Day one.

Calum and I started by getting the train to Crewe. We planned to cycle across to the first hostel at Elton, those of you who are good at geography will be thinking “Why did they not get the train to Stoke on Trent, it's much nearer?” Well it would have doubled the train fare! Strange isn't it that such a small difference in destination causes such a big difference in price. It's something to do with the different train companies, if your whole journey is with one company then you can get good value. But if you are going to be difficult with them...... well you get what is coming to you.
The train had only half the usual number of coaches as the other half had caught fire. This meant that seats were very scarce but the journey went well. When we reached Crewe we had to climb over other passengers to get to the bikes which were buried under sports kits. There were lots of blokes standing around who might have been rugby players and had a drink on board. They cheerfully helped us to move the mountain of bags and lift the bikes out. The sun was shining and there was very little wind so it was with happy hearts and smiling faces that we set off to find lunch in Crewe. It did not take long for the crazy drivers, busy roads and summer heat to wipe the smiles off our faces. I hadn't realised that the residential speed limits on England had been raised to 100mph, no wonder so many people are killed on the roads. Once we had lunch we headed off towards Kidsgrove and soon realised that many villages had organised street parties to celebrate the Queen's jubilee. This meant that some roads were closed. Usually we were able to push our bike past the revellers but at one road block the old man at the barrier advised us to use an alternative route. It was (he assured us) just as easy and no longer than the one which was closed. How he must have chortled that evening as he regaled his friends in the pub the tale of the cyclists sent to climb the peaks and mountains to bypass a road closure which was no more than 200 metres long.
One of the towns we passed through had major roadworks going on. At one point we reached a large open space with seven roads pouring in to it. There were no road markings or road signs. Each driver was making for there desired exit in a straight line and somehow they were missing each other. The French would have been impressed. We made our way across the space in the same fashion but since there were no road signs we had to guess which exit to take. Incredibly we took the right one but it all went horribly wrong two miles further on when we missed a left turn which was unmarked. There were no road signs which could help us for the next five miles! We eventually retraced our steps and found the correct turn off by good old fashioned map reading.
Another consequence of the Jubilee celebrations was that many of the shops were closed so there was a severe lack of ice cream and other things we use to keep us going on a hot, dusty, sunny day. We did eventually find a shop which was open and went straight to the fridges. The whole shop was decked out with union jack flags, a great celebration of Britishness, that is until you get to the till. Prominent signs everywhere proclaiming that foreign currency was not welcome here and that means Scottish money. So, they aren't quite so proud to be British now are they? This was a problem for us as we had just arrived from Scotland, thank goodness for 'Switch', they took this even though it had 'Royal Bank of Scotland' in big letters all over it. I've never understood why the English are so keen to discourage tourists from north of the border. You see them on the telly complaining about the downturn in tourism, perhaps if they were nicer to tourists................?
We gave up on sticking to quiet roads now and headed up to Leek, this was easy enough. Then we decided to give the quiet roads one last chance and head on to Blackshaw Moor, well this time it wasn't the road signs or the map reading which caused problems. It was the gradients, three miles in one hour! I was beginning to regret planning such a hilly holiday by the time we reached Warslow. But then things got easier from now on and as the afternoon turned to evening the roads got quieter and much more enjoyable. After a few climbs over rolling hills we arrived at Elton to see the shocking new hairdo which Bert had chosen for this year's tour.
It was a beautiful little hostel, cosy comfortable and just the right size. We weren't surprised to hear that it was threatened with closure. That's the usual pattern and the YHA were sticking to it as they have done in the past. We went to the pub that night and met up with a couple of blokes from the hostel. They too were cyclists and were able to recommend to us a classic ride for later in the week. Now what do you suppose they meant by 'classic'?