Ride For Luke, 12 July 2010

The reason for this short but enjoyable ride was a sombre one. Luke Southgate was but one of the casualties of the war in Afghanistan, but to his parents on the Mildenhall Estate in Bury he was everything, their hero, their son and their loss.

West Suffolk Wheeler and indefatigable Ultra-Man triathlete Simon Bourne had just returned from a multi-charity ride, accompanied by friends based at RAF Honington, which had taken them from the Rock of Gibraltar to Bury, with a tribute to Luke as the mainstay of his efforts. We were there on Angel Hill as representatives of the Wheelers, invited by Simon to lead a ride over the final miles to RAF Honington.

Now, Simon has connections. He served with the RAF Regiment (whose base is at Honington) as a PTI (Physical Training Instructor) in the 1980s, and subsequently with the Police in Bury, again as a PTI. He could be described as a man hard enough to be able to teach the hardest men how to be hard. These two parts of his life meant that not only were we allowed onto Honington base, but also we were escorted all the way by three Police motorcyclists and a Traffic Car. Simon and his partners on the 'RockRide' looked remarkably fresh, despite 1,600 miles that included 35 degree temperatures through Spain and hauling themselves over the Pyrenees.

There were, as far as I could ascertain, 20 WSW riders in full Club Colours, plus RAFCC members and Police cyclists making a total that the East Anglian Daily Times claimed to be 50 - and who am I to contradict that respected Organ? We had been promised a Police Escort and, by Jove, we got one. Three motorcyclists whizzing to and fro, stopping traffic at lights and roundabouts, plus the car following behind. This luxury took some getting used to - the automatic reaction to these hazards being to slow down in preparation to stop - but we soon got the hang of it, and decided that this was the one missing element from our Clubruns. We turned left onto the Mildenhall Road Estate, and negotiated the traffic-calming system that seemed to be based entirely (and thriftily) on the use of neglected potholes, to reach Luke's family's road. His family were gathered in a group on the verge outside their house, clapping and cheering. We felt very moved and extremely humbled - after all, we'd only ridden from Angel Hill, and felt unworthy. It was Simon and friends who had done all those sweltering miles.

As we rode along, I was asked by Forrest McCracken (weapons systems specialist in USAAF, recently returned from Afghanistan, Wheeler for over a year) "what's the significance of Gibraltar?". I flannelled a bit then moved up the peleton to ask Simon.
"Rock Apes" he said. "Used to be based on Gibraltar in the early days, so the RAF Regiment are known as the 'Rock Apes' ". The link will fill you in with two versions of this.

As we entered the Base, we passed the Primary School; all the teachers and pupils were lined up on the verge waving, cheering and clapping. Again, we Wheelers felt that we should be keeping a low profile. There was, understandably, a bit of a delay at the gate, then were escorted by a landrover round the whole of the perimeter road. It's around four miles! The hangar that was our destination was, well, huge. Like an aircraft hangar, in fact, and it contained yet another cheering crowd, this time mothers and pre-school children. Even more moving. Some of us driven to pretending to mop the sweat from our brows as we dabbed our eyes.

A tremendous experience.

SJH

A Cautionary Tale; (Never Volunteer)

On an elevated roundabout over a stretch of A11 which was, with its off-white concrete carriageways, reminiscent of the first Autobahnen of1930s Germany (only a thundering Auto-Union setting a speed record was missing), I was doing my time in the service of our sport by pointing down the slip road as each rider rounded the corner.

After 20 minutes of combined photography and arm-waving, my panama hat was lifted from my head by the strong Southerly wind, and flung onto the tarmac between me and the traffic-island. Instinctively, I leapt from the verge to pin down the escaping hat. My sandal hooked itself on the raised curb and I was propelled in an arc to a two-point landing; those points being right knee and the palm of right hand (which was still clutching my camera). This hand-camera combo hit the hat dead-centre. So at least I had range and direction spot on. There was blood. From hand to camera and from knee through trousers. And the camera seems to be mortally wounded, with internal injuries, though bearing only the tiniest scar on one corner of its case. It had, however, vomited its battery onto the tarmac.

Well damn, is what I say. Over the following two and a half hours I had time to dwell on the well-spent morning, unable to take photographs to make the time pass, and glancing at the blood oozing through my best fifteen year-old Gap chinos.

The event? Well, there is the (probably apocryphal) story of the journalist interviewing Abraham Lincoln's widow after the President's assassination at Ford's Theater in 1865 "But apart from that, Mrs Lincoln, what did you think of the show" - in other words, momentous though it all was, the National '100' had ceased to be my main concern.

The event? (take II) The CTT National 100 mile Championship was won by a thundering Auto-Union called Michael Hutchinson in a very fast time indeed (which may have been 3 hrs 26 mins). The chap from the Chelmer CC who started just one minute ahead of Hutch at 149, took about an hour longer to finish. Don't get me started on seeding for National TTs. Too late, I've started so I shall finish: they insist on approving what you've laid out, then criticise the end product when armed with hindsight in the form of a result gained by a rider several days after the start sheet has been published. The point of all this rambling rant being? We had to hang around for a very long time at the end, and I wasn't in the mood.

