T is for Train-ing and Tootling to Two Mills

A dreadful early morning rainstorm and strong crosswind did little to reduce the numbers at the shop today as the nine hardy souls who said they would turn out for the Two Mills ride appeared right on cue. Most went into the shop to get last-minute goodies and discuss the plans for the club dinner, which now apparently involve going to Wetherspoons instead of the Bier Shoppe so we can fit all four groups in. Speaking of which, today's ride would not really discriminate on Race/A/B/C status, instead it would come down to nine riders made of the right stuff to tackle an early season long ride to get those legs strengthened up in time for the Mallorca 312 or the 10 mile time trial season, with the first major league race of 2016 scheduled for deepest Cheshire on Easter Saturday. Dave Atkinson, complete with rucksack, would lead us out of town in biblically bad conditions, beginning with the loop round the cricket club.

M IS FOR MAD MEN (AND BOYS) IN MELLING

I set off on the left side of Row 3 next to Emma who had driven over to Ormskirk. Probably the wisest decision given I rode over and set a new PW (Personal Worst) by a long chalk battling the head-to-crosswind on my freshly-installed 25mm tyres and for a moment I had even thought about turning back and riding straight to the station to catch up with everyone, but that would have meant I missed a fair few interesting moments. I was relieved to see Dave set off at a similar pace to the one I had ridden over at (mind you he wasn't shouting "BEAST MODE" while he was doing it, though using summer wheels on a winter bike has to be classed as cheating) and he took us out towards Bickerstaffe, including the first part of the 10 mile TT course before turning right towards Simonswood and Kirkby. Emma commented that we must be mad to even venture out; I reminded her and the others around us that it was all for a good reason and Dave added that the sun was due out shortly. However, that seemed to be coming rather slower than even the Good Morning Britain weather forecast had suggested (I always watch on a Friday when Ranvir reads the news) and together with the gusts which alternated between cross and head winds, it wasn't doing my confidence any good; you may have read my recent Facebook post about last week's ten mile beast mode run that nearly ended with me wobbling into an oncoming cyclist when faced with a 45mph crosswind on Haskayne Moss, simply because my balance went. That means I'm getting ENT'D for good reasons 12 days from now, but for now I would have to keep my wits about me as we rode through the Northwood end of Kirkby, featuring speed bumps, oil slicks and the obligatory obnoxious driver, this one being in a black Vauxhall Astra. They gave us SIX horn beeps before passing us, then backing us up by coming off the gas pedal! With the first of today's long list of idiots dispatched we continued through the old part of Melling and back round to Maghull. As we crossed the Northway the first shout from Mr Catlike came: "get on with it, these change quickly". Luckily we all made it through, but upon descending the Bridge de Maghull Industrial Estate a black Mondeo pulled out of the junction to drive towards Switch Island just as a red Volkswagen Polo passed us. This sent Mondeo Man onto the KERB to give the Polo Prat enough space and an early lead in the ROTR standings. Our run through Gorsey Lane and Hawthorne Road was very speedy, less so our venture towards Kirkdale train station where the skies started to lift somewhat and a little blue sky could be seen over the water. We missed the chance of a Strava record on a short descent when another black Astra stormed past us no doubt with the Garmin in their glove compartments, but we were soon on our way to the foot of Everton Valley, which I now know well from my weekly jaunts into town at the Liverpool Philharmonic (20 March biggest showcase of the year, why not ride to the venue and have your cafe stop in the downstairs bar?) At this point, though, I really wasn't sure how Dave was going to play the segment towards James Street, so it was time to sit back and enjoy the bus-assisted run towards the Empire, where the bistro now offers 2 courses for £12.95 as a pre-theatre special, and take a quick piss stop at the Smithdown Road bizzie station when Dave went to drop off his bag. After this we crested the flyover back into town passing the Salad Bowl, where Skinnimalinx used to be on the corner of Castle Street, and the rather more calorific Viva Brasil. I wonder which one I'd feast at..........Anyway, we were soon descending the final drop into James Street, where we stood in line for our ticket to Two Mills.

