23 September 2009, to Hollow Trees for Ann's Birthday. Two weeks running with free teas -when will it ever end? Wednesday-ers are perhaps getting blasé, since we are only nine free-loaders this week.
As you can see from the photo, we were Jeff, Justin, Ron (resplendent in red), Ann, Nigel (from East Harling!), Tony and Peter Gay. Out of the picture (in the visual sense) were 'TomTom' and I (who rode through the ford) plus Pete Hogg who retired early with the saddle malfunction mentioned above.
We were about half an hour into the ride when Pete called out for us to stop. He is rightly proud of his 5-speed seventies machine, and has no problem keeping up as a rule but, this time it was serious. A bolt on his seat pin had sheared, and it was one of those needlessly complex arrangements with two bolts with hex heads that threaded into two lateral pins with threaded holes. Dreadful to tighten, I remember, needing to wiggle an open ended spanner under the saddle and move the bolts about 5 degrees at a time. Out in mid-Suffolk, without a spanner, and the outlook was bleak. Pete kept with us, rolling along out of the saddle, to Monks Eleigh, where we bade him good luck at Bildeston, and Lifecycle (who's stock is all pretty recent I seem to remember, and might not include 30-year-old seat pin spares). Just before Brent Eleigh (which, in turn, is just before Monks Eleigh) the riders at the front (I seem to remember Justin and Ron) suffered an extremely close encounter with a young deer which burst through the hedge on the right, and crashed through the hedge on the left, at a constant height of three feet and what looked like about two feet ahead of our shaken leaders. A glance to the right revealed the rest of the beasts, watching. They looked as if there had been a wager, with the Stag offering a fiver if the youngster made it. All too fast for a photo. What I could capture in pixels, however was a very supercilious looking Alpaca. I came to the sign at the farm gate, and his evident attitude was explained "Alpaca Stud Farm".
T-T took us on a twiddly loop round to Hollow Trees where we sat outside in the now-usual sunshine, wishing Ann a Happy Birthday as we scoffed our free tea, and headed off into deepest T-T country round Wissett and Offton (which we visit increasingly, um, er . . . .). Near Offton we did one of TT's special little lanes, the sort that have more grass and gravel than strips of tarmac, and that are punctuated by fords.
We covered a civilised 50 miles at a sensible average speed that brought us home nice and early. We hope that Pete Hogg reached home safely and in good time - and without having to ride out of the saddle the whole way.
After several attempts, Julian at last persuaded us that it would be a jolly idea to go to Attleburgh. So that's where 11 of us [ Justin, Julian, Nathan, Mark, Deane, Paul C, Ron, Barry Woodhouse (whom I last saw maybe six years ago in my earliest Wheeler clubruns - when there was just the one) Jonathon, Ed Bucknell and me] were bound for, under cloud that promised sunshine for later on.
The journey out was orderly and almost sedately paced. The only break in discipline concerned pee-stops. We still need to convince some riders that it is delusional to attempt to ride off the front and gain a large enough gap to stop; pee; adjust their clothing and remount before the rest of the ride catches up. This is a futile exercise, with everyone riding past laughing whilst you pee - or one (or several) riders think it's an attack and chase you down. The other unexpected consequence is that those who didn't get asked if they wanted a pee now realise the do want a pee and stop randomly along a half mile stretch of road. An organised stop is the way to do it. Right back to childhood car journeys "go before we set off, because we won't be stopping later"
Arriving at Attleburgh, in the aforementioned sunshine, we did a few laps of the centre, noting 'The Norfolk Kitchen' each time (with its welcoming tables and chairs set out in the sunshine) until Julian relented and allowed us to stop there. Fast and efficient provision of mainly baguette-based nutrition which, in some cases needed a little fine tuning - plus portions of beanzontoast the size of a small pond (the fly enjoyed my Cappuccino)
This was an opportunity for me to attempt changing gear on my new best friend, Pearson. As luck would have it, my mechanic was on the ride so I was able to delegate this delicate operation. Nathan built the bike, so could be relied on to effect the change. I watched, in case I ever needed to do it on my own. After the break, more work for Nathan as his Dad, Julian discovered a puncture at the bottom of his rear wheel.
There was a brief discussion of the pit stop strategy for the return and, after making absolutely sure that everyone had 'been' before we set off, a two-stop strategy was considered a reasonable solution. In fact, we didn't need to stop at all. Maybe the certainty of a schedule calmed the collective bladders. More research needed.
