RSF - The Off Road Cycling Club

The Adventure Starts Here

2006

“Whoever invented the bicycle deserves the thanks of humanity” — Lord Charles Beresford, British MP

 

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Recumbent tandems aren’t ideally built for rough-stuffing and, truth to tell, this wasn’t supposed to have been a rough-stuff trip. But you know how it is - the sight of a good track winding away to who knows where? The lure never dies. So there we were up to the gunnels in sand, marram grass soaring above our heads as the pitiless sun beat down. No, this wasn’t the Sahara. We were in Western Scotland: the island of Coll to be exact. ‘The Sand Road’ joins two tarred road ends between Totronald RSPB Reserve and Ballyhaugh. It was shown on our well-out-of-date OS map as a large area of sand dunes at the back of Hogh Bay.
I was 35. I was single. I was totally screwed up and stressed out. My hair was falling out. Why was I working every hour the devil sends? What was the money for? What was life for? I decided to give it up and go to South America with my bicycle. “You'll be back in three months,” said my therapist. “You need me.” “I can't come with you,” said my old cycling friend Simon. “Zeneca Pharmaceuticals don’t approve of career breaks.” “You’ll lurve Australia, “ said George the office Australian. “Don’t forget to take a packet of condoms, “ said Brendan, a concert-going friend. “I’ll be lucky to need them,” I thought. Anne s
After our last foray into the “rough” - a rather wet and muddy occasion - I at long last cursed and complained as much as my two colleagues, and putting my money where my mouth was agreed to come up with the perfect “rough stuff’ bike. Now I know many esteemed individuals have trod this path before and with that in mind plus some more recent opinions, I think I am ready to give it a go. To keep things practical and simple, I am also using a “live dummy”, in this case one Mr. B
Into the Fellowship’s second half century and a return to wild Wales. Possibly the venue was considered a bit too far for some, but they missed riding in some dramatic, traditional rough stuff scenery. One member who didn't find the distance too great came down from the Highlands. However he apparently, took about 12 months to reach the meet and was said to have been heard muttering into his beer about the Gobi desert and Tierra del Fuego. Whilst some members went off exploring there were organised rides on all four days, ably led by Bob McHardy, Pat Lloyd and Steve Griffith.
The Icknield Way is less rutted than the Ridgeway but what it lacked in ruts it makes up for in leaf mould. Which is lovely to ride on, except when it is waterlogged. I meet a drowned budgie, sorry, walker, coming the other way. “Got wet feet?” he asks. “Yes” I say. He replies “I’ve got Sainsbury bags on my feet but they don’t help any” I felt a brief surge of unjustified elitism run through me. “I’ve got Budgen freezer bags on mine” I reply but then add “Unfortunately they leak as well”.
The bike bus had deposited us at Bayonne and we had planned on a leisurely nineteen days before the pick up at Perpignan. Having done all the main cols on a previous holiday we intended keeping north avoiding the highest hills for an easier ride. You cannot go far in this part of France before coming across accounts of the Cathars, a religious sect who believed the creator of the material world was the Devil and Christ a messenger from the world of light

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