The best laid plans…

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The three peaks from Buckden Pike

I don’t make new year resolutions just as I try not to make false promises… But a spectacular walk up Buckden Pike on Christmas Eve had me determining to get out onto the hills more, by foot or on bike, however full or empty the inbox is.  Walking in particular isn’t just exercise for the body – some of my best ideas occur to me on a good walk, as though the rhythmic tread helps to straighten out the thoughts into usable strands, in a similar way perhaps to the effect of a good night’s sleep.

So this week I took the bike for its first spin of the year, heading up beyond the Cove to the bridleway across to Arncliffe.  It’s a bright, cold day and the going is mostly dry except for a few muddy and frozen puddles around field gates, so all’s set for a modestly challenging, if more often leisurely, cross-country ride.

I’m less than a mile out from the Malham Tarn road when disaster strikes: a sharp click and suddenly I lose all traction and come to an ungainly stop.  Looking down I see the chain trailing uselessly behind the bike, snapped clean into a single string.  I knew I should have replaced it weeks ago…

it’s a no-chainer… nothing for it but to walk and roll home

There’s nothing for it but to trudge back along my route and ponder the perils of procrastination – but not before enjoying a chilly picnic lunch by the shore of the Tarn, which is looking decidedly plumper and blue than the last time I wandered this way (see this blog for 16th July).  May as well, since I’m in the neighbourhood.

The incident calls to mind a similar occurrence from a few years ago.

When travelling in south-west China I once hired a bike for a day’s exploration around temples and villages.  Towards the middle of the afternoon just as I was pulling up the first hill of the day the chain gave out and with only a couple of hours before needing to re-join my group I had 15k to cover with only my feet and gravity to keep the show on the road.  I tried thumbing lifts from passing open-backed vans but to no avail.  Still, gliding downhill at a leisurely pace without the turning of pedals or the background whirring of gear wheels is about the most relaxing way to travel I know.

I remember this as I roll over the undulating road from the Tarn back to Malham and feel a certain kinship with people getting around on bikes the other end of the continent and the rest of the world for that matter.

And I put aside my plans to ride the bridleway to Arncliffe for later in the year.  After all, had the chain snapped nearer to the furthest point of the trip, I’d have been walking home well into the night – something that would be much more enjoyable on a summer’s evening.  Now there’s a pleasant thought for a cold day in January…

A blue day above the Tarn