It's a dull afternoon so am going to put finger to keyboard and commit this recollection to posterity for the entertainment of those supporters who are interested in the annual saga of muscle strains, liniment and punctures.

      This year was a very special one for me, since it was the 35th consecutive time I had done the ride, including a solo effort during the ludicrous lockdown period. You may recall I took a few unscheduled 'scenic detours’, what some uncharitable souls might describe as getting lost!

        I even invested in a specially printed yellow T-shirt bearing the words' my 35th Manchester to Blackpool Ride-Wish me Luck’. It worked actually because quite a few people did, possible out of pity and the thought that anyone who looked that worn out wouldn't possibly make it alive! On the day before the ride, which was on the 14th of July this year, I got the bike up on the stand and went through it with a fine tooth comb, not to mention several spanners, Allen keys and liberal lashing of lubricant and grease. Thankfully there were no major issues to deal with, but it never does to take these things for granted, and those who do, inevitably regret not taking the time to prepare.

              I made my sandwiches the night before, along with all my other snacks, tools and bits and pieces, and retired early, since I'd decided to get up at 4.00 am to get the animals sorted out, have breakfast etc, without rushing. Thankfully both tyres were still up when I awoke, and the time went very quickly (as it always does). I left the house on the dot of 5.30 and set off for Manchester, the first leg in the trip. It was fine but dull and not very promising, but we have to ride whatever the weather and just get on with it - after all we are Northern!

               The streets and roads were pretty much deserted, and it was nice not have to worry about traffic for a change, mind you the pot holes were still there! Within an hour I was in Manchester and making my way down Market Street, past the people sleeping in doorways, a sad sight at the best of time, and one clearly deranged or drunk man shouting obscenities at the top of his voice to another man on a scooter! And they say Manchester doesn't have any culture!

             Along the road system which winds its way up to Old Trafford, and then round the back of the stadium to a road which runs down to the imperial war museum and a little lane from which one accesses the Salford Quays. I must say, from a personal point of view, the War Museum building is not architecturally stimulating, which is a polite way of saying it's downright ugly. I’m sure it was designed by someone with numerous letters after their name and a string of awards, but it doesn't float my boat I'm afraid.

       Across the bridge and into The Piazza, where the Bike events staff were busily sorting out the paperwork, t-shirts and various other items for the riders, and I was very relieved that I hadn't had any punctures on the way on, always a disappointing start to the day, and one of the reasons for getting out early-just in case!. I made myself useful by helping to put up one of the tents, which had mechanisms on all four legs which require teamwork and coordination. It's probably so simple that a five year old could do it, but there's never one around when you need one! My old friend Rick; the yellow suited 'voice of the ride' was not there again this year, and was sadly missed-I used to love having my picture taken with him before the start, and listening to his jokes, some of which were actually worse than mine! I believe he's well, and doing voice-over work. I wish him well.

           In conversation with one of the ladies on the staff, she noticed the t-shirt and was very impressed by my fortitude(either that or she was just being polite and thought I was stark raving mad!).Unbelievably I found a combination lock on the sales area which was almost identical to one I’d had for years, and inexplicably lost along the way. I couldn't believe it and bought it, even though it was locked and I'd have to figure out what the combination was later. Talk about fate.

         Suitably  psyched up by the encourage from the people at the start, we lined up at 7.30 and were released onto an unsuspecting world to the cheers of the people who were  sensible enough not to be attempting it and stood well out of the way!

        It was still fine and not too cold, although far from the weather I prefer, which is hot and sunny-not a lot of chance of that courtesy of weather manipulation I fear. I always try to settle in a steady routine, to let the muscles remember what they're supposed to be doing, and save my energy for when I need it. Amazingly as we wound our way through Salford, I didn't actually dismount on a section going up to  a large roundabout, which is actually quite steep, and  usually sees me walking some of the way up. It was a good start at least!

                Traffic was reasonably light for the first leg of the journey, something to bear in mind, since, unlike the Tour de France, they don't close the roads down for us. You'd think they had, given the way some riders shoot  through traffic lights on red and ride six abreast across the road with cars behind them! To be fair though, I didn't personally see a lot of really bad riding this year, unlike some of the earlier ones, when it looked as if body bags might be in order!

                 Through Astley Green and Leigh, Atherton and Westhoughton we sailed (well sailed downhill at any rate!), and the tyres, which had not been cheap, were definitely earning their money, since quite a few people were standing on the pavement, dealing with punctures, at this point. I always ask if some's Ok as a matter of course, because they may be novices and may not have a clue how to sort out a puncture or change an inner tube on the road. It's not a nice feeling to be miles from home and stranded without the knowledge to sort things out.

 It's worth thinking about, for all those who've never done anything of this nature, since every single one of the participants is risking their safety and their bikes for the sake of charity, not something to be taken lightly, and I salute all of them for their courage and faith in their own ability.

