Sunday 25th October. Where is Spencer's?

Belchamp St Paul? Walter? Otton? Well actually, none of these, it turned out. Wickham St Pauls was where it was, further south than the nest of Belchamps west of Sudbury - but reached via those villages.

I only mention this because Adi suggested we go to Spencers but didn't know how to get there. I sort of did, having been a couple of times with Justin at the helm, so I was to lead us there. Barry would get us out of Bury and on our way. We were 15. We had three Pauls but no Walters. P Callow, P Rooke and P Barry - and then Barry, and Glynn Smith and Graham Smith, then Deane Hill and Stephen Hill, Esther Colman and Julian Colman (the only ones actually related), Ed Bucknall, Martin White, Adi G, Dr Tom and Tricia Dennison (whose Garmin-generated map decorates the foot of this Blog). Nathan put in a dramatic but brief appearance which came to an end when he confused the beginning of a club run with the bunch sprint at the end of a Belgian Classic before the ride had left Cornhill. A buckled front wheel and torn Assos clothing added up to an expensive morning (I later heard from Julian).

No surprises or originality in the early stages, as we made our way south to Glemsford on the B1066 (choosing to ignore the easier option of a right turn in Boxted, so that we could tackle the short, but challenging 'Cote de Monk's Hall').

At the foot of the hill from Glemsford down to the A 1092 Long Melford-Cavendish Road, Barry had his first puncture in about two years. Four minutes later, he had his second. Both down to glass. The second deflation came shortly after I had taken a controversial left turn, which led some to question my navigation - there had been shouts of "wrong way" from behind. I had ignored them. Glynn & I mischievously wondered if the following cries of "puncture" were just a desperate final ploy to get us to stop and turn round. Hard faces and deaf ears were employed. Julian came up from the puncture party, to finally check that I hadn't gone mad. I assured him that we were headed the right way. My way.

Shortly, we picked up the route that I hoped we'd find; one that was discovered by mistake on a recent Wednesday that took us through Borley and Borley Green (not to be confused with Borley Green near Woolpit). We then branched off to Belchamp Walter (not to be confused with the Prince of the Softies) and on, on and on, through Gestingthorpe, to join the B1058 heading towards Bulmer, looking for the signs advertising 'Spencers'; shortly before we saw these, however, we saw a nut-brown lady cyclist who purposefully turned off to the right and, assuming (erroneously) that she would be in need of a tea-stop we followed and accosted her with confused requests for affirmative directions. She was pleasant, friendly but, when it came down to it - utterly useless. We bade her jolly farewells, returned to B1058 and, about a mile further we took the right turn to Wickham St Paul's, continued in the faith and on the unstraight and narrow to the deep gravel of Spencers Farm Shop.

When I first came here on a Wednesday, I remember that a lady arrived on horseback and, staying aboard her mount, leaned through an open window and had a conversation with a customer. How deeply rural, I thought. No horses this time and, under new management since April, there are more staff of lesser age to bring us our teas and scones and cakes. I vividly remember the brightly-coloured jam; not quite the quality we have come to expect in Suffolk Tearooms; a bit worrying.

Return journey was a straightforward blast through Sudbury via Ballingdon Hill (obviously, I got dropped going down this no-nonsense dead straight dose of 1 in seven) to Long Melford (how surprisingly quickly the Long Melford sign appears, after leaving Sudbury. There, but for the Green Belt, would Long Melford have disappeared). In Melford's High Street Dr Tom demonstrated just how easy it is to a track stand.

At Spencers, Esther Colman took a power-nap at the table - and in my other snap, my camera shows the effect of a hot back pocket on picture quality.

23rd October '09. When Wednesday fell on Friday

We didn't intend to keep this a secret. Only when we were setting off (Tony, Peter, Richard and I) did it dawn on us that we should've emailed the Wednesday List. And then there's the awful thought that someone truly intrepid might just possibly have shown up on the Wednesday Wednesday.