Also, Julia Shaw broke womens' event record with another extremely fast time that I am ashamed I can't remember, So well done everyone. Just remember, cycle racing can be dangerous - even if you're only marshalling.

Mind how you go now SJH.

Espresso Ride 27 June 2010. Wickham Market three ways.

First I must apologise for lack of photos - I didn't notice that my camera was set to video, so snaps are tiny video clips. I'll maybe check them. Secondly, I would like to acknowledge the help of my son, James, (right) without who's co-operation I wouldn't have got extremely drunk on Friday night(Falling-over-in-the-garden-in-slow-motion-at-4.15am- but-avoiding-the-pond drunk) and wouldn't have started this ride, 30 hrs later, still pretty severely dehydrated.

We were 14 in sunny Cornhill, namely (in no particular order) Paul Callow, Barry Denny, Julian Colman, Julian Long, Ron Fisher, Ron Fisher's Optician (CTC T shirt - Ron later confessed that even he couldn't remember the poor guy's name) Richard Stiff, Stephen Cleale (who turned for home about 5 miles short of the "tea break")Deane Hill, Richard Farrow (on another trip from Marlborough) Adi Grimwood, Jonathan Howe - fresh from an upside-down End to End ride ('JOGLE' ?), and myself SJH. With the wind south-ish but promising to be changeable. Julian bravely took the initiative and announced an outing to Wickham Market, leading us smartly out of town in a generally eastwards direction. Adi then hit the front, and gave every impression of re-living his Lotus Series at Hethel the previous Wednesday, dragging us all in his not inconsiderable wake at a rate equivalent to covering over twenty miles in a single hour.

The pace remained rapid most of the way to Debenham, where occurred the first minor difference of opinion on the route. I suggested a 'right' that cut a corner and avoided a blind junction, but Julian prevailed and we took the two sides of the triangle and passed the exit of my suggestion. To Julian's credit, he acknowledged his error. His other error was to admit of any error at all when leading a ride. When this sort of problem arises, and you're faced with that tricky blind right turn, you take the ride left. Without pause, thus putting the smart-arse (me) firmly in their place. You then face busking a route-recovery over the next few miles - but everyone on the ride still has faith in you, so it's worth the effort. After all, at the end of the day, what it all comes down to, if you think about it, not being funny, is; if you were worried about extra distance you wouldn't have left Cornhill on the first place, now would you?

There were a few dissenting voices drifting up from the rear of the peleton at one or two route-choices, but overall, I felt we were well on course. At one point, however, I heard Deane voicing a strongly negative view of a left that we were taking. It later became obvious that he'd gone his own way, and taken Richard Farrow with him.

We carried on until, about to pass Easton Farm Park, we stopped and thought about going there for tea. This was vetoed because of the likelihood of Deane and Richard waiting for us in Wickham-Mkt. Shortly, we swept into Wickham Market market square, hot, thirsty and ready for scones. The Café was shut. I've found a photo of happier times; a Wednesday, when it was open

We piled into a Newsagent/Sweetie shop for what sustenance we could find. Adi found 'Quick Energy ' Capsules reduced to 50p each. He and I bought two each. Since it said on the label 'do not take more than one dose per day' we took it that they would be effective. I put one in my bottle (re-filled with water from a pack that Julian had bought for two pounds. Thanks Julian, I owe you a Tea) and necked the other as soon as I got home. Adi also found the ice creams, and bought what I think was a Magnum Double-Caramel. Sugar-rush or what?

Richard Stiff won the Samaritan Award, for pumping up the rear tyre of a young man who asked for help. Apparently he had gone to a 'cycle shop' round the corner, and the man had said "I'll sell you a pump, but I make my living selling bikes not mending them". One day (we thought) he'll get his comeuppance (if there is any justice in this world. Oh dear, he probably won't, then).

A short stop then, 15 minutes, tops. Retrace to Easton and - guess what? - well most of you were there, so you know that we split properly this time. This wasn't a trial separation, it was a divorce, decree absolute and all. I'm still not certain how I came to be following Adi, Richard Farrow and Julian Long on the left hand choice, but I fancy that it was because it was the way we came out. The right-hand faction had their choice endorsed by Ron's Optician who Knew Routes due to lots and lots of Audax-ey rides (so Ron told me on Wednesday).

Just as our sinistral breakaway reached what I knew to be the route home, Adi took us in a curve, back onto the Wickham Mkt- Needham Mkt road which he felt would be quicker. Well, it was certainly faster. As we started a 'through-and-off' chain, I could feel that I was fading fast (or should that be "slowly"?). Adi gave me aid at this point. Usual stuff about concentrating on the wheel in front. I've tried that a few times, and I can now reveal that it doesn't work unless one ALSO has a bit of energy left. Adi could now see that "the power of the will" was useless without "the power of the legs" and was kind enough to push me a few times, which was help most gratefully received.

By Needham Mkt I'd run out of drink and needed a shop. No shop. But a pub! the image of a pint of shandy was irresistable. Down in two goes, never touched the sides, as they say. Others trouped in for health-giving mineral water, and there was good-natured merriment at my expense (I think that was what it was). Tottered home with the help of my chums with 74 miles completed. Tried to look human at family lunch. James had been rowing at Cambridge in the morning - but then he had 7 other blokes to help him, so it hardly counted.

SJH