Julian guided us back by a charmingly scenic route, and my 72.5" gear was a great relief after the 65.6" of the outward journey (to the extent that Mark kept asking me to slow down - always nice to hear). The pace gradually increased towards the end, especially between Stanton and Stowlangtoft, with Ed "what's a small ring?" Bucknell on the front. I even heard Justin remark on the following Wednesday that he'd never been up the rise to the water tower so fast (20mph all the way up and a bit more at the end but I didn't notice how much because my eyes were crossed). 66 miles for me, didn't record an average speed (no Garmins this week - Tricia providing bicycle-support for runners in the Round Norfolk Relay. In the dark. On the A143.)
Monday, September 21, 2009
High summer High aspirations
An enjoyable cycling trip down to the Pyrenees last summer had whetted my appetite for more of the same, but maybe in a different part of France. Some of the alpine climbs and perhaps the Giant of Provence: Mount Ventoux? The penultimate stage of this year’s Tour de France finished on its summit, and the TV pictures of our own Bradley Wiggins turning himself inside out in an effort to hold on to his fourth place on GC proved truly inspirational. So why not combine a family holiday to Provence with a couple of days cycling? ( why not precipitate a divorce as well? ed.) The plan was to drive down there with an overnight stop on the way. The bike slotted into the car along with the suitcases, and as long the holiday/cycling balance was maintained everything should be fine.
A week in Provence
Stephen Hill had often waxed lyrical about Provence and had given me a few tips on where to stay. And now, having sampled its delights, I can see what he meant. It is a delightful part of France and we thoroughly enjoyed our seven day stay in the area. Mind you, wherever we went Mont Ventoux was always there overlooking the surrounding hills and reminding me that I’d soon be making my way up its slopes. Four days in and I felt I’d acclimatised enough and was ready for the challenge. After a good breakfast I rode out from the hotel and headed for Bedoin, one of the start towns. The 15 mile ride-out was a good warm-up, although there were a couple of minor cols to get over on the way. I wondered what they would feel like on the way back!
Mad dogs and Englishmen
The timing wasn’t ideal. Arriving in Bedoin at about 11.30am with the temperature nudging 29 degrees, I knew I was in for a warm ride. Helmet slung over the handlebar stem I rolled over the marble start line that is embedded in the road and began the climb. The relatively shallow gradient for the early miles lulls you into a false sense of security. Spinning along at a brisk pace with the sent of pine in the air and warm sunshine on your back, what could be better? The reality arrives as soon as you get into the trees. The gradient ramps up to a level that is uncomfortably steep and has you clicking down through the gears. 34X23 was a little on the high side and the next one down (34X26, my lowest gear) was a little on the low side. I settled for a fast cadence on the 34X26. This plan, coupled with the occasional out-of-the-saddle dance around the hairpins, seemed the least painful option. The painted messages on the tarmac to those present and past Tour heroes made for light reading and helped take my mind off the job in hand. Another thing to focus on was the steady stream of riders suffering their way up the mountain. Such is its attraction to cyclists from all over the world, that on this Tuesday afternoon in September I must have passed over 50 riders on my way up to the summit.
High respirations
The ride through the trees seems never-ending, but eventually you leave them behind and enter the sun-bleached rocky scree slopes for the final kilometres. The contrast between the two is quite extraordinary. At Chalet Reynard, with 6 km to go, the incongruous sight of dozens of diners staring out from the panoramic windows of the café and dozens more catching the rays on the terrace exerts a pull on the sweat drenched cyclists. As I had only drunk half a bottle (difficult to drink other than a quick mouthful every so often) I carried on, the end in sight. Thankfully the gradient had eased and I was able to click up a gear and speed up ready for the final push to the top. The aforementioned scree was reflecting back the heat nicely, and I wondered if it could be harnessed for sustainable energy. For a minute or two my head started to pulsate and I felt nauseous, but thankfully it past quickly. Funny how odd things pop into your head at times of stress: I had an image of Robin Williams in his marvellous role as Adrian Cronauer, that irreverent, non-conformist DJ in Good Morning Vietnam giving the daily weather forecast to the troops: ‘It’s hot, it’s damned hot!’ Onwards and upwards, past the memorial to Tom Simpson with its collection of bottles, tyres and caps covering its steps. How close he had come to making it to the top on that tragic day in 1967. Passed the last of four photographers who spend their days capturing the grimaces of riders, albeit with a nice background, and I’m almost there. One steep hairpin and there’s the finish line. Aim for a gap between other finishers, and it’s over. One hour 37 minutes for the 21 kilometres. The legs don’t want to stop and twitch for a minute or two. An earlier finisher smiles and points to his camera and the summit sign. I manage to take a shaky image and he reciprocates the favour
Wide eyed and legless
I swallow an energy bar (first food since breakfast) and finish off the rest of my bottle of water. Caped up I head down to Chalet Reynard and join the gallery for a can of Coke. The sweeping bends of the moonscape top section were soon replaced by the more technical twists and turns through the trees. As the road levelled out at the bottom, and the need to pedal became evident, my legs didn’t seem to be functioning. They were going round and round but there was no power in them. It took a couple of miles before they came back to some semblance of life. The ride home over the two small cols wasn’t pleasant, and it wasn’t until a string of Belgian riders – who were staying at our hotel - came past, that I had the energy to muster up some speed for the final couple of miles – mostly downhill. A memorable day.
