Recycled Ride to Skipsea on St Patrick’s Day, Friday, 17th March 2017

Cyclists: Adrian Benson, Derek Clark, Chris Eagleton, Helen Kitson, Ian Metcalfe, Sheila Mullen, George Sweeting, Rod Webster, Trev “Officer’s Mess” Whatmore & Dave “Big Wheel” Williamson (Leader)

Mileage: 36.77 miles

Weather: Overcast, blustery westerly wind (20mph), dry to start but a rainy late afternoon

Special announcement: Delivered on Wednesday at Minster Maternity - a welcome addition - young Sirrus is doing well and hopefully we’ll be out and about with other Recycled members on Friday, 31st March. Some financial pangs experienced during delivery.

“Spring is yea and nay,” goes a line in a poem. On our St Patrick’s Day ride to Skipsea it’s a nay day because there’s a cool blustery wind with the ever present threat of rain from low clouds in a leaden sky - all so different from the sunshine of a few days ago...but that’s springtime in England. Today, I’m reminded of a direct ancestor of my wife, Margaret. Her great-grandfather, Thomas Kerrigan, left wild Donegal with its towering cliffs on the west coast of Ireland in the 1840s and moved to Wildsworth, a remote village on the River Trent, near Gainsborough. How did he make this long journey across Ireland and then England with a sea crossing in between, I often wonder? Why did he single out Wildsworth in the east of England? Many of the descendants of this 19 th century Irish refugee have thrived: amongst them there’s a Squadron Leader, his son in turn a talented architect, a public school housemaster and a head of nursing services. My wife had bags of energy, an abundance of heart, remarkable practical gifts and a capacity for hard work. Strange to reflect now, how chance played its part in this and that all these later lives were a consequence of Thomas Kerrigan’s desire to move and survive, in the 1840s, what must have been a very difficult journey?

It’s a delayed start from Swinemoor Lane roundabout: Big Wheel Williamson and Adrian are stepping in as they often do with some mechanical assistance to get Ian on the road. On starting, I notice that almost overnight the roadside hawthorn hedges have come into leaf. Also, approaching Tickton there are multiple clumps of white and yellow daffodils swaying and nodding in the stiff breeze. Wordsworth said that the best lines of his poem about daffodils came from his sister Dorothy’s journal which had been written a couple of years before on a visit to Ullswater:

For oft when on my couch I lieIn vacant or in pensive mood,They flash upon that inward eye

Which is the bliss of solitude.

Sadly, in contrast to the daffodils, there are masses of litter everywhere – on the verges, on the hedge bottoms, in the laybys and dangling from hedge branches and this will be a feature of our ride all day. Notable amongst this national shame are energy drinks. A great pity that those consuming them don’t find the energy they’re supposed to give to recycle!

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The River Hull looks a bit choppy with boats moored on the banks rocking in the swell. Still not completed is the restoration work on the house just below the bridge – the brickwork is well done and eventually this will be a fine-looking dwelling, but it’s taking some time to complete.

We’ll soon be leaving this steady drone of traffic for the country lanes as we wiz pass the Dacre (Day Care) Arms in Brandesburton. Make the most of this back wind, I reflect – the going this afternoon could be tough with a head wind and perhaps rain to contend with.

On the road to Bewholme, before turning off for Dunnington, there are four llamas in a paddock – one black one and three lighter-coloured ones. In case you’re wondering, the collective noun for llamas is a herd. They are members of the camel family and provide meat and wool. Llama wool is warm and luxurious. With their long necks, small heads and straight backs like sheep, they are comical-looking creatures. They are also very friendly and inquisitive and when they see us they canter over to the fence from the other side of the field.

It’s a festival, a riot of daffodils in Dunnington today. Wherever you look: on roadside verges, miniature ones in woodland spinneys; and in the gardens of a manor house where they stretch in never -ending lines along pathways – couldn’t resist including a bit more Wordsworth.

Not to be outdone by the rest of the village, there are many daffodils also in the little

churchyard. Their bright colour and the way they nod and sway in the breeze always raises the human spirit after a long winter. Do you remember on a previous visit when we caught Mr & Mrs

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Duggleby working inside the small St Nicholas’ church? Mr Duggleby was trying to fix the harmonium. I remember the brass chandeliers, the gleaming eight pews and the three lancet stained glass windows in the chancel dedicated by a husband to his wife when they’d settled in Dunnington from what could have been for them a smoky West Riding – all very touching, don’t you think?

“Mr Moo’s not too far away now...and those enormous Cornish pasties,” says Big Wheel, his eyes misting over in hungry anticipation. Being leader must place extra demands on his appetite! Lost count of Big Wheel’s lunchtime nosh – two, may be three sausage rolls, Cornish pasty, slice of cake, drinks and to finish, a mini mug Mr Moo with lashing of ice cream complete with take away mug. Another significant player in this gargantuan extravaganza was the leader of U3A’s Wild Things who could be seen devouring her Mini Mug ice cream like, as you’d expect, the wild thing that she is.

From the cafe window, we can see the tree tops are not just trembling but swaying which reminds us of that head wind to face on our homeward journey. Some of us have a quick cycle to Skipsea’s cliff tops before leaving.

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On the track back to the main road I glance at the run-down Strawberry Fields’ Caravan Site... an ideal setting for a remake of Carry on Camping. With all the characters in Recycled there’s the material for a Carry-on Cycling – don’t you think? First to be cast because of his leadership qualities would be Big Wheel in a Sid James’ role. Casting might be interested in signing up some of our lady cycling members...but I’ll not go onto that now!

Just before Bewholme there’s a ploughed field where I remember on an autumn ride the sight of pumpkins awaiting harvesting. It’s raining now and there’s no respite from this annoying head wind. There’s a short stretch on the Hornsea road with heavy goods vehicles thundering by. All in all, it’s not a great way to spend the last part of the ride.

I’ve not cycled for quite a while and lagging at the back I must have looked a bit weary to Adrian Benson who thoughtfully organises a lift for the last 3 miles of my ride from Cherry Tree Garden Centre to Cherry Burton. With bike in the back, it is with some relief that I clamber into the front seat next to Adrian’s wife, Christine.

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There’s been a bit of cold, wind and rain but nothing, I imagine, like that experienced by my wife’s 19th century Irish refugee Great Grandfather Thomas Kerrigan and the many hardships in the open suffered by today’s refugees who, like me, haven’t got the luxury of a warm bath at the end of the day.

George Sweeting

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