                    We reached Aspull and the next stop was Haigh Hall (pronounced Hay-for the purists among you!),where I traditionally take a break. Before this is a great little section with a very long, steep hill-the kind I love because it's going down and not up! You get to the top and then absolutely sail down- I did actually clock 31 mph on one occasion and shocked myself! It's a great rest for the muscles, but obviously you have to be very careful with the brakes and the balance. Falling off at 25-30 mph is not recommended and will seriously spoil your day, if not your entire weekend!

               Reaching Haigh Hall at 10.10am,I took a 35 minute break, which always seems to speed by. There were quite  few riders milling around, mostly milling around the Portaloo’s, jumping from one foot to the other, and thankfully I didn't see any loo related accidents this year! Wet floors and slippery cycling shoes do not mix!

           I was standing near a group of  African riders from the Manchester Cycling club, you know the sort, calf muscles like a weight lifter and obviously expensive  state of the art bikes. I glanced at my own meagre muscles and  resigned myself to the fact that they were going to be in Blackpool long before I was! One of them spotted my t-shirt and called his friends over, congratulating me and marvelling at the achievement. I say that but he was probably being polite and thinking' How has  he managed to do it and still be able to collect his pension!  They were a great bunch of lads, and mentioned that several bike events organisations were struggling as numbers were not what they had been. I think there were around 2000 riders this year, which is probably  half the number of some previous years.

        My newly found admirer asked if I'd record an interview for their Facebook page, so I found myself recounting when I started, how and why etc. I wished them well for the rest of the trip, but was sure they'd be eating an ice cream in Blackpool before I'd reached Preston.

         Leaving at 10.45 I pressed on, through the beautiful grounds of Haigh Hall, onto the main road and on towards Preston, the next stop along the way.  it was nice to see quite a few people outside their house, encouraging the riders and waving, and it does give you a little 'lift' when the muscles are flagging. Somewhere between Haigh Hall and Charnock Richard, I stopped to help a man who was standing woefully beside his fallen 'steed' and looking puzzled. I turned out that he had a puncture and had brought along one of those gas canisters which take the place of a pump. Unfortunately for him, it was out of gas and he had no pump. Fortunately I had two! One of his spare tubes wouldn't inflate for some reason, and thankfully the other one did, so I changed it for him, blew it up and checked the wheel. I must admit there didn't seem to be a lot of rubber on the tyre, which might have contributed to the  unscheduled stop. He was very grateful and promised to make a donation to Three Owls in return for the help. Not required of course, but gratefully received if he did. I fancy he may take along a pump if he does it next year!

                  Not long afterwards I encountered a young man (well they're all young compared to me!) with another poorly bike. His chain had come off the cog and jammed, so he wasn't going anywhere. I got my tools out, since his rather old and rusty spanner didn't look as if it was up to the job, and took the wheel off and freed the chain. I have to say the chain, wheel and bike did look as if they needed a lot of TLC, and one pedal was barely turning around. I sprayed the parts with the free can of lube given out at the start by the nice folks at Bike Events, and hoped that would be enough to see him safely to the finish. It never ceases to amaze me that anyone would start out on a sixty mile journey, putting their life in the hands of their machine, when they clearly haven't really looked at it or maintained it. Of course anything can go wrong en-route, even with a well maintained bike, but it does seem foolish to tempt providence.

I settled back into a rhythm, and was just getting comfortable when i found my next rider in distress. By this time it was getting silly, but I couldn’t ride by, as he looked as though he needed help. he was riding a newly acquired electric bike (they're allowing them on the ride now ), which wasn't responding to the pedals. On inspection it turned out that the chain had slipped off the sprocket and dropped down behind, so basically wasn't being driven when he pedalled. putting it back in pace was simple, and I wondered if we could adjust it by moving the back wheel back a little. Unfortunately there was no room to do this, so it had to stay as it was. I felt it might need a link taking out of the chain to tighten it up, and in fact had the tool to do it. However I judged that it wasn't worth interfering at the side of the road where a small component might get long, and then he'd be in real trouble. Sometimes prudence is the better part of valour!

By now I'd lost nearly an hour by being a good Samaritan, and was resigned to the fact that I wouldn't be doing one of my best times!

The long straight and apparently never ending road into Preston loomed up, and as in all previous years, it was time to grit the teeth, put the head down and just keep going steadily to eat up the distance. Thinking about it too much is fatal and not good for the mental state, just keep going and don't stop. Some years back, on a day with awful weather, we rode down this road, a long straggling line of wet and wind battered riders with water running down our backs and in our eyes, and the thought no doubt shared by all-'why the hell are we doing this!

