Off the front, out the back - and going with the Flowton

Cloudy, possibility of rain, ten riders ready to face the rigours of South Suffolk. Sharon had flogged her Bianchi, finally having faced up to the fact that, though beautiful, it was just too big. Riding a steel frame of a certain age proved no handicap. Jonathan Howe was back for more after an eventful Espresso ride on Sunday, Mike Cross provided the otherwise missing ray of sunshine


and Richard 'Tom-Tom' Seggar was our routemaster for the Mystery Tour. The others on the bus were Justin, Peter H, Jeff Agricole, Ron and our ever-perky 12-hour hero Tiger Tony. Checking bus-passes was your correspondent SJH.

No surprises in the early part of the ride, just the usual 'tom-tom' convolutions, twists, turns and steep, narrow climbs followed by equally steep and uncomfortably narrow descents. We've been through Barking before, and sometimes Somersham – but seldom Offton.

Hadleigh raised the spirits (I'd not heard where our tea-destination would be), and Peter shouted “The Orangery's open!” to retreating backs and deaf ears. More of that shortly. I had now prised the secret of our Tea from Justin. East Bergholt sounds like a long way from Bury;
well, whilst not being a huge way away it is very far from near. Then we met the horse. We saw it in good time for a cautious approach. We were encouraged when the rider, on seeing ten brightly coloured riders weaving about in the road, and knowing – as we could not – that his mount was unimpressed with our presence, wheeled round in the road and briskly retreated, and sought protection in a driveway. We all (so we at the front thought) passed safely.

I have today discovered that this wasn't the case. Poor Peter was stuck the far side of the entrance, as the horse proceeded to do all in its not inconsiderable power to unseat the unfortunate (and, Mark Harris would probably maintain, incompetent) rider. We cyclists stick together, look out for each other, and the Wednesday ride is veritable Band of Bikies. So I'll quote from Peter's version “Ron looked back and [saw] my predicament, so decided to use the opportunity for a pee.”

I'll let Peter continue

“I then chased after the group, caught up at a T junction, then called them to a halt so Ron wasn't left guessing [wasn't that p*ssing?] The three of you obviously didn't hear the many shouts to stop and just kept going. By the time Ron arrived you were out of sight and way ahead. Shortly afterwards the route took a left and across many fields we could see the three of you out of the saddle on a decent climb and obviously oblivious to the fact that you had left the group way behind. We decided this was your own bloody fault, you were too far ahead to do anything about
it anyway and kept going. Ride leaders really should look over the shoulder every now and again, especially after junctions to ensure the group is together".

Quite so Peter.

Justin, Jonathan and I were (see above) oblivious to all of this. We found this quite challenging little hill. Long enough to be interesting, and for my weight penalty of 2 ½ stone to become a bit of a problem. We stopped and waited, presuming a puncture. Ho ho! we cried, they're certainly a long way behind. Finally we decided to go back and look. No sign at all, of course, but we reached the left turn they must have taken, and followed the signs for East Bergholt.

Tea was excellent, and taken in two separate groups, eying each other across the (now) sunlit terrace. Having got into a jam of our own making, Justin and I tucked into scones with jam of the Café's making (we asked). Jonathan had something slight that came in little packets.



Home via Flowton and The Channel (see previous ride accounts), Ringshall, Combs, Gt Finborough and home. 69 miles, and the weather sunnier but still not hot. The pace was sufficiently comfortable to allow me to mow the lawns when I got back.

Just two punctures; one for Justin and one for Tom-Tom. This last was in Jack's Lane, and the victim gallantly told us to carry on without him. It is generally considered wise to keep a safe distance from a puncture sufferer, as the photo shows

SJH

THIRTY WHEELERS TAKE OVER HOLLOWTREES 23 AUGUST 2009

Another warm day in prospect and another good turnout on the Buttermarket. 18 riders were once again eager for a magical mystery tour. Albeit a little less of a mystery than the week before. And so it was decided that Hollow Trees should be the destination, via a circular route.

It was good to see some new faces along on the ride. Jonathan Howe - from the 'B' ride, Richard Muchmore - a well known local rider, and another Richard (Emmerson) - an erstwhile Wheeler and keen mountain biker. The rest of the crew were: Paul Rooke, Tricia Dennison, Julian Coleman, Adi Grimwood, Andrew Davison, John Dumont (any relation to Margaret?), Deane Hill, Ben Mickleburgh, Ron Fisher, Gareth Doman, Jeff Agricole, Paul Callow, Stephen Hill, Steve Newman and me.

