Iced Espresso – 31 January 2010

This endless bout of freezing weather, which began on the 16 December when the Wednesday runs Christmas lunch ride to Hollow Trees had to endure showers of sleet and snow, shows no sign of ending any time soon. And although the last Espresso run of January 2010 enjoyed some good sunshine, the bone numbing temperatures and a bitterly cold west wind ensured that the ride would fall into the category of Character Building.

Eight hardy souls assembled outside the shell formally known as Woolworths: Ron Fisher, Gareth Doman, Glynn Smith, Deane Hill, Julian Colman, Peter Heath, Paul Barry and yours truly. Our esteemed old blogger, SJH, was AWOL and so you’ll have to make do with this poor substitute. Sorry.

I had intended to show the lads the new streamlined Suffolk Punch route and thereby give them a foretaste of next Sunday’s event. However, having done a quick risk assessment of what would happen to eight riders descending ice covered Hawsted Hill, Hartest Hill, Somerton Hill or Poslingford Hill, we agreed on a plan ‘B’ - stay on ‘B’ roads. And so we headed for Long Melford via the B1066, which even had a few ice floes ‘running’ along its sides. A left turn at the Bull led us on through Acton to Great Waldingfield. We had decided that our destination would be the award winning Hollow Trees, famous for the aforesaid Wheelers’ Christmas lunch. And with the wind on our backs we were making good time. We sped on through Little Waldingfield and Monks Eleigh and braced ourselves for the usual rush-up Clay Hill, with the anticipation of a roaring fire, homemade cakes and tea with extra hot water. Unfortunately I made a cock-up of changing off the big ring onto the small and baulked Deane, who was on my wheel. Never one to look a gift horse in the mouth, Glynn took the opportunity to box Deane in and allow other riders a chance at hill climb glory.

No chance. Even on one ride a week schedule, Deane is still as strong as a gift horse (good teeth too), and was soon powering up to the front of the rapidly opening group. More surprisingly, Peter Heath was soaring away with him – and Ron too I think. Peter has been getting stronger and stronger over recent weeks, and wonders if it could be down to an adjustment of his medication (!)

After the usual homemade cheer at Hollow Trees, we tore ourselves away from the fire and continued on our way to Bildeston. Every few minutes or so we were met by group after group of club riders - all clearly on a mission. Reliability trial perhaps? Lots of Colchester riders resplendent in multi-colour kit - such a contrast to ours.

Glynn had at times been showing signs of stress. He said this was due to long hours of work with little time to train, and he needed a short sharp shock to get him focused on training for the Girona week. Climbing up Hitcham Hill his wish was granted when he punctured in both legs. He gamely struggled on, wearing that face that we all know so well. Deane callously rode away with Ron while Glynn muttered, through gritted teeth, threats about a possible transfer for Deane to the Outer Hebrides Social Services Department. To Deane’s credit (or better judgement) he came back and helped pace his colleague home.

Forsaking the usual left turn to One House, we ploughed on through Stowmarket and along the old A14 to Wetherden (bearing in mind that a wether is a castrated ram, could there have been a hideout for the poor things here in days gone by?) and on to Elmswell. On the run in through Norton we cast a quick glance through the windows of SJH’s country seat – no sign of life. Had he frozen to death in his workshop? We will know soon enough.

A left turn to Thurston found the ice patches we had otherwise avoided. A cautious line was taken. Once in Thurston the roads cleared and the speed picked up on the run into town. No prizes for guessing who was putting the hammer down. Glynn looked pleased to have hit town, and now there just remained the ride to Deane’s house to collect his car. No doubt the conversation was about resettlement allowances and the like.

Justin Wallace