THESE WHEELS FEEL LIKE RIDING THROUGH TREACLE, TT SEGMENT OR NOT

After snatching prime position in the ticket queue for my £3.10 boarding pass I went to the station shop to get a treacle and sultana flapjack to eat on the train. Of course, Dave noticed this and pointed out that it was "only" 30 miles to the cafe. Given I barely complete a 35 minute fasting run on only a cup of coffee most mornings I'd have had no chance of riding another two hours or so on diminishing fuel supplies, but I still got us to a lift and then up the escalator very quickly; indeed I wondered if that was a Strava segment waiting to be taken (guess who was working today, and it wasn't me). We got the train over to Hamilton Square, where some of us took what felt like a day and a half to get our gloves on, and then we set off over the tramlines asking where on earth Kev Murphy was. But as someone pointed out, they had CHINOOK on hand to cause the silly prang and keep 999 on speed dial. For now I was happy to sit behind Paul, who really came alive on the run through Hamilton Square itself and onto the promenade, or more to the point the finish of the Wirral Half marathon race route. We even saw two slowcoaches/Bradford Blue Flag victims enjoying themselves on a morning jog. A bit of Beast Mode wouldn't go amiss there methinks. Indeed, a couple of beasts on MTB's were coming the other way and were lucky not to get clipped by the group as they made their way north up the prom, so we were only too happy to get onto Coastal Drive, where the concurrent Wirral 10k finishes, at the end of New Brighton, where I went go-karting back in the days when I weighed less than Lewis Hamilton (and before that smug little thing says anything no I'm NOT starving myself at the dinner tomorrow night, 70kg is my minimum weight limit). After coming off Coastal Drive we set sail for Hoylake and West Kirby, where we got to pass my favourite running shop and White Van Man just wouldn't let us out when he was doing a one-point turn in front of the road where the Hoylake OAP Society plus a couple of nasty, hissing cats live. Trust me, I've fallen foul of both. One thing I really didn't want to do, though, was fall on my own sword. So I assumed the lead with Dave and reminded him of his "I'm in as long as it's proper A group pace". At this point my rather woozy head wasn't getting a sideways battering from the crosswind so I thought it best to put in a TT segment effort for five miles alongside Dave all the way to Caldy, where we passed Hickory's Steakhouse, the ONLY place on the Wirral where you can get red velvet shakes.........with optional Jack Daniel's Whisky! That's right, the ultimate post-meal dessert/drink all in one. In the midst of this passage of play, Darren's phone rang for the fourth time, leaving me to ask (once I'd relinquished the lead to David) if that was the place in High Wycombe delivering the family's new Bechstein piano (now for the results brought to you by........wait a while yet). I highly approve of their choice, and also of David's choice of weapon, the Scott Foil, for the next segment of the day, the coastal run to Parkgate which featured lots of long, drawn-out climbs including the Col du Mini-Telegraph (Road) where commendably everyone stayed together despite displaying a wide variety of cadence styles in keeping with overall rider/wheel weight (did I mention these wheels are like army tanks) and this dropped us into Neston, which unbeknown to me is actually very much within spitting distance of the Irish Sea. Just before we got to Parkgate, though, we got the final mini leg-buster of the day, a punchy climb to the main road. I thought David would run off and hide but he boxed himself in behind DNA and the whole field got ENT'D - not in the same way I will be shortly - as Emma vaulted past everyone to take the points and also the QOM! Once we got onto the main road and on our way towards "Kev's Corner" I asked her if she would simply scroll to halfway through the report at the 4,142 word mark to find her starring role but I think she was more worried that I would do a KEV on the gravel. But 25mm tyres really are FTW these days and I therefore got the chance to enjoy the plunge downhill towards the coast. The little village we passed through reminded me of a Welsh seaside town I visited many years ago on holiday; small, cramped, but with plenty of charm. After that it was back onto the A540 yet again as there were only a few miles to the cafe. With our feed stop being on the other side of a busy main road there was no chance for a sprint but I did note that Vikki was first over the junction, so let's put her down for "taking the win".

