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31 July 1881: Underway to the Bicycle Touring Club’s annual August meet, a London rider struggles on the road from Doncaster to Harewood via Pontefract and Leeds

London Bicycle Club Gazette contributor. 1881. To Yorkshire and Back, and What I Saw There. London Bicycle Club Gazette, Vol. 4. London: Darling and Son. Get it:

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Excerpt

Coming down the next morning we found that a steady downpour of rain was the order of things, and consequently it was not until eleven o’clock that we were able to make a start, when the rain seemed to clear up a little. Riding over the railway crossing in the town we were soon on a level but very sticky limestone road, which required very careful riding to prevent our machines slipping on it. Passing no particular place for about eight miles, we came to a tollgate where the road branches, so we took the left-hand turning, and found ourselves on the Roman road which leads to Pontefract – not a very interesting one and decidedly hilly. We entered Pontefract in not the best spirits, as the roads made working very hard, and there was every prospect of lots more rain, which was just commencing again; while, to add to our annoyance, there appeared to be no place of shelter anywhere, except in a very dirty-looking court where we were obliged to stop for some ten minutes, and we then made another start, but again had to take shelter with two other riders who were going the same way as we were. Mounting between the showers, we thought it best not to wait any longer, and consequently went as quickly as the bad road would permit for Leeds, but before we had gone many miles the rain came down harder than ever, and very soon wet us literally to the skin. It then cleared up, and we rode into Leeds with the water every now and then squirting out of our shoes. We were only able to ride about halfway into the town, along the sides of the tramlines, when the stoned roads became too irregular for riding over and we consequently had two miles of walking, through the middle of the town. Riding again up a long hill, we were not sorry to leave this large manufacturing town behind us, and to have a very fair but hilly seven miles ride into Harewood, a small but pretty village – for a wonder not at all spoilt by its near proximity to Leeds. We put up at the Harewood Arms, one of the most comfortable hotels we had ever stopped at, and were not long in changing our clothes and refreshing the somewhat exhausted inner man.

To facilitate reading, the spelling and punctuation of elderly excerpts have generally been modernised, and distracting excision scars concealed. My selections, translations, and editions are copyright.

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Comment

Comment

Things improved on the morrow:

Fortunately the 1st of August was a fine day, and no sooner did we awake than the tingling bell of rider after rider was heard passing on his way to the great provincial Harrogate Meet. It took us some little time to make our steeds at all decent, as the rain of the former day had not improved their appearance. We then started amidst a quantity of riders of all grades for the seven miles run to Harrogate, which was soon got over despite the hilly and very bumpy state of the road. One thing struck us as being rather peculiar, viz., that very few riders seemed to ride machines higher than a 50 or 52-in. Harrogate was in a great stir, every road was swarming with riders, and, to add to the excitement, the Yeomanry were stationed in the town. Shortly after the time appointed the procession started, and rode round the place; then we spent a lazy day watching the race, lying on the grass, and getting uncomfortably sunburnt. We returned in the evening to our hotel at Harewood, with a number of other riders on their way home to Leeds.

Tim Dawson has found photographs and writes (Dawson 2018):

According to memories published in a souvenir booklet of 1898, subtitled Fun and Frolic in Cycling Camps at Harrogate, the early meetings were rather lively! According to Henry Sturmey, the smoking room of the Commercial Hotel was ‘packed to suffocation’ in the evenings, and after midnight there was a battle between various clubs, and the Yorkshire Yeomanry, which involved a barricade of mattresses and pillows at the head of the stairs. The Union Jack flag hanging on a pole outside one of the rooms was removed and a cyclist was found asleep wrapped in it the morning after, whilst members of the Yeomanry found their tall boots filled with water. The Landlady was not impressed! Another story recounts that in 1880 a Scottish club brought a barrel of whisky with them to the meet, the consumption of which caused further trouble!

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Harewood,_West_Yorkshire#/media/File:Harewood_Arms.jpg

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Original

Coming down the next morning we found that a steady downpour of rain was the order of things, and consequently it was not until eleven o’clock that we were able to make a start, when the rain seemed to clear up a little. Riding over the railway-crossing in the town we were soon on a level but very sticky limestone road, which required very careful riding to prevent our machines slipping on it. Passing no particular place for about eight miles we came to a tollgate where the road branches, so we took the left-hand turning, and found ourselves on the Roman Road which leads to Pontefract, not a very interesting one and decidedly hilly. We entered Pontefract in not the best spirits, as the roads made working very hard, and there was every prospect of lots more rain, which was just commencing again; while to add to our annoyance there appeared to be no place of shelter anywhere, except in a very dirty-looking court where we were obliged to stop for some ten minutes, and we then made another start, but again had to take shelter with two other riders who were going the same way as we were. Mounting between the showers, we thought it best not to wait any longer, and consequently went as quickly as the bad road would permit for Leeds, but before we had gone many miles the rain came down harder than ever, and very soon wet us literally to the skin. It then cleared up, and we rode into Leeds with the water every now and then squirting out of our shoes. We were only able to ride about half way into the town, along the sides of the tram-lines, when the stoned roads became too irregular for riding over and we consequently had two miles of walking, through the middle of the town. Riding again up a long hill, we were not sorry to leave this large manufacturing town behind us, and to have a very fair but hilly seven miles ride into Harewood, a small but pretty village – for a wonder not at all spoilt by its near proximity to the large town of Leeds. We put up at the “Harewood Arms,” one of the most comfortable hotels we had ever stopped at, and were not long in changing our clothes and refreshing the somewhat exhausted inner man.

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