Tour of Pendle Fell Race

I’m quite sentimental where Tour of Pendle is concerned as it was my first AL category fell race. Over the years I think it’s fair to say it’s become my favourite race, which is surprising given its close proximity to Burnley.

Men are from Mars, Women are from Venus: is the bestseller by American author John Gray. The book sets out to give practical guidance aimed at improving relationships. No doubt Mr Gray toiled away incessantly whilst researching material for his book...but I bet he never visited Burnley. For no amount of research in human behaviour can prepare you for an encounter with the inhabitants of this market town in Lancashire. They really are a breed of their own...god knows what planet they’re from?

My earliest memories of Burnley aren’t pleasant: Burnley folk please lay down your pitchforks and torches there’s no need to lay siege on Chorley...I’ll explain my Burnley disdain.

Pendle Hill was somewhere I’d always wanted to visit as a child. I was fascinated with the mystical nature of the area and even now to this day on Halloween large numbers of visitors will trudge up Pendle due to its links with the Pendle witch trials.

I’d have been about 11 when I had my first visit to Pendle. There was a lad on our street called Tim, but his mum insisted you called him Timothy...”is Tim playing out?”...”there’s no one goes by that name here, do you not mean Timothy?”. I always felt sorry for Tim because his parents would, figuratively speaking, wrap him up in cotton wool. My first experience of Pendle Hill was an ill-fated Halloween night with Tim and his parents.

It was at the eleventh hour when I’d got my invite to accompany Tim for the Halloween experience up Pendle. With no Jack-o-lantern already carved out I had to get a move on...typically the only root vegetables we had at home were potatoes. With time against me my lantern was destined to be poor and it was. To accommodate my puny spud I’d cut down a candle with a bread knife. The adhesive qualities of ‘shit to a blanket’ are substandard compared to the adherence of wax to the serrated edge of a bread knife. My mum had a dicky-fit when she witnessed my cutlery wax clogging handy work.

Shortly after arriving in Barley, Tim’s parents nipped of to get a brew from a catering van. Before we know it, me and Tim had been surrounded by four older lads who had taken an exception to my lantern. So much so, one of them kicked it out of my hand. Tim ran off as there was no way his exquisitely carved turnip was receiving the same treatment as my crudely carved spud. Just to make sure my spud wasn’t going to lower the tone (who’d have thought there’d be root vegetable snobbery?) another lad crushed it under his wellington boot. The spud crusher was wearing a bob hat with the words Burnley F.C embroidered across the front. That was my first Burnley based encounter...I did retrieve my candle from the crushed wreckage, there’s always next year.

Years later I went to Burnley as an away football fan following Man City. It was a hostile environment in and around Burnley’s Turf Moor ground. We ran the gauntlet outside and thankfully the segregation inside was good but it didn’t prevent coins and pies having to be dodged. After the game with got back to the car in one piece, unfortunately my mates pride and joy, his VW Scirocco, wasn’t so lucky...it had been relieved of a drivers side front wheel. I was starting to take a disliking to Burnley...my mate kept muttering something about Dingles.

For the next visit to Turf Moor we’d opted to go on a football coach. All the coaches were assembled by a motorway bridge then escorted to the ground by the police...blimey! Welcome to Burnley. Outside the ground whilst queuing up I was punched in the face by a lad who’d ran from between the parked up coaches and was gone as quick as you like. I informed a policeman who said “wait until after the game, that’s when it gets proper lively”. I decided this was my last trip to Burnley.

Time is a great healer...along with tinned soup and George Michael.

There was an apprentice at work who completely won me over on his first day. He’d brought into work 5 tins of soup, all of a different variety. He then peeled off the labels from all the tins, placed the labels in the bin and the tins in his locker. I was intrigued and asked the reason behind the label removal. He said “it’s called soup surprise and until I open the tin I don’t know what I’m having for lunch”...I thought his food anticipation was genius. Then I found out he was from Burnley but I couldn’t hold it against him because my first impression of him was good.

I’d love to try soup surprise at home but take it to another level and remove the labels off every tin in the kitchen cupboards...tin surprise. I can see Alison’s face now when tin surprise doesn’t go to plan as I serve up rice pudding on toast followed by chopped tomatoes for desert. I’ve never had the bottle to give it a try.

Another Burnley good un was encountered in the form of an Elvis wannabe. Dave was a cleaner at work who had the slicked back hair and big sideburns. He’d try and talk like ‘the king’ with the lip-curl followed by the “thank you very much” catchphrase. I’d call him Elvis but most of the lads called him “a f**king idiot”. One day Elvis said to me “I know you like that head banging shit but have you heard the new George Michael LP?”.
Elvis wasn’t surprised when I’d said that I hadn’t heard it and I’d no intention of hearing it. He told me I don’t know what I’m missing, it’s silky-smooth and the ladies love it...”whatever Elvis, you’re over 50 and still live with your parents, the ladies can’t love it that much...silky-smooth or not”. Whenever I hear George Michael I think of Elvis being told by his elders to turn down the silky-smooth tones he’s playing in a bid to wow a lady...Elvis, was from Burnley and I thought he was brilliant.

When Fellrunning entered my life it made me realise that not everyone from Burnley were spud crushing, wheel stealing, face punching Knobheads...admittedly soup surprise apprentice and Elvis the cleaner had helped pave the way towards Burnley acceptance.

Tour of Pendle is near Burnley and it’s brilliant...what more can I say?

Many thanks to Kieran and all his helpers. Dave Tait marshalling below Big End is THE iconic marshalling point in Fellrunning: sweets, biscuits and bells. Every year I look forward to giving Dave’s bell a gentle shake...and long may it continue.

In the pub after the race presentation I’m enjoying the company of Emma and Sam Watson. Emma was out supporting Sam during the race and she said when Sam was climbing up Big End a random bloke announced “that the ginger lad would be faster if he lost some weight”. Sam is sat between myself and Emma, I asked Emma if Sam needs to lose some weight? She said he’s big boned and all muscle...we then look at Sam and give him a big hug, it felt good...Sam’s a Burnley season ticket holder and I think he’s beltin...Burnley folk, my kinda people.