Way of the Roses – Day 5

Final day! And Christ on a bike were we beginning to feel it (is that a pun?). The legs and buttocks were definitely feeling punished and after walking downstairs like John Wayne for breakfast we were ready for the last day, another 50 miles or so to the east coast resort town of Bridlington. We left the pub around 10.30am giving us six and a half hours to make our train back west. Plenty of time you would think, to enjoy the last day, stop off for some lunch somewhere and finish with a leisurely ride to the sea. Wrong! Fate was to intervene and ensure a dramatic final day where I wondered whether we would make it.

The day began okay; there were a couple of decent climbs out of Pocklington and we were making good time. Until my back tyre went for the second time in three days. I felt it instantly this time as the back of my bike began to swing out like it was trying to separate from the bike. I thought it was a prudent time to stop. While we changed the inner tube we noticed a rather ominous looking tear in the tyre where the inner tube had exploded. This was rather worrying as changing the inner tube wouldn’t really be effective if a piece of glass or something else got into the tyre through this rip. There wasn’t a lot we could do, what with being in the middle of nowhere so decided to carry on and hope the cycling gods would be with us. Immediately it seemed they were not.

We consulted the phone map and discovered we were off the route by a couple of miles. Apparently a turn off a hill we were descending was not the Way of the Roses but why on the same signpost it didn’t direct us straight on is a question for the sign police. Back we went a few miles anyway to the sign and it turns out it does show you the Way of the Roses on the sign but you can only see it if you are coming from the wrong way, as we were. Almost as if it is somehow planned for us to turn off and for me to get a flat tyre, like something out of a horror movie.

I made it another 10 miles before I felt my back tyre hilariously go again. Rather than changing the entire bastard thing and having to take the wheel off we decided to use my puncture repair kit to seal the rip on the inner tube with the wheel still attached. This turned out to be a really good decision based on what would happen later.

The tyre didn’t really feel right though after that; the puncture repair did do a job but air was still coming out of the inner tube so every few miles we had to use John’s hand pump to get as much air into the tyre as we could. At least our arms were getting a good workout as well as our legs.

We were edging towards Bridlington and still had some time spare but the idea of enjoying a relaxing lunch somewhere had evaporated and the focus was on getting to Bridlington. The scenery was stunning as we edged our way towards the end and I tried to enjoy it as much as possible in between prayers to the cycling gods. There was a direct A-road to Bridlington that we could always have hopped on as well but we wanted to do the route so followed signs (where available) for the Way of the Roses and continued to zigzag across the busy road. You certainly lose all sense of direction on this part of the route though, especially as we crossed over the same railway line half a dozen times. I was starting to get dizzy.

My tyre went again with about 10 miles to go so out came the puncture repair kit and the hand pump. If we had kept on using the inner tubes this would have been the point where we would have run out and would have been, well, in short, fucked. We were still far from civilisation and any town big enough to sustain a cycle shop so without my trusty puncture repair kit (which funnily enough I had only packed because of the tyre levers the box contained) I don’t know what we would have done. Cried, probably.

With my back tyre inflated as much as possible with the hand pump we continued on to the coast and as we ascended the last big hill we saw the sea for the first time in four days. The end was in sight! The end was also in sight for the inner tube as just 3.5 miles from Bridlington my back tyre deflated. So close to the end, it just felt like my tyre was being spiteful. Time was getting tight at this point too. I pictured John and I carrying our bikes into Bridlington like the Jamaican guys carry their bobsleigh at the end of Cool Runnings; defeated but proud. We repaired the puncture yet again and set off towards Bridlington as the sun was beginning to set.

We made it to the Way of the Roses sign and asked a local to take our photo. At this point I think it was 16.35 and our train was due to leave Bridlington at 17.03. It’s important to note that also at this point, neither of us had a clue where the train station was and with my phone battery down to a magnificent 3% time was, as I’m sure you can appreciate, rather precious. So it was unfortunate that the person we asked to take our photo, as lovely as he was, could not work a camera phone. Which to be honest is much easier than a real camera. You don’t have to wind it on, you don’t have to worry about the flash, you literally just point the thing at the thing you want to take a photo of and push the screen thing where the little camera thing icon is. After five attempts we got the photo and he gave us some directions to the train station. I was grateful; I was just also aware that if we missed the train we would be stuck in Bridlington for the night.

We made it to the train station with 15 minutes to spare and starving. The first train took us from Bridlington to Seamer and after a 20 minute wait our connection was to take us from Seamer to Manchester. After boarding and tying our bikes up we asked if there was a snack trolley on the train. No luck, we had to wait until York and then maybe, just maybe, we might get a trolley boarding the train. York was about 45 minutes away so I decided to go and get changed into some normal clothes in the smallest toilet cubicle imaginable.

The ticket inspector who also made announcements on the train’s tannoy system sounded exactly like Steven Gerrard which freaked us out a bit; I suppose Gerrard has to do something to keep himself busy while he serves a three-match ban for a good old fashioned player stamp. I’m sure he was trying to pull out.

I think because we were both really hungry at this point John noticed there was a guy standing up near the train doors who was chewing his crisp really fast. Like weirdly fast, as if his crisps were somehow alive in his mouth and trying to escape. It was like watching a video stuck on fast-forward. I couldn’t look at anything else until I happened to look down into the next carriage and saw the snack trolley inching its way towards us. I think a tear actually rolled down my face at this point.

“John, it’s here”

“What?”

“It’s here, just enjoy it”

“What’s here? Jesus? Has He come back?”

“Even better, a snack trolley is merrily rolling its way down the aisle to us. It’s not just loaves and fish like Our Lord provided, this has Walkers crisps and Kit Kat Chunkys.”

“Praise the Lord”

And so it came. And we did eat. Binged in fact. It was amazing. Much like the last five days. The whole experience was tremendous, the views exhilarating, the journey rewarding. I really can’t recommend the Way of the Roses enough. Apart from the odd wayward sign the route is brilliant and a great way to see the countryside, most of which you would miss sitting in a car.

Place name of the day: Wetwang. Yep.