The long journey North

At a football game, the players, the manager and maybe even the Chairman, only recognise you being there for 90 minutes, but as any travelling supporter will tell you, those 90 minutes are so much more than that, the day in the life of a lower league supporter...

Part One

So before I commenced on my long journey ‘Up North’ what was my preconceived image of Rochdale; Flat caps and Hovis, but all said in jest. Well everyone knows the Hovis advert was filmed in Dorset, don’t they?

In truth the best I knew was that my intended destination was somewhere in the direction of Blackpool and the furthest I had travelled in the UK in the last 12 months was too Fleetwood and on that occasion it was by coach. So that was my rough guide, although I had thought Rochdale was in Lancashire but am corrected that it is actually in Greater Manchester, unless itstimupnorth corrects my geography.

I had prepared my stay to be for a long weekend, having felt a 500 plus mile round trip watching the Gills was more than my body would be able to handle in one day, oh only too true for what fate was to behold later in the story.

Friday evening I departed, I never really knew how to tell on my travels how you would truly know you are finally ’Up North’, until the sky’s opened, then I thought to myself, I must have crossed the border, the windscreen wipers being my North/South compass divide.

My little car did well on the journey, bringing back memories to the days of the two angry camel adventures.

The longer the journey went on, the greater the temptation to break the land speed record, but these days paranoia sets in at the hundreds of speed cameras covering every mile of the A and M roads. I suppose I can only wait the two weeks for the big brother letters to start dropping on my doormat. I’m all so somewhat complex how an overhead camera gantry suddenly wants me to drop my speed in an instance from 70 to 40mph before crossing the white lines – ok if this constitutes road safety, I’ll just slam the brakes.

It was a good journey up despite at one point the car felt like it had taken to mountain climbing, before reaching a sign that said the M62 was the highest motorway in England. Although attempting to slalom ski a vehicle down the other side did increase the heart beat when aquaplaning.

At which point despite being close to my destination it was time for some nice strong coffee. I chose what I thought was a 24 hour service area, although someone forgot to tell Mr KFC, who refused to sell me a coffee despite some food still being available, I think the staff were ready to go home on this weary traveller. So I sadly had to forget all my principles and buy a Starbucks, how much for an Americano £2.90, the world’s gone mad, yet they want drivers to take a break!

Now for all this distance I had solely relied on my mobile phone to guide me in, so it was some relief to eventually see a sign that said Rochdale 16 miles, I was beginning to think it was some unmapped location.

Eventually I’m routed off at junction 21, which was a bit of a concern as I was expecting to exit at J20. Thoughts of this is now not the time for the battery to die on my device, as it started to direct me around little roads. Where was it taking me!

But I could soon relax as I reached a damp but beautiful Broadfield Park Hotel overlooking the historic park of Rochdale. Autumn leaves, mellow street lighting, damp conditions, dark, you can picture the scene, before eventually turning the ignition off to my beloved car that had made it. I was planning on a very late night, early morning beer at my hotel, but one look at that bed and my body instantly decided it was time sleep.

To be continued...

 

You have no idea how large or vicious a can of worms you might be opening if you open up that argument. Administratively it is in Greater Manchester, but try arguing with anyone from Rochdale (or, come to that, Bury or Bolton or Wigan) that they're not Lancastrians and you could well end up on the wrong side of trouble. Same goes in the South of Greater Manchester - as far as the residents of Stockport (especially Bramhall and Cheadle) and certainly the posher areas of Altrincham such as Bowdon and Hale are concerned, they still live in Cheshire. Stick to Rochdale being in Lancashire and you'll certainly offend fewer people.

 

Thanks for clearing that up, as i said i had thought it was in Lancashire but when i checked my geography it attempted to tell me otherwise, but i'm quite happy to go along with many Lancastrians boundaries of these things.

 

Part Two

So it was the day of the game, waking in the morning looking out of my huge hotel room window at the autumn colours of the Broadfield Park.

My hosts arrived for me at 10am and despite the rain the night before it were a pleasantly mild October, so walking the historic parts of Rochdale were on the agenda.

Places visited, church, ancient steps and the Town Hall, having also taken in the tourist attractions available at Touchstones Rochdale which had a museum, art gallery all for free. Some of this stuff dated back centuries and probably most of it missed by many of my fellow Gillingham travellers.

Breakfast treat of bacon sarnies, nice and tasty, I don’t think it was Hovis I say with a slight smile, all before making our way to the local watering hole and eventually meeting another member of the Gills Northern Elite, we were certainly going to be needing a pint or three as Taylor’s tactic’s were certainly not going to be the highlight of this so far enjoyable day.

The usual customary thoughts of shall we stay in the pub but it wouldn’t seem right to travel well over a round trip 500 miles to miss the game.

With £20 exchanged at the turnstile, on to the delights of some decent pies at £3 a throw. As for the game itself, well we could have been at least 3-0 down by half-time PT’s tactics nearly sent me to sleep in the second half, until the 83rd minute when the travelling supporters cheered at Cody’s equaliser. Final score 1-1 and a point in the bag but it was back to the hotel to try and forget about what I had just witnessed over the usual passing 90 minutes.

As I’ve always said about football, it’s not just about the game but the whole experience and that evening I was collected from my hotel for a trip to The Baum a place crowned CAMRA’s National pub of the year and the meal that evening was certainly washed down with plenty of real ale.

So another lower league football adventure at an end with not a flat cap insight, and massive thank you to my hosts for looking after me. And as I have since been prompted, Rochdale is definitely in Lancashire!

Anyway’s since my arrival home my travel’s have been brought to an abrupt holt due to being unwell, having missed Preston and today of posting this I’ve already decided that will include Crawley....cost no, I have a season ticket but October days mixed with current health would not be wise.

Therefore next on my calendar will be Leyton Orient, although I’m not sure when the FA Cup 1st Round is so that might be next on the list.