The festive season had started with a funeral. As we listened to a life rich and full – recalled eloquently by his two sons – a passion for sport and all it brings shone clearly through.
In early life it was more vigorous pursuits such as cricket and rugby and, as the years passed by, the competitive juices switched to golf and even pigeon racing.
With the Government encouraging a more active lifestyle and freed from our festive entrapment, we convened once again for our annual pilgrimage to the bright lights of the big city; ten miles from beers.
The average age had nudged up once again as we shuffled in the cold morning sunlight humming our favourite Wham songs; shudder the thought this may be anyone’s last Christmas.
We compared Christmas gifts and Big Al described what was tantamount to the confiscated contents of a booze cruise van. I’d received some exotic oils named basil, chilli and rosemary. With ten miles ahead maybe these would come in handy?
Molly had been frisked by Her Who Must Be Obeyed as he left for secreted hip flasks but, having buried them in a bush, he was smiling at his rare victory.
10.00 And They’re Off!
It was a record turnout of thirteen with several debuts and even Mrs Patchett – clad in her Armani walking boots – and our Hon Lady Secretary joined us for a few miles before we sent them back having no available ear-plugs.
It was observed that we might qualify for a Sport England grant given our mix of ages, sexes, disabled (Big Al) plus a black and a ginger dog to boot.
Within a mile JB’s waterworks were playing up and it was to be a recurring theme as the little man regularly vanished into the bushes fumbling for his zip.
As a bit of fun we had a small wager as we set out and the princely sum of £24 would be won by who could accurately guess the number of cyclists to pass us on our trip.
12.00 – Kirkstall Forge
We reached our first watering point to the shared exclamation of “Pint One!” By this time JB was on visit number three.
A fearsome pace had been set with the Elland Road contingent delirious after another win the day before marching on together. In contrast the Valley Paraders had fired blanks again, something that most of us could empathise with.
Several pretty girls had brightened up the morning tow-path. In the distance I was sure I saw two more gently wiggling our way. As they passed by, full beards on show, I knew I was overdue at Specsavers and had no hope of a 1st Team recall in the summer.
Two-thirds of the way and we’d counted 55 qualifying bikes resulting in only ten left contesting the jackpot, bets ranging from a now hopeful 57 to 101.
The last three miles were tense and argumentative with several bikes ruled inadmissible by adjudicator Berghaus Patchett. Traffic had simply dried up and into the final half mile I was sitting pretty on 60.
Just as we entered the final stretch a flurry of bikes flew by and Berghaus claimed the prize.
13.45 – The Hop
A pie and a pint and all for a fiver. With our scheduled train over 5 hours away the omens were not good.
There were worried looks at cloudy beers as JB confessed that it could “empty” him. Forks were laid down if only for a moment as a young couple decided on a new venue for their post shop drink.
The combination of ale and food was having a sedative effect; it was time to move on.
15.06 – The Grove
Berghaus grabbed the armchair with a wake me up before you go go look as Duck made the fatal error of asking Molly if there were pubs like this old gem in Bradford.
With the relish of Uncle Albert from Only Fools & Horses talking about the war, he was off.
16.09 Brewery Tap
With Molly misty eyed recalling Ye Olde Crowne, a rather large stripper and the whiff of Johnson’s Baby Oil, several of our ladies began to arrive to reclaim their lost “baggage”.
Mention was hopefully made of The Alchemist and The Botanist but it was thought unlikely a group of smelly walkers would be warmly welcomed much to the relief of said smelly walkers.
And then the first casualty as Mrs Hammond used her magic powers to beam Whispering Pete back to Addingham; I swear it was as if he had been vaporized.
By now we were on pint number whatever so perhaps good news the Government report on middle-aged piss artists was not due for publication till the morning. The pace was definitely wavering.
Another challenge was set to guess the average age of said piss artists. Unfortunately the adjudicator – me – by this time could barely count or write. Several recounts commenced and all for £11. Competitive souls we are to the end.
17.28 The Head Of Steam
Lynton bade a farewell as Molly, by now having covered most of Bradford, took his virtual ale trip to Leeds. The girls had dispersed in search of cocktails and no association with our ragged band. Several daughters duly noted men to avoid in future life.
18.12 Baht’ap
Naively I sensed we were in the final stretch but Big Al had insisted we report back “home” ; The Scruffy beckoned. We’d lost another but, by now, nobody could remember who. Molly had been rounded up by wife and daughter as he told tales of pubs in Dewsbury.
Conversation turned to our planned Dalesway walk in September and the best form of preparation; the gym or a summer of drinking with Big Al?
19.08 The Train
Safely on our way back news reached us JB was on the wrong train and rumoured to be London bound. Still at least there would be a toilet on board.
19.30 Home Sweet Home
As Big Al had advised Luckless Linda she would have “no ****ing chance” later on, a reality she would surely have thanked her lucky stars for, we bounced through the door to the disbelieving gaze of Our Jackie.
A truly wonderful day once again…if only I could remember it.
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