ARTICLES/The Goyt And A Tart's Handbag by Quentin Blagg...

I’ve always loved the Goyt Valley. When my bike wandering started, some 45 years ago, I could never resist finding out what was round the next corner. What better to do this on, but 2 wheels, and this 13 year old spent his weekends cramming in caddying on Hazel Grove Golf Course and exploring irresistible bits of Cheshire and Derbyshire on his Viking Hosteller. I found the Valley by chance, having ridden through Pott Shrigley, what a lovely name, I still get a warm feeling going through the village, and headed on towards the hills. I couldn’t afford maps, who could, and had no idea where I was or where I was going. There was just this lovely big hill waiting to be climbed. Being a little tiddler, going up was easy and Ienjoyed it so much, I just kept going. Up up and away, just like Andy Williams in his beautiful balloon. On up Billinge Hill, with more and more hills asking to be climbed. Jenkin Chapel came and went, little did I know how often I would pass this wild, remote and beautiful spot in later years. Many are the stories about how the Chapel came to be named; as a walk leader, my favourite was that the Chapel was built by voluntary subscriptions, and the good folk of the valley raised money, by collecting coins in little canvas bags. Hence arose the phrase ‘its jinkin’ as money was tossed into the bags! Hmm, maybe not!
The steep climb from the Chapel beckoned, scene of many Duks Hill Climbs and Pym Chair was soon reached. Todays lovely talk board wasn’t there of course, nor was the chair that Pym was supposed to use, as he gazed down looking for traders on horseback who he could plunder. Nearly said rape and plunder but there is no mention of him ‘coming out’ so we will assume he wasn’t one! Another corner to be turned and a long swoop down to The Street and more mention of this later. To return to Pym Chair, this was instrumental in my induction to the Bullock Smithy Hike, the 56 mile Challenge Walk organised by 3rd HG Scout Group (more famous of course for having Steve H as one of its Leaders). Pym Chair was the penultimate Checkpoint, and coming at 47 miles meant that the field was spread out by upto 14-15 hours. This meant a stint on duty from 18.30 until around 08.00 and up there in September it can get cold in the night. I did, and after freezing my you know whats off for a couple of years, decided it would be warmer doing the event than suffering through the night. That’s either another story, or knowing me, one I’ve already told.
So, the Goyt Valley, and this ere Tarts handbag. Septembers Duk Egg trailed the Club Hill Climb, using the Street and my eyes / ears pricked up. Lets get out there and cheer the lads on, have a wander round, revisit the Hall and Graveyard, and check whether Lady Dolores little shelter is still tended by the mystery flower placer. Sounds good and transport needed solving. Brians on loan Aende( elderly, but more comfortable than a pair of carpet slippers, no, the bike, not Brian) had a bottom gear of around 77”, never make it on that, and that cheap tacky Mountain Bike should only be aired away from prying eyes. So, the TH it was and 8.00 saw me V twinning it around the lanes of Rainow and Kettleshulme. It was billed as a 10.30 start so I was there at around 9.15, wandering round looking for a brew. Nothing in sight so I pottered about at the bottom of the Rake looking for reminders of the old chain drawn Railway. They are still there, and Eric could probably tell you the history of the line, leading I believe over to Cromford Wharf near Matlock. Brian turned up soon after, and we nattered away until the advance party arrived via the old Railway Line along the Fernilee Reservoir.
Soon the action started with the Racing Men huffing and puffing up the last stretch, all nicely warmed up for the Climb. Everyone on nice shiny gear, all except Steve, employing the old adage, in Winter ride hack. Last minute joshings, on the spot field placings by Jimmy, and Brian was dispatched up into the mist to time everyone, just short of the chair. I hope noone noticed that Rob got an extra big push, thanks for the loan Rob! It was all over so quickly, everyone was gone and so after a quick brew I thought I’d wander up the valley and see whether speed restrictions had made any difference to the boys in leather. OK, I agree that a lot of the guys were potentially lethal, but I still liked to sit at the Setter Dog in Summer and watch them ground the pegs as they shot off round that tight little bend up to the Cat and Fiddle. Anyway, it seems the 50 limit has worked, because there were very few guys out ‘doing the ride’. Jimmy tried to bike rage me on the way up, as the guys headed out to the dinner meet at Monyash. At the old quarry on the way up, reputed to be the start of the Pickfords empire, I met a guy on a 1930 Royal Enfield, a real Classic Bike, and man was he proud of it. It had been his Dads, and had stayed in his family ever since. It was taken out on fine days only, quite right, I’m the same with the TH, and it looked like a million dollars. It was a lovely day and as usual in these situations, I had a quick kip in the heather before winding my way around Errwod and back to where the TH was waiting. It had a couple of admirers, but not as many as the Royal Enfield. A nice morning out and I was back home in time to see the highlights of the recent World Championships in Canada, crowned of course by David Millar winning the Time Trial. The TH was put away for another day, but not before the obligatory wipe down with a soft cloth. THs always need looking after.

Footnote: Tarts Handbag. My Yamaha 750 was reviewed recently in one of the Motor Cycle mags. As the correspondent said, ‘it’s got more shiny bits than Granny’s fireplace and looks more like a Tarts Handbag.’ You read it first here in the Duk Egg!

QB. Dec 03.