My longest ride of 2023 was 237km / 148 miles back in July, indeed it is probably my longest ride since 2017. For various reasons I have never got back to long distances although I did manage a 200km audax just before the Covid lockdown in 2020.
My father died on the 30th July 2018 and this ride was a tour of some the work he undertook when he was working in construction. My trip was to visit the power stations, or remains, at Drakelow, Willington and Ratcliffe on Trent, a cement works in Southam and a brewery in Northampton.
The ride was partly inspired by the song ‘Building Up and Tearing England Down’. I had known the song for some time sung by Christy Moore and more recently by The Mary Wallopers who I saw recently in Sheffield. It tells the story of a generation of Irishmen coming to England and working in construction, not all living to tell the tale. My father would come home on occasion and say that he had heard about someone dying in an accident. I didn’t always know these people but it really hit home when the man next door, also Irish, was killed in the power stations of Yorkshire leaving a wife and 5 kids the eldest had probably just started work.
It was a bright mid-summer morning and I was up and out of the house by 0525 heading into the city of Derby. My first stop was a shopping centre built in the early 70’s that my father worked on. FRom here it was out on familiar cycle tracks and roads to Willington which is about 10 miles from home in Derby. My father would have been working here when I was born in 1959, it is now disused. I took a quick photo and moved on as I wanted to be well clear of Burton on Trent before rush hour. A few miles from Burton I passed the site of the now demolished Drakelow power station one of the first projects my father worked on when he arrived in England from the west of Ireland.
The roads were still familiar to me as I headed to Weston on Trent and then South along lovely quiet lanes to Meriden now to less familiar terrain. Meriden was said to be the centre of England in 1829 and a monument erected. About 90 years later this was found to be inaccurate. There is a cyclist’s memorial here as well.
Continuing south I was heading for Southam and starting to get hungry, I had not come across a cafe or shop in a while. I thought I had found a cafe at a lavender farm but it was not open midweek. Eventually I pulled off route at Long Itchington and found a small supermarket where I did the usual sweep of sandwich, drink, eccles cake and whatever else I could fit on the bike.
Leaving the village my route was taking me past the cement works my father would have worked in the early 70’s but it is all behind trees and I forgot and no picture was taken. The ride did not take me into Southam itself and so with a full belly I pressed on.
A few weeks later herself and myself were in the area again on the way to meet friends. We called into Southam and went for a coffee in The Otter pub. One of my uncles, with a fabulous memory, said that he, my dad and another brother met up in that pub one occasion when dad worked there. Dad was in digs coming home for the weekend and my two uncles were living in nearby Coventry. How he remembered a pub name after nearly 50 years is unbelievable to me.
I was now heading east towards Northampton and was surprised how hilly the ride was. Nothing steep but often quite long and this continued to the edge of Northampton where I picked up some gravel cycle tracks taking me all the way to the Carlsberg factory in the centre. My father had worked on an extension in the early 70’s, I cannot recall the order of the job is Southam and this one took place but he spent a few years working away from home. I recall at the end of the job him bringing home a four pack of Carlsberg beer. Dad was never much of a drinker and he had taken ‘the pledge’ back in Ireland but he did start drinking a little from his late 20’s.
I was heading north now but it was early evening and the roads were getting busy and it was very stop / start until I cleared the city. I could have got out a bit quicker but I had an extra visit here.
In 1926 the Dublin born Violet Gibson shot and wounded Mussolini in Rome. She was deported to England and spent the rest of her life in a psychiatric hospital in Northampton where she died in 1956. She is buried in a cemetery there and I hoped to find her grave. I had a look around fro 10-15 minutes without any luck and as I still had a way to go decided to head off. (Rabbit hole alert: Lisa O’Neill, who we saw perform in May, wrote a song called Violet Gibson. It was on the album ‘Heard A Long Gone Song’ a lyric by Shane MacGowan from the song ‘Lullaby of London’. Lisa sang at Shane’s recent funeral in Nenagh). Wikipedia has a page on Violet.
I was soon on country roads again and arriving in Lutterworth I found a pub open doing food so I stopped for a meal and a soft drink before continuing.
I was heading for a remote village sports field and decided to go a different way to the one I was familiar with. Initially it was straight forward as I headed into Leicester on an excellent track that is a former rail line. Leaving the city to the north I hit another section of busy roads where for safety I was on and off pavements to keep from the constant traffic.
Around 9pm I was where I wanted to be and wandered into the field behind a club house. I had spotted the location a few months earlier when out with the Thursday group but I struck very lucky. In the corner of the field was a partially constructed building with three sides and a roof. I could not believe my good fortune so I just pumped up my mat leaving my tarp where it was. I had a decent nights sleep and at first light I was up, packed and on my way.
It was only 27 miles home but on the way home I took a moment at Ratcliffe on Trent power station. Dad had worked here after the family moved here from Ireland in 1967, we some time in Mayo in the mid 60’s, and I recall him taking me there one weekend or holiday when he had to go in briefly. We parked under the cooling towers while he went to do whatever he needed to do and the drive home.
Almost every ride I go on I can see, of not go past this particular power station that is still operating – for now. And I always think of my father.