cock and bull Story

An implausible story used as an excuse, says the dictionary. As
the Bike team bunks off and heads on a ride in search of rude
place names and cheap laughs, it seems entirely fitting…
Like all the greatest ideas, this started as a
daft conversation when we should have
been doing something important. John
Westlake mentioned that he’d passed an amusing street
name on his travels – ‘Bottom Clappers Avenue’ or
some such – which obviously induced much
sniggering. This made Mike Armitage mention
Butthole Lane in the town he grew up in – yes, more
smirks – at which point Paul Lang remembered that
somewhere in his kitchen’s crap drawer (every home
has one) was a large map showing all of the UK’s silliest
and rudest place names.
By Mike Armitage, John Westlake, Ben Lindley
and Paul Lang Photography Chippy Wood
And the plan for this year’s Bike works jolly ends up
being what they call a no-brainer.
Assembling in morning sunlight and huddling
around the map like a gaggle of greedy treasure
hunters, we’ll pick a route that’ll combine great riding
roads with plenty of chances to point and titter like
schoolboys. And one that deposits us in suitably
immersive scenery – camping clutter is attached to our
wonderfully varied collection of bikes, and we’ll end
our day of uplifting two-wheeled frolics with beer,
bike-based banter and, in Ben Lindley’s case, a night
shivering in a stupid bivvy bag.
Anal retentiveness sets in as
route discussion ensues.
Google map coordinates:
52.773502, -1.287016
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Cock & bull story
THE BIKES
& BERKS
Dawdling to minimise the
chance of Westlake’s ST
(taking up the rear)
jettisoning more clutter
LEG 1 Butthole Lane
to Moisty Lane
Total overall mileage: 32 miles
Mike
Armitage
2000 Kawasaki
ZZ-R600
Bought for £695, freshly
fettled, but untested...
John
Westlake
2005 Triumph
Sprint ST
Fine upstanding bike
owned by childish fool.
Paul
Lang
2023 Honda
CB750 Hornet
Any excuse to ride our
long-term test ’onda.
Ben
Lindley
2005 Triumph
Speed Triple
Noisy pipe, smothered in
bolt-ons, leaky forks.
Chippy
Wood
2018 KTM 1090
Adventure
Chip loves his KTM – look
at all the branded clobber.
Langy takes
Westlake’s pump
in hand
There’s more to
Derbyshire than
open hillsides and
lunatic sheep
‘A local dog walker stops to
ask if we find her address
amusing. Er, yes, we do. “So
do I,” she says, “and I’ve
lived here ages”
Middle-aged men, youth-like
antics. Google map coordinates:
52.876771, -1.803754
Satnav for the
modern Luddite
Every day from five to sixteen years old I toddled along to
school up Butthole Lane. It was only once well into my
teens that I realised, pointed and went, ‘look, it says
butthole!’ I was a sheltered child.
When the other fools eventually stop chortling and
taking selfies next to the sign, we stride out into the
Leicestershire countryside. I’m riding our 2000 Kawasaki
ZZ-R600 and this is its first proper run since pulling the
cylinder head apart (see last issue), so the cascading B5324
and scenic B587 past Staunton Harold reservoir are
welcome distractions from listening for knocks and death
rattles. My mirrors are full of the 1050cc Triumphs of John
Westlake and Ben Lindley, the adventurous KTM 1090 of
Chippy Wood, plus our Honda Hornet long-term test bike
ridden by Paul Lang.
And then Langy disappears. I’m sent back to see where
he’s gone and find him waist-deep in nettles, retrieving the
airbed pump that’s detached itself from John’s Sprint ST.
We’ve done ten miles. An excellent start.
We swing across Swarkestone Bridge, the medieval
crossing for the river Trent, and take to meandering
B-roads heading west. The ZZ-R swings along with
easy-steering 1990s breeziness, its new Hagon rear shock
making light work of the crumpled surfaces but also
highlighting the underdamped bagginess of the tired forks.
Oh well, at least the soaring four-cylinder engine hasn’t
detonated yet. And look, it’s sunny.