A man, a plan, a canal, Panama
Apologies for adding the irrelevant words ‘a canal, Panama’ to the heading; it was just a good opportunity to share with you a rather long palindrome. A couple more days left to enjoy Provence and then homeward bound. I had noticed that, with a small detour (it looked that way on a small scale map), we could go back via Grenoble, drive through the alps and spend the night near Alpe d’Huez - provided Ann was agreeable. To her great credit that kind and generous woman said yes, and so off we went.
21 – 20 – 19 – 18 and so on
We arrived in Bourg d’Oisans, at the foot of Alpe d’Huez, at about 5pm and found a small hotel just on the outskirts. Bright and early the next morning I was to be found riding up and down the valley road trying to warm up my stiff and cold legs. Unlike Provence, the Alps, with their towering presence, restrict the sun’s rays and the temperature on the valley floor was still around 12 degrees. So in a long sleeved top and leg warmers – a mistake - I started the climb. After three or four of the hairpin bends I was in the morning sun and getting warmer by the minute. Too bad, have to get on with it. Each bend is numbered and the name of a past stage winner of the Tour on Ad’H has pride of place alongside. Already there are other riders making the ascent of this iconic climb, each suffering on the steep gradient. The TV images don’t give a true picture of the severity of the climb and the scenes of Armstrong and Pantani dancing up the slopes only add to the illusion. This is one tough climb. No respite, just keep tapping out a rhythm that you are able to sustain. More photographers, more forced smiles. Through the ski lodges and follow the signs ‘Itinerary Tour de France’ up a few more bends and there it is: the finish line banner. One last effort and the clock stops at one hour 39 seconds. There on the left is a podium. Barely able to climb onto it, I overcome my modesty and keep going to the top step. A friendly French cyclist obliges with the camera, and for a moment I can hear the cheers of the crowd ringing in my ears. Or is it Ann phoning to remind me we’ve got to be out of the hotel in an hour? A quick descent, stopping only for a couple of snaps, a hasty shower, suitcases and bike in the car and our journey north continues. Here’s to the next time.
Happy Times . . . . . . . . . as King Lear celebrates ("smile like this" says Tony)
It was one of life's more expensive coincidences that my birthday and Wednesday fell on the 16th of September. A more expensive one for many was Black Wednesday, 16th Sept 1992 when something went awfully wrong something complicated and financial in the City (of London). At least my losses would be restricted to a few teas.
Well, a dozen, including mine. The original plan had been to ride to Hollow Trees at Semer, but the wind was quite brisk, and from the North, so Diss was it (in that dawn to be alive,
This account is going to be dominated by references to me, my birthday and my birthday present to myself. Susan tells me that no one will be interested in this - especially because I'm writing it on Sunday the 20th, by which time all normal people would have forgotten all about their most recent birthday. The present (and I think I must have bored the world about this already) is a Pearson 'Cartouche' Carbon-framed fixed wheel bicycle. I rode it for the first time on this day. Despite my irascible expression, I'm actually very pleased with it. Kevin Flanagan has asked if I'm going to do a review - I might, so I'll say no more at this point. Richard 'TomTom' guided us on an Eastward loop as a change from Sunday, and last Wednesday. We visited Finningham, Cotton and a few other places that I can't really remember because I was concentrating on my new bicycle. Justin was with us, fresh from Provence. He kept distracting our attention from me and my bicycle with endless accounts of how marvellous it all was in France. It never ceases to amaze me how self-centred people can be, I mean, we've all been abroad these days. It's probably just as well that Neil couldn't make it, or we would have had to endure endless tales about China, or India, or Sri Lanka, or even Ethiopia and Pangbourne.
