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
I am sooo sorry I missed this.
ReplyDelete