Being old-school and confused by apps and widgets, I’ve
sensibly taped hand-written directions to the ZZ-R’s fuel
tank. It’s a fail-safe tactic that only causes three U-turns
within our first hour of dawdling. My riding buddies
indicate their amusement with assorted interesting hand
gestures, but somehow my analogue sat-nav manages to
lead us through tight lanes, into the picturesque village of
Marchington just before Uttoxeter, and directly to stop
one: Moisty Lane.
As we soak Paul with water to create Moisty Lang in
celebration, a local dog walker stops to ask if we find her
address amusing. Er, yes, we do. ‘So do I,’ she says, ‘and I’ve
lived here ages.’ Mike Armitage
LEG 2 Moisty Lane
to Knob Farm
Total overall mileage: 47 miles
Having greatly enjoyed the delights of Moisty Lane we
reluctantly pull out and head towards Knob Farm, just east
of Darley Moor race circuit and the A515, near the village of
Yeaveley. Ahead of me is Ben on his 2005 Speed Triple,
which I begrudgingly admit looks rather good with its
Nitron shock, minimal luggage and constant wheelies.
The last time I saw it, the fork seals were leaking, it was
almost as filthy as my Sprint and appeared to have crashed
into a Demon Tweeks catalogue.
Leading the way is editor Armitage on his ZZ-R6, and
the aroma created by the old Kawasaki and Ben’s Triumph
takes me back to the 1990s, when bikes always emitted this
heady mixture of unburnt fuel and uncatalysed exhaust
fumes. It was always this sunny back then too.
Plus, for added 1990s realism, Mike has written all the
directions on a scrap of paper taped to his tank. And so we
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Cock & bull story
He’s a knob, and he’s a knob
and… Google map coordinates:
52.969228, -1.733149
‘We scan the fields for
knobs being farmed
but, disappointingly,
see none. Perhaps
they are raised in
sheds…’
The A623, heading towards
Peak Forest, Sparrowpit and
Chapel-en-le-Frith. It’s quite
a nice bit of road, this…
They haven’t yet arrived
at Butts View. However…
What happens on a ride stays on
the ride. Google map coordinates:
53.051984, -1.466549
bounce joyously north along the B5030, Mike alternately
setting a decent pace and then dawdling as he studies his
tank before making a helicopter motion with his left arm
and doing another U-turn. Happy days.
Eventually we turn east onto the idyllic B5033, which
wriggles across Staffordshire between towering beech
trees, the dappled light making it all but impossible to see
potholes. Ben’s fork seals start leaking again. We pass
Darley Moor and turn off down yet another lane. Mike
shoots off at a pace and rides straight past Knob Farm.
The rest of us stop and scan the fields for knobs being
farmed but, disappointingly, see none. Perhaps they are
raised in sheds, probably under terrible conditions. With
that sobering thought we set off in pursuit of Mike and
Spanker Lane. John Westlake
LEG 3 Knob Farm
to Spanker Lane
Total overall mileage: 66 miles
What a joke, naming your farm Knob. And yet, gazing up
the meandering dirt track to the whitewashed frontage of
Knob Farm, I get the definite feeling Mr Knob might not
appreciate the funny side. At any point he might emerge,
rifle in hand, and start taking pot shots Wild West-style at
the five motorcyclists with a collective mental age of
twenty posing for selfies at the end of his drive. We jump
back on our random assortment of motorcycles and scoot
back to the main road sharpish.
Time for lunch in the pretty town of Ashbourne. Chippy
leads us to his favourite twee café and we sit outside
sizzling in the sun. It would be a perfect spot… if it wasn’t
for the constant roar of what seems like one company’s
entire fleet of oil trucks passing a few feet from our table.
Paul Lang claims it must be the same truck in some sort of
satnav feedback loop, so for a time we all sit staring at
passing trucks trying to tell drivers apart based on beard
length, or whether or not they are wearing any kind of
clothing. We’re easily occupied.
Leaving Ashbourne we get lost, again, but eventually
stumble onto a road not rammed with oil trucks. Over to
the right somewhere is Lady Hole Lane but we forego her
temptation and manfully push on. Jonners and Mikey are
out in front, curving past cars, their two-wheeled clunkers
Westlake’s
Sprint: ‘like a
crisp, accurate
motorcycle
after nine
pints’
vying for the Most Tedious Motorcycle award. I put the
Triumph right behind Chippy’s rear wheel. Much better –
this is the perfect position to snigger at the KTM’s
penchant for a sneaky wheelie. ‘It takes up too much space
in my garage,’ Chippy said earlier. ‘But today reminds me
why I keep it.’
