25 November 2009: Justin's Shout at No1 Deli in Clare

It was a well-kept secret. Very few of us realised that Justin had achieved 63 years of age just the day before he turned up at the bus stop - so, not many cards for him, but free teas all round for us. And perfect weather, with brilliant sunshine in a pure blue sky. The only problem was the very strong wind, which would be in our faces all the way to our tea stop at Clare. The low angle of the November sun provided those deep shadows that make the landscape so dramatically beautiful in autumn, and the anti-cyclonic conditions gave us sparkling sharpness right to the horizon. Many trees have shed their leaves, but oaks, which have been late to change colour are still well-clothed in a modest shade of tan.

It was Justin's birthday privilege to choose a route, and he selected a favourite (of his) that began by heading north over the Bunbury cross roads to Livermere and working our way round via West Stowe to Lackford where we picked up the Icknield Way down to Kentford to pick up the road to Dalham and join the B1063 to Wickambrooke. There is a great deal of climbing involved between Kentford and Wickambrooke, most of it steady and not too steep, but a lot of it nonetheless. The memorable moment came when Tom-Tom, Peter Heath, Ron, Justin and I instituted by wordless agreement a 'through and off' chain whilst climbing. This is not easy, the possibility of a split if a rider goes through too hard, is far greater than on the flat. Skill is required; self control; discipline. We achieved it - until the point where road finally kicks up more steeply just before Wickambrooke, and we continued at the same pace (i.e. increased effort) thus losing the tail of the group. But it was a special moment. Next comes the climb up from Stradishall, to the summit above Hundon (hi, Kevin). After this, the long descent to Clare which the headwind made slow and effortful (I have a fixie's preference for a descent that doesn't require 150 rpm, so I didn't care). Arrival at No1 Café and Deli about half an hour later than would have been expected, to the usual warm greeting.


In addition to the chain gang listed above, we had Sharon, Tony and Peter Gay (who will have had a headwind all the way from Rickinghall!).

As we shuffled around trying to find enough space for all eight of us (and eight riders in clackety shoes do tend to make a place look untidy and sound less than tranquil) a very pleasant lady, who had, until we arrived, been enjoying a quiet hot chocolate in the sunshine streaming through the window (sun always 'streams' doesn't it?) insisted in getting up and removing herself to a smaller table to allow us room to sit down - which restored the calm that had prevailed before we burst upon the scene with our voices tuned to conversation into a head wind. As we were about to leave, the PL asked "do you ever go north?". After a slight hesitation (Tom-Tom later confided "I though she meant Diss or Thetford to start with") we realised that she was talking Scottish sort of north, and Peter H was able to say that "yes" he had. PL's sister ran a restaurant on Harris. Peter had been there - not just Harris, but the very restaurant - and further added that it was "a very fine restaurant indeed" (you could almost hear us sigh with relief ), and we parted on a high note.


Return via Poslingford brought some tail wind, but not as much as we'd have liked - the road winds and weaves its way too wildly for that. The south westerly approaches to Bury are never kind to tired legs, and even though the pace had been steady all morning, there was suffering involved in getting home. 60 miles for me. Another lovely ride through Suffolk. SJH

and here is our pleasant lady's reply:-

I'm the lady who was in the Number One Deli in Clare, Suffolk on Wednesday, 25 November, who you were kind enough to buy a cappuccino for as I had moved tables so that you could all sit together... One of you, whose name I didn't catch, has cycled around the Isles of Harris and Lewis in the Outer Hebrides and knows of my sister's restaurant, The Anchorage, in Leverburgh on the Isle of Harris. My sister, Sally Lessi, asked me to say hello and to ask you your name as she does remember you coming in with a group of other cyclists, but can't remember what you look like specifically. Hope you don't mind my emailing you, got the email address from your website.

Thank you.

Sarah Golding
sarahgolding@msn.com

22 November '09: Blue skies, Sunshine and Torrential rain

Seven stalwarts rolled away from the stockade, formally known as Woolworths, and headed south, ultimate destination: Hollow Trees (winner of the prestigious Tea room of the year award from the Wednesday run). They were: SJH, the Pauls C and R, Deane, Julian, Ron and Justin.

