“Nice one Centurion, like it, like it!” (dungeon prisoner, Life Of Brian).
Or is it centenarian? No, that’s not right. Anyway, whatever, 100 Bivvy a Months in a row then. Maybe there's some sort of bonus attachment for the Four Seasons Legion badge? A “bar” perhaps, or some gold stars, like they have for military medals? Surely at least a telegram from King Stuart? No, no, I know exactly what Stuart would say, and quite right too
.
I decided that I would mark the, meaningless, occasion with a return to my very first BaM location near Hope in the Peak District. Full circle style of thing. This was also conveniently close to where Kevin Blackhound lives, which was fortuitous because I very much wanted to ask him along to thank him for originating this fabulous idea and indirectly giving me some of the best experiences of my life. I spent a while last week reviewing some of the ludicrous japes and wheezes that I’ve called “BaM” over the last 100 months and was very grateful that someone had given me an excuse to cook them up and enjoy them. I also asked Bearlegged if he could come, and perhaps PaulE, both being close by in Steel City. Unfortunately Paul was otherwise engaged but Bear signalled that he was up for it.
After seeing The Sex Pistols Expose gig in Brighton in January I had noted that they were also playing Stoke on Trent on the 15th March – more or less on the way to the Peak - at the same time as this 100th BaM, so I immediately booked a ticket: a good opportunity to inject considerably more complexity than a normal BaM, and, so yes, Gigpacking is back as well! My sixth one in fact, and “full fat” with none of this hotel luxury stuff
. But in my enthusiasm I of course omitted to consider how I was going to attend a gig upstairs in a small venue with a bike and loads of gear in tow…. indeed Gmaps showed the place to be in a dodgy-looking industrial estate with nothing as helpful as a bike shed (either to stash bikes or to kip in)….. oh, and since it finished at 11pm, there was also the small matter of where to bivvy in the middle of Stoke afterwards (
the middle of Stoke….). This is the dark and sordid underbelly of bikepacking in action, what could possibly go wrong?
Almost straightaway I discovered that engineering work was planned on the Hope Valley railway line on the 15th and 16th, so that ruled out the first suggestion of starting somewhere like Bamford or Hathersage – easy for Kevin and Bear. Hmm. A quick bit of map work reminded me that I could get to Buxton by train, and from there down the Monsal Trail to Bakewell to where Kevin could also ride from Matlock station. Bear indicated he was happy to meet us for lunch in Eyam. Sorted.
Ah, the next problem was that closer inspection showed the gig would actually take place in Tunstall, one of the “Six Towns” of Stoke, but 5 miles north of the centre. The easiest thing seemed to be to catch a local train from Stoke to Kidsgrove then bike to Tunstall from there.
A
third problem occurred as my train sped north on Friday afternoon, when a passenger apparently caused a bit of trouble meaning the train would be fifteen minutes late into Stoke, and therefore
just miss my connection to Kidsgrove with the next one being an hour later. Sigh! Well this is all going swimmingly.
Arriving in Stoke, I’d resigned myself to biking to Tunstall, but as I jumped off I saw what I knew was the local train sitting next to us in the adjacent platform. Arg! It’s probably going to depart just as I cross the platform isn’t it. I should have realised that it had been held back not for any altruistic reason of assisting Reg with his journey, but because if it had departed on time it would have held up our Manchester express train all the way north causing great expense for the operator. Still, at last I get a good break.
I’d allowed a bit of time at Kidsgrove to scope the area, and immediately switched my spot radar on. Canals can be a good bet can’t they, so that was worth a try. But first some beans and chips and time to think. Having seen the venue on Gmaps I’d brought along a rucsac full of hefty locks, but it seemed a good idea to arrive with nothing else worth filching so I needed a place to hide my gear. A map check revealed a small woodland and church just outside town so I set off along the canal to look it over. The wood wasn’t very promising but the church had a large graveyard with some unoccupied corners, plus a nice compost heap to stash my baggage in. That done, I returned along the canal with just the rucsac of locks, a credit card, and my gig ticket.
Up the hill into Tunstall and an early arrival to find a bike hiding place. Luckily at the back of the venue was a metal fire escape in a dark area behind a skip, and another bit of luck revealed an old black tarpaulin under the stairs. Wheels off, QR skewers into my pocket, three locks attached including around the stairs, and pull the tarp over. Hopefully 4 hours later I wouldn’t be marooned in Stoke with just a credit card and no bike or gear! Nothing like a bit of edgy risk.
To be honest I didn’t rate Blondie UK much, “Blondie” didn’t move around enough in that recognisable Debbie way – and I’d forgotten how samey a lot of their stuff was (sorry) – but they did their best, despite not even playing “Denis”! However “Sex Pistols Expose” made up for it, naturally playing more or less the same as at Brighton but with a different set of adlibs and Stoke-based backchat. Great fun.
11.30pm and a moonlit toddle down the canal yet again to unearth the gear from the compost heap and set it up in a corner a respectful distance from any graves. A quick chat with some of the incumbents and the hooting owls, then it was six hours of fitful kip, to wake up to the sound of the crows in the churchyard. Lovely.
