Sunday, 12 October 1924 Delamere Forest

I had to meet Tom at 10am, Warrington, for a run somewhere, so I was on the road at 8.15.  The usual route, Leigh, Lowton, Winwick etc, was taken, arriving at the rendezvous in good time.  I acquainted Tom of the rear wheel incident, so the decision was taken to take it easy.  Chester road took us steadily through Daresbury and Preston Brook to Sutton Weaver, from where was a fine view of the headlands of Frodsham and Helsby, richly adorned in autumnal colouring.  Dropping to Frodsham Bridge, we crossed the Weaver, and very soon reached Frodsham.  Half a mile beyond the village, we left the main road, swinging left, into a bylane, which, after winding its way towards Helsby Point, branched off, and immediately started to climb.  It soon brought us out of the saddle, but well content were we to walk.

The sun was hot, and we stopped many times, the glorious scenery around constantly arresting our attention.  Blackberries were in abundance here, but we knew from experience that to start picking them meant goodbye to lunch!  Right on the summit of the road, whence a captivating view could be had of the broad acres westwards, we stopped for lunch at a little shop.  It (lunch) was set in a little summerhouse in the garden.  I often, whilst at home, picture that idle lunch, and the easy hour we spent afterwards, chatting on a thousand topics – mostly cycling.  Then leisurely we rode off, the down gradient speeding us a little, until below us, the tree-tops of Delamere Forest lay like a carpet embodying every shade of green and gold.  From Manley, a bridle path led us to a little duck pond on the edge of the forest.  We spent nearly an hour here, watching the host of ducks splashing about, and walking slowly on the bank.  Of all the farmyard world, surely ducks are the most entertaining and amusing!

Bestirring ourselves at last, we pottered along the switchback to Hatchmere, then the down gradient quickened our feet, and we soon were beyond Norley, Crowton, and Acton Bridge.  Then the old favourite in the gathering dusk, Little Leigh, Comberbach and old world Gt. Budworth.  In the twilight we swung through the estate of Arley Hall to Arley, where, in a pretty little cottage, tea was set.  A long idle here, then with lamps lit, and beneath a moonlit sky, we traversed the winding lanes past Swineyard Hall to High Legh and Broom Edge, where we parted company.  I returned home as usual over Chat Moss, much elated by this wonderful run, and in complete forgetfulness of the broken rear wheel.                                                                                                   80 miles

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