A clear blue sky and sunshine made the forecast of rain by noon an unlikely prospect. Dodging where possible the puddles of standing water, we headed over the lumps and bumps of the Hawstead and Lawshall road. A left-turn at Shimpling, towards Bridge Street, was necessary if we were to deliver SJH and Paul C into the arms of a backwind for their return home for early baths. They stayed the course until the centre of Lavenham, where the depleted bunch turned right towards Brent Eleigh. In order to meet one of Deane’s pre-coffee requirements, we needed to clock up at least 30 miles before stopping. This was achieved by turning right towards Milden. As we crested the hill that winds up to the crossroads Deane decided that a little tri-bar session was just the thing to cope with the rising headwind. Now we all know that tri-bars can turn an even paced clubrun into a team time trial, as the misguided hunchback suddenly becomes Chris Boardman. And let’s face it, Deane needs tri-bars like Lee Evans needs amphetamines. Onwards through Groton –

Home of John Winthrop who helped in the development of New England. In 1630 he emigrated to take charge of the Massachusetts Company, founded the city of Boston and became first Governor of the State of Massachusetts. He was described as the ‘Father of New England’. –

and down into Boxford, with Deane riding point 100 yards ahead of the group. Skirting Kersey and its raging ford we circled round and made for Hollow Trees, arriving at 1100 with over 30 miles done. Deane was happy and contented. The remaining Paul resisted the temptations of tea and cake and kept on rolling. And so we were four - but not for long.

We’d only been seated for 10 minutes when who should arrive but none other than the Wheelers’ Cappuccino ride. We exchanged pleasantries before heading to Lifecycle for some running repairs on Ron’s rear mech. Nathan decided to jump ship from the Cappuccino boys and joined us. From Bildeston we made our way home via One House and Woolpit. As we were riding past Tostock Towers the heavens opened. Just then one of the residents of TTs edged his vehicle out of the drive, almost coming out in our path but stopping just in time. Must report him to the Lord of the Manor (I think he was driving a Passat). The rain increased to what must have been Cockermouth proportions - although they had had 12 inches worth in a day! On the way back there had been the odd plaintive cry from Julian who had punctured in both legs. But as we parted company in Thurston he had regained his composure and was last seen following Nathan back to Bury. Another day, another load of wet kit on the kitchen floor, and another 54 miles on the clock. Blue skies, sunshine and torrential rain. I was reminded of Julian’s quote: ‘We don’t have a climate in the UK, just weather systems’. How true.

JW

Eight Old Men Suffer with Wind

I had had an idea. I needed a very small hinge, and had been told that the place to go was Partridges in Hadleigh. Since space wouldn't be a problem (I needed the smallest hinge possible) we could combine my shopping with a tea taken at "The Orangery". Everything hinged on gaining the agreement of the majority of the ride. Ask any politician, and he'll tell you that the electorate often arrive at the wrong answer. L'Equipe de Mercredi are a sensible bunch, and we set off for Hadleigh. Those voting in favour: Pete Gay, Peter Heath, Justin, Ron, Tony, T-T, Barry & SJH.

After a brief briefing with T-T, I risked leading us in the direction that I thought we'd agreed - until I went wrong, and T-T took the wheel and steered us faultlessly for the rest of the way. The wind was ferocious. Because we were riding through Suffolk, on rolling Suffolk roads, we were bashed and buffeted from each side in turn, then head on, with occasional whooshes of tailwind. Always a worry, getting a tailwind when you think you're riding into the proverbial prevailing. We made one of our increasingly frequent visits to Offton, turned right down the dip and up, then a left fork for the truly brutally steep climb towards Flowton. My veins, eyes and muscles swelled and popped with effort as the air rang to the sound of desperate downward changes of variable accuracy (and we all thought that indexing would bring an end to all that clattering and expleting). Richard T-T had the good grace to avoid 'The Channel'.

Now here's a thing; searching Google, I just typed 'Flowton, The Channel, Suffolk' - and the second entry was for my Blog about 'going with the Flowton' and linked back to the WSW website. A measure of success? I like to think so.

