We are greeted at breakfast by our host Peter. A James Robertson Justice look alike with John Cleese like movements he confidently announces that he has been cooking & serving breakfasts since 1946, from the age of 8! We are not disappointed. We get the “Full Monty” with the best black pudding from Bury, two beautifully cooked eggs, generous amounts of bacon et al. We are presented with a neatly prepared hand written bill made out to The Simpsons!
We are in the Midlands. We find a route to the east of Chester and rejoin our trail at Waverton. Fully fuelled up we are ready to negotiate our way through a spaghetti junction of motorways further north around towns that all seem to begin with a “B” – Bolton, Bury, Bradford, Blackburn. Light rain is starting. We reach the Delamere Forrest, an oasis of green with a wonderful panoply of sweet chestnuts, beech, oak & sycamore providing some cover from the wet. A fresh NW wind continues to slow our progress as we pick our way across or under the network of busy A roads and motorways (M56, M6 & M62)
Just north of the little village of Culcheth and a bend in the road I look around and cannot see Simon. I wait by an underpass just ¼ mile from our destination for a full 15 minutes before he eventually comes into sight. He had hit a giant pothole which sent his “collapsible” goggles flying into the road, ending up in 4-5 pieces which needed retrieving before nearly being run down by a white van.
We pull into the car park of The Sporting Lodge Inn, a rather plastic but functional roadside hotel on our route at the intersection of the A580 & A574. Bridget has just pulled into the car park and laughs at our waterlogged appearance. We must look like a couple of drowned rats on wheels. The rooms are comfortable and warm to dry out our sodden clothing. I offer to have both bikes in mine – the handlebars very useful as extra coat hangers. We decide to eat in and work out the logistics for the next day. Bridget has offered to take our kit ahead as far as Blackburn, before going on to Ilkley where she is to do a school inspection. We have also arranged to meet Simon’s brother Humphrey who will join us for a week and will reach Blackburn train station by mid morning.
No other photos for the day….too wet!
We are in the Midlands. We find a route to the east of Chester and rejoin our trail at Waverton. Fully fuelled up we are ready to negotiate our way through a spaghetti junction of motorways further north around towns that all seem to begin with a “B” – Bolton, Bury, Bradford, Blackburn. Light rain is starting. We reach the Delamere Forrest, an oasis of green with a wonderful panoply of sweet chestnuts, beech, oak & sycamore providing some cover from the wet. A fresh NW wind continues to slow our progress as we pick our way across or under the network of busy A roads and motorways (M56, M6 & M62)
We pull into the car park of The Sporting Lodge Inn, a rather plastic but functional roadside hotel on our route at the intersection of the A580 & A574. Bridget has just pulled into the car park and laughs at our waterlogged appearance. We must look like a couple of drowned rats on wheels. The rooms are comfortable and warm to dry out our sodden clothing. I offer to have both bikes in mine – the handlebars very useful as extra coat hangers. We decide to eat in and work out the logistics for the next day. Bridget has offered to take our kit ahead as far as Blackburn, before going on to Ilkley where she is to do a school inspection. We have also arranged to meet Simon’s brother Humphrey who will join us for a week and will reach Blackburn train station by mid morning.
No other photos for the day….too wet!
Simon Sez
Holt to Leigh. Bloody miles.
Holt is a nice town on the Dee and we stay on the far side of the medieval bridge in Farndon. It rains all day long. John appears to think we are in The Midlands. Either his mind or his geography has gone.
Leigh is a dump. As we pull into the car park of the Sportmans Lodge Inn, Kippy is there to greet us. We have a lovely time (and I get my smalls and handkerchiefs washed).
I could murder a cigar
Holt to Leigh. Bloody miles.
Holt is a nice town on the Dee and we stay on the far side of the medieval bridge in Farndon. It rains all day long. John appears to think we are in The Midlands. Either his mind or his geography has gone.
Leigh is a dump. As we pull into the car park of the Sportmans Lodge Inn, Kippy is there to greet us. We have a lovely time (and I get my smalls and handkerchiefs washed).
I could murder a cigar
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