PLAIN AND SIMPLE
Andy’s wiry frame and the 32-sprocket on his bike are already ringing alarm bells
The view over the Cheshire countryside from the beer garden of my hotel extends all the way to the distant skyscrapers of Liverpool. There’s hardly a lump on the landscape as the sun sets over the Mersey. “Tomorrow should be a piece of cake,” I think, while savouring a piece of rather fine cake.
Whether it’s the late evening August sunshine or the sugar rush from my dessert, I have lost sight of the glaring contradiction to my assessment of Cheshire’s topography. The only reason I’m enjoying such a spectacular view is because my hotel is perched on a hill. A hill whose summit is a not inconsiderable 182 metres above sea level. And behind it are more hills.
It dawns on me that I’ll be needing my climbing legs tomorrow after all. I finish my cake and decide to get an early night.
“So, this is the Cheshire Plain?” I ask my corider Andy Spinoza hopefully when we meet the next morning.
“’I call it ‘Deepest Cheshire’” is his enigmatic reply, but his wiry frame and the 32-sprocket on his