Cut to the chase. We've just breasted the summit of the Cote de Flowton, all now gasping for breath (possible exception Ron Fisher, who is showing excellent form after five weeks in Oz with no cycling - what else did he get up to?) and are avoiding The Channel, and heading broadly Hadleigh-wards. We join a road signposted 'Hadleigh 4' , then almost immediately left it by means of a right turn that said 'Semer 2 1/2'. All was, of course, OK, it was a short cut and a traffic avoidance ploy. Even more ferocious winds just before descending to Hadleigh, mostly crosswinds of the de-stabilising variety which we managed to survive. The Orangery was excellent, and in new hands since we used to use them regularly (we gave up after finding them closed a couple of times). We were called "gentlemen" by an imposing lass in waitress black. "Your scones are home made, aren't they? I'll have a fruit scone with jam, and a pot of tea - and I'd like a jug of HOT water with that please" thus, Peter Heath, Terror of the Tea Room and East Anglia's premier Tannin and Caffeine Critic orders. I can't resist another go at the bacon sandwich (about 50p more than at Dance Eats), came with the ketchup in a miniature version of the Dance Eats china container. White bread, which is only proper for a bacon sandwich. Heaven.

Now Richard (T-T) had guided us to Hadleigh; he pointed out the whereabouts of Partridges - and then delivered the final touch as we sat in the café "and you need to go upstairs for what you want". I think that is the finest touch so far in one of T-T's guided tours. Not just the town, nor merely the building, but the floor. Shaw Fox will be pleased to know that I found what I needed, and would therefore not leave Hadleigh in an un-hinged state.

The return journey was, as we suspected from the outward, subject to the same mixture of wind direction with only a modicum of tailwind and loads of the other varieties. The hardest bit of headwind was quite a surprise; we turned left after Ringshall (having taken the cunning wiggle round Wattisham Airfield) and met the 25mph sou'westerly wind head-on. Unfortunately, there had been a fast descent where I touched 30.6mph (158rpm). This, unsurprisingly, took quite a bit of the zippppp out of my legs for the ensuing short sharp climb - so I was already off the back when we hit the wind. Out of the saddle on the flat, doing 10mph!. Once all together again, we reached Felsham, and I bade my chums farewell - taking the route via Gedding & Drinkstone to reach home by around 1.30 with a mere 50-something miles on the clock.

An email from Tiger gave me news of possibly the most thrilling part of the ride

"After you left us we had what would be a grand finale for your blog of today.

Approaching uphill just before Hessett and Peters favourite 30 mile sign, I was puffing (or panting!) at the rear and thinking 'after the momentous efforts of today's tortuous ride surely nobody would be foolish enough to 'go for it'.

Justin and Ron were in front, Peter behind on the inside and Richard on his right me hanging on at the rear.

I could see Peter 'twitching' probably wishing he was on the outside. I then saw Richard change down into top and looking ahead for the sign. We got to the top and I thought to myself "I don't feel too bad can I surprise them from the rear? So as the road straightened out my brain sent the message to my aching legs - GO. I slapped into my big ring and belted past them all on the outside accompanied by blasphemous curses and unrepeatables. I was away and going like a maniac but I had committed the sin of going just a bit too early and it was a long way to the sign. Sure enough I became the leadout man and both of them tore past in the final yards with Richard taking the honours.

Justin and Ron saw these three mad arses bobbing and weaving flat out to Hessett and remarked afterwards

"amazing - that sprint was between a combined age of 205"!!!!!

A hard ride today but well worth it."

Whew - pretty vivid, Tony.

As a postscript:- I was checking WIGGLE (make Wiggle purchases vis the our Website and the Club gets a rake-off) and saw a saddle I liked the look of, available from 'Charge', makers of the Charge 'Plug' fixie. It's called the 'Spoon'; fair enough. Another is called the ' Knife' which seems a touch unfortunate. And then there is the 'STOOL' . . . . presumably available in brown.

Not many photos - a bit breezy for riding along with a camera in one hand, and we didn't have any punctures! - But at least some of us were happy

SJH

Rembrance Day Wednesday 2009.

