Earlier
this month I lost my Father. As a tribute to him, I have decided to
reprint here some of my cycling journal entries in relation to rides
I did with him.
These journal entries began after the death of my Mum in 1992 when my father was left a
widower. In order to keep him company I settled into a routine of
regularly walking with him, normally on the North York Moors. But
cycling was my thing, although after my Mum's death, I had rather
lost interest in it. So, during 1994 my father acquired a new bike
from Halfords, and suggested we could ride together sometimes.
Eventually we settled into his favoured pattern of riding three times
per year to Hornsea along the disused railway line from Hull, where
we both lived, and we explored other routes too. We also continued to
walk together.
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| Dad on a walk with me in 1994 - scowling at the camera! |
Our
first ride together was to Coniston and Preston, a route on a mix of
two disused railway lines and minor lanes – my father's infectious
enthusiasm for exploration often took me on routes I wouldn't have
thought of.
I
had been off my bike for a long time, and I found it harder than he
did...
16 January 1994
(Sunday)
Cycled with Dad up the
Hornsea railway track to Coniston, then Preston (Withernsea railway
track) down to the docks and along the foreshore. 16 miles, 15 ½ of
which hurt. Every year I forget about the wonders of cycle shorts and
sunglasses. Every year my bum hurts anew. Every year I vow not to
leave it so long!
12 June 1994 (Sunday)
This
is a typical meandering ride which turned out to be a highly
cherished memory.
Cycled with Dad to
Ottringham along the [Withernsea] railway line, through Sunk Island
and down to an old battery on the Humber bank. Warm but
overcast/hazy, little wind.
Rode along Humber bank to
Stone Creek, through waist-high grass on completely overgrown path.
Chickened out for a short distance, and went by the world's
straightest, flattest and most featureless road to Cherry Cobb Sands.
Then got back onto the levy and rode along it, over mixed surfaces to
Paull and via Eastern Cemetery to home. Lovely day, 40 miles.
2 March 1997 (Sunday)
There
came a day when my Dad's heart problems, which were to trouble him
for the rest of his life, made their presence felt. It was a
tremendously emotional day for me. Here is my account of it.
I wonder how many weeks of
wind there will be, before Spring comes? Only the mad venture out on
bikes in weather like this. I can't remember when we last had such a
sustained period of windy weather.
Cycled to Coniston and
back, in four easy stages. To Dad's (hardly pedalled) for a cup of
tea; to Coniston (almost effortless) for a meal at the Blacksmiths'
Arms; back to Dad's (sheer torture, see below) for more tea; and then
home, head on into the near gale-force wind, for a bath.
My own health problems
paled into insignificance besides Dad's. His chest pain stopped him
every few yards on the way back, and most of the way back to his
house, we walked. I fear it is angina, which horrifies me. I pray
that his cycling days are not over.
An awful day, the only
blessing (apart from the meal) being the absence of rain.
7 June 1998 (Sunday)
This
is an account of the first time, after Dad's angina diagnosis, that
we rode together to Hornsea. He had had a stent fitted, and he felt
much better for it though from then on he needed a long rest after
eating to allow time for digestion, which meant for long stays in
Hornsea before our return ride. We normally spent this extra time wandering around the market.
Dad
did not cycle to Hornsea at all last year due to his heart problems,
and as he had set himself the challenge of doing so today, I decided
to go along with him.
On
the way there the heat and close humidity made us both regret our long
trousers, but we were glad of them before the day was out. At Kirkham
Point I almost lost my handbag when I left it in the loo, but fate
smiled on me and I got it back.
After
fish and chips at Sullivans we cycled up to the “far toilets”,
being Dad's 12-mile mark from his house. There we watched the stormy
sky build and the calm sea change, before being driven away by some
birdwatchers.
Heavy
rain whilst we had been eating had flooded the track, and we rode
home through mud and puddles like lakes, stopping briefly whilst the
worst of the thunder passed over us. Riding on in continuing thunder
I felt vulnerable and more than a little scared by the truly awesome
weather. With a black sky the lighting was magical, and the smells of
the hedgerows and sights and sounds a delight.
By
the time we reached Hull my bum had had enough, and my last two miles
were into the teeth of the wind from which we had been sheltered on
the track.
28 June 1998 (Sunday)
This
is a very short account, which neatly summarises what Dads are there
for.
Got
up feeling down in the dumps, called Dad just seconds after he'd gone
out and ended up reading until lunch time.
After
lunch I went to Dad's, and after righting all wrongs during the
afternoon we had a short ride at tea-time along the foreshore,
reminiscing, and watching the river traffic near and far aided by a
crystal clear atmosphere.
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| Dad on a foreshore ride, 1999 |
24 April 2000 (Monday)
This
is a another short account, showing evidence of the infectious spirit
of exploration which always provided me with some of the most
enjoyable aspects of my rides with Dad.
Dad
has been poorly with a bad cold, and didn't feel capable of cycling
to Hornsea. So we decided to have a short “explore Hull” ride,
taking in lunch on the way.
We
made for the Humber foreshore at King George Dock, having inspected
the sadly run down East Park and the scenic delights of Preston Road.
Lunch was at the Minerva, always money well spent, followed by an
inspection of the eastern Hull river bank between North and Drypool
bridges, where they are 'doing something'.
A
nice day, these short rides with Dad always teach me a lot.
29 July 2001 (Sunday)
This
ride, to Hornsea, was the last ride Dad and I ever did together. He
was 71 years old at the time. The public rights of way had been
closed for some time due to a foot and mouth crisis, and it had
curtailed a ride we had done earlier in the year on 13 April 2001,
when we ended up at Ellerby instead of Hornsea.
On Friday 20 July, the
Government, to the consternation of the landowners, compelled all
Local Authorities to reopen most of the paths. This meant that at
last, Dad and I could ride the railway line to Hornsea.
A muggy morning promised
another sweltering day, so I covered up from the start. Dad has lost
almost two stone in weight, and gained about 2mph in speed! We flew
to Hornsea, the wind behind us, our only handicap being the new
surface which the East Riding of Yorkshire Council has sneakily put
on during the closure.
In Hornsea we ate at the
Floral Hall, then paddled in the sea, like children. The sea felt
warm, and if I'd had my swimming costume I might have taken the
plunge.
Our usual trip to the
market was unusual in that for once, I bought something. Like an
idiot I had set out without a hat, and I couldn't contemplate riding
home in the sun without the peak of a baseball hat. So I invested
£1.50 in an orange hat that proved a bargain. It will stay in my
saddlebag.
The ride home was more
rough compared to the trip out. The wind was against us, and the
gravel seemed worse. My hands and wrists ached and Dad's bottom
complained. Both of us were glad to get home.
A lovely day, probably the
only Hornsea ride this year. I hope Dad carries on cycling. He
brought me up to love cycling, I hope it is something we will always
be able to do together.
Rest in Peace, Dad.
