The Sunday Scorton Samosa Scorcher 2016

It was a bright and early start for sixteen riders today as we arrived at the shop for the 8am start to the Trough of Bowland. A few of us even took advantage of McD's early doors offerings to get a second breakfast down us, including porridge, coffees and sausage, egg and cheese McMuffins. After this it was plain sailing to the shop for the 8am start just as DNA arrived in the nick of time to lead us out with Darren Rigby. This would make for a straightforward start but the ride would turn out to be anything but, especially for those of us whose craniums were pretty cooked after yesterday's stress-fest at Rainford. Read on to find out why.

NICE TO SEE YOU AGAIN LITTLE CHRIS, NOW CAN YOU STOP CHEATING AND PUT THE TRI-BARS AWAY

We set off down Dark Lane with Little Chris on board. He was part of a three-man group who chased me down on the way to the Morris Dancers the other day and passed me with room to spare, much to my disgust. At least I redeemed myself a little with yesterday's 10 at Rainford, but I'm sure others could do far better if given the chance. The group then swelled further as David Jackson spotted us just prior to the Hoscar Moss which gave us another Specialized Venge to look at alongside Kevan's pixie-dust covered offering. We continued over the Hoscar Moss and into Mawdesley with ease, while Little Chris caught up with other old acquaintances and balanced aboard his Giant Defy, avec tri-bars. A curious combination, certainly. He would swing off just before Eccleston while the rest of us continued over the humpbacked bridge towards Midge Hall, where a fair few riders were coming the other way. I got to inch further towards the front of the pack and even joined Chris Holden out front just after the railway crossing, where I got to discuss his Litherland debut last week which netted him a points finish. That must have pleased him no end that his secret training has paid dividends, and also Kevan Evans who used to do the same thing but has now got himself a P5 for trying to beat Carl Hammal and David Jackson at the TT's, while also bulking himself up with powerlifting in the gym, while also trying to slim down for cycling. Confused? So am I. Anyway I was out front with Chris as we approached a sign for a local parade which had us wondering if we could turn right, but turn right we did, down the hill and towards the roundabout where I've worn through many a brake block down the years, before proceeding over the cobbled bridge and on towards the Preston lights. Unusually, we turned right here and up the hill past the train station, where two chicks were only too eager to cross the road, but given the second one looked like Lorraine Pascale (the main reason for wanting a free TV and a £20 a month TV contract from Sky in a future house I own, that's definitely what you call "good investment") I'll let them off. After that it was past the Wetherspoons on the hill out of town and onto the A6, where we kicked up quite a turn of speed until Rick's gears wouldn't shift. Cue a few choice comments like "life's too short to ride s*** gears" which kept everyone else entertained no end. Indeed, the A6 as a whole with its fast straight and other groups of cyclists would prove quite stimulating, but the next attempt to fire off the fast-twitch fibres so nearly had us off to hospital.

FROM THE SUBLIME TO THE RIDICULOUS AND BACK AGAIN - JUST LIKE ONE OF MY "10" REPORTS

As we approached Bilsborrow we saw a junction meaning we needed to turn off to the right. This in itself should have been easy, but instead a lorry was coming the other way and a few riders nearly ended up under its wheels! Now I know we MUST be prepared to break ourselves into a thousand pieces every week to become better riders and better people, but first to a gravestone is a race no-one wants to win, you know who you were and that was not big or clever. One thing that was both big AND clever, was Rick's attack on the next run northwards. He had a musette back on his back nowadays after the road race yesterday and he set off an attack so strong, it had him and four others scrambling to do a one-point turn to recover our bearings and get to Scorton, much to the bemusement of those who'd got caught out on an earlier restart when an idiot driver forced their way through roadworks while the lights were on red and had a few panicking at the thought of losing their prized Canyons just when TT bikes seemed the ideal substitute. Rick wasn't down the back for long though; he was first under the Scorton railway bridge and first into the shop to peruse the various sweet and savoury things on offer. Some just picked up a flapjack and plenty of bottles of fluid were acquired too, but I thought it best to have something savoury and chose a chicken tikka samosa far better than the one I munched on the other night while watching that shambles at Langtree Park, or more to the point the night when the world realised what I knew months ago that the Saints are the opposite of LFC: a great team who need a new head coach. After throwing the carton and the emptied bottle of Mountain Dew in the bin we could set off through Marshaw for the Trough of Bowland.

