney region. Hehe! I back off a little, I think I've found her limit.
The motorway leads us to the end of the M67 and down the hill into Glossop. We've not traveled too far but I decide to stop for a short while to see if she's OK and take a few pictures. She tells me she's comfortable, warm and quite happy. The punches to my midriff were due to her concern that some truck was still indicating and might have squashed us into the central reservation. I'd not been concerned myself, trucks can't use the outside lane but that doesn't mean they will not, I suppose I was happy that I had enough speed to complete the maneuver. Duly noted we have a smoke then get back on the bike.
Glossop in the Autumn sunshine.
The next road is the Snake Pass. I wonder if this will be another test for HM, what will she make of all the corners and hills? I may not get the chance to find out, there's a new 50mph speed limit. Damn! I say damn, but the road is still damp in the shade so it's not a bad thing today. If it was a warm dry day those 50 signs would have really upset me. Another advantage of keeping the speed down is we can take in all the sights. We're in that small window of the seasons where the leaves on the trees are taking on their gold, orange, yellow and brown autumnal colours yet still remain upon the trees.
Near the Ladybower Reservoir the trees are starting to take on their magnificent autumnal colours.
The road rises and falls then twists and turns gracefully as it passes through the spine of England. Due to the damp road and new speed limit I'm not pushing, even so I wonder when I'll feel HM's legs stiffen as I peel through a bend or receive another jab in the back as I power out. Nothing, she doesn't flinch. We stop for another short break beside the Ladybower Reservoir then turn off the Sheffield road and head South through Bamford and Hathersage. It's hard to describe the small towns in Derbyshire without resorting to clichés like quaint and sleepy, so I'll not bother, you get the idea.
I'm heading towards Chesterfield by the time I decide I don't really know where I'm going any more. Being a bloke I obviously can't ask for directions and to even admit I need a map is unthinkable. I need to stop to...er...check if I've any messages on my phone that also happens...by pure chance...to have a mapping app. HM's not had anything to eat this morning too, I'm not the best host when it comes to providing food. I spot one of those proper roadside cafes, a portakabin in a layby with a large lorry parked outside. That's usually a good indication of bacon butties and strong tea at affordable prices, so I pull in.
Sure enough a large truck driver is drinking tea you could stand a spoon in while an aging couple wearing aprons and hardy faces provide sustenance and familiar conversation. We both order sandwiches and drinks and sit on a bench facing the wall of the cabin like naughty children. The food is good as I'd expect in such a place and the tea sticks to my teeth, this takes the edge off the sharp lashings of brown sauce. Another huge lorry hisses to a stop outside and another massive driver enters, he's obviously well acquainted with the owners and barely notices the two tourists giggling to each other.
The map that I don't really need tells me I need to head into Chesterfield then turn South again, this should lead us to Ashover, probably about 10 or so miles away. I find the turning OK, but somewhere amidst an endless council estate I loose the route. I'm now navigating by a mixture of luck, guesswork and hope. For several miles we ride through endless streets of semi-detached suburbia. At a set of traffic lights I hang a right and notice signs for Derby, that's not right, I'm too far East. I follow the signs out of Chesterfield and pull off to find a safe place to stop and consult with the map that I don't really need again. It seems this road will lead us back to where we need to be. See, I knew I didn't need a map.
I find the road and soon I find the sign for Ashover. Just a few short miles later we enter the tiny village. I know from the map there's a little more to this place than the road we're on but you'd hardly know it. Stone built cottages and houses line a narrow road before a bend reveals our place of rest for the night. The first problem is that no matter how slowly I've ridden, no matter how many times I've stopped and no matter how often I've been...er...unsure of my exact position, we're still a good hour early. It's barely 1300 and the room's not available until 1400. I pull into the car park, maybe we can leave the bike gear here and go for a walk while the room is finished.
The Old Poets Corner from the front appears to be Tudor but around the back it looks quite ordinary. I park the bike near the rear entrance and we enter the pub, not knowing quite what to expect. Inside we're greeted with a crackling log fire, warmth and a typical local country pub. There's a healthy sprinkling of customers and behind the bar a chirpy young lady is serving. After a short wait while she finishes dealing with other customers and we inquire if the room is ready even though we're early. Much to my relief it is.
The Fazer's tucked away behind the pub, safe and sound.
The smiling chirpy lady leads us upstairs to a long narrow room with a metal framed bed, a few furnishings and an en-suite shower room. There's nothing impressive but it's clean and perfectly fine for our requirements. We're happy so we're left alone to settle in. I just make a mess by throwing all my bike gear off and dumping the saddle bags in the middle of the floor. Although the sun is shining the air is cold so I close the window and between us we work out how to get the oil filled electric radiator up and running.
