First 20+ km bike ride in far too long - and it was magnificent

That was not so early a start as planned, nor as long a ride, but it was glorious. It’s been some years since i swapped wheels for running shoes as my main form of exercise and recreation and, even then, I’d explored these lanes on a mountain bike rather than the slight, fleet frame of a proper racer



As usual, spoilt for choice I set out with little initial idea of where I was headed; I had a general urge to go out past Bradfield onto the roads with their race-smooth surfaces, but began by heading up toward Worrall before turning up Burnt Hill Lane, taking Onesacre Bottom and Onesacre Road to climb up into the hills.



It is stunningly beautiful; fields of sleepy-headed wheat are ripening toward bright yellow, the trees are almost shockingly green against a sky of white-smeared blue that makes the hedgerows seem listless, almost military olive drab and khaki by comparison with this wanton lushness.



There follows a wonderful 5 km stretch as the road drops around a hundred metres. It is all dips and rises and bends on amazingly smooth grey tarmac, bounded by walls of ferns in all their cool, frenzied verdancy. I move along at a fair clip, watching ahead as much as I can with the turns and sudden elevations for traffic coming the other way, or even walkers, though my only encounter is a farmer in his Land Rover on one of the straighter stretches. It would be glorious to close this stretch off for a race; hurtling along here would be better than any rollercoaster.



Reaching the wonderfully named Wigtwizzle, I’ve the decision between turning up toward Mortimer Road, where I could take the long circuit bordering the moors above Derwent Reservoir, but I’m not sure if I have the legs for that in this heat, so drop sharply to the right (again, resisting the urge to loose my brakes and plummet down the steep curves) down past Broomhead Reservoir and the sharp climb toward Bolserstone. Downhill again to Ewden Village - a road so steep that you almost feel gravity will  tip you over the handlebars, my caution with the brakes warranted by a family out for a stroll,spread across the width of the road as though a search party scanning the terrain.



Here I made an error. I couldn’t remember whether the semi-private road that follows the north shore of More Hall Reservoir was fully suitable for my flimsy wheels, so carried on rather than taking the turn. I’d completely  forgotten about Fairhurst Lane, possible blanked from my memory by pain, shorter though just as punishingly steep as te hill down which I’d just come. Even though I didn’t quite make it all the way up, it left my legs twitching and wobbly. That said, it lead to the stretch of Carr House and Thorn House Lanes, another couple of kilometres of smooth, winding, dipping joy, dropping me to Wharncliffe Side and the 5k steady descent by the River Don leading me home.