The forecast said there had a been a low of 1degC and things were a bit crunchy, but I quickly packed away and set off for the station. I’d intended to catch the 08.04 but turned up in time for the 07.04 so jumped onto that instead, arriving in Stockport with 20 minutes to spare for a breakfast sandwich and a brew, before boarding the 08.12 to Buxton. As I left the cafe with my sarnie and brew a bloke steamed out and accosted me to say my credit card hadn't gone through. Well that was his fault for not checking properly, but I did enjoy my first ever "arrest"
. From Buxton it would be an easy wobble down the A6 and Monsal Trail to meet Kevin, but on a sudden whim I bailed out at the previous station, Dove Holes, to see what was occurring there. Not much as it turns out, but the lanes south to the Wye valley were pleasantly bleak until I reached the cutely named Woo Dale down which a farm track led to the river. I had wrapped the locks rucsac in an old bin liner and hidden it behind a wall at the station, as I didn’t fancy carting a hundredweight of locks around the Peak with me thank you.
Dicing with death for 200 yards along the A6, I ducked off down the track to Blackwell. I hadn’t realised that there’s a bike hire place here (has been for ten years!) but I noticed a “teas” sign so immediately stopped. If there’s a “tea” sign anywhere, I always stop on principal. Brew and a biscuit please. “Congratulations on being our first customer of 2024”. We get chatting, he’s into bikes obviously and indeed
bikes as well, and after a while for no reason I suddenly say “do you know Stuart by the way?”. Turns out that of course he does
. It’s your old pal Ashie/Ashy, Stu, and he sends his best regards. And I never knew
that about you either
.
Off we go down the Monsal Trail, the top end of which is as fabulous as ever, with all the deep valleys, tunnels, and silence apart from the birdies.
I’ve only been at the Thornbridge Hall café for a couple of minutes when Kevin arrives and we take the place over in true BBB fashion, festooning every available surface with drying gear.
Suitably refreshed (my fourth café stop of the day already, and it’s only 11am!) we considered the route to Eyam, eventually opting for the nastiest hill up out of Longstone, which didn’t do much for Kev’s temperamental front mech. Still, we made it to the top, then down through Black Harry and the old Cavendish fluorspar works, and up the next hill into Eyam. It was extremely pleasant to sit outside in the sunshine partaking of lunch, sunshine that was obviously not long to last. Bearlegged appeared after his ride over from Sheffield – good to see you again Chris - and we set off along Tideswell Lane passing through a lovely patchwork of Peaks limestone walls and fields.
Nice view…
Various wanderings brought us to Little Hucklow, where Bear knew the proprietors of the Michelin-guide Blind Bull, so most unfortunately we had to pop in for a quick pint. Unfortunate, but there we go
. By coincidence we bumped into A Famous Cycling Personage in the bar, who rather incompetently I had never heard of
! At one point, the bar lady lit candles on the tables – quite what romance she thought there could be between three smelly bikepackers I don’t know
– and we had a look at Kev’s map. A wisp of smoke alerted said bar lady to the imminent conflagration resulting from inadvertently holding the map over our candle, narrowly averting us burning the pub to the ground.
The route continued over the remotely bleak Bradwell Moor, conditions getting ever more gloopy as we progressed, the general gloom enhanced by the rain finally setting in.
Bear decided he fancied dropping down to Castleton through Cave Dale and its rockfest path, the mad person
. Kevin and myself took the avoiding route along Dirtlow Rake, then we all met up at the Cheshire Cheese in Hope for a convivial evening of chat, food and beer. Perfect. Sadly, Trep(idExplorer) and her dog and her scooter (and indeed her dog's scooter for all I know) didn't manage to make it. Next time, Trep.
Kevin very kindly presented me with a superb “congratulations” needlepoint card with some nicely thought out fine detail made by himself and his partner Marion, and I was really touched. I thank
you Kevin for all the fun I’ve had over the past few years
.
Needless to say it was still raining away outside – of course it was – and we started to wibble a bit about our intended bivvy spot high up above Edale, although none of us wanted to be the one who initiated a bail out... Luckily it seemed to end up as a joint decision, with me suggesting a football field we’d passed earlier, and Bear offering the town rugby pitch or playground. The footie field had a locked gate, and also a sign proclaiming it to be “Hope School Playing Fields” so that sort of clinched passing it by. The rugby pitch was at least open but was soaked and boggy, so we proceeded to our last ditch option of the playground, after which we’d be a bit stuck. Only marginally better but at least it was flat, so Kevin and Bear set their tarptents up, and I attached my tarp to the climbing frame. We awoke to continued rain, with my mat more or less floating on a lake of water. We retired to the pavilion for a first breakfast, while we waited for a Bear-recommended café to open at the very handy time of 8am. The Old Hall Hotel café was excellent, a nice full breakfast, with proper teapot and proper cups too.
Suitably refreshed, Bear and Kevin headed off east to Sheffield - thank you for your excellent company chaps - and I ground my way up the notorious 600' Winnats Pass climb, fairly chuffed with myself for not pushing any of it in the drizzle and headwind. Down to Sparrowpit, and back round to Dove Holes to pick up the rucsac and await the train to Stockport and thence the express back home. I enjoyed a nice lunch on the train, staring out of the window for an hour or so, marvelling as ever that every other passenger was engrossed with their phone, oblivious to the passing scene outside. Nowt so strange as folk.
Mrs Perrin was as thrilled as ever as I covered the washing line with all my soaking wet kit.
Nice one, Centurion, like it, like it……
3/3, 3/12, 100/100
102_0050 
102_0044 
102_0056 by 
but if I referred to it as the tarp rail I guess that might be more confusing
is that a real headline?