Off we went on the circular route. Some rolling countryside to Glemsford, where Stephen and Steve turned back to Bury [ It possibly ought to be mentioned that Stephen (SJH) was on the front for the first 35 minutes or so] Stephen with a mission to catch up with Tony Panting who was riding his first 12 hour race at the age of 74 and 10 months - he's a late developer. On a day when the vast tracts of tarmac on the A11 and A505 must have heated up to give a nice reflective glow, Tony tapped out a very respectable 213 miles. His unorthodox final week of tapering off for the big day consisted of a 120 mile ride the previous Sunday and a hilly 73 mile Wednesday clubrun AFTER he had risen at dawn and ridden 40 miles. There's no doubt that they broke the mould before they made him!

And so us mere mortals, and Deane, carried on circularly to Foxearth, Long Melford and a strange little circle around Upsher Green (check-out Tricia's Gamin's stats for more details). Onwards and downwards to Monks Eleigh and up to Hollow Trees (cue Paul to do his Valentino Rossi impression up the hill and away to climb Semer Hill twice before tea). As we approached Hollow Trees we saw our 'B' run swing into the car park just ahead of us. By the time we had parked our bikes they had formed an orderly queue. Falling in behind them we must have sent a wave of panic out to the cafe staff. However, the girls coped manfully - no doubt due to the absence of the young man who on previous occasions had been a bit slow. Mike Bowen and Nigel Stemp had also stopped in. Quite a cyclists' convention.

Home via Bildeston, One House, Thurston and Woolpit. The tailwind made for a fast ride with the group lined out for most of the way. New boy Jonathan's cardinal sin was to tear of the front at high speed and make the rest of us look slow. Bearing in mind that he has cut his cycling teeth on spinning classes and a bit of mountain biking he must realise that he can't go so quickly without first suffering a like we all did. It's not fair otherwise.

And so ended another Sunday clubrun under blue skies and blazing sun - not bad for a 'poor summer'.

For mileages and speeds see Trisha's stats.

I may not be out next Sunday as there's an Audax at Mildenhall Rally on Saturday and I might ride the 100km route. I understand from Mike Bowen that there's a group of Wheelers leaving for Mildenhall at 7.15am from the Tollgate. The extra miles should add up to a decent morning's ride.

Justin

Tony's Big day out....with beardie guys

It was Dale Sturman who let the cat out of the bag. 'Tony, I see from a start-sheet on the CTT website that you're riding a '12' on Sunday.' This remark outside the WSW's rent free Thurston HQ made heads turn in Tony's direction. 'I wasn't going to tell anyone in case I bottled out,' said a sheepish looking Tony. And how had his face got so sweat streaked on the ride from Malting's Garth to the bus shelter? Gradually the truth emerged. Following a 120 mile training ride on Sunday, Tony had been out since 6.30am clocking up a few miles prior to our clubrun (40 to be precise). Nothing unusual then; the assembled riders had all witnessed Tony's unorthodox approach to the final days preparation before a big event - remember his record breaking '100' week?

And so 11 awestruck riders headed towards Finchingfield and the promise of picture postcard views, light refreshment - or in some cases heavy refreshment - and hordes of car and coach bound tourists. They comprised: Sharon, Stephen, Richard, Chris, Peter Gay, Dale, Ron, Julian, Tony, and Justin.

We made our way to Clare by way of the usual Whepstead/Poslingfield road, where we were met by our pal Kevin Flanagan fresh back from camping in Sweden. Kevin had phoned earlier to secure a seat on our train, hoping it would be going in the general direction of his Hundon home, bearing in mind the direction of the wind and all that. In the middle of Clare Dale turned left. Maybe the pace was telling on him or maybe he had family commitments? We then had a tour of the north Essex lanes courtesy of Kevin. He told me this was his south east wind route. (that was Southwest; ed.) And very picturesque it was too. The views alternated between summer and autumn, depending on whether the field was being combined or ploughed. This part of Essex is delightful. Not a white shoe or blond in sight - that is unless you count Stephen's curling locks cascading from under his King of the Mountains hat - they won't fit under his Rapha cap.

'Twas a thirsty, hungry bunch that rolled into the only cafe in the village (the one on the hill is closed). Finchingfield was looking its usual splendid self. Tony remarked that he had once painted the row of cottages on the other side of the duck pond. I wondered how many tins of paint were used? Refreshments were of a high standard. The homemade cakes looked so good that Stephen couldn't decide whether to have a slice of the lemon drizzle or baked beans on toast - so he had both. Sitting outside the cafe the temperature seemed to be climbing. What a contrast to last week where the drizzle certainly wasn't on the cake.

