Burnley and Pendle

Cyclists Touring Club

Archives

Archives

Selected articles and press clippings from the club archives

As the wind trundled us over the final undulations, my companion hazarded an inquiry as to whether there was any likelihood of other camping company apart from that of our own particular club, and my mount swerved wildly. I recovered physical and mental balance, and bade him be prepared to share his camp-site with a few score of tents, for we were riding to the Bolton-by-Bowland meet, a function well liked by the Bedouins of the bicycle, and usually productive of record gatherings of the tribe. We glided around a corner, and I pointed downward. Half a mile away, framed…
Rain! Whatever could the weather clerk be thinking about? Was he not aware that it was the second Sunday in May, the day sacred to Lancashire and Yorkshire cyclists as that upon which the great rally is held at Bolton-by-Bowland; or was it that he was indifferent to the comfort of the hundreds of cyclists who flock every year to Bolton-by-Bowland to greet old friends, to renew old acquaintances and make new ones, and to hear the speeches of well-known cycling personalities. I muttered imprecations as I bustled about getting ready for the road, but they made no difference to…
As a pastime camping is becoming increasingly popular amongst the members of the Nelson section. This was evident last week-end, when no less than ten tents, accommodating sixteen persons, were erected in a remote part of one of Yorkshire’s most beautiful dales. A spot “far from the madding crowds' ignoble strife,” where the call of the cuckoo echoing across the dale mingled with the babling of the brook that came down from the mountains. On leaving the meeting place at Colne, we rode along the much frequented highway to Skipton. Here we paused for our usual breather and to do…
Thursday, 02 April 2020 16:52

C.T.C. Notes - Buying a Bicycle - c1930

I have been drawn to write this article through the great number of "push" bicycles, dreadnoughts, gaspiping, etc., which fond parents inflict upon the young hopeful and consequently ruin a would-be cyclist, and in the end force the sad young hopeful to turn to petrol when the first opportunity occurs. Through being known as "one of them chaps as rides a bike,” many young boys come to confide their secret ideas on bikes and what kind they would like when pa buys one. The last case I had was a glaring example of “Bicycles that should not be bought.” The…
Wednesday, 01 April 2020 18:37

C.T.C. Notes - An Easter Effort - c1930

Good Friday! 'The gala day of the Nelson section; the day which is the chief topic of our conversation for months ahead the day on which we tear ourselves to bits. It is really Georjud’s fault — in this way — every Good Friday, Mrs. Georjud allows Georjud to have a day on his own; a day which he looks upon as his annual holiday. Now the prospects of a whole day unhampered by matrimonial burdens, imbues Georjud with that jubilant spirit that is common to all prisoners who have been released from durance (I hope my wife does not…
Wednesday, 01 April 2020 17:09

Ewe Moor - c1930

Bumpity-bump! Crash! Here we are again, the same old crowd on the same old bicycles, pursuing the same old way over the same old cordially detested setts towards the same old meeting place at Higherford. Phew ! The time was about 10-15, as we rolled up to the forms there situated, to find a good number of members performing the weekly assault on their tyres with their usual panting and groaning. One member (no names; no pack drill) was luxuriantly lolling at his leisure on said forms, looking a veritable picture of old age. But cease this drivel; on with…
I am inspired to write of camping pictures because of the circumstance which led to one of them being trapped by the all-too-truthful camera, and subsequently flaunted before the world at the head of the pictorial columns in Last. Monday’s issue of this journal. Cyclists will have noted, with more than usual interest, that jolly little study of the two clubgirl campers smiling up at a shadowy, sinister, shorted masculine figure, It was with great reluctance that I was caught in that study, it was with even greater misgivings that I unfolded my paper on the Monday to find that…
Ladies and Gentlemen, and also fellow cyclists, allow me to introduce to you just another phase of the C.T.C.’s many and varied activities, for it is worth your acquaintance, I can fully assure you, having myself taken part last week-end in the club’s nomadic activities at Denham Wheel, near Bolton-by-Bowland. Here’s camping :— People stared at me. Little children gaped at me and then ran away vociferating their wonderment. Dogs barked at me, and even my own clubmates had a few choice things to say as I staggered to the meeting place at Higherford. And well they might, for I…
Monday, 30 March 2020 19:31

C.T.C. Notes - A Sunday Saunter - c 1930

Shall I go on the long run or the short run? This was the thought that chiefly occupied my mind as I lay in bed on Sunday morning awaiting the signal from my alarm clock to rise and gird my cycling "shorts" about my loins. The sun was shining strongly, and I pictured the sunlit waves beating on the shore at Heysham and Sunderland point, and the Lakeland hills clearly visible across Morecambe Bay. Yes, I would go on the long run. Then the wind moaned in my bedroom chimney (I can sympathise with that wind; I think I should…
Oyes! Oyes! Come gather round the infant "Bookoss" while I unfold to you the dastardly plot that was enacted on Sunday. It was like this ’ere: "J.H:G.,” the bonehead, had got the idea that the club was getting fat, so he evolved a slimming process called a mystery competition. His colleague in crime was: "Sarkikus,” and the following is the result of their combined plotting. Brrr! Just a minute, though; there’s no hurry. All, pray, be seated; lock the doors to prevent the audience escaping, and we will commence the recital properly. "Twas about; 10-15 a.m. as I mounted my…
Sunday, 29 March 2020 17:19

C.T.C.Notes - A March Vagary - c1930

March is a month of varied moods; it can be likened to the ferocity of a lion or the gentleness of a lamb, and truly Sunday presented a mood of its most rigorous type. Winter had visited us and bestowed upon this part of the world a departing gift, a rain-sodden covering of snow, nowhere acceptable. While riding through the town, it was amusing to notice the suspecting glances and sceptical smiles I received from the people about town, as if they were questioning my sanity; but I heeded them not, knowing. full well that amidst the apparent difficulties there…
Sunday, 29 March 2020 16:02

C.T.C. Notes - A Rainy Ramble - c1930

It was a few minutes short of 9:30 on Sunday morning as I drifted to a halt at our meeting place at Higherford. There were already five of my fellow members there — much, I might add. to my astonishment — and by half-past, the number had increased: to nine; it would appear that the sentiments of punctuality expounded by our friend "J.H.G.” had made an impression upon my comrades. The morning was fair, and the sun was making the world good to look. upon: as, under the fitting supervisal of a signpost, we awaited the arrival of the “late…
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