In my deluded road running days I never ran more than 2000 miles in one year. That delivered a 36 min 10K, sub 60 min 10 miles, a 1.20 half marathon and a 2.50 marathon - which for a V40 was good enough for me before I discovered fell running.
And although on my bike I have ridden 3800 miles in a year - it's all a bit unnecessary to retain my svelte figure and teenage physique. So now a total mileage approaching 3000 miles/year is enough and passing 2500 miles by mid October is worthy of a special ride.
I decided to ride to Darley which is a sprawly dormitory of Harrogate and which nestles under the radomes of RAF Menwith Hill. This is the early warning system allowing us to sleep easy in our beds safe from Russian nuclear warheads. It has worked so far.
So why Darley? It was where I ran my first road race in 1984 - a half marathon. No parkruns to scale up from in those days. I think I finished in 1.40+ but I knew, because it was very hilly, I could do much better.
The route from Ilkley to Darley is along the A59 Skipton-Harrogate road, beloved of HGVs and other never ending traffic. It is now closed at Blubberhouses for two months to start preliminary work on bypassing the several miles that Yorkshire Highways once constructed on the side of an unstable hill which has been collapsing into the valley since time began. The road has been closed many times before to allow piece meal remedial work to be carried out until finally the government agreed to pay for a proper new bypass. This will follow the line of the footpath/bridleway that has probably existed for a thousand years but since my civil engineering didn't advance much beyond designing concrete columns and beams who am I to raise an eyebrow?
Naturally cyclists don't recognise Road Closed signs so up the A59 from Bolton Bridge I pootled. Utter silence apart from the hissing of my smooth tread 25mm tyres on the tarmac.
Eventually I encountered a security guard with cones and signs who informed me that nobody was allowed beyond her barrier. I replied with a smile that I was heading for West End (a sunken village now beneath a reservoir) and sped away as she grasped her radio to alert her colleagues up the road to fire up the JCBs.
But my local knowledge of side roads to West End defeated the oncoming yellow wall of steel (the reference here is to the 1971 film Vanishing Point) in which Barry Newman drives a Dodge Challenger at full speed into a wall of yellow Chase diggers. Barry dies.).
So having encircled the JCBs heading west and on my way home north via Blubberhouses I encountered two young mountain bikers with rear cogs the size of dinner plates heaving themselves up a hill - signed as 14% but I suspect steeper. What could I do but apologise and dancing on my pedals surge past them leaving them muttering "Wow! Look at him. And he must be at least 40!". Now I admit this does not often happen but passing 2500 miles had just given me wings.
I just wish I could reach 2500 miles everyday.
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