The club are going in a popular district, today, so I started off to join them. I was late, but caught them up at Atherton, and soon we were on the Warrington road beyond Glazebury. Warrington was soon reached, and without delay we got clear of the crowded streets, and crossing the Manchester Ship Canal gained Chester road. The sun was now shining, and held promise of a good day. Climbing through Daresbury, a short run brought us to Mrs Berry’s at Sutton Weaver. Fifteen of us in the living room of a little cottage is rather a crush, but we did very well, and music after lunch, followed by games provided some merriment. During an exciting game of ‘Blow Football’ one cyclist swept the board with a bicycle pump! At 2pm we were on the road again, revelling in the warm sunlight. Just beyond Frodsham, we turned left, along a bylane that ran level for about a mile, then suddenly got up on its hind legs. Followed a long walk uphill between Frodsham and Helsby heads. The scenery around here is very pretty, and even in mid-winter, with the heather-clad slope of Frodsham hill, and the well wooded land between, it made a beautiful picture. Halfway uphill, we turned for Manley, and running by a fine wood, we reached that rural village, from where was a fine view of the Flint– Denbigh moorlands, with the broad shouldered, squat towered Moel Fammau dominating the Clwydian range. Now a bridle path took us to Mouldsworth, and Glorious Delamere Forest, along the ‘switchback’ road. Hatchmere concluded the ride through the famous woodlands, then Norley, and a river bed down to Weaverham. ‘Twas now but a short run to Acton Bridge and Mrs Wade’s for tea. Before tea we tried our hand at sawing logs with a double saw. Then tea, more games, and at 7pm we ventured on to the now dark and deserted road to Bartington. The Tarporley –Warrington road gave us a smooth easy passage to Stockton Heath and Warrington, then via Padgate to Culcheth, Leigh and home at 9.30. The present ravage of foot and mouth disease in Cheshire is showing itself plainly. Many times, columns of smoke rising from the fields proclaimed the funeral pyre of infected cattle, and all day, whilst in Cheshire, we never saw a cow of any description. Thousands of cattle are being slain weekly.
80 miles
