United Kingdom 2015
  
 

Day 05

September 19

  
   
  Today is the group rideout and I will get to complete the last of my ride objectives - to visit Beggarman Road. But first things first, so we head back to the pub from last night for a bit of breakfast refreshment.  
   
 

We get there right at opening time (or perhaps a little before), and stand patiently waiting for someone to acknowledge our presence. Finally a man, who appears to be the manager, shows up and says -

"The kitchen is broke. We can't cook anything this morning."

It seems as if we are an interruption to him instead of potential customers. I guess the stress of things going amiss has sort of poisoned his day already.

  
   
  It would have been nice if someone had told us this when we arrived, but no breakfast is no breakfast so it's back to the hotel to hit their buffet again.  
   
  There is a lovely canal I spot on the way back that I didn't see last night, so the trip is not wasted. Besides, I need the exercise anyway.  
   
  We attack the buffet with great vigor and soon reduce it to emptiness.  
   
  And of course, I do my best to hold up my end of the work in the beginning ...  
   
  and the end.  
   
  It is quite a gathering of bikes for today's rideout, well over twenty machines.  
   
  Peter does his usual great job of explaining the riding method - which I have plagiarized and imported into the States. We call it the "Drop and Sweep" back home and it is one of the most effective and safe methods of group riding in existence. Peter will be leading and Gareth will be the sweep or 'tail gunner Charlie' as they call them over here.  
   
  Soon we are off and on the road.  
   
  The great thing thing about this riding plan is it works well in crowded city conditions ..  
   
  as well as out in the sticks. No one has to ride beyond their abilities or worry about keeping up with the rider in front of them.  
   
  The hillside is lovely and the stone walls divide it up like a patchwork quilt. As I see more and more of these stone walls, I have to wonder how many people and how many years were invested as the walls go on as far as the eye can see.  
   
  There are some pretty serious escarpments that remind a lot of the Cumberland Plateau back in Tennessee.  
   
  Sometimes the 'passing' can be a little tight depending on the oncoming vehicle. But the British drivers are a lot better at sharing the road and determining right of way than anything I've experienced back in the States.  
   
  Many grades over here are far steeper than anything at home, but I reckon they figure you need to just put on your big boy britches and deal with it.  
   
  The weather is great and I really enjoy the run out through the countryside.  
   
  As we pass through Horton in Ribblesdale, I spot a lovely old church that almost looks like a fortress. It reminds me of the old Martin Luther hymn 'A Mighty Fortress Is Our God'.  
   
  After the past few days of sorting out my own way, it is a real pleasure just to sit back and ride with no thought of where we are going. Usually back home, I don't get this opportunity often as I am usually leading or riding sweep.  
   
  In the distance, I see the amazing bridge structure where we are heading.  
   
 

The story is -

The Ribblehead Viaduct is 440 yards (400 m) long, and 104 feet (32 m) above the valley floor at its highest point. It is made up of twenty-four arches of 45 feet (14 m) span, with foundations 25 feet (7.6 m) deep. The north end of the viaduct is 13 feet (4.0 m) higher in elevation than the south end. 1.5 million bricks were used in the construction and some of the limestone blocks weighed 8 tons each.

  
   
  It was built in the early 1870s by a thousand men who constructed nearby shanty towns for housing as the project lasted 4 years from start to finish.  
   
  The brick work of the 24 arches really makes me wonder just how they were able to get it done working at heights greater than 100 feet.  
   
  There had been talk of closing the viaduct, but the protests were loud and long. So there was some refurbishment done in 1991 and a monument placed to commemorate it. It is still in service, as I hear a train rumbling across it as we take a short break.  
   
  But Peter has to keep us rolling along if we are to get back at a reasonable hour, so we mount up and head back out to the road.  
   
  I manage to get one more shot of it as we leave River Ribble Valley in North Yorkshire.  
   
  The next stop is near Kirby Lonsdale at a spot that seems to be a real bike mecca.  
   
 

The attraction, beside the ice cream shop and snack shops, seems to be the bridge across the River Lune. It is know as the 'Devil's Bridge' and here is the story -

Many years ago, before there was a bridge in Kirkby Lonsdale, an old woman lived on the banks of the Lune and kept a few animals. One night her cow strayed across to the other side of the river and would not come back. In response to her predicament, the Devil appeared and promised to build a bridge by morning in exchange for a soul, the first to cross the bridge, thinking that it would be the woman herself. By morning the bridge was complete and the old woman agreed to fulfill her part of the bargain. She delved into her bag and threw a bun across the bridge, whereupon her small dog ran over to retrieve it. The devil, in a fit of rage at being thwarted, howled in anger and vanished leaving behind a smell of burning brimstone (sulphur).