"Let's go to Clare" I suggest to the Bus Stop Bunch as we take turns at guessing what the grudging morning's weather will do between 09:00 and lunchtime. Peter Heath arrives and tells us that we could go to Ipswich, and the new café at the new Dance East dance centre on the Quay (It's called Dance Eats, by the way. A gift for dyslexic jokes). I am sceptical. Curmudgeonly, even. But I give in to the general mood and we set off for what I just know is going to be an awful ride through Ipswich and out again. "It's somewhere different" said Peter "So's Gt. Yarmouth" I thought (having recently taken a trip there).

We were ten to start with. A surprise guest appearance by David Young, organiser of WSW's very own version of Rollapalusa (Saturday 21 Nov at Horringer Village Hall), Juliet McGuire (another time-juggling lady, who must turn for home early) T-T, Tiger-Tony, Jeff, Ron, Peter, Justin, Pete G & SJH.

Richard T-T led us on a superbly ingenious route, which took us through quiet, leafy suburban avenues - passing Christchurch Park just as the guns signalled the Silence at 11.00 - and emerging barely a quarter of a mile from the Quays. DanceEats is excellent, with efficient service from a chef in immaculate whites and top food at keen prices. My bacon baguette and pot of tea came to a credit-crunch beating £3 - and the ketchup came in a dish! Better still, the place is done out in club colours; red chairs, red logos on the windows - red doors to the loos. In fact I went a bit over the top with the snaps, the photo-ops were so hard to resist.

Photo points to make: In fairness to Jeff, these doors are inexplicably 10 feet tall - you probably need to be an architect to understand why (10ft = 3.05m - do your own calculations for spans, cubits & ells); There is more than one Peter Heath in one of the photos; Peter & Justin were able to rehearse one of the pauses in an upcoming production by U3A of a lesser-known Pinter play called 'The Tea Party'; No actual mirrors were used; No cyclists were mistreated in the course of the photo shoot.

As you will see if you follow the Dance Eats link, they have no photo of the really impressive building they've spent a fortune of our money building. I guess they're working on it but . . . . . . it does seem a bit odd. Just check out the staircase and chandelier. After an extended tea we rode along the quay to the floating restaurant the used to be called Il Punto but was renamed Mariners (How dull) so that we could have a group shot. We couldn't find a suitable group, nor anyone prepared to shoot them, so I took a photo instead. After this further delay, T-T threaded us out of Ipswich very skillfully, using an old cycle-commuting route that took us under the A14 to Spraughton. Thrilling. Sixty miles covered, but not home until 1.45, mainly due to enjoying Ipswich. My apologies for being a curmudgeon at the start. SJH

November 8, 2009. A well-ordered Espresso ride

In the week that Johnny Helms died, we had the perfect Helms dog run out from a garden to our right, and straight into the bunch at third wheel. How we avoided falling in a heap I am uncertain - perhaps the spirit of Helms was watching over us. The mutt whirled round and ran back from whence he had come without being hit -how? It was white, and terrier-like and we were lucky.
This happened on our way back from Bressingham but I can't recall exactly where - though I'll recognise it next time we pass. Some cottages on the right, we nearly always pass them on the way home from Diss, watch out for the dog. After a fairly extensive trawl through the net, would you believe that I couldn't find a single cartoon with a dog in it, innit?

Surviving this incident were: Julian, Justin, Neil, Martin, Pauls R, C, & B, Glynn, Ron, Deane & SJH.

With the wind from the NE, Bressingham was a no brainer. The pace was remarkably steady both out and back. We had two punctures, one for Paul Barry and one for Julian (unencumbered by family on this occasion). Brownie points all round as the short-ish (60m) distance meant we were all back by lunch time. I slightly livened things up by stealing Neil's bike as we left Blooms. Previous research has established that use the same saddle height and spd pedals, so jumping on and pedalling away was simplicity itself. Neil looked comfortable on fixed for the first time in ever so many years, lasting until Redgrave before requesting a swap. I must say, his Tarmac Pro seems to weigh about 5/8 of f*** all and require minimal effort in the propulsion department - plus, of course, that amazing trick of being able to stop pedalling! - Will freewheels catch on? Some say it's just an unnecessary over-complication, others see it as the way forward. The jury's still out. Take care out there. SJH

Wednesday 4th November. Spencers Again

Was it only ten days ago that I navigated the Espressos (Espressi?) to this remote watering hole in the tangled Essex/Suffolk borders? Yes.

