Holme Moss Revisted

I needed to meet No.1 son off the plane at Manchester Airport this morning so it made sense to cycle over there to get a ride in - to make up for what is likely to be otherwise a barren week. I was planning to leave at 5.30am but somehow that didn't happen, and in the end, after one false start (forgetting my bum-bag with some key essentials), I didn't set off until a bit after 6am. I think I must have been half asleep because I suddenly realised that I was going to have to ride a bit damn quick to make his 9.20am arrival time. Climbing up the hill out of Cottingley, down to Thornton, and then all the way up to Queensbury, I chose a great route to Brighouse, avoiding Bradford completely, but it was hard work. Perhaps it was simply down to the very early start, or that I was pushing the pace, but I didn't seem to have any power in the legs at all. Nevertheless, I made good time to Huddersfield, only to have great trouble finding the road on from there to Holmfirth.

It really annoys me that signposting is so bad in towns. If you want to find the nearest motorway or city there is no problem, but if you want to find a nearby small town it can be hopelessly difficult. I found myself heading out on the wrong road, having to turn back and resort to asking a few locals, who were no help at all, before eventually finding a road which I recognised from a few weeks back. It was a relief to be heading away from the town and into the hills, and rather exciting to catch a glimpse of the TV mast on the top of Holme Moss. It was a long way up! I had lucked out yet again with the weather. It was cool, but dry and windless, a wonderful change after all the wind and torrential showers of the last few days. From the top it felt like it would be all downhill to Manchester, but I only had an hour before the flight was due to land. I really didn't want him to be standing at the arrivals gate wondering where I was.

So, short on time, I made the decision to avoid the scenic route through Glossop and Hayfield and take a more direct line. I'm not sure how wise this was because I really hadn't accounted for the heaviness of the traffic, which was hard to fight through - and the endless sequence of traffic lights. Again, the signposting was far more geared to getting people on to the motorways, but although - having now looked at the map in detail - I didn't take the optimal route, I managed at least to avoid making any bad mistakes. I took in the delights of Hyde, Stockport and Cheadle, before picking up the road to the airport. The best clue to the direction I needed was the planes themselves, which were coming in ever closer over my head! I eventually got to the airport half an hour after the scheduled landing time at 9.50am. My lad was there already. I was very relieved to be told that he'd just walked through the gate 30 seconds before! What timing. If it wasn't for the bizarre signposting for cyclists at the terminal, which seemed to direct me into the dead-end of a loading bay, I would have been there on time.

It was good to have the train ride home to talk about his trip to Peru, although we both felt exhausted. He had really missed his cricket, and hadn't really got the travelling bug. He'd had a great adventure, but was very, very happy indeed to be home. He had an under 17s match in the evening, but as if on cue, the rain started up again late afternoon, and after a brief period of respite - just long enough to entice us all down to the ground in the hope of being able to play - the heavens opened once more, which set in for the rest of the evening. I felt really bad for my lad that yet another game had been lost to the rain. I am also amazed at how lucky I continue to be with my cycling. Just like the trip back from the airport a few weeks back, I managed today to hit the only little window of calm amidst a run of bad weather. Uncanny!