We achieved Diss with perfect timing, and burst into Amandines to request a dozen teas. Peter Heath, spotting a long table in the semi-open area at the rear of the restaurant with elaborate decorations down the middle said "I see you've prepared the table already". Despite this frivolous remark, we were seated and served with swift efficiency.
No more than ten minutes later Susan arrived to whisk me away. I paid up, made my excuses and left. The lunch that followed was truly wonderful - and another story.
The Cast for this Production were: Mike Cross, Sharon Calton, Peter Gay, Ann Fish, Justin Wallace (did I mention Mt Ventoux?), Peter Heath, Gareth Doman, Tony Panting, Jeff Agricole, Ron Fisher, Richard 'TomTom' Seggar, SJH (did I mention my Birthday?)
Talk in Cornhill was centred on Peter Balls' success on the track at Welwyn yesterday, winning the individual pursuit in whatever championships were being held. There will be a report from Adi soon. We were 16 this morning. 15 of us arrived (unsurprisingly) by bicycle and Neil arrived by speedy Motor, with his bike in the boot and dressed in not quite enough cycling kit. Mark Harris remarked that elements of Neil's current life style seemed to have led to a certain lack of attention to the wearing of sufficient clothing. Sounds of mirth echoed round Bury's historic city centre. To general relief it was decided that we would go to Bressingham for tea - the wind was in the right quarter and there are no hills around Diss. It wasn't long before the first puncture - in fact it was before Ixworth - struck. The lucky rider was Julian Colman, who went for the bonus ball in life's anti-lottery by having the first replacement tube blow up on him. I know that CO2 cartridge thingies are supposed to be ever so good for blowing up tyres, but I hadn't considered it in quite this way - and in an explosion of gas, too. Fortunately, most of us were a safe distance away, as usual, though Hugh and John seemed dangerously close. Neil, sensing a rather long delay, finally went to investigate and managed to arrive just as everything was being put back together. This enabled him to hint at having 'sorted it all out'.
While we waited, chatting, Adi raised a minor niggle about these blogs; he felt that we were representing the club as a group that spent nearly all its time sitting in cafés. Well, Adi, how can I put this . . . .I think, in all fairness, that I should point out that shortly after the photos above were taken Adi leapt on his bike and, at a thundering pace, led the a struggling bunch all the way to Stanton before he swung off the front.
So anyway, puncture fixed, Ixworth disappearing behind us, and an arcing route (that's a hard 'c' by the way) out near the various Harlings to Quidenham (home of Quiddich, of course) where we took a brief architectural detour so that Neil could share with us his enthusiasm for the Village Hall, and excellent example of Tesco Revival vernacular. Ron Fisher and I took to the front at this point, and navigated faultlessly to join the A1066 about 400yds North of Blooms. Neil, Mark. Ron and I were pleased to have got to the counter first. When we made our way to a table we noticed that a huge queue of 13 cyclists had formed behind us. Whew! lucky or what?
We set off on the time-honoured route south on 1066, then left down Freezen Hill(I was spared the humour, because the weather was merely warm, neither hot nor cold enough for irony). Neil hit the front like a man fuelled by 1.5 scones (I knew I shouldn't have shared my second one with him) and pounded out a brisk tempo. Andy joined him, and upped the stakes. Neil raised him to 24mph Andy saw this and now we were doing 27mph. There were complaints. Sense prevailed, we eased. Richard Stiff and I, as Nortonites, peeled off at Pakenham, the rest of the field - sorry, 'ride' headed off towards Bury. I covered 62 at around 17.8mph. We didn't split (well, not permanently) and there was only one puncture
Those taking part: Juliette McGuire & partner, Mark Harris, Lord Dykes, Andy, Mike Bowen, Ron Fisher, John Dumont, Ed Bucknell, Deane Hill, Adi Grimwood, Julian Colman, Hugh O'Neill, Richard Stiff, Paul Callow and one's self.
I arranged to meet Lindsay at Gt Livermere to ride in together. We went Lindsay’s way as it was safer, apparently. It involves the A143 from Gt Barton to Moreton Hall & takes in the Sainsbury’s roundabout, whereas my way goes through Fornham, avoids A roads & is a mile shorter. And I’m the half Irish one!