Our next stop just north of Belper is marked by the
massive bulk of the Spanker Inn. Mikey’s the first to spot
Spanker Lane on a signpost and we all bend over for a
good old giggle while some bloke gawps at us from behind
the office desk in his front room. Ben Lindley
LEG 4 Spanker Lane
to Butts View
Total overall mileage: 83 miles
After lots of predictable childish silliness and plenty of
giggling on the grass verge next to the sign for Spanker
Lane (when in Rome), we head… east… north… west…
then north again. Possibly. I thought navigation experts
Jonners and Mike had tins of pop at lunch but now I’m
suspecting something stronger.
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Cock & bull story
my colleagues brake lights do not illuminate outside a cake
shop, rather we come to a halt at Butts View. Paul Lang
LEG 5 Butts View to Cockyard
Total overall mileage: 100 miles
I’m not complaining. As someone who still giggles at
farts, puns and people tripping over, the idea of searching
for rude place names on motorcycles in the sunshine is
perfection. In search of our next stop – Butts View – we
exit Ambergate along the A6. Here the road is wider and
more flowing, and the Hornet feels glorious. I wanted to
bring my 1993 Ducati M900 Monster but she’s poorly,
which is probably a Godsend. See, my fellow riders are
quicker and more advanced than me [and better looking,
and funnier, and taller – Ed], but the Honda inspires so
much confidence on the tangle of country roads that I
never feel like I’m playing catch-up.
Sun on our backs we come up to Matlock Bath, a biker’s
heaven… and go straight through. And here’s me thinking
all bikes have a fish ‘n’ chip mode that slows them to a stop
outside any of the town’s chippies. But Mike leads us on…
I tend to forget how beautiful Derbyshire is. Yes there
are housing estates and industrial units, but pop out the
other side and into the Peaks and it is as beautiful a riding
destination as you will find.
If you’ve yet
to enjoy a
foursome
we highly
recommend it
Well I will if you
will. Google map
coordinates:
53.212537,
-1.678198
Four people got
a lovely night’s
sleep. Bivvy-bag
Ben no so much
Speaking of beauty, we trundle into Bakewell and
instantly my head is filled with a yearning for shortcrust
pastry, layers of jam, frangipane, chopped almonds and
icing. Worth remembering too that in this neck of the
woods it’s a Bakewell pudding, not a tart, Mr Kipling.
Yet, with my mouth still watering for cakey goodness,
Four not so young men
smile and take a firm grip.
That’s probably enough of
that sort of thing for this
feature. Next…
I hoped Butts View was so named because it overlooked an
area where people regularly bent over to feed ducks or
retrieve loose change. Disappointingly, it’s actually a posh
little lane in Bakewell with neither views nor butts and
certainly no views of butts. The ground floor window of
Number One is open, however, so I peer in, but it’s just
Agas and granite worktops – not a juicy butt in sight. What
with the lack of knobs at Knob Farm, it’s all rather
confusing to this rider.
We set off for Cockyard on the B6465, heading north
into the Peaks. I’m an optimistic fella and so my hopes rise
at the thought of taking in Cockyard. It’s a fine road – fast
and twisty – but my Sprint’s suspension is feeling its age.
Trying to keep up with the others, the forks splodge on the
brakes and boing back unhindered by damping as the rear
shock wallows on the power. It’s like a crisp, accurate
motorcycle after nine pints. Note to self: service
suspension. Or sell Sprint.
Ideally, we would have finished our intellectual
extravaganza at Bell End, but it’s too far away so we make
do with Cockyard in High Peak. Inevitably Mike rides past
it while studiously looking at his tank-mounted directions,
so we gather round the sign and behave maturely until his
return. I watch Langy (50-something father of two) and
Ben (30-something father of one) hanging from the sign
like gibbons and hooting with laughter as they point at the
word ‘cock’.
I take a picture to remind me that riding motorcycles
with your idiotic mates for no good reason really is nectar
for the soul. It’s the way weekends should be spent. Any
weekend. John Westlake
‘As someone who still giggles at farts, puns and people
tripping over, the idea of searching for rude place
names on motorcycles in the sunshine is perfection’
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