A camp weekend

There’s nothing quite like waking up at 4.30am on a very cold night, desperate for the loo, and then realising you’re in a tent on top of a foggy hill in the middle of Derbyshire.

It’d actually been a really nice sunny Good-Friday, perfect for mountain biking. So we set off: Four blokes, one van and Jayne (Chris’ sat-nav lady friend) - Gripped, sorted, we were ready to off-road. The riding was good, nothing too challenging, just easy riding to ease us back in after the long winter.

So as we left for the pub about 5.30pm the sun was shining and all was right with the world. The meal was awesome, and spirits were high, so we decided that camping would actually be a really good idea. I knew of a camp-site, nothing special, but this was camping right? We’d got tents and sleeping bags, what more did we need? We set off, Jayne leading the way, the last of the warm spring sun disappearing behind the rolling hills.

About half way to the site, a few spots of gentle rain began to appear on the windscreen. We wiped them away. The closer we got; the rougher the roads became, the rain was now slightly more than a a gentle smattering, and we were starting to think this was a bad idea.

We finally arrived at Eric Byne camp-site it was dark, pissing down, and bloody cold. After trudging up and down the hill several times, even the trip to the pub didn’t cheer us up much. All I can say is thank the Lord for Little Chef!