Recycled Ride to Great Hatfield 3/2/17

Present: Dave W, Sheila, Steve, Rod, Alan, Ian, Derek, Adrian, Helen and Nick

Route: Swinemoor Roundabout, Tickton, Routh, Meaux, Benningholme, Arnold, Long Riston, Rise, Little Hatfield and Great Hatfield.

Return via Little Hatfield, Catwick, Leven, Routh and Tickton

Distance 32 miles

It was Harold Wilson who first said that a week in politics was a long time. This week in politics has just seen more of the same lunacy, but a week in cycling, that’s a different story. What a change from last week when we were, in Steve’s words, nithered. What a splendid word of the north that is. Today was sublime in comparison: sunny, mild (ish), light breeze and spring in the air. Ten of us set off including a new member, Derek, who was giving us a try. Will we see him again?

Just past Meaux Grange we ran into a spot of bother when Steve had his first puncture. We stopped in a farm entrance to fix it but it took a while as he couldn’t find the culprit thorn. The farmer came out thinking in our high vis jackets we’d come to build his cattle pen and stayed for a chat. He was telling us about the night of the fatal crash that killed two young men nearby last year. We pass their “shrine” regularly by the roadside. A fatal mix of alcohol and testosterone, with the driver still in prison he reckoned.

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Sheila and I carried on to meet up at Lambwath Bridge. Soon four arrived but no sign of the rest. Derek had zoomed past the turn off and we had quite a wait while Steve chased him right down to Wawne. We amused ourselves in a leisurely way. I walked down the stream to do a spot of birdwatching, Sheila jogged to warm up, Nick attracted a bee to his yellow jacket and our friend, the man with a pram, passed by as usual telling us off for sunbathing. When they finally arrived, we had of course to take a photograph with Dave’s dodgy remote button.

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It’s always a surprise when we travel these flatlands how much up and down there is, especially when we reach the aptly named Rise. Or maybe not so apt, as according to Wikipedia Rise appeared in Domesday Book as “Risun” which is the Old English word for “brushwood”. The land here is all boulder clay, and is probably so high because it’s around the inland edge of where the Withernsea Till was deposited over the underlying Skipsea Till by an ice sheet coming down from as far north as modern Norway, carrying all sorts of strange erratics, plenty of which can be found on the South Holderness beaches.

The Wrygarth Inn at Great Hatfield was something of an erratic itself. Rod had described it as “looking as if the décor had been agreed by twenty people” and it was indeed an endearing mix of styles. I liked the bas-relief plaster walls depicting rural scenes, which might have been from the original Victorian pub, but there were also some lovely quirky paintings of the pub and of Hull by local artist David Dawson. There was all sorts of stuff around of debatable taste and origin. Alan, a bit of an antiques and car boot sale buff, seemed a bit dismissive, and Nick did point out that the apricot- coloured fake beams would have looked better painted brown, but hey, where else but in the wilds of Holderness would you find such a place. The food was great. Most of us had the fish and chip light bites, and Sheila seemed quite happy with her goat’s cheese salad. As for the puddings, heaven. No wonder it’s won lots of awards.

About to leave, Steve discovered his second puncture. Nick got nostalgic as the team clustered round the pub garden table to fix it. “It’s just like being in the operating theatre again”, he said, getting out his camera. “Which one’s the anaesthetist? Usually it’s the one reading the paper or phoning the Stock Exchange. I had to wake one up once.”

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Five set off back while the rest of us hung around to help or just take in the spring sunshine. (Do we delude ourselves? It’s only January.) On the way back the birds were chirpy and flirty and snowdrops in full bloom. When I got home there was a pheasant under my bird table being watched in disbelief by a woodpigeon. Not an everyday sighting in the middle of Beverley. Last week at Wilfholme Landing there was a field full of fieldfares, curlew and lapwings feasting on the worms in the molehills to sustain themselves in the cold. I wonder what other interesting weather we’ll have before the winter’s out.

This winter cycling is stimulating stuff. I’ve read that cold-water swimming has great health benefits too. Anyone for a trip to Hornsea?

HK

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