High pl ains drifter
gears within the first 10 yards. With a 42-tooth inner ring and weighing some 14kg, climbing is not what the Dawes does best, something it has in common with its rider. Most Eroica participants are taking the sensible option and walking up, enjoying the view rather than staring goggle-eyed at their front wheel. I grind up the slope at a knee-buckling pace, the saddle bag swinging back and forth to give an encouraging pat on the back of the thighs with every pedal stroke. A period triple chainset instantly goes to the top of my eBay shopping list.
It’s early in the day for this kind of effort. With a gradient as steep as 15 per cent but stunning views, the climb of Mam Nick is as beautiful as it is tough. The Dawes and I pass over the top and as soon as we’re on the other side the mist closes in again and it’s immediately cooler. We press on fast to Chapel-en-le-Frith.
The route passes through the town, then swings south past the Fernlee Reservoir on a really rough track. With so many leisure routes in the Peak District using converted railway lines I’d expected the off-road sections to be easy. This trail may be flat but it’s very bumpy, shaking the rider and forcing everyone – especially those on skinny-tyred racing bikes – to choose their line with the utmost care.
Then it’s uphill towards the second feed stop. The climb is more gradual than Mam Nick, winding up the side of the narrow and secluded Goyt Valley. It’s quiet and peaceful, or would be if it wasn’t for those bloody bidons. After a quick espresso, I push on even higher onto open moorland. It’s only once the farmland lower down comes into view that it’s possible to judge just how high we have climbed. And it’s high.
Tough, grinding climbs are balanced with open, flowing descents. On one bumpy stretch the cork stopper pops clean out of one of my bottles, splashing cool water onto my leg. One rider shoots past on an immaculate green Mercian, shouting “These roads are bloody fantastic!” And he’s not wrong. I follow him down one straight and steep downhill, trusting the brakes and wheels to resolve their differences without prevarication, and we’re soon in the valley below.
The pattern of granny-gear climb and grin-wide descent continues all the way to the third food stop at Hartington. The village has really made an effort to welcome the ride, and the locally made port and stilton sausages are a big hit. Small servings of a local beer are proving pretty popular, too.
There’s a mix of hard and easy off-road sections over the next few miles. The Tissington Trail is well surfaced and gently downhill, but some other sections would demand attention on a ’cross bike, let alone on road bikes and tourers that are 30 years old or more. There’s no mollycoddling here. Bikes and riders are really being put through the ringer. Even some of the off-road descents are tough, with big railway sleepers ready to catch the unwary.
Riding past Thorpe Cloud and the head of Dovedale is one of the scenic highlights, swiftly followed by a cream tea in Ilam. I’m sucker-punched by the next climb, though. Maybe one scone would have been enough.
The route reaches its most southerly