In remembrance and with apologies to Rabbie Burns, The cow’rin’ timorous beasties congregated at Market Cross to exercise the heart within their breasties. The chieftain o’ the Puddin’ race said with all good grace, “We can head out Eastie in search of the flying beastie, or make our way, bold and brave, all the way north to the Bike Cave.”
Having chosen the Bike Cave option, the nine haggis puddings set off along Norwood towards Tickton where they were joined by KiwiManx. Approaching the Hull Bridge chicane, Steve had some trouble with his mudguard forcing him to stop and make some impromptu repairs. While Chainsaw Dave stayed to assist, the remainder of the group continued slowly onwards towards White Cross roundabout.
The group came together again shortly after with Steve immediately jumping onto the front to set the pace through Leven and on to Brandesburton. The chieftain found the pace somewhat higher than his fitness would allow and was soon off the back. Too much good living over the winter months methinks.
“Then horn for horn, on they stretch and strive, Di’el tak the hind most and on they drive” seems an appropriate Burns quote as the group once again split on the way to North Frodingham.
While waiting to regroup, we were passed by another group of cyclists. For some, it was like red tag to a bull and once on the way, set off in hot pursuit (not that we’re competitive or anything). Although we did not make the catch, we managed to close the gap significantly before stopping at Wansford. Sharrin took this opportunity to phone ahead to place our cafe order.
The chieftain also took advantage of the stop and headed off the front to gain some distance before being caught once more. On reaching Driffield, Steve and Dave continued homewards, while the rest of us found our fare ready and waiting at the cafe. “Some hae meat and canna eat, And some wad eat that want it, But we hae meat and we can eat, And sae the Lord be thankit.”
The journey home proved a little tougher, with westerly winds providing a constant buffer, Wending our way o’er Hill and Glen, stopping for a breather now and then. The road miles soon passed by, like the scudding clouds across the sky, then as our end we came to face, it was time to end the puddin’ race.