Oopnarth, Day 1

The day's riding starts with a hearty breakfast and then Alan Alan and Graham join us. Alan, particularly looks the part, riding Steve's lumbering Harley with his racing leathers complete with knee sliders (his own bike, a 954 Blade, has a fuel pump issue). Filling up at the petrol station and I try out some of the local lingo on the attendant; turns out she's from Poland, so it's a wasted effort. Still, made me feel like I was trying.... a bit like my efforts with French!

Leaving Barnoldswick (the locals shorten it to Barlick) and we head towards Grassington. Our tour guide for the weekend is Steve and he seems to know all the small roads in the area. After a warm-up ride, we stop at Billy Bob's Ice Cream Parlour for coffee and to play on the climbing frames and swings. The scenery in the background hints at the beauty we'll see later.

Setting off again and I realise Mick is wearing a flouro yellow helmet.... What is this, another Bikerdom? Feels kinda surreal following myself, but I soon realise I'm not having an out of body experience. My current helmet is rather muted compared to my bike/jacket orange combo. Orange is so me, just need to find a matching helmet.

The small single track roads become strewn with gravel and apparently such is the skill required to negotiate them that Graham starts standing on his pegs. Probably more to stretch his legs than anything.

In Grassington there's a event taking place, with people dressed up in period military costumes. For once, our group of noisy bikers is not the centre of attention. The costumes are impressive and my favourite is woman in forties gear riding a bike with her small dog in the basket.

Lunch is at the Wensleydale Creamery, almost famed for being Wallace and Gommit's favourite place, but for legal reasons they can't say so. There's permanent cheese tasting available, which is a good starter before lunch. Lunch specials are Ham this and ham that, bacon this and bacon that. I completely miss the regular menu that includes plenty I could eat, but instead settle for a cheese and tomato sarnie.

The roads are filled with lycra clad cyclists, puffing and wheezing their way up the hills that we just breeze up with the flick of a wrist. I admire their perseverance and think when I'm old and grey.... ok, older and greyer.... and have to hang up my helmet, I'd like to do more cycling.

We branch off a minor road onto an even more minor road and have to stop to remove a tree branch blocking our route. Shortly after, we meet a large group of cyclists coming towards us, and I'm sure they won't thank us for clearing their path. We reach Britain's highest inn atop Tan Hill.

Our route is peppered with steep gradients, 16%, 18% and 20% and a few hairpin curves. Not in the same league as the Alps, but good riding. We ride across the dales sweeping oop and dahn admiring the magnificent vistas.

After we get back, we have a ruby murray for dinner and then we finish our wild evening in Steve's parlour.... drinking tea and checking our smart phones. We're hard bikers.

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