The other week we had the Eagle landing, in the form of Glen Grant. This week it was The Man From The Land Of The Condor. Now fully acquainted with Ecuador, our globe trotter Neil Dykes honoured us with his presence. We never take these migratory visits for granted, we are truly grateful for the sunshine and vitality that Neil brings to our parochial existences. As my tea time picture shows, Sharon is having to shield her eyes from the dazzle of Neil's effortless charisma.

As would be expected of such a seasoned traveller, Neil left nothing to chance. He made absolutely sure that if he was going to set out on a ride without spare tube, tyre levers, pump or money then the ride to choose would be this Wednesday's edition. Pete Gay was buying the teas in memory of a recent birthday and, when the inevitable puncture occurred there was no shortage of help with the entire operation. If you've remembered to attach your pannier for that round the world trip you've always promised yourself, the most important item to pop into it is LUCK.

This trip to Spencers, unlike the Espresso jaunt, contained riders who knew the way. I didn't let this deter me from leading. And following the same teasing route. And there were the same protests at the same point, and I ignored them again. Then we (I) took a left turn too many, which swung us a touch too far south, necessitating a swing westwards to Gestingthorpe (and missing out Belchamp Walter). Down in this area the land is quite sharply rumpled, producing a great many short sharp ascents that can be quite tiring. This lumpiness exposed the revelation that Sharon is not, after all, bionic. A 10k run the day before (fitted into a normal day's fitness and Pilates classes) followed by an 05:15 start to today, with a class completed before joining us - was beginning to take its toll, and the tea stop came just at the right time. It was about a couple of miles short of Spencers that Neil had his puncture. Naturally, most of us sped off to the Café so that we could sit down while we waited. We were greeted perfectly well, but the puncture party were very brusquely dealt with and only grudgingly led to join the rest of us. Justin was unimpressed, and mentioned as much to the lady in charge of the Farm Shop (different ownership). The struggle across unfamiliar territory may not be worth it if there's only a dusty welcome at the end . . . . . though thexperience was redeemed this time on account of Pete G picking up the tab. Many thanks.

T-T led us on a route that skirted to the west of Sudbury on a skilfull selection of quiet roads that were not too muddy, flinty or thorny. I still managed to get a puncture. Pearson's first. If you can imagine a bicycle having an expression, Pearson's was one of startled dismay - akin to a horse encountering a carrier bag. Rear wheel, as is the case with more punctures than would be expected using probability as a guide, but quite quickly dealt with. It's always location of the hole and then the cause that takes the time. I had more help than I could imagine that I deserve, including having my tyre pumped up and Justin slipping me a wet one (it's a moist hand cleaning tissue, since you ask).

Somewhere round this area, in the last three weeks, I remember that Richard and I saw a grass snake emerging from the verge, fat and smooth and green. We realised that neither of us had seen one before. Just thought I'd mention it. Can't remember why we didn't mention it to the rest of the ride.

As the pictures show, the weather was breathtakingly picturesque, and God's own county of Suffolk was displayed to perfection. The approach to Long Melford from Liston, past water meadows and over the river Stour. As we ambled homewards, Sharon faded a bit more - but graciously accepted that occasional push. I know from being on the receiving end what a life-saver this simple act can be - the benefit to the 'pushee' is vastly greater than the cost in effort to the 'pusher', and it can keep a ride on the move and get everyone home sooner than otherwise

The full composition of the peleton was Neil, Sharon, Justin, Peter H, Pete Gay, Jeff, Tiger Tony, T-T, SJH & Ron. I covered a bit over 60 miles. A lovely ride.

2 November 2009. WET, WET, WET, or Nine get Inundated.

It was dark, but there was no rain - just an occasional drizzle-y drop, as I rode up and down the A1088 filling in time before the Bury Bunch arrived, with the Thurston Contingent. Somehow or other, we must have passed my house about three minutes before Lindsay Clayton arrived; some time after the advertised 07:20, but crucial moments before the 07:30 that Lindsay thought she should be there.