Destination Crockery Barn, route courtesy of Richard. Both Peter and I had checked the map before coming out, and noticed the lack of choice of roads in the area near to Ashbocking. Richard found the ones that we didn't see. The weather was as perfect today as it had been awful on Wednesday, the only snag being the very low sun, which shone not only into our eyes, but also (of course) into the eyes of any following drivers. An incident free ride brought us out of a tiny lane almost opposite the Crockery Barn. The small café area was humming with business, but a table was easy to find since we were only four. We discovered from the owner that the reason for closing on Sundays (there had been a notice) was lack of demand. Apparently Sunday trade had gone down to about 6 customers. He did say, however, that if we told him in advance and there were enough of us, they would arrange something. We had permutations of scones, jam, butter and cream. Two jam no butter, one butter no jam and mine - cream, jam and an extra scone. No wonder I'm two and a half stone heavier than any of them. We then settled down to discuss politics - well, the question of Question Time and the awful Mr Griffin - then swerved away to the lighter topic of Master Chef. On the way back (idyllic, as the picture shows) there was more chat, and Peter told me the fascinating tale of the Large Blue butterfly on Dartmoor, and how it nearly became extinct despite the best endeavours of ecologists and the like, and how it turned out that all their best efforts had been woefully misjudged, and had actually caused the near-demise.

When I tried to give the flavour of our wide ranging conversations (there were further topics, but time and space prevent any more examples) to Susan, she just said "sounds like Last of the Summer Wine" Perhaps she's right. If so, who is going to apportion the characters? There's a project.

Our Friday project yielded just about sixty very pleasant miles.

21st October. A small turnout

When the big people looked out of their windows, the weather didn't look too promising. We sort of phoned round (apologies to those intrepid souls we may have missed) and decided to give it a miss.


However the little people were made of sterner stuff and, though they didn't leave our garden, they did all that we should have done. Especially plenty of inundated fords.










For extra accuracy, they ignored the chap who fell over at the back.

An Eagle landed & we discover Mike Cross's dark secret

More about the second half of the title later.

A new face greeted my arrival at the Bus Stop. Dressed in total Eagle Road Club strip (never to be confused with Eagle Road Strip Club) was welcome visitor Glenn Grant. Yes. I know, I know - and I'm certain that he does too. I only learned of Glenn's surname when he sent an extremely nice thank you email via our website (We'll see just how pleased with us he remains after being abandoned in the middle of the Fens on the way back from Ely on an eighty six miler). The rest of the ride comprised Sharon, Mike, Peter H, Peter G, TomTom, Steve Mayes, Ann, Tiger Tony and me.

Destination Dedham, Constable Country, and the Essex Rose Café. A gentlemanly pace was maintained by those of the male gender on the front, but the overnight rain had brought with it the ideal ingredients for punctures. We had three on the way down. Well, to be properly accurate that ought to be two, and I'll explain. Peter G was the first victim, he found two flints buried in the tyre, removed them, inserted a 'new' tube (only one parch) and it promptly failed. Now as we all know, this is a monstrously unfair set of circumstances. There was evidence of stress. The patch was firmly stuck to the tube, but was leaking air from a pinhole in the middle of it. A faulty patch. How unlucky is that? As unlucky as a very unlucky thing, is how unlucky that is. We were on a tiny road that followed one of TomTom's near-offroad roads with added ford. The sky, that had looked so promising as we set off from Thurston, was now like dark grey blotting paper and about 20 feet above the ground (or so it seemed).

We continued for about another fifteen minutes, until the second (or third) puncture struck, and we discovered Mike's little secret. He doesn't carry tubes - he carries a repair kit (or 'puncture outfit' as we used to call them. My father was MD of the family business 'Chemico' , which produced these outfits amongst other things. The firm was wound up in the late 90s, and avoided some tax by undertaking to cease trading. The link shows what I didn't realise but always suspected - someone kept the name). By the time the repair had been effected (I should point out that Mike fixed his faster than poor Peter G with his patch-failure issue, but on the other hand, the long term prospects were not all that they might be . . . read on) we were beginning to feel pessimistic about reaching Dedham by teatime, let alone mid morning - and it was spotting with rain. Richard 'TomTom' whispered in my ear that we could maybe turn around and go to Hollow Trees. Swift decision made and we set off on a retrace. TomTom took us from the middle of a maze of lanes onto a signposted 'B' road in what seemed like a trice , we were both impressed and relieved. Then we began to doubt the tactical wisdom of the move, would we arrive too early? Not get enough miles in? Should we have been warned about the speed of our return journey? Should we take a vote? Set up a sub-committee? Oh, the anxiety.