"LEAVE ME ALONE, I KNOW WHAT I'M DOING..........NO HE DOESN'T, BLOODY CANNONDALE OWNERS THERE'S ALWAYS TWO

The first few miles out of the shop were remarkably sedate, even enabling me to join Stephen Nelson out front fresh from his remarkable 25:39 at Rainford yesterday. He's certainly a candidate to win the "road bikes only" division at the Century RC TT on 17 September (guess who won't be risking utter embarrassment there) but one thing that was not just embarrassing but eminently hilarious was his failure to heed my warning about the left-right chicane before the 200 metre long 1 in 2 climb before the Marshaw T-junction. This left him scrambling to force his chain onto the little ring while every man and his dog/cat/SHEEP went past him, including yours truly. We wouldn't have to wait long though, as the T-junction gave us the chance for a quick piss stop before listening to DNA's instructions, that it was everyone for themselves at least until reaching Dunsop Bridge. So after a rather insipid opening third of the ride, it was time for me to go on the attack. This I duly did, with fellow Specialized riders Kevan and Ste. The latter dropped back but the group quickly became a three once more as David Jackson left his attack to just the right moment to steam past us all except Rick Taylor, who took the summit with ease. I was relieved to hold on for 4th at the summit given I saw a fair few riders catching me and at first I thought either Darren would pass me or I would get ENT'D, but instead it was Alan Price who was first to pass me on the descent, looking reborn aboard a Cervelo S3! It was a remarkable turnaround in just five months from the time he couldn't cling to the back of the A group on his Carrera, and 5th was no less than he deserved for an excellent climb. We continued down the hill to a rather pedestrian 35mph only for the Canyon Owners Club to zoom past at the snack shack where a few MTB'ers were enjoying a hot dog and coffee. Not really what you would call "elite nutrition", methinks. We parked up at Dunsop village hall for yet another chance to discharge some waste products while picking up yet another water bottle just as an old couple couldn't choose between banana bread or fruit loaf. Just as well I had the 50p coin ready to hand over for fluid replenishment wasn't it? Anyway we were soon on our way just as the Sefton Velo Long Distance Division arrived at the village hall and we now had a clear road ahead of us for Jeffries, or so we thought.

CAN'T YOU KEEP A STRAIGHT LINE CHINOOK? MUST BE THE GRAVEL, OR THE "CIDER"

We set off for Whitewell and quickly swallowed up Ribble Man, who was on a solo ride from Settle in North Yorkshire which I passed through last year en route to the Helwith Bridge Duathlon, one of the most fun races I've ever done. He was an ex-Cat 1 racer who didn't seem all that interested in buying running shoes for a crack at defeating yours truly in the 2016 edition, but he turned off just after the first roadblock. That's right, just as your each "The Inn" there's a bit of subsidence which has caused the road to get BLOCKED even for cyclists, but we ran as fast we could, carried the bikes over the pillars holding up the gates and got back on as fast as possible. Our new mate would turn off shortly afterwards but we would continue through gravel strewn roads which had Chris Holden wondering why I was "sighting" for such obstacles rather than following a wheel. He must have thought it was the "fake cider" in my bottle from the Mountain Dew I picked up in Scorton, which certainly was proving to be quite a sugary stimulant and certainly went against the grain of what the doctor told me to have in my diet when I saw him the other day; for orthostatic intolerance apparently you should avoid sugar, caffeine and prolonged exposure to heat and sunshine. Perfect conditions for me, as you can imagine. However, I hauled myself up to the leaders and even rolled with Rick for a bit until we forgot which way was left and which way was right for the turn-off to Jeffries, but it did at least make us work harder to pass the backmarkers and let's be honest, do we want to win our age group at the Denbigh Triathlon or not? So we set off after those who'd escaped up the road despite my best efforts to go CHINOOKING my fellow Specialized riders by doing WHEELIES up the first steep part of the hill, which left me down in a lonely 6th position all the way up the climb, unable to chase down the front five and untroubled by Paul and Darren behind. We parked up in the relative shelter of a few trees outside what must be a million-pound house while David Jackson quizzed me on the virtues and vices of an aeroshell over a Catlike helmet; I countered that it was an idiot-proof innovation designed to stop motorists claiming "I didn't see you" when they can't be arsed to look for traffic from the right. At least the local village idiot agreed to pay up this time. We set off for Longridge and got onto the main roads, where the pace went through the roof but still stayed consistent, just how I like it, but don't tell that to Audi A6 Man; he blew his horn at us and put in a strong case to win the Reject award by giving us a mouthful through his passenger side window. Cue the usual "do you honestly think" line from yours truly, of course. But upon reaching Preston I was particularly interested in the £120 bikes designed to slow Kevan and Rick down available at Machine Mart, and shortly afterwards Preston Polish community came out of an off-licence with water bottles (and a few shots of vodka no doubt) to cheer us on! I think that sorts my vote out for 23 June once and for all, clearly they didn't go to meet Boris Johnson the other day in the city centre. The next few miles were a bit stop-start while we negotiated the traffic lights, but it would be the final run into Southport that would prove to be the worst for some of us - and certainly had at least one person wondering if it was a good idea to race the day after cooking their craniums alive in the Rainford heat. Here's where it all broke down, quite literally.

