POCKSTONED MOOR

a YOUNG BOYS FIRST LONE RIDE ACROSS THE OPENMOORS

Pockstones moor

08 February 2023

09:08

It was the first day of the summer holiday Harry was setting out on his first lone cycle ride over the Yorkshire Dales moorlands

 

He was 12 years old; he had joined the cycling club just two months earlier on his birthday.

It wasn't a new bike; it was his father's old pre-war racing bike. Harry had stripped it down and reassembled it; under his father's strict supervision; he knew how to adjust all the bearings and to mend a puncture.

 

Now following a few day journeys with the club it was time to go out alone; to enjoy the freedom of the outdoors, the peace and solitude of the open moorlands. He had been there with the club and now was seeking to be alone away from the boys at school, who's only interest was football; chasing a ball around a field for ninety minutes was not for him, a day on the road, seeing new places, new sights, new experiences.

 

He was a traveller, an explorer

 

He checked his equipment again: Tool kit; map; watch; sandwiches; water bottle; rain cape; spare dry socks.

It was eight o'clock in the morning; he wanted to be at his lunch spot by mid-day; that was forty miles away; ten miles an hour, the easy riders in the club did twelve miles an hour.

 

He took the side roads into the city of Bradford, then chose the Manningham Lane route out of town in preference to the more level cobbled Canal Road route, with the small work units and the smelly gas works

 

He passed the brightly lit shops; and now dreary-looking Victorian houses; built to house the mill managers during the industrial revolution; past the open space of Manningham Park.

He turned right at the junction with Airedale Road down the slope through Charlestown; now a suburb of Bradford.

Over Chevin Hill, Past Harry Ramsdens wooden chippy, he took the left fork towards Ilkley, from Airedale into Wharfedale.

 

The scenery changed; instead of houses, shops, workplaces and factories; there were houses with nice gardens, fields, 

He could see a wood across the fields and heather-covered moorlands. Through Burley Woodhead and Ilkley the road ran parallel with the River Wharf. He was now going to ride parallel to it all the way to his appointed lunch stop.

After passing through Ilkley he took the right turn over the stone-built bridge to Bolton Bridge, 

Crossing the main road onto the Grassington road. Passing the ruins of Bolton Abbey and the 

Cavendish Memorial; which was erected in memory of the landowners son who died in the Strid when out hunting his dog pulled back to chase a rabbit causing him to fall into the narrow chase where anyone unfortunate to fall in could not be rescued; only when the current an eddies changed would the river give them up.

At Barden Towers, he turned down the steep hill over another stone bridge< he dismounted and went to look over the parapet to watch the water flowing from the nearby hills and valleys, Litton Dale; Upper Wharfdale; from the mountain stream that begins at the side of Park Rash Pass which leads into Wensleydale. 

He marvelled at the clean water; how is sparked as it flowed over the stones creating swirls and eddies. 

Flowing endlessly under the bridge, down the valley past the Strid; Bolton Abbey; Ilkley; Otley and on to join the River Ouse near York and on to the sea.

     

Stopping his musing he took his bike from its parking place and began to push it up the steep hill; a welcome rest for his legs, though they were not aching. 

His lunch stop was Skyrehome Farm where he bought a mug of hot tea and ate his lunch sandwiches sitting at the outside bench.

watching the in the fields cropping the grass; it looked so short he wondered how they found sufficient to eat.

How different from the surrounding of home; what his school friends were missing, no amount of football could compensate for views such as this

 

After lunch he set out again turning right from the farm he was on a single track road the metaled surface would soon end; through a gate onto the grass of the 'Green Road', an ancient track used by the drovers to drive animals from the dales: Wensley and Swale and further afield, to markets in Leeds and Bradford.; 

 

He was now completely alone; no road traffic.

He heard a cackling noise; to his young ears, and used to the hum of the town traffic it sounded like the witches in the film, 'Over the Rainbow'.

No witches here; they were in Lancashire; Pendle Hill near Clitheroe.

These are Grouse calling to their mates; 'someone is crossing our land keep out of sight - Go on Mr grouse shout at me; Yes I'm going on my way'

 

Partway across Harry just had a thought; 'How could he determine his present position? In towns, there were landmarks churches, Post Offices on the map to take bearings from what is there here?' 

 

A bend in the river; the curve of a hillside. 

He set his map. no compass but he was beside a dry stone wall; that would, a compass would have been more realistic, must ignore the wall while I take the bearings. .

He drew an imaginary line from his chosen landmarks, they intersected close by the wall.

Yes just up the way he could see the top of a signpost and the map showed a junction.

Reaching the junction he kept straight ahead ignoring the junction and its short cut.

He came out on a country road. Left leading to Stump Cross Caverns and the road between Grassington and Pateley Bridge. Right going past Threshfield down to Otley.

He turned to Otley.

At Blubberhouses he crossed the cross country road and wheeled bike up the 1:5 (20%) hill, past Blubberhouses church then across the moors to Otley. Here he had tea in the cyclists & walkers 'Bent Poker' café

He took the Bradford road from Otley re-joining his outwards journey but taking the cobbled Canal Road option as this lead to a combination of back streets that missed out the city centre.  

 

Wild Rose 2018