THE MAJESTIC ROCKIES, the Teton mountain range, the Gila Wilderness, the Chihuahuan Desert … the contrasts in the scenery I saw on the Tour Divide were amazing. Not Radio 1 ‘amazing’, but properly amazing. I rode on fire roads through woods and forests, concentrating on not getting my eye poked out by a low branch, then there would be a clearing in the trees, and in the distance I could see snow-capped mountains. I’d look down at my Garmin and realise, This is taking me dead south, those mountains are south: I’m going over them. I wasn’t worried or apprehensive, it was just a case of, Right, I’m going over those buggers. Very matter of fact.
After the Tour Divide, I flew back with Sharon and we landed at Heathrow. I cycled into work the next day to prove to myself that I could get back on the bike straight after all that. Then I had a few days off the bike to let my body recover. The following Monday, I’d been back just short of a week and it was a beautiful morning. I shouldn’t really have biked to work, because I was still a bit sore, but I couldn’t resist it. I was a good two-thirds of the way there, just over Riby Top, and riding down Riby Drag, so called because it’s a bit of a struggle for a truck to get up it. I looked up and out and saw the view of Grimsby, Immingham Dock, the Humber Estuary and Spurn Point on the Yorkshire side of the Humber, all spread out in front of me under the morning sun. I reckoned it was as beautiful as anything I’d seen in America.
My mate Benny and his family emigrated to New Zealand – I visited them a couple of times when I raced at Wanganui over Christmas – but they moved back to Lincolnshire while I was on the Tour Divide. Benny explained that he couldn’t have the same standard of living over there as he could here without doing daft amounts of overtime at work. They’d been out there just short of three years when they moved back. Benny and his wife, Jaquina, are happy to be back. He returned to a job earning more than he did when he left, and he says nowt’s changed, but he likes that. I like that about the place too.
When Sacha Baron Cohen’s comedy Grimsby was being filmed, a local politician came round to Moody’s to have a word with us. He was worried that it was going to portray Grimsby in a negative way. I described the visit in When You Dead, You Dead, but that was before I, or anyone, had seen the film.
I was on a two-day filming job down in Bedford, getting the hang of the pedal-powered hot-air balloon I’m hoping to fly over the English Channel (that’s not a sentence you write every day), when Grimsby was released. Unusually for me, I didn’t drive home to try to get something done in the shed between the two days of filming, then have to drive back to the TV location at stupid o’clock the next morning. Instead, I stayed in a hotel with the North One lot, and someone had the idea of going to the pictures to see Grimsby.
I like Sacha Baron Cohen’s characters. Borat is a big favourite, and even though I think it was filmed in Essex, I reckon he got Grimsby spot on. His accent is pure Grimsby, just like Moody’s. The film, and the actor, have been criticised for the way the working classes are portrayed, but it’s a comedy – it’s supposed to be a funny caricature, not a documentary. I reckon only those who recognise some of themselves in it – and wish they didn’t – would be offended by it.
Sacha Baron Cohen plays Nobby, a waster and football hooligan who deep down is a good bloke. He hasn’t seen his brother for years, and when they meet he finds out that his brother is a top secret agent. I don’t know if I was just in the mood for summat daft, but I found it funny, especially the elephant orgy.
I was born in Grimsby and work in Grimsby, but I’ve never lived in the town that is home to about 90,000 people. I’m happy to be associated with it, though. I can call it a shithole, because I grew up around there, but you can’t if you don’t live there. It’s my shithole. There are nice bits and rough bits, like everywhere. The rough bits are in the top three most deprived areas in the country, according to government reports from a few years back. But Grimsby, or Great Grimsby, to give the place its proper name, has everything I need. It’s a handy place for me, and I’m never stuck for much. There’s always someone around who can help you out of a fix. There are 500 food-related companies in the area. When I looked into it I read that there are more pizzas made in Grimsby than anywhere else in Europe.
All those food companies are supplied and served by thousands of trucks, which is why there’s such a strong haulage industry, with all the suppliers and specialists that support the road haulage game in the area.
The downsides of Grimsby? I can’t think of any. I don’t think the people are any different in Grimsby – you get arseholes wherever you go. I just try to steer clear of them. I’m not worried about there not being a lot of culture. I’m not much of a night-out man. I like going to see live bands when one takes my fancy, but I don’t mind travelling to see them and, anyway, the Picturebooks came to Grimsby and played Yardbirds, the local biker bar. They were brilliant.
When I decided I was going to write another book, I wanted the cover to be something a bit gritty. I went exploring down by the fish docks for somewhere that could be an interesting backdrop. Fifty or sixty years ago, Grimsby was said to be home to the biggest fishing fleet in the world, but, because of the Cod Wars with Iceland, there are hardly any trawlers fishing out of Grimsby any more. The dock area I found was like a self-contained, run-down, half-deserted town, overlooked by the 300-foot-tall Dock Tower that was built in 1852. It’s a dead clever relic of the Industrial Revolution that could hold 30,000 gallons of water which was pumped into it. The pressure of the water, sat at 200 feet above the ground, was then used to provide hydraulic power for the machinery on the docks.
The name of the town comes from the Norse for Fisherman’s Village, and Danish Vikings settled here in AD 9. Most of the fish are from Iceland, but some are still processed in works down on Grimsby, whether it’s filleting or smoking. The docks are fascinating, like the land that time forgot. You could film a zombie apocalypse film down there and not have to change a thing or even tell anyone. You’d just have to stop the odd truck or Transit van until you’d finished your shot. And you’d only know about the place if you lived round here. I don’t know what will happen to it. Parts of it are falling to bits. If it was in London it would have all been converted to fancy flats, but it’s Grimsby, and no one wants to live by the docks or invest in doing them up.
When I was on the Tour Divide I found a cycle shop in Whitefish, Montana, where I stopped to buy some new pedals after one of mine had broke. The couple who owned it had been touring about on bicycles, looking for a new place to live, when they rode into Whitefish and decided, This is the place, and stayed. That was back in 1980. No place I’ve visited has ever grabbed me like that. I’ve been to a few countries around the world, and there’s nowhere that I’d rather be than round here. Only New Zealand has come close, and it’s still not here.
I like that I can do deals with the local folk. Take Gina and Nicky, who run the butty van near work. They’re rum as hell, but I like them. A few years ago they said, ‘Come and hand out the trophies for the end-of-season Grimsby and District Senior Netball League awards, and we’ll give you free butties for the year.’ You’d do the same, wouldn’t you? When Top Gear come knocking, ‘Sorry, I’m busy,’ but Gina and Nicky’s netball lasses and free butties from the wagon? I’m there!
I’ve got a good mixture of stuff round here, racing pushbikes, building motorbikes and cars, work, a good few routes to cycle home, friends I’ve known for years, family, a decent house and mates with local farms where I can ride my dirt tracker. I like it so much that I haven’t bought a summer getaway in Monaco or Spain. I’ve bought one on the beach south of Cleethorpes.
I keep wondering, What’s the next thing? But it’s not through wanting to escape Lincolnshire – it’s all about the challenge. And once it’s over I always think, I can’t wait to get back.