There was more to come. I joined the front of the group, and didn't fully take in who was on board. Only later did Peter Heath ask "where's Jonathan?". We discovered later from his e-mail that the poor chap had a real, full-on, "BANGGss-Phssss-Phsssss-Phssssss-Phssssss" puncture., just at the point where the ride turned right to Woolpit 'Nord' and A14. Being a relative newcomer he didn't immediately shout at the top of his voice, the magic word "PUNCHERRR!!!" which (usually) brings the most determined ride to a halt. So that was the end of HIS ride.

We rode into Woolpit and collected Richard 'TomTom' Seggar. 50yds further on, "BANGGss-Phssss-Phsssss-Phssssss-Phssssss" and Andy Davison's rear tyre gasped its last. As Andy tried to work out which of the several cuts in his tyre might be responsible for the puncture, Peter seized the victims spare tube collection and held it up in horror. Despite all this ritual humiliation by friends and sabotage by equipment, Andy was soon back in the saddle, and we headed off towards Onehouse where he decided finally to throw in the towel as it became obvious that the replacement tube was going down. He was going to go to his mother's house nearby, he said.

So now we were nine. The wind was getting stronger, and the rain was getting harder, and we were riding directly into this combination of elements. Following the original A45, through Needham Market and on past Baylham and Great Blakenham, dropping two consonants to reach Akenham then Whitton and the cycle route into Ipswich via Old Norwich Rd. Weather now pretty much as advertised on the forecast over the last week. We pause to phone ahead and tell Bonnet's that we are down to nine instead of sixteen (how polite is that? How thoughtful? Justin's sense of propriety and etiquette, even when dripping wet, never ceases to amaze). Despite the comparatively main road route, motor traffic has been almost non-existent so we continue through Central Ipswich.

Another puncture. Peter this time. We (well I am) are getting cold if we stop for more than a minute or so. We begin to see Felixstowe on the road signs (in as much as we can see anything - my prescription polaroids are becoming an increasingly less good idea). TT takes us off the main drag, to go through Levington. This is an extremely lumpy section; very short but steep climbs immediately followed by descents which are immediately . . . . well, you get the idea.

Out onto main road for a terrifying while, then onto the cycle route to Felixstowe. This isn't that wonderful either; the road is reduced to a sort of cycletrack width, with 'passing places'. The main snag is that it isn't one way. Cars are coming towards us at speed. In the gloom. With a couple of feet to spare. The final section seemed to go on for a very long time, while feeling as if we are only yards away from our destination. The weather is getting even rougher, and we are grateful to have Deane on the front, hunched into half a gale, hauling us through the driving rain as we dodge cars both parked and moving plus the occasional smashed pumpkins.

As we fight our way down the final street to Bonnet's, the wind gets wilder still. We walk our bikes round a corner to reach the semi-secure parking area down a narrow passage to the rear of the café (just WHO in their right mind would want to steal a bicycle today?). Stagger back round, hanging onto lamp posts and railings to avoid being blown over the rooftops and back to Bury St Edmunds. One or two of us were carrying enough personal ballast and gravitas to make this not too much of a real and present danger; but I feared for the sub-ten stoners.

Our welcome was surreal in its warmth and poise. We were a bedraggled and leaky lot, dripping water where ever we went - and even more so when we stood still. Our 'coats' were taken to be put in a drying area! We were treated like the the most distinguished guests, which was the last thing that we actually felt like. Up the stairs to a large and elegant dining room, and a table laid for nine, replete with spotless linen napery and gleaming silver. Deane found his sea view at the head of the table anything but comforting, as the dark beige waves hurtled shorewards with foam-flecked anger, driven by the howling wind. He also put today's heroics in perspective when he pointed out that he'd had the same weather as this all the way from London to Edinburgh and back, earlier this year in the Inaugural LEL Audax.

