|I'm crying with pride|
A small selection of available Imps had arranged a ride this Sunday, to meet at, (where else?) The Halifax Toy Emporium, at the lazy time of ten am. My reputation as Mr Punctual, early bird and catcher of worms, was once again dented as, for the third Sunday ride running, I was five minutes late. My teammates had read the memo and were wearing club colours. Of course, I had to break all sorts of Velominati rules by wearing a Dimension Data jersey mismatched with multicoloured socks. At least my shorts weren't white.
Joining me and Holly on today's adventure were; Ed 'Barry White' Jandzio and Mathew 'Please Don't Call Me CockyCocks' Cockerham. At a prompt 10:07 we were off on our way. The first part of the ride took us along Burnley Road to Hebden Bridge, before we may or may not have taken a cheeky U-Turn at the Fox and Goose.
After negotiating the cobbles of Heptonstall we turned off to the right, towards Widdop. ahead on the road we came across a horse and rider, and we slowed down to pass. As we were still within a five mile radius of Hebden Bridge, there was barely a double take when we noticed that riding shotgun on said horse was a rather satisfied spaniel, accompanied by what appeared to be a former member of The Grateful Dead.
The celeb spotting continued, as shortly after this we were passed by a motorhome being driven by non other than David Hasselhoff, complete with string vest, bronze skin and blonde perm.
|Jandzio puts his game face on for the hairpin|
Other than that, the road past Widdop Reservoir was gloriously quiet and we stopped to take in the view. Here we took the opportunity to take some moody action shots, fit to grace an advert in Cyclist magazine.
|Is that...is that a hill?|
|Hydration is the key to urination|
|There are Imps on them thar hills (if you zoom in)|
|Imps Skeleton photobombing the shot|
|A windswept ruin - perhaps Hoppy has slept here?|
Pottering along the cycle routes of the grandly named 'Great Northern Trail', we began to get attacked by various insects, which reminded Holly of my ladybird phobia. When in the merchant navy, and working on the Immingham-Rotterdam ferry, my ship was overrun with the black and red dotted git flies, to the extent that they'd be in my bedsheets at night and crawling in and out of the sleeves of my boilersuit throughout my shifts. I used to rather inhumanely blast them from the car decks with a fire hose. Ed commented that 'Ladybirds on a Ferry' could be the underwhelming sequel to 'Snakes on a Plane'.
Poseur of the year award nominations still being accepted
We climbed up to Raggalds and drifted to the Golden Fleece for a refreshment stop. The pub was filled with fans of the football which was being televised at the time so we sat outside and sang 80s tunes. It was then a case of zooming to Halifax and enjoying a club evening of beers, homemade burgers, The Human League, and Alan Partridge all whilst writing a blog of ever decreasing quality. A-ha!