TOTMONSLOW 200 PERM making up time we certainly weren’t burning our tyres. I thought I must be imagining it, until we passed through Hatton, where the Nestlé’s factory dwarfs the town. This confirmed me in my attitude to instant coffee! On leaving Hatton we crossed the fine bridge over the River Dove towards Tutbury. The River Dove meanders for about forty miles from remote (and legendary to cyclists) Axe Edge in the north, forming the western boundary of Derbyshire before flowing into the Trent a few miles beyond Tutbury. We climbed and descended through the remains of Needwood Forest. We were now heading west and as we crested a climb there was one wonderful moment where I had a thatched cottage in my left eye and Rugely power station in my right. Our next control was at Armitage, which was much less of a toilet than might be imagined from its name: it’s the Armitage of Shanks fame. Soon we began our meander through Cannock Chase, along nearly ten miles of cycle paths, loose, stony descents and even good tarmac. It’s a fabulous area of woodland and clearings, presumably an ancient hunting demesne, with a bit of coal-mining thrown in for the peasants. It’s now rather crowded at the weekend, understandably sucking in visitors from as far away as Wolverhampton and Walsall, even Birmingham and (whisper it) Macclesfield and Rochdale. For a more tranquil experience, I’d recommend a mid-week ride. We were still up against it for time and I was again forced to take a snap of John at the Visitor Centre, which had just closed. Occupying high ground between Stafford and Lichfield, the Chase is by no means flat, and we had a long climb along excellent tarmac before a circumspect descent along a stony track brought us out of the trees on the north-west edge. We were back in the Trent Valley and enjoying a beautiful autumn evening’s riding past thatched cottages and the occasional timbered buildings with wonderful herring-bone brickwork of long ago. A pub with a fabulous display of busy lizzies and aubretia in hanging baskets was very tempting but we still had time to make up. This ride has 3000 metres of climbing and my instruments indicated that we still had about 1000 to do after leaving the Chase. Sure enough, after a few kilometres, we re-entered the Peak District near Milwich and worked our way north towards Cheadle. A very short spell on the A50 brought us to Totmonslow, which gives its name to the ride. The village sign is about the only evidence we saw on our extensive survey of the Totmonslow Hundred, hardly meriting single figures, really; the sign and a copper lion that the eagle-eyed John had spotted nailed to a garden gate when he was scouting the ride. With the owner’s blessing it now adorns the routesheet. Cheadle has the wonderful contradiction of having a church (St Giles RC) designed by the brilliant Pugin, who did the interiors of the Houses of Parliament, and the ultra-modern ‘build it so it’s easy to demolish’ JCB works, on the site of an old colliery. The former is known as ‘Pugin’s Gem’; the latter can probably be seen from space. By now the computer was saying that we were actually a little ahead of the asking rate, so I thought I might as
John in ‘Great Explorer’ mode
www.aukweb.net
The Red Lion nr Weston – one of several fine pubs on the route
well puncture. It didn’t take us long to sort it out but it put us behind again. However, the road was good and we were soon eating up the deficit, in spite of darkness having fallen. There was a fine moon, one day before the full and it was the usual exhilarating experience to be riding at night. The new tube lasted for a little over an hour before that sickening ‘bumpy road’ feeling told me that it, too, had failed. Presumably there was something in the tyre but I couldn’t find it and we put a folder on to save time. We did the repairs in a pub garden, under the lights and were much quicker than previously. I have to thank John, ever the gentleman, for permitting me to change tubes twice on his beautiful Mercian. The road from Cheadle through Wetley Rocks to Leek is fast, if rolling, and I imagined we would bowl up it all the way to Macclesfield. But, as is his way, John had other plans and we were soon dropping away from the main road to cross the River Churnet and Caldon Canal at Horsebridge. It was along here that a badger burst through a hedge on our left, narrowly missing John’s front wheel as it scrabbled desperately up the right bank, startled by our lights. I implored it not to re-cross through my wheels. Fortunately, it found a way through the hedge and we reached the bridge in safety. John had mentioned the climb up to Ladderedge a little earlier and I told him to go on because I felt a banana was in order. As his brake light bobbed up the hill, I fell into conversation with a couple who asked the usual questions and received the usual answers. They offered to make me sandwiches at their house just beyond the bridge but I assured them that I had food in my bag and, after thanking them for their kindness, I set off after John. I’ve found that a bite to eat can make all the difference to one’s perception of a climb and in short order I reached the crossroads where John was waiting. This funicular frolic, by the way, was to avoid what John considered to be a hilly climb out of Leek. In fairness, Leek’s a bit of a trudge, especially on a busy night. Back on the main road now, we passed through Rudyard, where Mr and Mrs Cake so enjoyed their stay that they named their son, the soon-to-bewriter, after it. By this time, the moon was slightly shrouded and Rudyard Reservoir (Cake Lake?) was like dull pewter below us. We were making good speed, and I kept expecting at any moment to see the orange glow of Macclesfield but it seemed a long time coming. The road was excellent, although there had been an ominous clank as John went over something which I didn’t hit, or even see. When we finally dropped into Macclesfield we had about half an hour to get back to Broken Cross on the west of the town. We were just allowing ourselves to feel smug about catching all our time up after going walkabout earlier on, when it was John’s turn to puncture. It seemed that whatever he had hit earlier had done the damage. Hopefully it would be a slow puncture and we could get enough air in to get us the last couple of miles. But the remedy turned out to be slow, too, as John fought with a recalcitrant pump, or valve, or both. I suggested he take ômyö bike and ride on to get his control receipt, while I walked in. He wouldn’t hear of it and I suspect he’s never liked that Mercian, which is why he put such rubbish tyres on it. Finally, he got some air into his and we rolled into the service station with a whole quarter of an hour to spare! It had been a marvellous day out as I had known it would be. John has a great knack of discovering back roads and byways and if you are not obsessed with speed and don’t mind challenging terrain, then his rides are for you. I can’t wait to see what he’ll come up with next. ❏
Arrivée Summer 2015 • No.129
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