Day -310 : The Plan
PrH commandeers MrL's northern outpost for another foray in the saddle.
I can’t say any consent was granted, but by the end of the day, the destination had been agreed upon and the route planned.
Day – 35 : AI Summary of Planned Proceedings
Attached. TBH it would be much easier if ChatGPT just reviewed our previous tours so it could plan, execute and document all future tours, with full text, snaps, video, Truth Social posts, etc.
It would save so much time, effort and money, plus I could save a load of space in the garage by eBaying my bike and sundry kit.
In fact, I’m monetising the whole thing by offering digital membership of the amoeba, letting you join the tour as your own avatar in virtual real-time via a 3-D headset or Peloton setup.
For the general public, there will be “The Tour – Amoeba Voyage”, the immersive experience for all, held in an annoyingly inaccessible arena in the East End of London.
I’m off now to mint some bobcoin to pay for the development.
Day 0 : Harrogate
I’ll save the monologue on getting a bike to the continent for another day.
Today, however, I just got on my bike outside the front door, and I was on my way.
Immediate liberation!
Three short cycles and two trains later, I was at my destination in Harrogate, having enjoyed watching my “race” with Prh and DrH unfold by phone.
As one would expect, the tour’s head required wetting.
So a most pleasant evening was spent dining out at Lilypad, where we were joined by the late PrG,
and then retiring to the pub.
An actual quiet, "quiet night", but wonderful all the same.
Day 1 : Hemsley
A leisurely breakfast preceded our repeat of last year's Grand Départ along the Nidderdale Greenway to Ripley.
But from there it was time to turn east and away from the dales into the gently undulating green and agricultural land of the Vale of York.
Minskip provided the same entertainment as last year,
and midway to Boroughbridge we stopped for morning coffee and a team photo op.
More very pleasant winding cross country brought us to the the Greyhound at Bagby, where lunch was planned before our short, sharp shock of a hill at Sutton bank would see off the day’s cycling prior to a leisurely downhill into Helmsley.
Cursory research had shown this would be very similar to the Col de Lofthouse afternoon, the previous year – diagram for comparison.
Lunch went to plan at the Greyhound at Bagby and we reached the bottom of Sutton bank without any problem either.
The road sign did come as a bit of a surprise, but that said, we had tackled similar in the Dales (viz. Masham '24) and elsewhere previously.
That was where the similarity ended.
What we failed to remember was that on previous occasions, we more or less had the road to ourselves, so if the going gets tough, the tough start zig-zagging up the road to reduce the gradient.
Hmm, not what happens when every man and his coach, tanker, trailer and caravan are competing for space on a distinctly ungenerous A-road.
Confined to the gutter, only MrL made it to the top without a number of stops and periods of wheeling to the next bit of road that represented a chance to remount and live.
Not much fun and no time for a photo, but I have a picture in my mind of PrH cycling in the middle of the lane and being overtaken by an impatient idiot driving a Chelsea tractor, towing a large trailer straight into the path of an oncoming truck.
Well, the truck just had to slam the brakes on, whilst Mr Chelsea forced back onto his own side of the road, deliberately cutting across PrH.
Still, we all made it to the top, “all’s well that ends well”, or any other trite aphorism you wish to insert.
Back on plan, the road down via the soft, wooded Ryedale into Helmsley was just what the doctor ordered and, reassuringly, provided the opportunity to ignore the twin historic landmarks of Rievaulx Abbey and Helmsley Castle, box ticked!
Upon arrival, we checked in at the Black Swan, a fine-looking inn at the head of the marketplace.
As ever, our first job upon checking in was to store our bikes, but instead of the usual meeting room or luggage store, our bikes were parked in the inn’s gun room.
This was still beautifully fitted out with shelves and locking gun cabinets (late Victorian or Edwardian?), evoking an age when sportswear summoned images of tweed deerstalkers, not sweaty cycle helmets.
We returned to the 21st century and our rooms for a spruce up.
A cursory wander around the town centre confirmed it was another charming Yorkshire market town.
This led to the inevitable refreshment break and then dinner back at the Black Swan, with the equally inevitable pie and beer providing a fitting end to the day.
Bed, if not sleep, followed.
Day 2 : Harrogate
A fitting start to the day was provided by a full cooked breakfast also at the Black Swan – all part of the comfort of the prologue routine, but a treat nonetheless.
After the joys of Sutton Bank the previous day, we took the easy way out of Helmsley and headed south before turning west for home and bypassing the modern abbeys of Ampleforth and Stanbrook, before chancing upon an original - Byland.
Another 1960s album cover photo shoot and we were off, making good time over the easy contours, not even considering a break at yet another great Yorkshire market town – Easingwold.
A similarly unexpected but welcome find was the Aldward Toll Bridge, free to cylists,...
...before completing our trundle into Great Ouseburn at noon, by which time we had broken the back of our ride.
The Ouseburn Village Store only provided a hint of what lay behind, but their covert café provided the light lunch and the bit of modern architecture we all craved.
We were ably navigated the short distance home through Boroughbridge and Knaresborough by our local guide, MrL.
He even planned a crafty stop off at the local KIA garage, where we could acquaint ourselves with the specifications of their popular “Sportage” crossover model.
Safely back at base, those still contributing to society had to pack up and make their weary way home, ready for the working day to follow.
For the retired, the evening was enjoyably spent back at the Devonshire Tap House, incorporating participation in their quiz night, but no photos.
This included the highlight name-the-tune-and-artist round, which, in the absence of the pub sound system and a swanee whistle, had the quizmaster play the aforementioned tunes on a kazoo.
Comedy gold, culminating in his rendition of Darude’s Sandstorm.
Day 3 : Home
Having avoided a rushed end-of-break drive home, this felt more like living.
Nothing more than a civilised meander, via a local sandwich emporium, to the station for PrH and I.
We hopped into a carriage, parked our bikes, sat back and enjoyed our swift, direct returns to Stevenage and King’s Cross respectively.
Not a bus replacement service in sight, the only mild concern was the deteriorating weather.
Hey.
Post Tour
A number of thoughts crossed my mind for inclusion in this postscript, but as they address broader themes of my life on tour, they have been "saved" for somewhere else.
That said, you're not quite out of the woods yet.
Just a couple of weeks ago, I listened to the early Black Sabbath albums. Why? They encapsulate and define the beginnings of heavy metal and set much of its direction for decades to come.
Not only are they interesting from a historical point of view, but they're worth a second listening to.
Now, despite my affection for the genre, I am as aware of the attendant clichés, as the next man - viz. Spinal Tap, or better still, Bad News.
And it was with these clichés resting in recent memory that I was editing the images from this tour, one of which sparked an immediate connection.
So her here is my "tribute" to the early HM album cover.
Thank you for your attention,
Bob, April 2026.