We arrived in good time and by 9.30am a group of 13 had assembled. Chris Dolan; Dick Lines; Soren & Jonathon Sjolin; Peter Heath; Lindsay Clayton; Ann & Grayhame Fish; Steve Cleal; Mark Taylor & Dave Whitehead joining us from Stowmarket; Barry Woodhouse & I set off for somewhere. The joy of the Sunday rides for me is tagging along with someone else making the decisions about routes & destination, the company & of course the cake!
Please pay attention to Peter’s feet and the NEW SHOES! After the success of the tea stop at Peacocks on Wednesday, Peter went back with Gill , stopped at the bike shop in Ely & invested in some rather fab new cycling shoes. (they are, it has to be said, extremely white... ed.)He did suggest to Gill why not a bike to match the new shoes while they were there? They left with just the shoes!The journey out was a lively buzz of conversation & I have no idea which way we went from memory but the Garmin printout reveals all. Until I joined the Wheelers rides my poor sense of direction dictated that I just did the same two loops from home again & again or stuck to the A roads that I went on in the car; no wonder I hated cycling.The Wheelers really opened up my horizons... OK, I still have no idea which way I’ve gone or where I’ve been but I do have the Garmin printout as evidence and it has given me the courage to occasionally go out on my own (with an OS map used frequently) on new routes . Only one puncture and with impeccable timing – Dick, just as we rode into Hollow Trees for coffee. At HollowTrees – aren’t shoes on the table unlucky Barry?!
Hollow Trees serves excellent cake but cappuccinos are off. Coffee is served in an individual cafetiere & is delicious but this is the cappuccino ride after all! Soren obligingly answered Barry’s spinal question, despite being off duty. Jonathon chatted about starting at St Benedict’s and Grayhame & I talked about running club politics. Not sure what the other end of the table talked about but they seemed very cheerful!It has been suggested by a running friend who reads the Wheelers BlogSpot that the Wheelers seem to be more about cream teas than cycling. And here is Peter demonstrating that the club rides really are about cycling!
Dave’s drink. Nice bike obviously but what’s the blue drink about? Disturbingly matched his cycling helmet & his pal’s kit. Kryptonite??
And so the journey home: a bit of an advantage to me here as it took in part of the Welnetham TT course & if you do the same route often enough even I know where I’m going. So for the second half of the ride I knew where I was. Until we reached Thurston, where instead of going straight on & home across the A143 to Livermere, bewilderingly Lindsay turned right towards Pakenham & I was lost again. She stopped so suddenly we had the only incident of the day when Chris rode straight into the back of her. No damage done. So we rode home via Pakenham! Lindsay did the 200km audax at Mildenhall last week so clearly can be a little bonkers but great company.
My stats: Home > Nowton Lindsay’s route!12.86miles @ 16.4mph;Nowton> Hollow Trees 23.4miles @15.2mph; Hollow Trees > home 30.12miles @16.6mph.
Wednesday 9th September had been forecast to be a scorcher, but was a rather more grudging affair on the day. The sun held itself back until later on, the wind was 'moderate' and from the North East.
We were a record -breaking fourteen riders, including three visitors from another age; racers from the seventies and eighties - (not the same thing as those riders actually in their sixties and seventies) - Neil Dykes, wearing well at just over the half century (still with the ravaged remains of his film star good looks and queasy charm) was backed up by that King of Retro Chic, Richard Muchmore, showing how to put a Mullett to good use, and the evergreen stylist Steve Mayes, Mr Colnago himself, always just a Quick-Step ahead. Back in the peleton were Peters Heath and Hogg, Ron Fisher, Ed Bucknell, Mike Cross, Ann Fish, Sharon Calton, Jonathan Howe, Gareth Doman, Tony 'Tiger' Panting and your Blogger. An amiable and uneventful roll across the unchallenging terrain to the North East to Diss, was marred only by a mechanical malfunction of my bike. CLICK-CLICK, CLICKETY-CLICK, CLICK-CLICK, CLICKETY-CLICK, CLICK-CLICK, every pedal revolution. "Bottom bracket" several old-timers muttered, "I don't think so" I riposted "Pedal" I surmised. "Madgetts'" we agreed. Tea was at 'Mere Moments' (run by Sharon's sister). We were led around the back to a decked area with a view across the Mere. We filled all available space, lounging around and causing the sort of merry confusion that comes easily to a group of fourteen cyclists bent on tea-time fun. Peter called the meeting to order so that he could show us all his new blue shoes. No one trod on them, we merely gasped in admiration, as Peter moved on to item two on his agenda. Text from Justin in Provence. Le Mont Ventoux ascended, from Bedouin, in an astounding time of 1hr 37 min. Now I've climbed Ventoux a number of times, but I've always felt that the views and the experience were not to be rushed, thus even on my best attempt about twenty years ago I managed to take a civilised 2hrs 20m. These days I'm relishing a full three hours on the climb. Justin is now a Grandpa which, as any fule kno is Grandpére in French - and which rhymes with 'grimpeur' which is French for a climber. Should he suffer a mishap on the descent, however, would he would become a 'Croque Monsieur'? I munched my scones, gulped my tea and sped to Madgett's. It took Mick's lieutenant a couple of minutes to fix the noise - though he couldn't find anything actually loose. He tightened the pedal to the crank and the crank to the BB axle. All is now silky silence, and I may not be able to remove my left pedal, ever again.
