North Yorkshire Bagging

Osmotherley show fell race

Last month I sacrificed Borrowdale (which is one of my favourite races of the year) so that I could tick-off and bag Osmotherley Show....here’s how it went.

On route we decided to go via Thirsk, not realising the horse racing was on. Fortunately this didn’t cause us much of a problem, if anything it was quite an eye opener indulging in some people watching as we crawled through the horse race going public who are dressed to the nines. Now don’t get me wrong I’m no Gok Wan where fashion is concerned, if truth be told if it’s not from Fatface, a race t-shirt or a rock band tour t-shirt I’d be walking around in my birthday suit.....but what’s going on with mens fashion?

I’m sorry but skin tight trousers or jeans that finish above the ankle accompanied with slip-on shoes, minus socks, is quite frankly ridiculous. I wanna shoutout to the hipsters, “eh up lads put some jam on your shoes and invite your pants down for tea”. I decide to air on the side of caution and keep my comments inside the van, these lads may be harder than they actually look. Alison thinks she’s being funny when she announces, “well that’s your birthday present sorted, rolled up jeans and slip-on shoes”.

One hapless victim of fashion is sat on a wall nursing a heel blister...oh for the grace of socks. It’s also noticeable that tight fitted shirts are all the rage, regardless of body shape. I tell Alison I’ll remain unfashionable but comfortable, she agrees and informs me that I’m the least fashionable person she knows ...I take this as a compliment, happy in my socks, Led Zeppelin t-shirt and bootcut jeans.

The delightfully named North Yorkshire village of Osmotherley is not what it seems, there in the name lies a tragic story.

The origin of the name Osmotherley is enough to bring a tear to the eye. Legend has it that a female villager went out to gather firewood in winter. When she didn’t return her son Oswald went out to look for his mother and when he eventually found her she was lying in the snow dying from the cold. Oswald wasn’t able to carry his mother and lay down beside her. They both died huddled together and the spot they lay became known as...Oswald’s mother lies...hence Osmotherley.

Apparently most place names have an origin....I’ll not dwell on the origin of the Cumbrian market town of Cockermouth.

Osmotherley Fell race is part of a sizeable country show of which I’m drawn to the craft tent where local children have created creatures out of vegetables. I’m particularly impressed with a marrow and lettuce creation that resembles a large snail, but the potato covered in cocktail sticks is a poor example of a hedgehog.

It’s always nice to see local fell running stalwart of these part Bob Lillie, I didn’t realise Bob was a retired butcher until we had a lengthy chat. I then start to think if Bob’s a butcher would there be a baker and a candlestick maker in attendance. There’s a good possibility of there being a baker but there can’t be many candlestick makers this day and age. Then I remembered I was in Yorkshire and I’m pretty sure parts of Yorkshire are still without electricity and live by candlelight.

The race goes straight out of the show field and heads towards Thimbleby Hall and its private grounds. Race day is the only time the grounds are open to the public and once through the grounds we’re on tracks and open moorland. It’s an extremely well marked course which leads onto a section of the Cleveland Way where views of Teesside can be had off into the distance. A fast descent through fields leads back to a show field finish.

Many thanks to all involved.

Fryup Frazzler

The fell running scene in North Yorkshire is awash with an array of quirky named races. The late great Dave Parry was no doubt the instigator of many of these races where word play comes to the fore and it’s pleasing to see Dave’s tradition continuing in this enchanting part of the country.

The amusingly named Fryup Frazzler is a new race and once again the good people of North Yorkshire are doing Dave proud by adding it to the already popular Dave Parry Fell Race Series.

Cycle Hub cafe is used as the venue for the race. It’s situated in a lovely remote location hidden deep within the North York moors and acts as a bike hire business and accommodation where breakfast is served from the cafe. The facilities are fantastic: spotless showers, toilets and the cafe serves brilliant food. It’s one of the best venues I’ve done a fell race from....I feel spoilt. I’m all for getting changed in the back of my car in the middle of nowhere but it’s nice to have a little luxury now and again. Alison tells me to go mad and try running a comb through my hair....I tell her you can have too much of a good thing.

Would the race match up to its venue headquarters?

Within this ‘race report’ any references to a fry-up are completely coincidental...honest!!!!

From the off Harry Holmes is giving it some beans as he streaks away leaving the rest of the field for toast. I can’t butter this up and make out Harry had any serious competition, he didn’t, he went on to have a very comfortable win. It’s down to the rest of us to race amongst ourselves and my legs are feeling the after effects of yesterday’s English champs race as I resort to giving them a slap in a vain attempt to egg them on. It’s not working, I feel like I’m running through porridge...over the rock hard dry ground.

On the first climb I’m struggling to ketchup with the pack of runners behind Harry and feel like I’m running on empty with no juice in the tank. On the open moor the path narrows thus not giving mushroom to get past fellow runners as I find myself in a jam. I decide to make my move and leave the well trodden path for rough undergrowth and hope I don’t make a hash of it and end up with egg on my face. My bold move works as I start to work my way through the field. The first descent of the race nearly has me going over but my bacon is saved by my choice of relatively new footwear and the bonus of good grip.

Given the the time of year the ferns are at head height in places as we scrambled through them. Most runners took the option of vest only, which proves to be the correct choice as the sun comes out during the race and I feel like I’m frying up. I’d not hydrated sufficiently before the race and my fingers are starting to resemble sausages. My face is no doubt as red as a tomato as I find myself running hard in a battle for 2nd place.

On the final descent I’m just in front of local runner Paul Butler as we’re both hurtling down what resembles a mountain bike track complete with sweeping banks that are a joy to encounter. It’s all or nothing for 2nd spot and as they say, you can’t make an omelette without breaking any eggs as I hurdled a large rock near the finish line to claim 2nd.

Great venue and race that go together like bacon and eggs.

Many thanks to Dave, Bob and all involved.