The morning after the night before, and the rain is already heavy. It had been forecast several days ago that Sunday would be wet, and the majority of those who attended the WSW Club Dinner at Bury St Edmunds Golf Club on Saturday night the fifth had already decided to NOT go out. I thought that I was the only soft-headed idiot when I arrived at Cornhill and threaded my way through the Sunday Market stalls, clattering with the noises of setting up and abuzz with the shouts of greeting, commiseration, disgust at the weather and despair with the football. Possibly the reason, at the back of my mind, for turning out was the receipt of the Ensign Trophy for Club Run Attendance. A huge and impressive cup, for just turning up! Oh, and I picked up the Hill Climb Trophy, by default really. For just turning up. "Gotta be innit to winnit" eh?
No one else in funny clothes. Oh good, I can do a quick ride, straight home AND feel virtuously smug. Then I saw Nathan, accompanied by another Dr Tom who has been riding out with Il Cappuccini of late, and is from Woolpit rather than Ixworth. Then Julian hove into site , making a total of four soft-headed idiots. We discussed tactics. Julian and I won the brief discussion, and the four of us set off for a shortish (possibly no tea stop) ride. As we headed broadly southwards, the wind got stronger and stronger and the constant heavy rain was livened up by vicious squalls that nearly brought us to a standstill. Shouting "bring it on!" and pedalling harder seemed to be the only (and rather embarrassing, looking back on it) solution. We hardened in our resolve to skip the tea stop, with all the usual arguments around getting cold and not wanting to set off again being used to defeat poor Nathan who's mind's eye was dominated by cake.
Then, very very gradually the rain began to ease. As we rode through Lavenham it had stopped. We reversed our tea stop decision and took ourselves off to Woodlands Coffee Shop, at Hollow Trees Farm near Semer. There, got the complete and correct title in (see Wednesday 2nd Dec Blog).
The presentation of the baked beans was worth a picture (if not a thousand words) and flavour matched the flair. While munching away, we were joined by the Cappuccinos, and we graciously allowed them to accompany us home. Mark Eastwood was on 63" fixed, which rather upstaged me I have to say. His red Mercian road frame looking beautifully spindly and elegant
and sporting an ingenious arrangement for the rear brake; because the caliper wasn't long enough to reach the rime of a 700c wheel if normally positioned, he had mounted it in front of the brake bridge instead. It was a while before I'd worked out what exactly it was that was different. By now the sun had come out and we had a bit of a tail wind and all was right with the world. How rides can change. You can be nearly dropped, wet, exhausted and aching - but half an hour later it's all sunlit uplands and a heart bursting with joy as you speed effortlessly in the good natured company of your co-equipiers.
Or something.
A nice round 50 miles SJH
No one else in funny clothes. Oh good, I can do a quick ride, straight home AND feel virtuously smug. Then I saw Nathan, accompanied by another Dr Tom who has been riding out with Il Cappuccini of late, and is from Woolpit rather than Ixworth. Then Julian hove into site , making a total of four soft-headed idiots. We discussed tactics. Julian and I won the brief discussion, and the four of us set off for a shortish (possibly no tea stop) ride. As we headed broadly southwards, the wind got stronger and stronger and the constant heavy rain was livened up by vicious squalls that nearly brought us to a standstill. Shouting "bring it on!" and pedalling harder seemed to be the only (and rather embarrassing, looking back on it) solution. We hardened in our resolve to skip the tea stop, with all the usual arguments around getting cold and not wanting to set off again being used to defeat poor Nathan who's mind's eye was dominated by cake.
Then, very very gradually the rain began to ease. As we rode through Lavenham it had stopped. We reversed our tea stop decision and took ourselves off to Woodlands Coffee Shop, at Hollow Trees Farm near Semer. There, got the complete and correct title in (see Wednesday 2nd Dec Blog).
The presentation of the baked beans was worth a picture (if not a thousand words) and flavour matched the flair. While munching away, we were joined by the Cappuccinos, and we graciously allowed them to accompany us home. Mark Eastwood was on 63" fixed, which rather upstaged me I have to say. His red Mercian road frame looking beautifully spindly and elegant
and sporting an ingenious arrangement for the rear brake; because the caliper wasn't long enough to reach the rime of a 700c wheel if normally positioned, he had mounted it in front of the brake bridge instead. It was a while before I'd worked out what exactly it was that was different. By now the sun had come out and we had a bit of a tail wind and all was right with the world. How rides can change. You can be nearly dropped, wet, exhausted and aching - but half an hour later it's all sunlit uplands and a heart bursting with joy as you speed effortlessly in the good natured company of your co-equipiers.Or something.
A nice round 50 miles SJH
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