        Eventually we hit the docks area, after a small detour, and at 1.05 I dismounted, propped the bike against a wall adjacent to a lovely, convenient bench, and sat down to relax. The t-shirt attracted a few good wishes from passing dog walkers, and I was going to proffer an autograph but thought it was perhaps a bit over the top! The legs still had some miles in them and I wasn't feeling too bad, so after half an hour’s break, I wheeled the bike back to the road and heaved my body back into the saddle.

           There's a short but very steep section of road just as we leave the docks area and turn left near a park area. It seems ridiculously steep when your legs are tired, and I have to confess on a few occasions I've dismounted and pushed! Not long after this I found the same young man with the same rusty bike and the same stuck chain, by the side of the road. Luckily we could get the chain back on quickly, but I seriously wondered if he was going to make it to the finish line before it got dark!

        The next section of the ride is through lovely countryside and some very pretty little villages and hamlets, with farms interspersed along the way. The weather was still not warm, but luckily, apart from a few light spots of rain, it had held off. I decided to take off the jacket and stow it away in the bag, to make sure that when I eventually got to Blackpool and crossed the line, the t-shirt would show up! It was a bit nippy at times, but not uncomfortably so.

      The country road, hedges on either side, meandered through Treales and Freckleton, eventually coming out at  Warton, from where we set off on the coast road to Lytham St. Annes and the iconic White Windmill  on the greens. apart a recumbent cycle,  and a chopper style bike ,I didn't see any unusual machines this year. previous years have sported Penny Farthings and even unicycles. The riders of the latter deserved all the admiration they could get. They were either incredibly brave or stark raving mad!

        We reached the Windmill, and luckily the wind ,while definitely in evidence, wasn't too strong, something to be very grateful for, especially when, like me  you're a bit tired at this point and could do without riding into a 30mph side wind for a couple of miles!

      This section is the one that often takes it out of riders, other than, of course, the super fit club cyclists, who breeze along, combing their hair and sipping a cocktail while the rest of us struggle to keep going in a forward motion!

         The road does seem to go on forever, especially the section after Fairhaven Lake. I'd love to stop there and relax for  half an hour, but I know that if I did I wouldn't want to get back on the bike again, which would somewhat defeat the purpose of the exercise! Gritted teeth are definitely required for this section, thankfully freshly gritted teeth are provided by Bike events, but have to be handed back afterwards for use on the 2025 event! It's a strange feeling, knowing that after all the miles, you are incredibly close to the finish, but not quite there yet. As you get closer to Blackpool itself, there is more and more evidence of people casually strolling along the coast road or sitting in pub forecourts drinking cold, refreshing glasses of beer. There is also more evidence of tired riders looking at them with envious, tortured faces and thinking how much they'd like to just stop and join them!

            Eventually the road reaches a set of lights in Blackpool, and we veer left onto the section of the promenade which is cordoned off from traffic for the day. The sense of relief is amazing, and the psychological lift does add a bit of energy to the last few hundred yards of pedal turning as you see the barriers on either side, with people leaning over and shouting encouragement ( at least I assume it was encouragement!) Then there it is, the line itself with the commentator in his little booth on the left, making the riders feel special for having accomplished  something remarkable. Then on to the little park area to the right, to collect your medal, get off the bike and sit on the nearest empty patch of grass.

        I  crossed the line ( and some would say not for the first time!)  at dead on 4.00 pm, and had it not been for the  selfless stops along the way, would have done it an hour earlier. I had an hour and a half wait before the bikes could be loaded onto the returning lorry and we could take a seat on the coach to return to Manchester. I comforted myself with a rather expensive pint of cider (what the hell, I reckoned I’d earned it) and a few chats with fellow riders. It was quite comforting to find out that riders younger than myself also found the last section a bit of a drain, so I didn't feel quite as guilty or infirm!

      Apparently all the trains going back to Manchester had been cancelled, which caused some obvious problems for those who were relying on them. Isn’t our transport system wonderful!!!

            The journey back was uneventful and restful, and we dropped off at media City again, having half an hour wait for the bikes to catch up. I then had to retrace my steps from the morning ride, and make my weary way home again. Given that Manchester, which isn't my favourite place on earth at the best of times, was full of loud, apparently brain dead football supporters blowing those silly cone instruments and swilling beer on the pavements, you can appreciate my readiness to get out of it as quickly as possible!

         The ride home taxed my right leg a little, but it held out, and eventually I reached Whitefield, from whence it is all downhill to Bury. I got home at 9.20pm,put the bike away, saw to the animals and had an early night, preceded by a strong tea!  I trust the reader will have found this report of interest, and as I always say, any opinions about anything expressed within it are mine alone ,so if anyone is offended it isn't Nigel's fault! Hopefully I will be fit enough next year to undertake the annual journey to Blackpool and will of course do it for the benefit of Three Owls. Any support given will be much appreciated by both myself and the trustees.

John Thorpe