All was calm as we sat and enjoyed our (less than usually) well earned refreshment administered by Chloe. We took our time and chatted long and deeply. Monday's Club Committee meeting (that I was unable to attend) was one topic that had a few miles in it. Glenn told us that he had sent the link to our website to the Eagle RC's Webmaster as an example of the perfect way to do it. Hmm don't know if that'll go down too well - but must tell Ian Pettitt.

Pleasant return with no fords or unmade roads. At the foot of the hill to Drinkstone from the Rat Valley we paused for Mike to pump up his tyre - that patch; maybe not quite up to the job? Too much moisture about?

So, home in good time, 49 miles on the computer, and in a relaxed state to set about some afternoon chores.

A Photo Opportunity at Tea Time. Sunday 11 October 2009

Good communication can quite transform a club. We have several methods in the Wheelers but, as with any modern digital wonder, the message is only as good and true as the writer makes it. The night before the ride in question (it isn't in question at all, that bit just wrote itself, but I'll leave it in anyway) I thought that I would keep the Espressos informed, and sent out an email about the Inter Club Hill Climb. So, all of you on the Espresso list already know the rest of this sorry tale. For the rest, I got the wrong date. The HC is this coming Sunday, 18th October.

I sent out a correction within minutes, but the turnout was a bit low and I thought "they all lead such busy lives, they might have glanced at the first, wrong, mail then closed the computer to dash off to another crucial event/ meeting/ spinning session". Still, we had a new rider join us, James Gill is a medic based at WSH and has (like Dr Tom) ridden the Cambridge Tuesday Chain Gang (average speeds up to 27mph). Like Dr Tom, he didn't mention being dropped, or even struggling a little bit. I have found that this is a good indicator of indestructability in tough conditions. Treat with caution. As well as James, we had both Pauls (C & R) both Colmans (J & N) Adi, Jonathan Howe, Mr Chairman Barry Denny, Tricia (spinning the pain out her legs after Cyclo X the day before) and Myself (Stephen Hill).

Similar route to last week, without the loop to Brinkley and descent to Six Mile Bottom, and a straight route to Coffee & Co in Newmarket. Just about warm enough to sit outside, Paul C doing his usual (quite humbling, really) whirling around with the tables & chairs to ensure there was a place for everyone (though never one to put anyone in their place). Then Paul spotted the photo op. You'll recognise the spot from the summer ride when John Dumont played dead in the Churchyard (at least, we all assumed he was playing - how that could all have gone tragically wrong . . .) The journey home took the flat version of the two usual routes, and the pace was characterised by several surges of speed followed by calm stretches; very reminiscent of 3rds and Junior races back in the day. It was only your correspondent who suffered a bit on the high-speed bits. Tricia, who rode in from 9 miles north, and I, who rode in from 7.5 miles east covered 68 miles. This Sunday, the 18th October, actually IS the hillclimb, so Polly and I will be riding out from home. There will be an Espresso ride for those who would prefer more miles.

SJH

Tiger Tony's Birthday Bash

Tony Panting is the reason that none of us on the Wednesday Ride can ever use age as an excuse for anything.

This year Tony the Tiger has Time Trialled faster than at any time in his life, set an East Anglian age-record for 100 miles and ridden 213 miles in his first ever 12-hour TT. And the day after these photos was his 75th Birthday.
In fact, he's Grrrrrrrreat!!!!!!!!!

Seven of us gathered at the Bus Stop in downtown Thurston to set off for Clare, where we would help him to an early celebration - meeting up with Kevin Flanagan near Wickhambrook to circle around towards Clare. We had intended a route that would stalk cautiously towards our destination, but still ended up going up (and up) to the seemingly inevitable Poslingford plunge down to Clare, and a Cake and a Candle. We had ordered the cake the week before, hoping that Tony and Maureen's Mallorca holiday wouldn't seduce them into a longer stay. The nightmare of eating the cake by ourselves was too awful to contemplate. There was even a letter to Maureen, pleading that Tony MUST be out this Wednesday.