SO MANY GIRLS IN HERE, WHERE DO YOU BEGIN? GET A COVER MODEL FOR THEIR LOO, THERE'S YOUR ANSWER (AND NOT YOU DAVID GUETTA)

We locked our bikes up on the purpose-designed railings and set about perusing the small but varied menu. Beans and eggs were popular, and so were the Eccles cakes, but the healthiest options were chosen by me and David, the former choosing a brie and roasted veg panini, the latter going for a very lush looking sandwich on wholemeal bread. Photos aplenty were taken at the table and discussion points included my next wave of house-hunting and why I haven't put in any offers yet, which at least gave me a chance to account for/apologize for my inconsistent performance today; the specialists aren't sure but they think it's a long-standing balance issue brought on either by stress, crashing, or both. What is the cause, and what is the effect, no-one really quite knows. Anyway, He Who Crashed Last Week would have loved my next move; I got up slowly and tried not to look like I'd just stepped out of a David Guetta-fronted nightclub with 25 tequila shots in me as I made my way to the loo. It's rare I discuss the state of the toilets, but today was different; Emma's already posted the picture in the men's bog and Kev Murphy has already given his approval to the 70's fashion icon "modelling" ladies' cycling wear. Pretty topical if you consider that Bikeradar slammed a recent Specialized track pump advert featuring a nurse in uniform as being well out of date and also that men feature on these adverts in this "way" far more than women do, so with Chatterbox - I mean Rhian - not on hand to terrorize the racers amongst us it was down to Emma to wonder what picture should go in the ladies' toilets. At this point DNA suggested putting me forward (yeah right Dave, I'm the same height as Delta Goodrem and only weigh 6kg more, how the f*** am I supposed to get enough calories to become as broad as Channing Tatum). This, naturally, coming AFTER I'd emulated Darren's choice of a very fruity Eccles cake to round my meal off. Credit must also go to the person who made the mocha; not only was it lush and immaculately presented but it even inspired John to choose the same drink. Some of us had a quick look through the various items of clothing and equipment on offer in the mini-shop (which in turn acts as an outlet for Eureka Cycles, home of REALLY GOOD alternative bike brands, like Argon 18, or Storck). We unlocked the bikes and started dreaming of STRAVAIZATION heaven with the tailwind all set to push us back to the fabled river.

NOW YOU SEE US, NOW YOU DON'T, NOW YOU SEE US AGAIN

The first part of the return journey had us largely jumping on and off the Welsh Road, aka the A550, which you drive down if you want to join me at the Llanrwst Triathlon, for which the 2016 date has not yet been finalized. But you wouldn't want to miss out on Racing and Rarebitting Part 2 would you? This approach had us passing numerous posh places, including various hotels and even a giant house with a massive lake. Cue the "is that your next house Chinook" comments and an idea that the nine of us club together for a Euromillions syndicate, to say nothing of the fact that David gets two bites of the proverbial cherry as he's probably got a phone app to play along in Spain. We reached Hooton crossroads, and the Chimneys pub, rather quicker than I expected and this sent us through to Eastham. By now I was typically counting down the motorway junctions, so it was 6 for Hooton, 5 for Eastham and so on. The run between 5 and 4 was the most epic of the entire day as it involved going off-road through the country park, where a family was lucky not to get CHINOOK'D as their kid was rather hard to drag out of the path of a Panaracer 25mm tyre. The one which will be worn down in time for the next Specialized tyre amnesty so I can buy some 26mm Turbo Cottons with gold walls, but you probably guessed that anyway. After dealing with the family and their dogs it was up and down through a series of tight corners which was very unnerving indeed, but remarkably got me out front with DNA once more as we went down the back of the Croft retail park, home of the "THE ASDA" where one of my relatives works. After a succession of quick turns back onto the road round the back of the modern industrial estate we swung back onto the A41 behind a very friendly bus driver. Friendly because he didn't take off at the New Ferry junction and even gave DNA and David the chance for some STRAVAIZATION down the A41 New Chester Road by-pass, where the effort levels were ramped up and I was praying that I would hold on and not have the whole field go past me. Luckily I was still on hand when we reached the roundabout to point out that there's a very swish showroom full of snooker and pool tables in Tranmere, which would be a good idea for a new home but for the fact that the bungalow in Noel Gate, Aughton going for £162k is not very far from the 22 Club, which would account for my snooker/pool/watch the match/watch the Grand Prix/DRINK BOOZE needs. Anyway, we raced onwards in the direction of the Mersey Tunnel, but rather than put our Euromillions stakes in the toll booths we crested the climb into Birkenhead town centre, where a sharp left at the roundabout got us to Birkenhead Central station. Here, we parked up and made our way to the station platform for an 8-minute wait for the James Street train, which gave me a chance to eat a granola bar, do some rolling head movements to try and remove that woozy head feeling and then make sure I didn't end up CHINOOKING the ride leader once we got on the train itself. It wasn't long - two stops to be precise - before we got to James Street and with no flapjack stop needed for me this time around I could join the team on our last run north and east with the tailwind for home. Trouble was, one or two crackpots were also on the Capital FM Drivetime programme too, and not just because the UK's Number 1 Hit Music Station has arrived in Liverpool either..........

