Tell us about your weekend ride

What an amazing experience that was, well done Yorkshire and Essex, you've done the tour proud.

Me and a mate drove up on Friday afternoon from Brentwood to Otley, 5 and a half hours in the car, not nice. M1 traffic was grim with lots of roadworks where workmen lived up to their reputation as a bunch of work shy slackers as I saw 3 diggers, 2 with drivers fast asleep, and the other was eating sandwiches. Not a stitch of work was being done.

We were up and out on the course riding from Otley at 8am as we headed out to Kidstones to watch the race. I was amazed at the number of people lining the route so early and I cannot get enough of riding on closed roads, it was great.

I have never seen so many cyclists, CS7 rush hour was nothing compared to this. By the time we got to Skipton the town was rammed and we got cheered through the town feeling like pro's. Chapeau to the farmer near Kettlewell who'd painted his flock of sheep yellow for the occassion, proper dedication. I was lumbered with carring the ruksak due to my usual overpacking style, so also had the job of carrying 4 pints of lager in those zip top carton things acquired just before Kidstones climb. I whizzed up passing riders and near the summit the crowd were cheering 'easy, easy, easy' at me, which I'll never forget. This was followed by gasps of admiration, jealousy or disappointment as I pulled out the 4 pints of lager for me and my riding buddy and set about quaffing our faux-pro thirst. This chap who cycled up with his dog in the basket recieved loads of attention.

I DAS'd a LFGSS cap wearing rider pushing his bike up, he said he'd skid on the way back down. Who was that then?

The atmosphere on the hill was fantastic. Every child and anyone struggling to cycle the climb was given roaring support like the pro's would some time later. I did'nt get a picture of him but the chap dressed in white trousers, striped top, beret and a necklace of yorkshire puddings instead of onions also deserves a mention. The whole hill doing mexican waves was also pretty special and I lol'd at the loud boo-ing of the Astanta team car as it went by.

Here's Jens and his breakaway companions

Sagan with his Ferrigno calves

and Froome on stem watch

And Haribo just because

After the race had gone by we slowly made out way back along the route along with thousands of others.We diverted to meet a friend from Wales in Silsden for a few more pints, nice descent but I was feeling the cumulative effects of the days lager and sunshine by the time we had to climb back up the bastard. All the standing around in zero reception areas killed my phone battery but we got back to Otley after about 70 miles.

Day 2 and we did'nt leave until after 10am. Planned route was scuppered immediately as I took us up East Chevin road out of Otley, instead of West Chevin Road which was harsh immediately after breakfast and no warm up. We had no proper map or garmin and now no relevent route notes, so began a day of being mostly lost. Lovely fast descent down Hollins Hill and then a dual carriageway, thanksfully nearly deserted, to Keighley, where we arrived too late to be allowed on the route. The whole area we cycled over the 2 days was amazing but this place seemed to have modelled itself on the series Shameless. We crossed the route at one point where a group of blokes drinking some vision destroyingly strong cider were yelling at the caravan 'give us some fookin stuff' and on the way back through later we witnessed domestic disputes and drunks just passed out in the road. We decided against stopping for refreshment there.

We had to try and wing our way to Hebden bridge using other routes, which was a challenge, so there was lots of stopping and asking locals, who were all very helpful. Not like being lost in France where half of all directions I've received sent me in completely the wrong direction.

This climb from Oxonhope up Denholme Road seemed a lot steeper than the GPS later claimed


By now we'd realised that every town and village was in the valley floor, getting from one to the other involved going over a bloody great hill, and that road signs at many junctions were an optional extra the local council deemed uneccessary.

My knocking, knackered headset was now causing juddering under heavy braking and I had a few moments of genuine fear descending Stocks Lane at the 32 mile mark, especially at the hairpins. My tan temporarily disappeared in a white knuckle experience that flushed through my whole body.

Thankfully we then saw a sign to Hebden Bridge and with amazing luck arrived in Mythomroyd less than 5 minutes before the peloton sped past, but did'nt get any good pics, spot the yellow jersey.

We then trundled up to Hebden Bridge, met my cousin for 2 pints and lasagne and chips at the Stubbing Wharf pub on the canal which was rather good. I had wanted to go to Cragg vale but my riding buddy begged for mercy so I obliged. I had no idea the climb back to Oxonhope from Hebden Bridge was such a whopper, at 4.5 miles long or thereabouts, so any feelings of being denied a good climb were quickly extinguished. I really got a sense of how the TDF is won in the mountains as I arrived a the summit 10 minutes ahead of my mate, and was a dick for mentioning this to him.

The descent to Oxonhope was my favourite of the day, hitting 47mph, and I vowed then to go back and ride it in the reverse direction. From Keighley we took Swine Lane up and over the top on a lovely rolling bit of road
taking in East Morton and Menston before arriving back in Otley and ordering nearly the entire menu from the Chinese takeaway.

5900 ft of climbing in 62 miles making it one of the most densely packed climbing rides I've done, it may have been one of the slowest rides ever but it was certainly up there as one of my favourites.
http://ridewithgps.com/trips/2956500

Day 3 I was up at 5.30am, the horror, to drive from Otley back to Brentwood in the hope of riding to Chelmsford to meet friends of
my riding companion for the final UK leg. Not suprisingly following our experience on the way up, the road 'works' had not been finished, I'm not sure they'd even started. More traffic delays meant it took 5 hours to get back. Upon unpacking I realised in my zombie 5am state I'd done 'a hippy' and left my cycling shoes at my cousins in Otley, there was swearing. So I borrowed some bear trap flats from my mates wife's MTB, and set off looking distinctly un-pro towards Chelmsford. Quaffed more beers, took some more woefully bad photos

then headed into Chelmsford to watch the end of the race on the big screen in the park, which in another stroke of luck
avoided any of the rain that had fallen on London.

Result. Curry for dinner and I was asleep by 9.30, possibly my earliest night since my parents had control of when I went to bed, which was over 30 years ago.

TL:DR - You may have heard, The Tour came to t'blighty, it were bloody brilliant like.

FAO my liver As soon as the World Cup finishes I'm going into detox, I promise.