Number Seventy News » Portland Street Pedallers

Jacobean Dormouse

John — Sun, 21 Jun 2009 15:10:10 +0000

The Portland Street Pedallers don’t get as far out of town as they used to. Crayke or bust had become Huby or bust and is now The Jacobean or bust. Three of us made it by bike, through quite cool showers, and two came by car. But I’m still not keen on the Jacobean. Not much choice of beer and wht there was not particularly well kept. The ride back to The Dormouse benefited from some pleasant late evening sun and at least the pub had a variety of drinkable beer. Real ale in a pub pastiche.

Portland Street Pedalling – or not

John — Fri, 10 Apr 2009 21:37:47 +0000

First ride of the season – due to call first at The Ebor in Bishopthorpe. I cycled out there early in order to eat, our kitchen undergoing renovation, and enjoyed an excellent poached haddock in cream sauce with prawns. The chips were good – veg a little disappointing – overcooked in the English manner. The SAm Smiths bitter was well kept and cheap.

Over the course of an hour or so I was joined by two pedallers, one of whom had come on the bus and the other by car. Although the Ship at Acaster Malbis was on the itinerary, we agreed that a retreat to the Wellie was much the best plan. And at £1.35 a pint, who can beat it ? Cosy as ever.

Fin de Siecle – as we cyclists have it

John — Mon, 20 Oct 2008 19:07:20 +0000

So, the pedallers 2008 season came to an end a few weeks ago with a very gentle ride first to the Fox and Roman, which does good food judging by the well-filled and swiftly emptied plates of two of our number, but where the choice of drinkable beers was not great. (Better, however, than the Black Bull on Hull Road which has an impressive array of shiny pumps selling nothing one would want to buy, or drink). But off into the dark of the night and through the utter blackness of Knavesmire Wood, faith and the trusty dynamo showing but a short way ahead, and into Bishopthorpe, where I have already forgotten the name of the pub (could it have been the Woodman?) but which did have drinkable beer and a pleasing not too crowded ambiance. (I seem to remember the decor was striking in some way – but not necessarily a positive one). And so via the Millenium Bridge to the safe haven of the Welly, where we were joined by those for whom even such a modest excursion is too much to contemplate, and where the Sam Smiths went down very nicely and cheaply. Watch this space for reports of the pedestrian season, starting after the clocks go back.

Wet or what ?

John — Sun, 08 Jun 2008 17:19:23 +0000

By what serendipitous telepathy I know not, but something told me to head to Elvington and Sutton on Derwent via Heslington, rather than cut across to Murton after leaving yet another tedious evening meeting at the office. A light summer drizzle was falling so I had donned the much abused and down-at-brim Tilly hat as protection. Now, at 8.45 or so, one would expect the Portland Street Pedallers to have moved on swiftly from their first port of call and be cosily ensconced in the second, so my glance into the beer garden of the Charles XII was intended to be no more than that. However, sheltering from the barely noticeable drizzle, there were the pedallers, getting in another pint. Anything, even the negligible charms of the Charles, to keep them from the damp and the prospect of a further few miles in the balmy and by this time extremely pleasant evening air. So we huddled there amongst the student masses, who clearly have either no taste or no ability to get off their backsides to find a decent pub, until we agreed to pootle across the Stray to the Wellington, where it was a relief to find a well-kept pint and a bar full of real people.

Cognoscenti amongst my readers will note that this hardly qualifies as an evenings cycling (even taking into account advancing age and infirmity). Perhaps our highest aim should be to breach the ring road. Onward !

Blossoms in May

John — Sun, 08 Jun 2008 17:06:34 +0000

What a delight a May evening can be ! Especially after staying late at the office for a meeting of the Audit Committee, surely one of life’s non-pleasures, but heigh-ho, we still need the bacon.