Justin had brought a tiny plastic Cyclist to decorate the cake, and then produced a second surprise contribution which involved demonstrating (to general excitement) how they glowed when agitated. These were then set each side of the cake as sentinels. Richard, of No 1 Delicatessen, had produced a superb sponge cake (generally, we have sufficient fruit cakes with us on the Wednesday ride, without the need for more) filled with the finest Wilkin & Son 'Tiny Tip' Raspberry Conserve. Each enormous slice was so light that we had to hold it down and eat it fast for fear of it floating clear away.

We returned by a similar route to last week, but carried on through to Long Melford on tiny lanes and in good spirits. My total mileage, which would be similar to most, was just on 60. If Tony wanted to make this up to a mile-per-year he could always pop out again in the afternoon (as he did the week before his 12 hour, when he topped-up the ride to 100!)
SJH

Now we are Six . . . A small but Perfectly formed Ride

On Saturday several riders took part in the Suffolk Byways Audax. Jonathan Howe was one of them. Knowing that Deane rode out to the 200k Mildenhall event a while back, maybe Jonathan felt that this was the way it should be done. Anyway, and for whatever reason, he rode out and back, covering 160 miles in total, arriving back in Bury as dusk fell and mere moments before rain fell. 09.00hrs saw Jonathan on parade for more miles. He confided that he felt that he ought to show his face, knowing that several regulars might be missing. Maybe there should be an award for such selfless action - perhaps a statuette of a cyclist banging his head repeatedly onto the handlebars?

Our select band set off as eight - Gareth, Pauls Rooke & Callow, Ed, Tristan, Dr Tom, Jonathan et Moi. Paul C talked me out of repeating my previous bright idea of Horsecroft Lane followed by every climb I could find (followed by my self-destruction) in favour of a more relaxed Newmarket Road, Westley Rd, Saxham sort of a route. At Wickhambrooke we swung along a loop that took us south of Newmarket and through to Dullingham where we went left along to Brinkley then hurtled down hill to Six Mile Bottom. I can't complain about the descent, I chose the route and I decided to ride a fixed gear of 72.5". My maximum of 30mph is 140rpm - but, as I say, that's my problem. By this time we had been six for about an hour - Gareth and Paul R having headed off to fulfill domestic commitments - and all five of my chums were waiting for me at the Bottom (6 Riders, 6 mile. Now we are Six). Dr Tom new his way around this area, having done a year's worth of Cambridge Clubruns - but, being a gentleman he allowed me the illusion (delusion?) of continuing to lead the ride today. Anglesea Abbey provided its light and airy ambiance and decent food. I provided the light relief when I shook my 'Fentimans' fizzy orange drink to mix up the sediment before unscrewing the cap (the fiasco's orange?). I thought everyone was looking at me in a concerned manner - they were aghast that anyone could be so stupid. The remaining Paul (Callow) provided paper napkins, the others dried their eyes from tears of laughter and Paul took a photo. I look as if I'm about to play the piano - an impression reinforced by the shades worn indoors. They're prescription, honest.

The journey home was the usual flat route, with a mainly following wind - I think that my 'souplesse' needs some work for this sort of riding. Who knows, eventually I might even be able to stop banging on about fixed. Ed, who considers 53 x 13 a medium gear, was responsible for quite a bit of pain when we allowed him on the front, Paul was Captain Sensible. The difference between 22 and 25 mph can be measured in discomfort as much as speed.

We had (Ok, I had) been talking of an early finish, but I must've taken us further than I thought on the way out because by the time I got home I'd done 76, just like last week. This distance may also be because I bottled it and turned left for Lackford rather than face the Cote de Risby Gallop - I think it may well be further via Lackford.

Next week, Hill Climb (check the web site)

Clare, Sarah, and a Gentlemanly Ride.