NEXT TIME IT'S SCOTTIE ROAD FOLLOWED BY CROSBY (HELLO GOODNESS JUICE STOP OBLIGATORY)

Our first village idiot came in the form of a non-smoking Volkswagen Golf, who glared at us when the lights turn to green and they took about an hour and a half to fin where first gear was. Having got rid of this no-brain halfwit we turned left at the Mercedes garage and made a back-road escape for Kirkdale. Here, DNA turned off for work at the crossroads leaving the club's cafe stop specialist to stand in with our Head of International Relations and Darren to share the workload through Bootle en route to Hawthorne Road. The traffic frequently backed up here, not least with a succession of pick-up trucks featuring particularly wide rear ends, but one no-mark who obviously doesn't know what "GIVE CYCLISTS ROOM" means in a white Ford Mondeo clipped Vikki's elbow just before the second set of traffic lights! Plenty of four-letter words came out at this point, but I'll let Vikki give you the PG and the 18-rated version at the club dinner tomorrow. A more typical "WHAT'S HE DOING" came from yours truly when a gold Rover 45 which I presume is almost that many years old pulled out of the next side road, and to top it all off, we were ascending the climb up Gorsey Lane when a stupid man presumably holding a collector's item - in other words a copy of the S** actually found in Merseyside -crossed the road, made no effort to either stop or run quickly, and slowed to walk right on the line David was taking when leading the group, forcing him to swerve inwards and nearly hit the kerb! With the Losers of Litherland having run off with today's ROTR prize and me thinking "we should have gone to that juice bar in Waterloo and refilled the bottles" I took over at Netherton Fire Station and held position all the way to Maghull Industrial Estate, where David once more assumed the lead. From here we took a fairly simple route through the Meadows, into Lydiate and towards Hartley's roundabout just as Merseyside becomes Lancashire, or in other words, the grand divide between two great house-hunting areas.

By this time a few people were hanging off the back at the 82 mile mark and, truth be told, I was worried that we wouldn't get back to Ormskirk before 4:30pm, leaving me to ride home in the pitch black. So, rather then ask Darren or Emma to give me a free lift back to base I signed off at the Miller and Carter and went down Back Lane to return to the Hay Loft. This wasn't exactly plain sailing either, as a cute kitten did its best to steal the ROTR prize by trotting over to its owner, before sprinting back across my path just as I appeared on the scene, then Sudell Lane was awash with gravel and mud, but I shovelled down my last granola square at the A5147 junction and from here went past the Scotch Piper, then proceeded to time-trial all the way across the moss into a wind which had now completely swung round to become a westerly. This made the YOLO effort rather harder than I anticipated, as I only managed 22mph approaching the local Storck bikes dealer, but I was soon across the Tesco junction and after one last beast effort down Altcar Road I could swing into my drive and park the bike in the garage in fading light having covered a momentous 91 miles. Many thanks to Dave for putting together a brilliant route and also confounding expectations after the "I'm in as long as it's proper A group pace" panic comments posted between Christmas and New Year. Just imagine if my head had been in the game, then I might just have looked like a proper A grouper once more..........Anyway, see you tomorrow for the big one in the Big O!

Now for the results, brought to you by Darren's choice, Bechstein Pianos:

Distance: 145.76km/91.1 miles

Time: 5:08:34

Average Speed: 28.34kmh/17.71mph

Cyclocross Running Sprints: 2

Hors Cat Climbs: 2

Phone Calls: 4 in the same pocket

Crashes: 0

Stupid Kittens: 1

Village Idiots: 9 in various vehicles plus the one with the newspaper

Money Spent Today: £8 at Two Mills plus £3.90 at James Street Station

REJECT OF THE RIDE: Losers of Litherland

(That's a three-way tie between the white Mondeo, the gold Rover 45 and the pedestrian with the death wish)

Tomorrow's going to be a long one. In the pub for the 12:45 kickoff on blackcurrant and soda (lucky me) followed by Wetherspoons and then the short walk down the hill for the club dinner. Place your bets NOW on who's first to spill the gravy from overloading their plate. How about an each-way split on Rick, JP and yours truly?