The day is young and HM wants to explore a little, to see if she can find any of those childhood memories. It's been over 30 years since she was last here, I'm doubtful but it's too nice to not go for a walk. Behind the pub a path heads downhill and this seems as good a place as any to start. We follow a narrow and slightly muddy path first down into the valley then back up the opposite side. Slightly out of puff we stop at a wall to look around, it's very green and many of the trees are still in full leaf. HM ponders a nearby wooded hilltop and tries to remember if that was where she made those memories. Possibly, but not definitely is the conclusion.
Rolling hills and green fields around Ashover. All very pleasant and quite muddy.
I've been lost in Derbyshire before, that lead to a very very long walk. I'm not in the mood for a foot-buster so as we walk down a narrow back road I make sure not to loose sight of Ashover nestling in the valley. A footpath sign directs us back in the right direction across some fields so we turn off the road. There's cows in these here fields. I don't like cows. I don't like anything bigger than myself with it's own opinions. They stare at us, licking their faces with their long tongues and chewing on their cud as I try my very best to look unperturbed and manly. HM's a little scared to, perhaps she's just pretending to make be feel better about myself. Whatever, I doubt she's as scared as me though. One moves towards us...I think I'm sweating.
Oh they may LOOK innocent enough, but they are evil and they will one day take over the world...
We scramble over a broken stone wall then bits of barbed wire and escape the cows. The hillside becomes steep for a while then we cross the valley bottom and the small river, or stream. The valley is lush green, muddy and wet. Across the far side stands a lone touring caravan looking quite abandoned save for about 20 brown cows lying in the grass around it. Caravans have this habit of appearing in the most unexpected places, I'm beginning to think they're actually alien observation posts. We cross the valley floor and a small bridge and then it's only a few more yards before we're back into Ashover.
It's still early. We detour a short distance to take a look around the church. Pleasingly it's open, inside are a couple of hand held boards with a potted history of the church upon them which are enlightening and informative. There's the eerie silence that is both spooky and reverential. HM wants to go up into the spire but sensibly such places are inaccessible to stupid tourists who'd only hurt themselves. Before she starts to climb we return to The Old Poets Corner.
Given half a chance, HM would have been up there. Luckily for the people of Ashover access to the spire is secured.
There isn't much in Ashover, if there is we certainly didn't find it. It doesn't matter, we've had a pleasant walk and with our boots covered in mud we sit in the pub by the log fire drinking coke. I love a log fire, so warm and alive. The bar is almost empty now as it's the middle of the afternoon.
A while later after a shower and a nap it's heading towards tea time. Actually it's past tea time, it's coming on for 2000. Down in the bar it's now heaving, customers crowd the bar and all around both drinkers and diners squeeze on to benches and stools. I'm concerned we'll not be able to dine here as there's no room left and that would mean getting all geared up again and heading out on the bike. I need not worry, upstairs on the same landing as our room is a function room. The function room is used as an overspill for diners if the pub is too busy. Clever see.
A smiling young waitress guides to our seats. There's another family across the room with 2 very well behaved children and a couple who are staying at the pub too. Other than that the room is empty. It's a little surreal, I'm glad we're not squashed into some corner downstairs but then I feel like a naughty child who can't be trusted with the main populous. That's the second time today I've felt like a naught boy whilst dining. I'm not bothered, it's funny actually so we place our order of meat and potato pie and settle in. It is very busy and we have a little wait before our food is brought to us. It's worth the wait though, this really is meat and potato pie with the emphasis on chunky lumps of meat, a thick crust and the odd spud.
As we finish our afters we're joined in the naughty room by 4 young lads. They not rude or offensive or even bothersome but they are on a lads evening out and making merry. We pay the bill and head downstairs, it's still mad busy. Another round of coke and we sit down to be joined by a couple ordering their meals. They're local from only a few miles away and are all too keen to tell us about Ashover and of how the people here think they're so posh.. As their meals arrive I can sense both HM and I are ready for a change of scene so we bid them goodnight. It can't be that bad here, they've lived here for almost 30 years!
I watch a little TV, there's nothing much on but it's a little too early for bed just yet. It is strange hearing the waitresses coming and going past our room as they continue serving people in the function room. I wonder when and if it will all stop, but I'm not worried, I did expect sleeping over a pub may be a tad noisy from experience so I've brought my earplugs. At 2300 it all seems to calm down as we bed down for the night. There is still some coming and going outside the room so I stuff my ears up and that's pretty much it from me. Out like a light.
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!
Reader's Comments
Neil Hesford said :-
Another entertaining story ren spot on, got to ask though whose HM?
01/01/2000 00:00:00 UTC
John said :-
HM...............................Her Majesty........;)
Another good little read there Ren,
01/01/2000 00:00:00 UTC
Ren - The Ed said :-
HM...as far as you folks are concerned is "Her Majesty". She graces me with her presence as and when it suits her then demands I take her to nice places on the bike.
01/01/2000 00:00:00 UTC
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Travel StoriesAshover Derbyshire 2012 - By Ren Withnell