We began with Pete Hogg's tale of an out of saddle experience riding home last week. LifeCycle at Bildeston was closed, so our hero had to make the best of what must have been a painful experience. He told us how he rested his hind quarters on the cross bar (as we used to call the top tube back in the day). For some reason this reminds me of young tykes riding fathers' bikes with one leg going under the cross bar to reach the pedal. I've just tried to draw this - and I can't work out how it was possible. Anyway, Pete proudly showed off his disturbingly modern, black seat pin, leaning nonchalantly on his now-secure saddle. There was a pleasing amount of red in our group (Ron's must've been in the wash) which was composed of TomTom, Justin, the Peters Gay, Heath'n'Hogg, Jeff, Ron, SJH and Jonathan, as we headed south-ish via Sicklesmere, Gt Welnetham, Hawstead, Whepstead, Chevington, Whickambrook and Stradishall, thence over the hill via Hundon then hurtled down to Chilton St and Clare and Sarah. All this was accomplished on a one-stop strategy - the site chosen, however, was quite surprisingly bleak for otherwise glorious Suffolk. Every one seemed to have been so mesmerised by my 130rpm escape to take the Clare sign that they all stayed behind me. Thanks guys.
We left Clare by a route usually used for the outward journey, turning right as we left No1 Delicatessen, then left past the Priory and left through Hickford Hill to Pentlow and then Cavendish - thus avoiding the main road. I notice on the map that lies on the desk beside me, that there are no fewer than three Pentlows. We turn left just before the main Pentlow to reach Cavendish at another Pentlow - and there is a third, Pentlow Street on the B1064 that goes from Cavendish to the A134 at Rodbridge Corner, via Foxearth. This detour (of course) courtesy of TomTom. From Cavedish it was up Water Lane to Glemsford, and the rest you can probably guess. Our average was 15.7 (4mph slower than Sunday) and our distance I seem to remember nudging sixty (56, actually - I just checked)
Next week it's going to be











SOMEONE'S 75th BIRTHDAY

76 miles Nearly 20mph OMG

I suppose that soon enough we will get steady rain at our assembly point in downtown Bury St Edmunds, bet let's pretend that it will continue for ever. Maybe photos of bikes reflected in rain soaked paving will be just as attractive (I'm speaking from the purely aesthetic viewpoint hear).
Justin, ever the man with the plan, suggested Easton Farm Park. In case we doubted his seriousness, he had maps (or, at any rate, parts of maps) in his back pocket.

Whoosh, and we were off. Damn and *??'@**!! weeeeeeeeeeeee! my left foot came out at over 120rpm, leaving my right foot with the job of keeping up on its own while I applied the (fortunately excellent) brakes on my New Best Friend 'Pearson'. For new readers, 'Pearson' is a fixed wheel machine. No freewheel. Embarrassing. Some would say "serve him right" and others will say "why doesn't he shut up about his bloody bike for once".

We weave our way via Thurston, Pakenham, Stowlangtoft and Eastwards on lanes that were narrow and undulating. The low and powerful sun flickered through the bordering trees and hedgerows, making for a video-game (I imagine) effect of chasing cyclists along a dark tunnel while something shone a strobe light into your eyes. At over 25 mph. Invigorating might be the word. After a momentary wrong-slot at Easton village we found the Farm Park and, with the silver-tongued Justin doing the negotiating, we were allowed to spend our forty quid or so without stumping-up for the whole Farm Park Experience (with or without the Norovirus option).
We did have to WALK for 2 or 3 hundred yards, but we submitted to this indignity with good grace. The presence of an overweight Labrador is often a feature of outside seating at pubs and cafés; loitering with intense, pathetic eyes. Here it was a portly Muscovy Drake, which was a change - but it has to be said that he lacked the full moist-eyed appeal of a skilfully scrounging mut. Having just checked 'Sir Francis' after he was papped by Paul Callow and SJH, I may have done him a injustice. What do you think? Post a comment at the foot of the page. You may need a Google or Yahoo password & sh*t but it doesn't cost money (intrusion of privacy is probably minimal, too) just, as the cold-callers say "a moment of your time".





I took advantage of the break to adjust the tension on my spd pedals - there had been too much psychological tension on the ride out, trying to keep my left foot clipped in.






When we arrived, I should have pointed out, there were gasps as riders read "19.6mph" or thereabouts on their computers. The short walk (see above) to and from the café reduced this to a more reasonable 18.2-ish. On the return journey (slight headwind - even slighter when tucked in the bunch) we built our average back to a speed not unadjacent to 20mph. And my total was 76 miles. Tricia may well have reached mid 90s with her hack in from Barnham - which makes for a pretty energetic weekend, since she did a Cyclo Cross on Saturday!