Tackling t'Tour

"HOW are you feeling?" the man called out.

I didn't have to consider whether or not the question was aimed at me.

There was only one sweaty, red-faced cyclist on the road.

"I've been better," I replied, between intakes of breath, the unusually warm weather seemingly sapping oxygen levels.

The scene at Nunthorpe station. Photo: Matt Westcott

It would be remiss of me to call Hutton Bank a hill, it's more of a challenging incline, rising up into the heart of Hutton Rudby and flanked at its summit by the Bay Horse and Wheatsheaf pubs.

My questioner, sat on a bench where the road continues to climb with his lady friend, had reached this spot by tandem. Whether on their way down or up wasn't obvious, I didn't stop to ask, the competitor in me preferring to carry on, my head overruling the burn in my legs.

In Tour de Yorkshire terms, Hutton Rudby is not even close to breaking the back of the third and final stage, which runs from Middlesbrough down to Scarborough, but it was enough to ram home the fact that, while I may consider myself a relatively fit chap, any aspirations I might have had of joining the peloton are a non-starter.

I'd set out from Nunthorpe, where the tour caravan will pass through on its route south.

The road outside Suggitt's Ices in Great Ayton. Photo: Matt Westcott

Home to one of the area's leading cycle shops, you would have expected residents to have taken the race to their hearts. And they have.

There are plenty of yellow and blue bikes and the village's railway station has been visited by some very talented yarn bombers who have bedecked the platform in knitted jerseys and cycles.

The folk of Great Ayton, a couple of miles down the road, have followed suit.

Bunting hangs from buildings, cycles adorn the sides of houses, one garden fence on the descent into the village has an ornate design along its length professing affection for 'T'Tour'.

Suggitt's Ices - a well-known stop off for the amateur rider - is doing a roaring trade as I pass through, bikes lent up against the railings.

The King's Head in Hutton Rudby. Photo: Matt Westcott

My own cycle is not bad, but some of those outside the shop make my mouth water almost as much as one of those famous 99s. Their value will run into many thousands, but even they will look low rent compared to those belonging to the professionals who will hammer through the high street, head down, barely noticing the efforts the locals have gone to.

My pace is a little more leisurely. Slow enough for me to catch what the three old ladies, sat outside enjoying the rays, shout.

If I didn't know better I'd think they had a thing for Lycra, in reality they were probably just taking the mickey out of a near-46-year-old trying to recapture his youth.

A party of school children, clearly well-versed about the forthcoming two-wheeled invasion wave as I sweep past. They probably think I'm Bradley Wiggins, I don't bother to correct them.

The river that runs through the centre of the village gives way to open farmland as my journey takes me out towards Stokesley, home of Tourfest, no less.

No one is pretending what's coming is anything to rival that which our Gallic friends put on each year, but residents and business owners are certainly making the most of one of the highlights of the year.

A stretch of road receiving some TLC. Photo: Matt Westcott

There's more flags and bikes - another knitted effort outside Chapter's brasserie - while a second local eaterie seeks to tempt visitors with a special Tour de Yorkshire style hot pot.

Half-a-mile or so out of Stokesley and it appears my recce might be coming to a premature end.

'Road Closed - Diversion In Place' professes the sign, but, while cars are prevented from heading through, a workman gives me permission to ride on through. "Just mind the big holes," he warns.

His cautionary tone was not issued without merit. As part of the preparation for the Tour as many potholes as is humanly possible are being filled in. Workmen in jackets almost as florescent as my socks sweat in the sun to provide a surface that while not as smooth as a baby's behind is a darn site less damaging than most I am used to. Such operations, carried out throughout the race's route, will irk residents whose roads appear not to have seen a set of temporary traffic lights for a good many years.

Riding slalom like for a couple of miles, the road rises once again as I pass Rudby Hall, but, well into my trip now, I am impervious to any pain.

A wooly bike outside Chapter's in Stokesley. Photo: Matt Westcott

As I mentioned earlier, this was not an audition for a ride along the Champs-Élysées in July, 30km would not even be considered a training run to those preparing to push their pedals in anger and the section I chose will be a breeze for the professionals, but as I reach the point where the route crosses the A19 it has at least given me some insight into what lays ahead on May 1.

How am I feeling now?

Full of admiration, envy, a wish I could turn back time a couple of decades, but the lasting feeling is one of pride in welcoming one of the nation's premier sporting events to this beautiful region.