Cote de Holme Moss

Yesterday I was on the north-west coast of Scotland. Today I'm on a Yorkshire hillside close to where I grew up.
Yesterday was a holiday transition day. Epic drive from NW Scotland to English Lake District where I left the kids & Jacqui before I headed down to Yorkshire for stage 2 of the Tour de France.

I grew up in Holmebridge at the foot of Holme Moss, one of the major road passes over the Pennines in northern England, and I spent a lot of influential early years around the hill. I spent much of my youth walking up and around The Moss then later cycling, and running upit. I have very clear memories of watching the riders in the Milk Race (an early incarnation of the Tour of Britain bike race) starting the climb of Holme Moss from our back garden.

Holme Moss was probably one for longest hardest sections on stage 2 and as soon as I heard about the Yorkshire Grand depart I knew where I was going to be; just below the summit and after the steep switch backs with views down the valley where I grew up.

It was a glorious day, the atmosphere of the crowds was fantastic, and watching as the riders flew past was genuinely exciting. I have a million pictures; the surreal giant bags of chips and T-bags against moorland as part of the publicity caravan, drunken/frazzled male cyclists who'd been on the roadside way too long, the guy in the polka-dot morph suit and the sweaty riders, but it was this shot of the cool dude cyclist walking his pooch and drinking a can of beer that did it for me.

..but I've got no idea how he got his dog up on his super sleek road bike.