On the way home, Sharon dropped her bottle. Mike gallantly went back to pick it up, I gallantly stopped to see that all was well. We set off to catch up with the others, passing the right turn to Walsham which would have been a route option, but there was no sign of red jerseys so we sped along at 26-7 mph in hot (ish) pursuit until near Finningham when we realised we'd never see them again that day. Peter e-mailed me to say that they'd waited for quite a while (but out of sight) and that Neil had, gallantly, offered to try and find us and then meet-up in Walsham. For his pains he was beaten in the sprint for the sign. So a second week with a split. Not a long ride (49m for me) but a large one. It's just so easy to lose people. Still, we had an enjoyable last few miles, and I learned about Sharon & Mikes' successes in the Triathlon world. Never too old to learn, eh?
This was pronounced by Peter Heath to be the cheapest tea stop for a very long time indeed (probably since the previous cheapest tea stop, whenever and where ever that might have been). Not just remarkably reasonable, but reasonably remarkable quality as well. VGFM in fact.
The Riders on 6th September 2009 Those taking part were (for varying amounts of time) Deane Hill, Tom Southorn, Graham Smith, John Dumont, Paul Callow, Mike Bowen, Ed Bucknell, Julian Long, Hugh O'Neill, Jonathan Howe, Andy Davison, Martin White, SJH and Guest Rider (not ghost rider - nor, even, ghostwriter) Richard Farrow - distinguished ex-Wheeler and now all the way from Chippenham (no, the other one) & District Wheelers
The Ride. Sunshine . .blah . . more wonderful weather . . .blah . . . without Justin we were rudderless. I caught an anguished glance from Deane. "Where are we going? Why are we here? Is there meaning to life? Do things go in cycles?"
OK. I (after a fashion) take charge. Tea target Newmarket. Head out South West then swing up Northwards. This stealthy approach should introduce an element of surprise to our assault on Coffee & Co at an ETA of 11.30hrs.
Out Westgate and, to a chorus of protest behind, left up Horsecroft Rd to Pinford End, where right to Mickley Green and Whepstead, Rede, Hawkedon and Stansfield - in fact the whole Suffolk Punch route to Poslingford. So, quite a bit climbing then. I had slipped back a bit, appearing to struggle (an old tactical move I've borrowed from Lance) before the descent to the A1063 just out of Clare.
Tom Southorn (who has a life - see poll on the right) turned for home and the rest of us set off on a straightforward route (1063 all the way) to Tea and Cakesville.
Except for me. I decided on a tactical withdrawal at Ashley. My own route had destroyed me, I had been routed (this last word needs to rhyme with shouted to make any sense, by the way) by my early optimism. The same optimism that led to my sharing the front with the Good Doctor Tom for the first ten miles or so, and to completely discounting the effect of a 5-hour lunch the day before in celebration of my old friend John Gray's 60th birthday (oh to be 60 again, I now thought). Strangely, my total mileage was 54, which was similar to some of those who did the whole teastop thing (but then I get an extra 15 from living 7.5 miles east of Bury).
By the photos, from Julian Long and Paul Callow, tea was a sociable event (especially Paul's snap of you all sharing a joke - what can it have been?) . . . . And what are they putting in the tea these days?
The Peacock Tearooms at Ely had attracted the attention of the 'Independent' reading faction of the Wednesday Ride, who just couldn't wait to test the quality of tea, cakes and scones. There are only two basic routes to Ely, with marginal variations on one of them. Each route looks remarkably like the other, the only difference being traffic volume. More miles of fenland or fewer miles of traffic. Choices, choices.
We were a group of eleven at the bus stop, and we welcomed two new pairs of legs in form of 'Ed' (whose last name I didn't get) and Mr Hogg (whose first name I have already - to my shame - forgotten). Mr H demonstrated that five gears are quite sufficient for round these parts. Tricia Dennison joined us for the first time, and Ann Fish had come back for more - riding her second WR.
