14 July 2008

 

Travelling on predominantly flat areas of England I decided to check out the Peak District following several recommendations of various people who'd gotten sick and tired of hearing me bellyache about how England, though exceptionally pretty, is not hilly enough for my riding preferences.

The route would take me, in a general clockwise direction, from Macclesfield and east to Buxton, then back to Macclesfield from the southeast.

 

It was a rather still morning when I rolled out and after a short distance I was almost immediately transported into a quiet, laid-back place following beautiful, narrow roads amidst wide-open, windswept moorland checkered with classic British drystone walling enclosed within which were sheep eyeing me with dumb curiosity.

 

Oh, and I almost forgot...it was hilly.

 

Before I had travelled 15kms I had gained a whopping 500m in elevation most of it having been gained from the long climb that started in Pott Shrigley (whose intriguing name derived from the Middle English potte, "a deep hole," plus Old English scric+leah, "woodland clearing frequented by missel-thrushes") and continued a little past Charles Head. This was followed by a quick, steep and a sharp right turn then an even longer climb  up Oldgate Nick.

 

From Oldgate Nick I dropped down through a dense coniferous forest into the Goyt Valley and the Erwood Reservoir, in the process encountering a rare phenomenon of a road that stretched flatly before me. This road couldn't resist the temptation and after about 2kms turned uphill, leaving the reservoir's tributaries down the pretty canyons below.

 

The ensuing area presented arguably the most picturesque and handsomely rugged part of the ride. Here and there brisk streams babbled as morning having broken, they couldn't go about their business for the day without first getting their fill of gossip for breakfast. This remote-looking stretch with its lush vegetation, small canyons and mini-waterfalls triggered recollection of the rides around California's Sonoma/Napa Counties undertaken not too long ago.

 

You have to hand it to the English that the Peak District, a place of great beauty but little utilitarian value lodged between Manchester and Sheffield (cities that played dominant roles in England's Industrial Revolution) was spared ravaging in spite of what must have been great demand for fuel and other resources. They showed remarkable foresight (or at least great restraint) in protecting this lush area and although there was quarrying, lead and copper mining, the exploitation could have been much worse. In 1951, the Peak District became Britain's first national park.

 

A much steeper road took over from the previous pleasant rolling stretch, this one going up with fierce determination as if trying to make

 

the last call to the Cat & Fiddle Inn. This was one of those climbs where you can see how much higher you have to go; in this case, the fast-moving cars on the crossroad up ahead looked very tiny, while the climb ahead had no signs of letting up. Upon reaching the summit and before I could catch my next breath I started accelerating on a screaming descent down towards Wildboarclough. Here, the road levelled off a little before hitting an incline of at least 15% and rarely, if ever, dipping less than that.

 

The ensuing descent deposited me at Sutton Lane Ends where I turned the bike around and negotiated the 5km steady uphill followed by an equally steep plunge down the River Dane, followed by a long, steady climb up to the enigmatically monikered village of Flash (which claims to be the highest village in England). Flash was followed by two successive 12%+ hills at Gamball's Green, the first of which I conquered thanks in no small part to a particularly vocal (and may I add, ugly) canine's impressive display of fangs and barking ability; the second I barely got over only because a particularly lovable car driver was breathing down my neck as I inched my way up.

 

 

Crossing Staffordshire into Derbyshire, I reached Buxton after a few more uneventful miles.

 

Buxton is a handsome town with Roman footprints all over it. A sense of deja vu overwhelmed me, reinforced by the Georgian buildings, the spa waters, and a crescent: Bath Lite is what it was. There was a lot to see in Buxton, but after a short break and a cursory tour of the place it was time to move on.

 

Heading southeast out of Buxton was an opportunity to use my 53 x 14 for an extended stretch. After a singularly ugly climb out of Brierlow Bar the landscape reverted from rural to rugged, climbing in and out of deep canyons presumably carved by the network of rivers in the area.

 

Entering the final phase of my route I headed for what looked like, on paper at least, a straight shot across to where the day began. But the chosen road was a mocking procession of at least 5 hills of equal length and steepness. Not too steep, mind you, just pesky. Soon I was back in the River Dane area at Greens and into Cheshire. It was deja vu all over again as I climbed up a 10% hill I enjoyed descending several hours ago. The

 

flashback-in-reverse continued on the run back to Macclesfield. I next climbed a long, steep stretch between Allgreave and Brooms. But all good things come to an end and I darted out into the straight road to Sutton, from where I practically freewheeled back to Macclesfield. WHEW!!!

 

 

The secret to riding in the Peak District and its steady diet of short and steep climbs is recovery. The hills come fast and furious that one's legs only has the ensuing short descent to get ready for the next burst of effort. The hills are not very protracted; the peaks themselves top out at 400m-500m and the roads carved into them a couple of hundred metres lower, thus a climb would rarely gain altitude in excess of 200m-300m. But grades of 10%, 12%, and even 15% were very common, putting a premium on leg strength.

 

Out of the Peak District I came across this most English example of the late Victorian era; a gate in the shape of a Penny Farthing.