Oopnarth, day 2

Barnoldswick used to be in Yorkshire, but due to boundary changes it's now in Lancashire. Not a popular move with the locals, so much so that the "Welcome to Yorkshire" signs outside the town are still where they always were. In years gone by this could have meant war.

Leaving Barlick and the chilly, early morning fog, we head east (further) into Yorkshire, by ascending a local hill. Steve leads, following his satnav, using a route he has planned. He develops such routes regularly for his Harley chapter and is notorious for challenging riders who are not used to corners; carnage often ensues. He's ridden this route a few times and is confidently sweeping through the bends with gusto. Much more than I, so on the occasions when I'm following him (we're using the corner man method for marking junctions), it takes most of my concentration to keep up with him.

Once higher up, we emerge into the clear sky and once more it's a lovely day. The hills are adorned with whirling wind turbines, but they're rotating more slowly than yesterday.

We stop at a spot overlooking a reservoir for a photo op and the first of many bladder evacuations. The grass beyond the parking area is littered with bottles and other trash. This always makes me angry that people visit and enjoy such beautiful vistas and then don't feel anything dumping their garbage there.

Shortly after we cross a cattle grid and meet a herd of highland cattle. With its hillside ferns and long grass, this area already reminds me of Scotland, but the addition of the cattle cements that impression in my mind. The cows are cute and in dire need of a haircut - these are the rock stars of the bovine world.

Morning coffee is in Todmorden, near Halifax, a charming little town from what I can tell. This part of the world is not holding to the 'grimy North' stereotype I was expecting.

Shortly after we stop for lunch at the White House, Blackstone Edge, a hostelry near the top of a pass through the hill. The road outside reverberates with the sound of motorcycle exhausts at full chat; a symphony to the ears of mechanical music fans. Booming V-twins and screaming fours vie for the best noise.

At various points during the day we've negotiated sharp bends on hills. These are not the typical environment for cruiser bikes, but Alan, riding Steve's supertanker disguised as a motorbike Harley Road King, is riding like a trooper and coping really well with the sharp turns. Harleys are not supposed to go round corners, but nobody told Alan!

It's still great biking weather and when we stop for petrol mind ourselves sweating in the heat. Marks struggles to pump his tyres and after several attempts the attendant has to "reboot" the pump electronics. It's seems to work, and just as well because Mark's tyres are woefully under inflated. No excuse for poor riding now! ;-)

It's a short ride back to Steve's place and we park up the bikes. Steve offers to take me on his Harley, so I gear up and get ready to roll. I've never ridden a Harley before, but it's not as bad as I've been led to believe and is very comfortable to ride. It also has a very loud exhaust and I wished I'd put earplugs in; afterwards my ears are still ringing.

Dinner (or is it tea or perhaps supper?), is a tapas assortment, followed by BBQ chocolate. Once again the hard bikers are proving they're more sophisticated than the average hairy-arsed biker.

Riding these roads has shown me that you don't need to go to exotic places to enjoy good biking or to see fantastic scenery, it's available within the grand shores of the UK. Going to exotic places, however, does get you to experience different cultures and despite what I might have thought, Oopnarth is not so different to dahn south. Travel broadens the mind like nothing else - do it as much as you can.

No roses were harmed in the making of this blog.

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