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Newark On Trent
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NEWARK NOTES from the Secretary
February 2008 Winter, what winter? After the gastronomic exertions of the Christmas holiday, you might have expected some long rides to pedal off the pounds, but it was more the back-to-work blues, even for the gentlemen of leisure amongst us. The Saturday runs in many ways did better than the Sunday ones, with rides to Muston and to Tuxford windmill, whilst on Sundays, all we managed was to get to both of the garden centre cafes in the Lambley and Epperstone area on consecutive weeks. Come the third week of the month, tradition decrees that we at least think of visiting the wassailing ceremony at Brandy Wharf. This year, Nick had promised to travel up from Suffolk to renew his acquaintance with the event, so someone had to make the effort to join him. Unfortunately, the previous few days had done a pretty good impression of raining for forty days and forty nights, and with more rain forecast, it looked like he was going to wassail alone. He made a long weekend of it, and, contrary to predictions, the Saturday was dry, so he joined the ride to Muston, which was fairly uneventful apart from a few punctures caused by a hedge that had seemingly been trimmed by someone flying a helicopter upside-down about six feet from the ground. Come Sunday morning, it was grey, but it wasn't raining, so I packed my waterproofs just in case and sallied forth. This was too easy, I thought, as the wind was obviously behind me, but as the weather improved I tried to keep thoughts of the ride home out of my mind. I reached Brandy Wharf in good time, to find the gates closed and a group of people, obviously dressed for the occasion, gathered opposite. From them I learned that the wassailing had been cancelled, and a quick glance at the orchards, now looking more suitable for the cultivation of rice than apples, showed why. Apparently, a couple of days before, the River Ancholme had nearly reached the top of the walls along its banks, so it must have been a close thing. The house eventually opened for business and the assembled throng adjourned to partake of "Old Rammel" and other unusual varieties of cider. Nick arrived shortly afterwards, just after a large contingent form the Gainsborough Aegir club, but apart from the inevitable couple of recumbents (no, not Pete Gifford this year) it seems that the days of this event attracting cyclists from miles around are over. Eventually I had to leave, the wind that had pushed me there now stronger than ever, making sure that I arrived home tired if elated at having made the journey. Nick, who had booked into a B&B in the next village, stayed rather longer, and rode back to his car the next day. Two weeks later, it was time for the first of the year's DA hostelling weekends. Some members had made rumblings about joining in on these weekends, but when I suggested we did, there were no takers, so I decided to go anyway. Just after committing myself to the trip, I saw that the forecast was predicting, if not quite another ice age, at least tempests, snow and pestilence. Having got away with it in January, I thought it might be tempting fate to expect the same this time, but, although I never regretted getting my thermals out, it wasn't a bad journey, and I reached the hostel before the others, enabling me to grab a bottom bunk. We found the new hostel at the National Forest very comfortable if a little over-heated (perhaps it was those thermals) but rather expensive; the hostel meals, although very good, being comparable in price to pub meals, rather than the bargains they used to be. (Two days ago, I received some literature from the YHA, bigging up the bit about Young people of limited means, and I wondered if they were being ironic.....) After supper, a certain lady, who will remain nameless but is known to like a pint or three, suggested that as one of the local pubs was listed in the Good Beer Guide, it ought to be investigated, so off we trekked. When we got there, a sign outside said it was closed, due to "an objection" - perhaps someone had heard we were coming. She expected to have the micturition extracted mercilessly, but having ridden past said establishment on my way in and not noticed the sign, I kept my mouth shut, and the others let her off fairly lightly. Eventually we found another pub that was open, and a few pints of Banks's were the reward for our extra exercise. The following weekend, the weather was unseasonally spring like, with wall to wall sunshine and temperatures more like April than February. On Saturday, the main run rode out to Fulbeck, with Steve and myself making an extended ride to Byard's Leap. We arrived to find another "closed" sign but discovered that the proprietor had put it up after a lull in business, to find it had the desired effect. Several parties of customers had turned up almost immediately afterwards, so we got our cuppas after all. On Sunday it was, if anything, even better and I took the others on what is becoming one of my favourite rides, out to Woodhall Spa, and back via the Sustrans path to Five Mile Bridge. Well, they said they enjoyed it anyway. We thought that we would pay for the fine weather the weekend after, but although it was thermals again, the wall-to-wall sunshine was out once more. Saturday's run went to Muston (again..) whilst on Sunday the others had other commitments, so it was solo flying for me, and I made a run to Oakham and a certain establishment next to the station. As I type this, the weathermen are predicting different things depending on which channel I watch. I suppose the weather will have to revert to type some time, but it would be nice to think......
Mike Graham Page updated 25/02/2008 |