Our food was excellent, and all the various extras and deletions had been recorded. The staff were very patient and good humoured as we led them through the complexities of which food would not be required, and who was who and who wasn't here. Yes we had a Justin but not a Julian; yes we had two Stephens and a brace of Pauls; yes we had a T-T-Richard (singular and irreplaceable) and tea-taster Peter, indestructible Dean and multi-athlete Tricia. Steve Mayes and I can vouch for the Eggs Benedict with bacon and (in my case) and extra egg. Generous cappuccinos and ample tea (that matched Peter's high standard). The only hitch was my missing croissant, which I eventually ate while paying - it would have been entirely understandable had they considered that I'd eaten enough already. After at least an hour in the warm glow of Bonnets, it was out into the (still howling) gale and (still lashing) rain.

With the wind mostly at our backs, we retraced. I was fortified by Justin's kindness in lending me a Helly-Hansen base layer to add to my existing two. What rider carries a SPARE base layer? We avoided the Levington loop and stuck with the main (but not A14) route back to eastern Ipswich, a bit (but still rather more than was enjoyable) of ring road then off into the countryside again. The traffic was now quite heavy and mostly barking mad, but unfortunately not heavy enough to come to a standstill. Vehicles were all hurtling through standing water, some even without lights, passing within inches of us and narrowly avoiding head-on collisions with the headless chickens coming the other way.

In our desire to get it over with ASAP, and powered by the thundering tailwind, we found ourselves reaching 26/7 mph and starting to split. Sense prevailed and order was restored. We nearly lost Dean at a large island when he hurtled off to the right; we needn't have worried about such a seasoned Audaxer losing his way . . .

They lanes brought us some crosswinds, and also puncture number . . . . how do we count this? Jonathan's at the beginning, Andy's first in Woolpit and second gradual one at Onehouse followed by Peter's in Ipswich, and now Paul Callow's somewhere west of Ipswich makes five!

We were now getting to more familiar lanes and roads, the signs mentioned Needham and Stow Markets, the rain was easing. Fatigue was higher than expected for such a comparatively short ride (I ended with 71, and the Bury Bunch around 84). Tricia was feeling the effects of "the longest run I've done in ages" which she was rash enough to do on the day before . . . . . . . .

We kept together until routes to different home addresses split us, which was commendable. after Woolpit we didn't mislay anyone. Are we learning how to do this? Certainly a ride that will grow in heroics as time goes by and the tale is retold around the virtual campfires.

What a day.

And finally - we know what Bonnets meant by this note, (pictured on the right) but somehow it doesn't come across quite right.
Oh, and not forgetting Tricia's Garmin Map

28 October, and Six out of Nine Wheelers choose Club Colours

Bright, low, sunshine yet again for the start of a ride. And yet again we set off southwards from the Bus Stop. Both Sharon and Mike are sportily sporting shorts - and it's almost warm enough at 09:00 now that the clocks have gone back. I used to have trouble remembering which way the time went when it was moved. Now I have a fix for this uncertainty, but it involves a term for Autumn more generally found in the US (well, for about 300 years). "Fall back; Spring forward" there, simple. The almost misty conditions made an attractive start and, as you can see, red was very popular

We welcome the return of TomTom's chum John from the Channel Islands (not all of them, naturally, but in a senior moment I can't recall which), and also hail the presence of future Star Esther Colman (she who slept at the tea stop on Sunday) who is to appear at the Manchester Velodrome 'Revolution' meeting on 14th November. She was with us to ensure that Julian got home safely, of course.I mentioned to Esther that it was good to see so many club Jerseys, I added that Adi had noticed that Wheelers were easily noticed in a racing bunch on the track, and then I mentioned that recent research had tended to indicate that the wearing of red gave sporting teams enhanced morale. I supported this by observing that "It hasn't done Manchester United much harm". There was a pause; then Esther said, hesitantly, "I don't follow football, are they quite successful?"

A you can see from the link, there were over 67,000,000 hits on Google. But I like a fresh and unspoilt view of the world. Well done, Esther, for your independence.

Mike Cross's tyres stayed inflated, but there was a puncture; but another senior moment (or even a blond one - I have double the risk) draws a veil of uncertainty over the victim's name.

We had an excellent tea at Hollow Trees, again, and enjoyed more sunshine for our return journey, when we turned right out of the tea stop car park, then right again, and yet again, following a selection of the many tiny lanes in that triangle of Suffolk south of Brent Eleigh. A total of 50 miles for me, and most enjoyable. SJH