RAISE A GLASS TO THE 312'ERS, NOT YOUR LEGS CHINOOK, THAT'S WHAT YOUR LONG SOCKS ARE FOR

As we approached the Col de Penwortham we spotted a Phil Corley Cycles rider up ahead. I'm pretty sure he's the same youngster I rode with for a bit on the 2014 Roman Road challenge (the one who needed no stops to my two) but upon the lights going to green Kevan and Rick managed to stay on his wheel. This led to a mad scrambled to fine a wheel to hang on to and I only ended up being the lead-out man for those with more energy than me, leaving me well behind and wondering if anyone was actually doing any worse. It turned out that a few were - not many - but this made for a real hard effort to stay in a four-strong group containing Darren, Emma and Colin even after we'd passed a cramped-up Chris Holden at the roadside just after Bretherton. A few times Emma used her new-found TT pedalling technique to escape. I countered with my untapped ability to sprint back to her real wheel and, on occasion, sprint past to put in a bit of a shift but it's fair to say she'd recovered form yesterday far better than I had and I'm sure the doctor's not going to be impressed with my post-Rainford "rehab". Eventually the Southport food and drink festival queues slowed us somewhat and at least gave me the chance to sneak past the pack of riders and cars I was duelling with, but they knew a route I didn't, which brings you out at the Botanical Gardens, and Emma and Colin got away a few times leaving me and Darren to compare states of dehydrated skin en route to Birkdale. Just as I was losing the will to live and ready to hand in my resignation notice to HMCC it was suggested that we go for a few drinks in the George on Cemetery Road. I've passed this place a few times en route to the Family Life Centre in Southport for ABRSM exams but never gone in, yet clearly the locals know something I don't as it's a cracking little venue for good beer at fair prices. A round cost under a tenner and on a hot day with the fun and games at Victoria Park in full swing, you can't argue with that can you? While I sipped on the first of three pints of Kronenbourg I rested my legs upright on the Prologo saddle aboard my Tarmac to try and get a bit of lower leg bloodflow back, and conversation points included next week's C2C2C, Kev's dual-pronged training regimen and my scrutineering skills for the Liverpool Century "road bikes only" TT on 17 September, which I'm sure HMCC is a hot favourite to win as a team. I'll even lend you a pair of Veloflex Records so you can go, let's say, two minutes and seven seconds faster than on a Kuota KT05. They might even come in useful at the Endurance Store Duathlons, the events which really I should have a go at to determine once and for all whether it's been a good idea to effectively mortgage the whole year's racing on a half marathon, certain Darren and Emma's bike splits the other night were nothing short of outstanding. As I came back fro the bar with my round I rang the Team Chinook KA EDGE for a lift back to base, which arrived after much confusion as to where Cemetery Road really is around 3pm. Indeed, everyone was heading for home at this point so I loaded the Tarmac into the car and got a lift home having completed over 90 miles on a blisteringly hot day. Excellent job by Dave Atkinson to prepare today's route and also an outstanding effort by those who matched the road racers every step of the way on the A59 on the way home.

Now for the results, in association with the George, Birkdale:

Distance: 148.66km/92,91 miles

Time: 4:43:36

Average Speed: 31.45kmh/19.66mph

Hors Cat Climbs: 3

Sheep: at least 20

Bottles of Water Drunk: 4 (still not enough)

Village Idiots: 1 in an Audi A6

Post Ride Hydration: 3 pints of Kronenbourg in the George, Birkdale

REJECT OF THE RIDE: Chinook vs the NHS

(Low platelet count+blood pressure insufficiency+race yesterday+biblical heat=recipe for disaster or even a crash)

See you all next week for another great ride, an good luck to those doing the C2C2C. I'm sure you're glad you won't have to carry me at the 200 mile mark, though I'll make sure to raise yet another glass in your honour!