The tail wind out ensured a rapid but unchallenging ride. Because it is possible to see all the scenery in one go, I can dispose of it with the words 'flat' 'straight' 'impressive' 'sky' 'soil' 'black' 'poplars' (the last coupled with 'tall' 'new' and 'why didn't they do it hundreds of years ago?') There was discussion about the origins of Queen Adelaide
After a circuit of historic Ely with its 21st century-installed 19th century-style paving and terribly old and impressive (that word again) cathedral we found 'Peacocks'. We didn't enquire whether the name related to the bird or birds - or maybe to a retirement project for Captain Peacock. We were certainly served, and served really well. Some of us realised that we had been before, in darkest winter and recalled how fine a tea experience it had been. No different now, but with the added endorsement of selection by the Tea Council as one of the 50 best in the land. We had a room to ourselves, with a huge oval table that comfortably seated us all. Tony Panting reminded us that yesterday had been the anniversary of 'Operation Pied Piper' which involved the evacuation of children from London at the start of WWII, (including a tiny Tony) his account was very moving - though with no trace of self-pity. The china was fine, the teas bewilderingly various, my scones were superb, the toasted teacakes looked wonderfully generous and the cake portions were substantial. Some might feel that £2.50 for a pot of tea is a bit strong, and that a total that topped £6 was a bit rich; but I thought that for this Wednesday ride, it was the icing on the cake.
An incautious remark about a road sign led to me being the man with the plan for the return journey. I repaid this misplaced faith by taking us in a near-circle, joining the A142 Ely to Soham road about one mile out of Ely but about three miles into our route. Nothing for it but to grit our teeth and tough it out all the way to Soham and thence Fordham to pick up a standard route home.
Now headwinds can, and do, keep a bunch together. But on-the-nose winds are short lived and travel with their sneaky and destructive allies, the cross winds. Unless an echelon can be organised right across the road, there's no way eleven riders can all get shelter. Thus it was that , nearing Soham, Tricia came alongside me at the front with news of riders off the back. Rolling back to investigate, I reach rider nine - look behind - and see two specks down the road. Recover Ann and Ed, and begin to shepherd them back to the fold.
Suddenly, the distant bunch shoots off to the left. When we reach the junction, I can read 'Prickwillow'. This would lead all the way back to within three miles of Ely, and I didn't think it a good idea to drag Ann the extra distance so, now joined by Tricia, we trundled on along the 142. My mistake was also a left turn (so tempting when stuck on a main road) - to Isleham, it wasn't a huge error, but I made it a bit worse by going via Fordham. In the olden days, of course, I could've bluffed it and not let on that I was navigationably fallible; but I had Tricia and her unforgiving Garmin to face, so I knew the truth would out when she sent me the map with its wiggly blue line.
I don't yet know about the Prickwillow faction, but it was yet another eighty miler at over 16mph, for me and maybe 90 for Ann. I think there are lessons to be learned about distance, vigilance and communication. Not an insurmountable problem, we just need to concentrate a bit more and especially when we are a line of eleven riders, which makes the last wheel about 30yds away from the driver (and if they're struggling, they'll hardly have breath to shout)
Don't ignore the comments box at the bottom - have your say; make a suggestion; did you make it to P'willow?
The West Suffolk Wheelers were in action in events on all three days of the annual Mildenhall Rally. With events across a range of discipline and distances, the
August bank holiday weekend had a variety of cycling events for all types of cyclist.
The weekend began on with an Audax on Saturday. About a dozen Wheelers took part, including John Steed, Mark Eastwood, Chris and Will Curtin, Richard Lines, Mike Bowen, Nigel Stemp and David Young all on the 100k route and with Deane Hill doing 300k.
The youth grass track riders took centre stage on Saturday. In the under 14 grass track Omnium saw Alan Trolove dominating, giving the judges a problem when
lapping the field in the Devil, and then riding off the front again. He took a more conservative approach to the distance race, staying in the bunch till three laps to go, and then simply riding away from the bunch for a convincing win.
Ed Ballam rode very well too, and despite pulling his foot out of the pedal twice in the sprints, found himself in second place overall coming into the final race. He rode very strongly and hung on very well to hold on to second overall, out of about 18 riders from all over the country.
