As a general rule, I don’t stop for cake. I’ve nothing against it, but I don’t drink coffee and I don’t have time for leisurely cafe rides – if my family found out I was sitting around chatting and scoffing cake on a Sunday morning, there would be hell to pay. OK, it’s the guilt, too: I’m 51, and I’m worried about all that sugar and fat going straight to my hips. For this ride, though, I would be stopping for cake – because this ride was all about cake. My plan was to link together north-west England locations places famous for their cakes, stopping at each to try their eponymous specialities, forming a 215km route from Bakewell to Chorley and back.
It was not an adventure I was prepared to take on alone. I called up my old mate Chris Moores to join me. He’s strong, never rides slow, and he’s great for moral support once you run out of energy. But at little over five feet tall, he’s useless for taking shelter behind. The idea for the adventure, the spark that lit the fuse, or the candle on the cake, was Bakewell, a town just down the road from me, and worldfamous for its puddings and tarts. Which other local towns have cakes named after them, I wondered – and could I link them together to make one massive cake-themed ride?
