Sunday, 12 July 1925 Axe Edge

Post:       For a cycle ride, it seems to involve a lot of walking up the steep sections, or maybe it was to do with the sun being hotter than normal !  And always remember to take a mirror with you when you go exploring caves !

Sunday, July 12                                              Axe Edge

‘Kingsway End’, 6.30am, was our meeting place today.  We intended doing a whole heap of ‘lions’, the ‘Street’, Goyt Dale, Axe Edge, Roaches and Luds church, and the Dane Valley were all on the card.  Alas, we reckoned without the weather!  I was out at 5am, enjoying the cool, misty morning air.  There is nothing in the world like being astride a light bicycle on an early summer morning; the pure air seems to get into one’s heart and make him sing for joy – the joy of a long, care-free day – a day that was to be for me amongst the great, clean moors.  The one and a half hours of suburb riding before I met Tom, put me in form and anticipation for the ride.  The morning was getting warmer, but a summer mist overhung the country.  One cannot fail to interpret what the mist foretold – a warm day – and we therefore got a move on, for it was in our minds to get as far as possible before the sun strengthened.

We soon got into our stride at our usual ding-dong pace that knocks the miles back so effectively – miles that we had no real use for.  Handforth and that undulating byway that takes one through delightfully rural country, and skirting old world Prestbury, drops on to the Macclesfield main road.  We had barely proceeded ten yards on this shiny black highway, when we again hailed the lanes, and very soon were being jolted through the stony, uphill streets of Bollington, and before eight thirty, we were on ‘shanks’, climbing, climbing – and then some climbing, for mile after mile, towards that thread of road up there, whilst the billowy plains of Cheshire lay below us, bathed in the mist of a July morning.  As we rose, we climbed into the mist; at one point, we could barely see five yards before us.  At length we stood on the highest point, over 1,300 ft above the sea, and tumbled down to Blue Boar Farm, where we patronised a lane that has grown quite popular this year with us – the lane that drops quite a lot of feet in an incredibly short time, and contrives to turn as many bends as possible.  I recollect saying that only a fool or maniac would ride down there – I did it, though it was only at the same speed that Tom walked.  (He had more sense!).  From then on we had another walk past Saltersford Chapel and up again for about two miles to the top of the ridge of Cat’s Tor, over 1,400 ft and on to the line of Roman Road known as the ‘Street’.

When we reached the pine wood on the summit we were positively leg weary with, in all, about five miles of walking, hard, uphill, tramping.  Then we had a long, steady descent, straight as a die down a very rough road.  About 200 yards from the bottom, Tom announced that he had punctured – his Ivory cord had at long last given way.  We walked then to Goyt Bridge, where we had lunch, mended the puncture, and hung about for an hour, watching the trout in the stream.  When we did start, it was walking again up that Valley of Wonders known as Goyt Dale.  The sun had got properly going now, and was letting us know about it!

Goyt Dale!  As the road climbs higher above this stream, it gave beautiful glimpses through the trees of a silver line, hedged with bushes and coloured rock.  We could not tear ourselves away for a long time, standing at each vantage point, fascinated.  Where the road goes level for a bit, it runs through a field of bracken, and over a rocky gorge.  Then it leaves the trees and runs by the stream which has perceptibly lessened, and both are in a kind of moorland pass not unlike the climb to the Trough of Bowland from Marshaw.  The sun got so powerful that we chucked our jackets off and had a dip in the water.

A cave attracted our attention, out of which came a rushing waterfall, and Tom in a playful moment, flashed his mirror into it.  Ye Gods! what a sight it was!  The dancing point of light showed us glittering green-brown walls, a deep waterway, smooth, from which the reflection rebounded a dozen times at once, until the whole tunnel was a fairyland of glittering blue-green emeralds.  The walls jutted out continually into the distance, where the light had lost its power.  It was an unexpected scene, and, therefore was all the more enjoyable.  The climb continued until we gained sight of the Macclesfield-Buxton road, where, on enquiring the time, found that it was 12 noon.  It had taken us over 3 hours to cover about 10 miles.  Ah, but how enjoyable!

We soon reached the main road, and crossed it, preferring a secondary one which led to an altitude of 1,700 ft on the sun-scorched moors before it landed us, after a wild twist to avoid a deep gully, on Axe Edge.  (The Leek-Buxton road).  Frankly, we were disappointed with it: it would give one the impression of absolute wildness, but instead, we found dwellings clustered here and there and plenty of traffic.  We came to Flash Bar Inn, the third highest in England (1.553 ft), but they told us they could not make a modest pot of tea.  A little further on we turned right into the village of Flash and the New Inn served us.  We carried on downhill then, on a narrow, very stony trackway, with good views across the valley.  Our intention was to find the coolest spot – and stay, and we decided to get away to a secluded part of the Dane, divest our clothing, and bathe.  We reached the river in question in due time, took our bikes along a path, and dumped them behind a wall, afterwards having a long walk by the beautiful little river, and as we could not be absolutely secluded, only divested our shoes and stockings.  Nevertheless, we paddled one and a half hours away in this wise.

We returned bare-footed by the banks of the stream until we gained sight of our bicycles, when we replaced our footgear and rescued the machines.  From Gradbach it was all uphill for a time, until a nasty swoop down took us to Allgreave, at the end of Wildboarclough.  Again we had a long, steady climb on to the roof of Cheshire, on the Buxton-Congleton road, forsaking this highway just beyond the summit for the Macclesfield road.  Hot and dusty, we fled downhill, stopping once on seeing a cider notice, but we were in the ‘off-hours’ and had to be content with lemonade, a poor, gassy substitute.  The tar on the road had boiled up, and was fast ruining our clothes and messing our tyres up.  The Silk Town was crowded with sallow-faced ‘paraders’ when we went through.  The potter across Alderley Edge is always delightful, and an all-too short six miles.  Mrs Powell did us well as usual, then we had a long chat with a couple of Leek CTC-ites, criticising the machines about the farmyard.  Some admiration and many enquiries were directed at my ‘Grubb’, and truth to tell, I had nothing but praise for it as well !

As the hour had got late, we decided that our best policy was to ‘crash through’ on the motorised main road, which we did, to our own discomfort.  It has been a jolly hard day, but a potter, and as usual, it was voted A1                                                                                                                      90 miles

 

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