Also impressive was 13 year old Jonathan Sjolin who won the U14 Duathlon on Saturday and freewheel races on Sunday and Monday, as well as competing in the Mad Madison Cross on Monday. This event comprised over 200 riders of all abilities, all in teams of two, doing alternate laps of a cyclo-cross course that wound its way around the school site, off into the woods, and back into the main arena, ten laps for each team. With over 100 riders battling their way around the tight twisty course there were inevitable traffic jams on the first lap, but riders gradually sorted themselves out and great fun was had by all. Barry Denny was paired with veteran ace Tim Butler, who came through on lap one in fifth position, so Barry felt obliged to race hard to minimise lost places ~ he failed, but at the end of the ten lap race they were still in the top twenty. Meanwhile Alan Trolove was trying out a new ‘Alan’ cross bike, and paired with James Carpenter finished well up the order. Jonathan Sjolin was paired with another young rider and rode gallantly in this new discipline for him.
This year we had only one competitor in the main grass track events. Ian Pettitt rode Monday, preferring the shorter distance events. He recovered from a poor start in his 800m heat, having to clip his foot back in after pulling it out, to come from 8th to 3rd. Starting near the scratch position in the 500m handicap and moving through the riders ahead, he ran out of distance and finished fourth in the rush for the line. The day finished with a very respectable finish in the hotly contested Devil, surviving to half distance before elimination.
Yet another sunlit morning assembly in Cornhill. The Rev. Wallace read the lesson, which was the much-loved parable of the counter-intuitive cyclist, and then delivered a sermon that skilfully expanded on this topic. They that return into a headwind shall arrive safe and as one, indivisible and enduring in the glory of united effort, even unto their homes and their loved ones. The mighty shall be humbled, and the weak shall prevail; the strong will lay down and wait for the feeble. For ever and ever, ah well.
We were Woodbridge-bound, following a straightforward course out to Needham Market with a following wind and a brisk pace being set by Mike Bowen and Justin Wallace. We took the Coddenham route, with the short, sharp shock of the climb through this picturesque settlement. I've only been this way in car, and the rolling nature of this bit of Suffolk was more taxing than expected. Splits began to form. There was a debate on the wisdom of pressing on to Woodbridge, prompted by a sign to Ashbocking, with its excellent Crockery Barn Café. Woodbridge won with a convincing case presented by Julian Colman who assured us that it was no more than seven miles down the road. Well, several roads actually, but definitely seven miles. Mile-eater Deane was concerned that we might not be home until rather late (an unusual attitude from Deane, but then he did the Mildenhall 300k Audax the day before (riding out from Bury as well). Julian was right; we reached W'bridge in under the half hour - but it seemed to take at least that long to reach our Café; down tiny lanes, over level-crossings, along pathways, across a small park, past boatyards full of sleeping yachts (we didn't actually see the sea - or is it estuary?). Scones were huge (about 4" across) fresh from the oven and delicious. Whatever it was that Julian Colman had ordered obviously impressed him enough for him to announce "this tastes just like Cath's muffin". The tea, however, would have deeply shocked Peter 'Hot Water' Heath. Dainty mugs with a sulking teabag in each, and a jug of milk. When Justin told us that the loos were back across the park, we naturally assumed that he was winding us up (it is not unknown, with Justin), but it was true. Back across the obstacle course - which seemed shorter the other way - and off on the route home. We began to retrace, but did an unscheduled circuit round Hasketon; after this extra loop, a break formed. Justin and I, with help from others younger and (allegedly) faster, attempted to bridge the gap, but only succeeded in dropping some of those behind us. After nearly wrong-slotting again, those behind got back on, but we philosophically gave up the chase - hoping that everyone who was missing from our group was in the escape group which we reckoned consisted of Ben, Mike, Julian Long, Paul Jay and Dave. Richard Stiff, proud father of firstborn Lily, was beginning to feel the pace as we neared Debenham - he'd been off the bike for five weeks, after all. We made every effort to keep what was left of the ride together, Deane did his best to not go off the front - and then settled into the middle of the group. Justin and I operated the 'double push' technique with one of us each side of Richard to get him back on a few times. Hugh did sterling work on the front with Ron. When I got home I realised that fears of an 80-miler where unfounded, since my total was a mere 78
What I could capture in pixels, however was a very supercilious looking Alpaca. I came to the sign at the farm gate, and his evident attitude was explained "Alpaca Stud Farm".
What I could capture in pixels, however was a very supercilious looking Alpaca. I came to the sign at the farm gate, and his evident attitude was explained "Alpaca Stud Farm".
