Retreat to York and Beyond

The last day of May.  I have never been away from home for so long.  It has been over a month since I have driven a car. So long since I have seen my garden. My thighs are double their original size on departure. I now need a haircut.   Interesting facts. We have now reached the most northerly point on the Cycling Music tour.  We have turned around and heading for base. Still many adventures to come. Lord only knows what they will be in the company of our esteemed leader.  We are still waiting for the sun to arrive. The weather this last week has been anything else but summer.  Temperatures have been well below average. We met up with Ben and Amanda after a hearty breakfast was taken at the hotel. His nibs had haddock with poached eggs.   Very good indeed. How they have spoilt us.  Mr. Durrant's clean laundry was delivered along with a very nice packed lunch for later. That really is  drawing the short straw dealing with Mr. D's dirty clothing.  Beyond any call of duty I would say. Ben and Amanda's son Tom would be leading us back to York and I could once again relax from my navigational duties.    We released the charity helium balloons  and thought of Jane and her family. What a fantastic job they had done to make such a success of the concert. We were sad to be leaving.  There was a job to be done and I needed to deliver the mighty one to an appointment to play at the Giant Bike Shop in York. We shot off down the road to Malton.  We hit our tour best average speed in excess of 12 mph.    Whilst Richard and I were pushing our bikes along with some effort Tom was in cruise mode managing to cycle with his hands off the handlebars for most of the way. Oh to be young and strong.   We were pleased with performance even when we hit the hilly section of the route from Malton to York.    We have passed a few Civil War battlefields of late, Marston Moore the other day and today Stamford Bridge. It has been like a history field trip out of school. Tom led us through the quite lanes, an exhilarating ride. The sun came out to join us and so the jackets had to come off.  We felt we had achieved something as we stood outside the Giant Shop a couple of hours ahead of our playing time.     Tom left us to return to Pickering. I am sure that leg would be much quicker without a couple of old men in tow.     We dumped the our trusty cycles at the shop and went to enjoy Amanda's lunch; sandwiches, cake together with a caramel slice each. What a treat!   Things were quiet when we went to set up  and play.  One or two customers enjoyed the playing.  A couple who own a hotel were interested in the music and bought a cd! Bingo.    Perhaps a missed opportunity here for the bike shop.    Shame not more regular  customers invited to the shop.   By late afternoon it was time to depart the city of York and continue south in the general direction of Doncaster.   We had a B and B booked at Church Fenton outside the town of Tadcaster.   Home to RAF Church  Fenton.  What should have been an easy evening ride became a race against time before our energy levels dropped. We should have stopped for a snack before leaving.  Running on empty!   I had great trouble getting us efficiently out of the city. My mind was still off duty and one wrong turning and we were off in the wrong direction.  My fault, my fault my own grevious fault. However, let us remember, we are not living in a blame culture on this tour.   We ended up having to peddle a short way on the A64. Not fun.     Into the countryside but a rather roundabout route to get across the River Ouse and then on to Tadcaster where the artiste went into meltdown. We stopped at a pub to refuel. A bag of nuts and a pint of beer. Not sure that is what Bradley Wiggins takes on at this stage of a ride.  Would it bring sir round? The delightful environs of Tadcaster did nothing to lift the flagging spirits of the artiste. Home to John Smith's Brewery it looked more like a chemical plant. At a low ebb the comments of RD are not able to be put into print here.  Telephones losing power and Church Fenton six miles further south.  Would this be a bridge too far?    Not only had he lost the will to ride he seemed to have lost his sense of humour.    With a sigh of relief we trundled into the village and found the oasis that is  Station Farm B and B with little trouble.      The utterly exhausted and subdued maestro hobbled in with his gear. Oh how he had suffered. All in the the name of his art.    After a wash and brush up it was time to eat. Let us not mention the Church Fenton pub we visited.  Not one to complain,  Mr. Durrant failed to find a redeeming feature about the place.  He had to send back his pint with ginger beer and felt that eating there would now be too risky.  Nobody likes the chef's own sauce now do they?   We opted for the Indian restaurant located in the railway station building a little way up the road.    If in doubt have a curry.  It could be a long night back at Station Farm.  Over dinner we recovered from the day.  Riding, playing and then riding again. 58 miles on the road.   883 the tour total.  We were ready for bed that was for sure.