Of course the devil that I know a little about would never build a bridge that I would trust to cross, regardless of the cost. He only deals in disruption, destruction, sorrow and death.

 
   
  There is also a lovely companion bridge called the Stanley Bridge about 500 feet down the river.  
   
  On one end of the bridge, there is this curious sign. Evidently there has been a history of folks jumping off the bridge into the deep pools below and the local constabulary wished to stop it. However, we all wonder what constitutes a 'reasonable excuse' for jumping ...  
   
  Maybe if it is a really hot day and the water is really cool. Hmmm ...  
   
  But we've got places to go and things to see, so we leave our cogitations on the matter for another day.  
   
  I have to admire the road builders over here that do not deem it necessary to destroy every thing near the road right of way like they do in the States. They just pave around it and figure you should be paying attention when driving and deal with it.  
   
  As we make our way through the narrow streets, we are greeted by the local town crier. I guess he is wearing the 'high viz' of his profession.  
   
  Soon we are back out in the country and negotiating between the well kept hedgerows.  
   
  When I look out from here, I think how easy this could be a scene from the hills of Tennessee.  
   
  Some of the riding we are doing is through what I call 'open range', so you have to beware of the cattleguards. They can put you on the ground if you are not paying attention - especially if they are wet.  
   
  I start to lag back a little bit so I can take full advantage of the upcoming twisties.  
   
  Our next stop is at the Tan Hill Inn, built in the 1600s.  
   
  It is the highest inn in the UK at 1,732 feet altitude. It gets its name from the Tan Hill coal seam and was once surrounded by miners' cottages which were demolished in the 1930s after the coal mining shut down. It's a great place to get a snack or a meal and take a rest.  
   
  But soon we have to get rolling again, so it's off down the hill to our next stop - Beggarman's Road.  
   
  It's a great ride and I again let a little space happen between me and the rider in front so I can stretch Silver Queen's legs out a bit.  
   
  One thing you get used to over here are the single tracks. And sometimes they include a little jaunt across slick cobblestones. It's sure not the place to be quick on the throttle or hard on the brakes.  
   
  The weather is just wonderful today, so I am really enjoying the ride and the beautiful vistas to be seen.  
   
  There's an occasional dark cloud, but nothing really be be concerned about. The cool temps it brings are mighty fine in my book.  
   
  Once again, other than riding on the proper side of the road, I could be back home in the hills of Tennessee ...  
   
  except when we come into some of the small villages.  
   
  And this road brings to mind the words 'a cow path' but I'd hate to meet a well fattened cow on it.  
   
  Soon we arrive at our next destination - Beggarman Road.  
   
  Mike White started the tradition of stopping here and taking pictures of the bikes. We have come to set a new 'record' of how many bikes can be stacked here.  
   
  With the photo op done, we mount our trusty steeds and ride on over the hill.  
   
  We are headed to the village of Grassington, where they just happened to be doing a W.W.II memorial day.  
   
  There are lots of people dressed in period clothes and uniforms of the area and no shortage of W.W.II era vehicles.  
   
  But the main purpose of the visit is much more important as we stop at the local master butcher shop. It's only been open since 1876 but I'm pretty sure they know what they are doing for such a new establishment.  
   
  The real object of our affection are their fresh pork pies. Gareth introduced me to them back on one of my earlier trips over and they are really tasty. These are some of the best I've ever had, so when I devour my first one I walk back over and get another one for later. I wish someone in the States could replicate them, but then I would be in deep trouble - financially and waistline wise.  
   
  In the strength of that meat and pie, we waddle back to our trusty mounts and head back to the motel in Bradford.  
   
  Since the pub sort of left us hanging this morning, the consensus is to take our business elsewhere. There is a pub right next door, so we give it a whirl.  
   
  As I look over the menu, I know I don't need another big helping of red meat. I finally spy something that pushes my button - fried chicken. I ain't expecting Colonel Sanders by any means, but I figure I'll try it.  
   
  It's actually quite good if an empty plate and gnawed chicken bones are any indication. And I have the privilege of sitting with Cammy and Miss Nancy, who are absolutely delightful company. They also ride a proper machine like me - the ST1100.  
   
  Since I've got to head back to London in the morning, I try to get as many good-byes done as I can. It's been a great trip and the look of surprise on most of my Brit friends when I showed up unannounced was well worth it. But now it's time to get packed up and ready to roll in the morning. I wish them all well and head back to my room with a full stomach, a full heart and a tired body.