So off into the north-westering sun and a serendipitous rendezvous with the rest of the peloton outside Moorlands, where the rhododendrons were not yet out. A short ride between burgeoning hedgerows to the Jacobean, a quite undistinguished building pretending it was once a royal hunting lodge and with only one acceptable ale – Last Drop. The inside of the pub is quite plush, even over-stuffed, but outside in the smokers shelter on the verandah (not because we had any smokers with us but it seemed a shame to miss the birdsong and the 15% waxing moon) there were some relatively comfortable cast iron chairs and benches. (Inside there had also been some local boors who probably do a lot to curtail trade).

Off to the west on the ride back towards the city the horizon red and smoky – and the air rapidly cooling. So after navigating the shopping-trolley-booby-trapped underpass at the A19/ring road junction some of us were ready to settle into the fake rustic charms of the Dormouse – only to be encouraged outside by someone who wanted a ciggy. Real rustic coolth out there, gazing at the ersatz 19th century terrace (c.2002).

First of the season

John — Mon, 28 Apr 2008 21:47:56 +0000

The Portland Street Pedallers set out in search of the original pickled egg once again ! A modest start, taking in the Deramore at Heslington, which I missed, but then I found the intrepid foursome sitting outside the Blacksmiths at Naburn, discouraging the ducks and glimpsing the first bats of the season. The beer was good enough, although I can’t remember what it was.

Then off to the Selby-York cycle path, the traditional stop on Naburn (former) swing bridge where the trellised fisherman had got his catch tangled round his rod, and a leisurely spin back to the homely comforts of the Golden Ball, where a pint of well-kept Deuchars, a comfy chair, and the sound of live blues from the public bar were about all a chap could wish for out on a Thursday night. If the Golden Ball were the only pub around one would never feel the need to go anywhere else.

Summer Evening Excursions

John — Sat, 01 Jul 2006 12:32:30 +0000

Do try the Thompson’s Arms at Flaxton, right by the level crossing. As rural a pub as you could imagine, set amongst the rolling arable landscape at the edge of the Vale of York as it runs up to the Howardian Hills. The beer is excellent, the welcome cheery, and you are unlikely to find it overcrowded. Approach via Strensall Common, best route is to wheel your bike across the railway from the Strensall / Flaxton Road and use the track through the woods till you hit the Flaxton / Sherrif Hutton Road – Thompson’s is a few hundred yards to your right.
Then, in another direction entirely, take the Roman Road out of Copmanthorpe to the west, follow it as it deserts the straight line for Tadcaster and zigzags along the side of 18th century enclosures, until the Sun at Colton comes in sight. Much more frequented this (they say the food is good too) with several notable real ales. A winding and undulating route, affording excellent trainspotting possibilities at Colton Junction, will take you to Bolton Percy, where The Crown serves what looked like extaordinarily nourishing gravy, allows sword-dancing in the garden, and the beer is cheap (Sam’s, of course). Follow this with one of the world’s most delightful green lanes to Appleton Roebuck where the pub had been so entirely anonymised externally that one wondered if it were truly still licensed premises. But yes, and Sam’s again. And then it’s a long pedal back through the late dusk to the bright lights.

Two Blacksmiths and a Tiger

John — Mon, 24 Apr 2006 21:29:53 +0000

The first pedallers’ outing of the year took us from the Blacksmith’s Arms in Huntington – where one of our number was served with the world’s longest chip (possibly an extrusion) via the slippy banks of the Foss to the Tiger in Haxby. One intrepid soul, aware this was a pedaller’s trip, nonetheless followed on foot, making excellent time. Our first follower ! The Tiger, although a large room, enjoyed the Tadcaster arrangement whereby all the locals gather closely round the door, enabling an intimate inspection of all strangers coming and going.

On in the dark across the bridleway towards Skelton – fortunately no large clods to send us into the ditch, nor love-cars bouncing under the hedges. Serious deficit of pickled eggs at the Blacksmiths, formerly a winner of the ISOTOPE award. Back into town via Route 65, an old favourite in the dark of the night, made glorious by the sight of the new wheel lit up in star-quenching splendour.

And so to bed. (Observant folk may note that I have not metioned any of the beers consumed. Draw your own conclusions).