yes ... a belated report from the vanguard ...

once we'd sorted the Pete's from the chavs up heptonstall hill (ie pottered on leaving the rest), and been cheered on by my dog and its hung over owner, we took it in turns to make sure binman did not get back on the back, especially the young VS turk Alex, who was especially anxious that the supervisor did his supervising from way back, without in fact having sight over anything (a bit like the bin job itself I suppose) ...

we spilled off the long causeway, through the back streets of Burnley and before we really thought about where we were there came the nick of pendle, and we had to then chase down a couple of riders who knew not that the Sage ... the condor himself ... had decreed that if you want to ride strong you stay together ... we finally caught them in town, a bit lost they were ....

the cold cafe at Waddington was not cold enough to stop, so on we tilted over Newton Fell - John was enjoying this part especially, something to get stuck into finally, not like those easy races where it's all hiding in one another bum stream before popping out at the last minute and heaving all over one's top tube like a bull over a heifer in order to say how close you had been, if only ....

on the back roads beyond Newton I punctured, and whilst some did yet another Pete and left to get to the cafe in Slaidburn, others stayed loyal to the collective ethic (not the condor himself though, he must have moved onto a different maxim by then) and helped me out with pump and chat .. Slaidburn found three rather keen to go on, and the VS- Condor contingent happy to linger, with an admixture of tea, jelly beans and bacon rolls for company, and some rain .... back on the bikes ready for the spin back and LO Alex had done slightly over fifty miles and o blew, well exploded is a better term really ... Andy-cum-Eric and John had n'er seen the like and we had to explain (we had gone through the same with young Johnny a few years back in Condor) that it seems some young'uns can go real well up to fifty, then it gets past the cycling watershed, and they should be tucked up at home, otherwise home becomes this very distant thing that only vaguely makes sense, a bit like Dorothy in Oz, home is somewhere else ... so that was that, and like proper team mates Andy-cum-Eric (because it sounds better) and John nursed him steadily back by showing him gels, much like you might encourage a reluctant sheep up a hillside with handfuls of hay. The condor, myself and Graeme (soon to be a Condor, though perhaps too fit, not sure yet) stayed with them as long as was socially respectable, and long enough to witness the steady gaze of a behemoth of a lady resting on a wall, licking an ice cream and lusting after John - I am sure it was John she wanted, he seemed the most suitable as a prospective beau (one can only imagine what binman would have made of the sight, I really do dread to think) - then we took off from the VS trio in a compensating burst of speed that lasted well over five hundred yards before settling into a medium-fast pace training ride kind of feel, blown onwards by the hastening prospect of rice pudding ... we waited long enough at the finish to eat our way through many helpings (along with crisps), and to witness to the arrival of Alex who evidently had not said a word since leaving Slaidburn, and continued to remain mute, conserving energy taken to new heights ...

another grand day out thanks to the organization of Mr Crossland for which many thanks