Cue time for us to do our own bit of climbing back over the rolling Essex hills. Kevin again showed us some interesting lanes, although some of them had just had the dreaded chippings thrown over them and were waiting for heavier traffic than us to roll them down. A tail-wind blew us back to Kevin's country cottage, where he said his farewells. Onwards to the outskirts of Clare and a left turn to that oh so familiar Poslingford road. A little way down the road, Stephen and I realised we were the clubrun. Peter and Chris had been losing contact on the hills since early on in the ride and the rest of the group had hung back to wait. Eventually Sharon, Tony, Julian and Ron came up to say that Peter and Chris were suffering and Richard was waiting for them. As some of us had things to do that afternoon (I for one had an appointment in Bury for 3.30 and it was now about 1.30) Stephen, Sharon, Julian and I decided to press on, while Tony and Ron dropped back. To our surprise Tony, Ron and Richard later caught us up at the top of Stansfield hill. Richard then decided to wait for Chris and Peter while Ron and Tony carried on with us - Tony, no doubt, had almost enjoyed himself enough for one eight hour day on the bike (112 miles by the time he got home I think). The sun was getting hotter as we wound our way back to Thurston - arrival time 2.25 with 73 miles covered - and the last few miles dragged.

Special mention in dispatches to Julian, who following a very strong ride on Sunday maintained the form today, and Sharon, who after only a few Wednesday rides has come on in leaps and bounds and continues to impress with her ability to hang in there when the going gets tough. This attitude has gained a lot of respect and established her as one of the 'boys'. Quite a tough ride today. The heat and rolling roads combined with a 70 plus mileage proved testing. What you might call character building.

We all wish Tony a good ride on Sunday. Today's session should have been just what he needed to reach his peak of physical exhaustion. But we all know that after a couple of early nights and a twiddle on the turbo on Friday he will be bright-eyed and bushy-tailed come dawn on Sunday. Watch this space for his report on the ride. I hear Andy Wilkinson's just broken comp' record with a distance of 302 miles - just the target Tony needs!

Justin

9 AM, August 16th...Justin has a plan.

If you're going to drop someone in the final 20 miles, it's probably best not to choose the one person best equipped to get his own back. Fortunately, I'm a reasonable man. For instance, I never refer to the time that Neil rode away when I had a puncture in the first ten of a two hundred K audax - and I will, eventually, put the latter part of Sunday's ride behind me too.

As you can see from the photo, we gathered on Cornhill in brilliant sunshine that cast exciting shadows, making a work of art out of my snap taken merely to help me remember who was there (there were three other shots). I felt that I needed help, because the head-count yielded a total of 19. Another time I might take a video, and mumble the names.

It seemed that Justin had The Plan, but no one that I spoke to in the early stages of the ride seemed to have any idea where we were going to take tea. Even Mark, at a quite late stage said "I have NO idea". Barry took to the front from the start, riding strongly towards Horringer, bearing left at the foot of the hill, and then swinging off to go home. 18 left. Rob Norman was dipping his toes into a brisker paced ride, and Jonathan Howe (new member) said that he'd done 40 already (and who was I to doubt him, he's a solicitor after all) and would only do a couple of miles or so to judge the pace.

Because I replaced Barry at the front, with Justin (and no, I didn't think to ask about the tea stop), I had no idea who dropped off the back or when - but it became eventually obvious that were a compact group of sixteen. I say 'compact', but Adi made it abundantly clear at Kedington that most of us were anything BUT a tightly-knit group. In fact, in knitting terms we resembled most one of those loose, baggy jumpers run-up with huge needles in thick wool and great haste by an Aunt with only the shakiest idea of your size. We did our best to pull ourselves together. Knit two together . . . . . and I seem to remember 'drop one' in the instructions for my mother's knitting patterns. Oh how apt. How very apt that would prove to be . . .but I'm over it now.

We were on roads that I knew from Cambridge days - but Mark (who had assumed control) didn't take the direction that I expected. Every junction took us further from Bury, and the mileage was over 40 when we were due South of Cambridge. Finally we swung onto the spacious car park of the 'Comfort Café'. This used to be a hard-core truck stop, which I first visited as a lorry driver (this was long enough ago for the vehicles to be actually called 'lorries') based in Worcestershire and bound for Gt Yarmouth. (also home of the motel allegedly used by Alan Partridge; ed.) Mike Bowen (who controls trucks for his day-job) hinted darkly at additional comforts available on the upper floors, back in the day. Well, I thought, brightly; some of us could do with a nice massage right now. I may have misunderstood him.

We swung out quite a long while after our arrival; it takes a while for one willing girl to service sixteen fit men in urgent need.

