Week 2 and we set off from my home in Hartford with a good weather forecast, although things are expected to change in the second half of the week. We headed for Macclesfield on a lovely morning, with easy cycling and made good progress, enabling me to take time out to photograph a hedge:
You may well ask why I photographed this hedge, given that we've passed quite a few on our journey so far. The answer dear reader is that behind that hedge is a link (some might say a tenuous one) to the world of cycling greats and a story of what might have been. Behind the hedge a few miles before Macclesfield is a field where I spent many a happy hour (and some not so, in bad weather) lifting and stacking sods (of turf, for laying in gardens). As a sixth former and a university student I spent much if my holidays working in landscape gardening and the field was a prime source of lawn turf.
You may well ask why I photographed this hedge, given that we've passed quite a few on our journey so far. The answer dear reader is that behind that hedge is a link (some might say a tenuous one) to the world of cycling greats and a story of what might have been. Behind the hedge a few miles before Macclesfield is a field where I spent many a happy hour (and some not so, in bad weather) lifting and stacking sods (of turf, for laying in gardens). As a sixth former and a university student I spent much if my holidays working in landscape gardening and the field was a prime source of lawn turf.
In June 1971 we doing work in the garden of Reg Harris (if that name means nothing to you, Google, or equivalent, his name). Reg had been a multiple world champion and when we were working at his impressive house, Reg would arrive home during the day in his Porsche, get on his bike, no doubt cycle a very long way very rapidly, and then head off again in his car. The training clearly paid off as three years later he won a British title in his 50s (if only I was just a few years younger!). What I saw as an impressionable teenager (including the Porsche!) and if only Reg had given me some advice as to how to emulate him, who knows how my cycling career might have developed. Unfortunately, before the job was finished I headed off to spend the rest of the summer working in Canada, Reg and I never had the chance to have that conversation and my cycling dreams were never pursued - until now.
Anyway, back to more sensible reminiscences. Our good progress continued and we actually arrived in Macclesfield ahead of schedule. That gave us the time to do a tour of the town and take a trip down memory lane, particularly for Martin's benefit. First stop was our old school King's which like everything in the the town Martin was seeing for the first time since June 1969:
The buildings at the front of the school, from the outside at least, are exactly as they were in 1969, it's just a pity we aren't!
We also managed to fit in a visit to Martin's old home, follow his route to school and even see the shop (now used for a different purpose) where Martin bought his Three Castles cigarettes - a sophisticated brand, for a teenager, like so many, desperate to appear sophisticated and mature. By the way, he saw the light and gave up smoking years ago.
The main reason for going via Macclesfield was actually to see my Mum and we arrived, remarkably, on time and to the first bunting in our honour (I don't think it was outside Mum's for the World Cup). Lots of friends and relatives were there, and in terms of reunions, it was a little like our visit to Wedmore the previous Wednesday, with people variously seeing each other for the first time since the 90s, 80s and even 60s. One of our scout leaders from the 1960s, Peter Hibbert, couldn't be there, but kindly gave a letter to my Mum with reminiscences of our time in St Paul's.
Most of those who made it are in the photo below. I'll just pick out my Mum, who is just behind me in the photo below (where I hear you ask is the bunting? I didn't make it up - it's off camera to the right)
We had a smashing hour and a half at Mum's with plenty of refreshments and we then took our leave to head north towards our destination in Littleborough. The cycling remained easy, particularly as we cycled along the Middlewood Way, a lovely walking/cycling/riding way north through Poynton, with lots of people doing all those activities and enjoying the weather:
Ok, there's only me on this bit, but it really was lovely. After a short while it dawned on Martin that what we were cycling on was actually the old railway line that he had used very day during his last term at school. His parents had moved at Easter 1969 when his father became manager of a bank in Rochdale and Martin had spent weekdays for the last term in digs in Poynton. In 1970, the year after he left (coincidence?), they obviously decided there was no longer any need to keep the line open and the Middlewod Way was born.
That's enough of reminiscences and related fabrications, at least for now. Sunday afternoon remained glorious as did many of the views as we continued north up into the hills to the east of Manchester and on the western side of the Pennines. There really are some pretty villages up there (the stone may not have the softer, more honeyed appearance of, say, villages in the south west, but they looked good to us!), as well as some cracking looking pubs, almost invariably with lots if people outside enjoying the weather.
You might actually think from the above photo that where we were was quite isolated, but actually, apart from being able to see across to Manchester and be among the hills, we just kept coming across pub after pub, and you can't be isolated if you're near a pub!
Our progress inevitably slowed a bit up in the hills, but we still made reasonable time, until the approach to Littleborough, when for the first and to date only time we got split up. It would be wrong to apportion blame, particularly as Martin and I will both see this blog before it's published and we can't afford discord, but the upshot was that we probably added about 20 minutes to our final descent into Littleborough to Nigel and Sheila's house and the funny sight of a very helpful couple giving us the thumbs up, with big smiles on their faces as we cycled passed them, that being the third time I had seen them in under half an hour, having asked them for directions after I'd lost Martin.
Arrival at Nigel and Sheila's (old friends of Martin) followed shortly after, as did a very convivial evening with great food and, with hindsight, a tad too much alcohol!
And the stat for the day - 75 miles against an estimate of 72. It's getting more accurate, as we'd expected. 525 miles done, an estimated 552 to go - nearly half way!
