The Pareto Principle splits things into 80/20 contrasts (such as ‘80% of the work is done by 20% of the people’, an idea most of us in the 20% can agree with). On the other hand, the Football Principle splits things into two halves: usually, along the lines of, ‘we lost the first half 6-0, but we won the second half 1-0, so morally that’s a draw’. Well, the WoR is a ride of two halves: the first hilly, the second flat. Ish.
So today, with the first two days’ leg-busting climbs and brake-frying descents mostly behind me, I could enjoy flatter terrain for the concluding two. Plus, in the morning, a bit of sun at last, along the lanes in and out of Boroughbridge. There I stopped briefly to admire the Devil’s Arrows, ancient monoliths plonked in a farmer’s field on the edge of town.
If Satan’s consistency at darts is anything to go by – here, something like single-12, single-5, single-8 – then we have little to worry about the Prince of Darkness’s ability to target our souls. The Road to Hell may be paved with good intentions, but under the Tories you won’t get past the potholes anyway.
More quiet little country lanes out of Boroughbridge in warm sunshine got me to Upper Dunsforth, and the very non-1970s sight of a vineyard. (The modern abundance of British wineries is partly down to climate change, but also rapid advances in viticultural knowledge and techniques.)
At Great Ouseburn I stopped for a snack and drink at the village store, and had an enlightening chat with the new owner who is investing in the future of the business and the village – cyclists may be able to enjoy a cafe stop right on the WoR route in a few months, for instance.
It was uplifting to encounter such positivity in such hard times: when I recently updated a guidebook to the Yorkshire Dales, I lost count of the number of cafes, pubs and shops that had closed since the previous edition. Which maybe shows I’m not a very diligent updater.
The stop also demonstrated a major advantage of riding a period bike: passers-by who notice your bike and come to talk to you about it. (Or, more often, about them.) My brother used to time-trial on one of these / I used to have a Claud Butler / My grandad had a saddlebag like that, etc. I loved this aspect of the trip: having a 1978 machine got me into conversation with perhaps a dozen people en route, and the results were always good.
I clattered over Aldwark Bridge, one of less than a dozen rural toll bridges left in Britain. It’s free for bikes, making it a very satisfying experience.
(Cars have to pay 40p, further evidence of the War on Motorists, they’d no doubt say.)
Then it was very familiar territory for me: the WoR lanes south past Beningborough and along the Ouse into York, where I live.
Not easy, though. Several parts of the car-free riverside path were flooded, thanks to recent rainfall and the long long period of wet weather, so I had to bob and weave a bit to follow as much as I could of the WoR route. But once in the centre, I was on course on very known ground. When that ground was actually above water, anyway.
I cycled alongside the river for a bit of black-and-white-print-friendly atmosphere.
The WoR route takes cyclists through the city walls at Bootham Bar, a dramatic entrance to the historic centre, and then right alongside the Minster, weaving through the crowds of selfie-grabbing visitors chattering excitedly in Mandarin. In the 1970s, this would have been impossible: this was the main road through the centre. And those middle-class tourists’ grandparents would have been subsistence farmers in Yunnan province.
The weather was turning, but I wanted to make it to Pocklington tonight. So I didn’t have time to hop into one of Europe’s grandest cathedrals to examine the Rose Window, very much on theme with the trip. Instead I hacked on and out of York, through the cold wind and drizzle.
In Pocklington, I asked in the library about accommodation out of interest. Alas, it seemed there were to be no cheap B&Bs in Pock tonight – I’d’ve had to shell out £80 or thereabouts. However, York’s youth hostel had £15 dorms, and the X46 bus (and some X47 buses) from here to York takes bikes (very unusually for the UK: only a handful of services do this). And all for the current flat fare scheme price of £2.
However, conveniently, especially for people who don’t, I live in York, like I said. So I didn’t need either Pocklington’s B&Bs or York’s hostels. I got the bus back home and slept in my own bed, which was priceless.
Miles today: 52
Miles since Morecambe: 133