Again, on the route home, Mark took the road least traveled. We avoided Newmarket and headed slightly southwards to Gt Bradley, thence to Cowlinge and Upend and . . . . we lost Adi and Paul C. Also Mark, though those at the front didn't realise that wasn't at the back until the met him coming towards them from the front. By now the pace had risen to Deane's speed of choice; 22.5mph. Now Deane had seldom been seen at the front during the earlier parts of the ride. He explained this by telling us that his choice was to go OFF the front far enough for the shouts of criticism from behind to be inaudible, or to stay in the bunch at about fourth wheel and get some peace. I think that by the return journey he'd had enough, and we resigned ourselves to situation normal, all lined-out and gasping in his wake.

At some point after Upend my legs gave up the fight, Paul Rooke realised he was sitting on the losing wheel and came round me to disappear into the distance with the rest of the (now diminished) group. There was a thundering tailwind (though not much help up Ousden hill) that eased my journey home, which ended with 85 miles at 17 mph. A blisteringly hot day at an occasionally rapid pace - in fact at the back, it was like a 'thirds & juniors' race, complete with panicky accelerations and unnecessary braking. Ah, nostalgia; another thing that's not what it used to be.


SJH

WSW blog saddles up...

We'll initiate this blog of roving ride reports with last week's efforts. Please feel free to add comments below by clicking on 'comments' below (duh) and forward reports, photos, and videos (of appropriate content, of course) of everyone's efforts to Steve as usual. Also, if you know any other interesting bike blogs or sites, please send links.

KF

now on to Steve's last gripping ride report......


Mark, Justin, Julian, Nathan, Graham, Deane, Ron, Paul Rooke, Andy Davison and Me (SJH) set off in the sunshine on a route to include tea at Wicken Fen, where last week's ride refreshed itself.

Now Deane, ever impressive at any time, had put in a few extra miles last week and thus missed tea at Wicken. He went to Edinburgh. From London. And back. By bicycle. 903 miles in (I hope I've remembered correctly) 107 hours or, 3 days 9 hours. The weather was atrocious, in fact apocalyptic according to another rider. Pedalling hard to go down hill the wind was so strong sort of weather. Of course, Deane being HARD he travelled light, just taking what he could carry in his pockets. So he got cold as well as wet. Very cold. Very wet. He mentioned "the last 200 miles" and I realised the enormity of this ride - he'd done 700 miles by that time. I do 500 a month at the very most. Anyway, for all the difference it made to Dynamo Deane's performance Sunday's Club run could've been a light training ride.

As with the last ride we took to Anglesea Abbey, Mark took us on an excellently circuitous circuit skirting around Wickambrook. We met a group of (I think) three horses with riders, and waited for Mark's input (in fact Justin, with impish good humour, loudly asked for Mark's opinion as we passed) but it wasn't required. In fact he confided that the riders had done the exactly correct things in the proper order. Our route then took us across the old A11 and the old A45 (see earlier reports for more on 'old') to Swaffhams Bulbeck and Prior where we descended onto the Upware Fen Road for a section that was utterly exposed to a brisk breeze on our left shoulders that had us in echelon from verge to verge. Because the road is narrow, there was only room for four riders at the most - leaving the other 7 to scramble to organise a second echelon. The subsidence, which I remember well from Cambridge days, seems to have deepened, and at 23-24 mph felt more like an off-road switch-back [Old Fart's corner; I get very annoyed that there is an increasing use of "Switch-Back"

to describe a hairpin bend. Switch-Backs go up and down. I think that it may be a US usage - which might lead some to use it in the belief that this will make them appear in some way modern. Don't misunderstand me, I approve of most US usages for their briskness and pungency. ]. (an American replies: switchbacks are the hairpins on mountain roads; this corruption in usage has nothing to do with us...) We arrived, gasping, at the A1123 (The Huntingdon to Fordham road. Just one question; Huntingdon to Fordham, why?) and were dragged at 25mph by Steve Newman doing an impression of a demented egg-whisk in a successful attempt to beat himself to the Wicken sign. Then a right turn to tranquillity, nature and nourishment. Slow service exercised a few, and there was muttering about not returning. However, the sunshine calmed every one down, and we'll be back. Maybe after the wasp season.

Fast blast (but not as fast as last week) back via Fordham, Chippenham, Herringswell, Tuddenham and Risby (got dropped in the surge up Poor Man's Heath again). When I say that someone stole the Risby sign, sadly I mean just that. It's gone. It is no more, an ex-sign a non-prime.

No punctures. No incidents. Paul Rooke mastered the tricky difference between riding ON the front and riding OFF the front just in time for the tailwind home run, most of us confused ourselves while riding in allegedly echelon fashion; which maddened Mark, briefly.

As I reached home I'd clocked 76miles at 17.8mph. An excellent ride; if only they'd go slower up to Poor Man's Heath.

SJH