My Dad

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.

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.

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.