Friday 30 December. Last Ride of 2011, best scones of the year

I thought that, since I was up at 07.30 for a 09.30 kick off, I could fit the beautiful new Conti Ultra Gatorskins that I bought for Pearson for Christmas before setting off. Ah, but he's very dirty, with signs of rust on some shiny bits like track nuts, due to salt no doubt. So it was a bike wash, then. Boiler suit over cycling kit, porridge on the stove, rush about gathering cleaning stuff, bike on stand, hot water and detergent, citrus de-greaser, brush, sponge, cloth to get into the crevices, dash back to kitchen and turn down heat on porridge, give it a stir, add a drop more milk, cover and leave on low heat, remove wheels, apply citrus to oily bits, lather the rest, hose down (water is VERY cold as I hold my thumb over the end - the simplest and best "hose attachment" I know), check porridge, switch off heat. Crickey! 08.15, clean spokes and hubs, replace old tyres with new, (changed mind about putting new tubes in), inflate tyres, back to kitchen, put porridge in bowl to cool (saves breath, ha ha) refit wheels adjust chain tension, click rear mudguard stays into fixings, set brakes, attach speedo, time has lurched to 08.50, take bike to house, gather milk and maple syrup, rip off boiler suit, momentarily unable to find my special spoon (can't possibly eat it without) find spoon, give more food to cats (three) to avoid tripping over them, 09.03 start gulping porridge, 09.10 stack porridge bowl and teacup by sink, no time to wash up - wife asleep recharging energy cells depleted by six days of catering for family gatherings of 7 to 17 souls hope no fuse blown by sight of dirty dishes, 09.15 pedal to garage for papers, back to house, throw them into kitchen, pause; check phone, camera, money, clean handkerchief, bottle on bike, make the gilet decision following test of temperature without boiler suit on the paper-run, leap on bike, 09.19, pedal like hell, after four minutes settle for merely brisk pace, up the hill through Tostock, gasping for breeeeaaaath, settle to cruise setting, slow down miserably going over A14 bridge, down into Beyton, get into a purposeful position just in case they're looking. Check watch 09.28. Whew. Plenty of time.

Five of us go to La Hogue, destined to be Tea Stop of The Year. Weather was sunny to start with, but the mercury was sulking at zero celcius. However, with the help of the early sunshine the temperature rose, and normal longsleeve Club jerseys were sufficient when combined with a gilet (see above) over and several layers beneath.

We took a version of the normal return route for our outward leg. There was all the usual mud from the Sugar Beet harvest, and a fair few puddles to avoid. The high spot was probably spotting Jeremy Waterson's head and shoulders poking out of a manhole in a driveway as we rode through Livermere. As WSW MTB co-ordinator Jeremy will be no stranger to mud and discomfort; it was good to see someone who was prepared to get out there and help the economy.

At La Hogue we enjoyed quite the finest scones of the year. Slightly crusty on the outside, still warm from the oven, and maintaining their integrity when spread (important in so many activities, I feel) these baked beauties were imbued with perfect flavour from correct amounts of salt and sugar plus a good balance of fruit. The place was extremely busy overall, but the Café had plenty of room. As I enjoyed butter and jam on my scone, accompanied by a large cappuccino with chocolate on top, I couldn't help but notice my neighbour's spartan black coffee, no food and bare knees. Are you quite mad Gerry? I admit that I very rarely wear shorts even in Summer and never if it's below about 18c but, shorts? In December? Even the warmest December since 1886 or whatever it was? Oh, all right then. Not quite so deranged - but do think of those knees old chap.

My proposals for a more challenging route home were (quite correctly) over ruled and we went roughly the normal way back. 52 miles at a steady pace (coupled with my first run for over a month, yesterday) meant that my legs had had enough, thank you.

So, the final Blog of 2011, completed with five hours to go. Tomorrow is another year, so here's to many successful miles in good company, personal bests and achievements.
HAPPY NEW YEAR!



SJH

Sunday 18 Dec. 2011: Four set out, Three turn back.

Mince Pie Run Day. -4c. Ice on the walk to the garage for my paper, just like yesterday. Tony, Justin and Ron Fisher are due to come up the road to collect me - after a 'snow check'. I had been busy defending to wife and daughter the apparent rashness of going out when I had pronounced the previous (almost identical) day's weather as "far too dangerous". Me and my big mouth, eh?

They arrived, without incident, it would seem that there is rather more salt about than yesterday. We decided on a route that kept to main-ish roads that would (or should) have been treated. Down the 1088 to Elmswell, then follow the road to Stowmarket and from there follow the 1115 towards Bildeston. So far so good and companionable. It didn't seem quite so cold as we rolled along. We realised that we needed a plan that went a bit further than "let's avoid the lanes" and reached "so what route that avoids the lanes do we need in order to reach to Rattlesden?". As we were about to descend the little hill at the end of Hitcham it was perfectly plain that we should just turn round and go back, and then go left at One House then left again to the warm sanctuary of the Five Bells. We reckoned on about a 12.15 arrival.

Then it began to snow, so we were smugly happy with our decision to turn. The snow got a bit heavier. Smugness was replaced by plain relief. Then I got my puncture. Rear, of course - what other sort would one get in weather like this? Tony Panting's pictures tell the story, and my traditional cyclists' head wear doing its traditional thing of moving upwards coupled with the reading glasses essential for finding the flint that turned out to be the cause give me a distinctly "Bah Humbug" aspect. And, dear readers, that would exactly reflect my mood.

Fingers now numb with cold, gloves no longer even damp proof and a good half hour's ride home, we made another decision; we would go straight home. Ron Fisher, being made of stearner stuff and riding his mountain bike opted to follow plan B release 1, whilst we grovelled home on plan B release 2 (I had an additional reason to want to go home - I'd realised while fumbling in pockets for my specs that I'd left my money behind, and the generosity of others might not be able to keep pace with my need for alcoholic consolation) I was home by about 1.15, relieved and soon revived. Tony emailed on Tuesday to say that he had a chest cold - he had been suffering quite badly on the home. Get well soon, Tony

SJH

Wednesday 7 December 2011. High wind in Suffolk. Peter decides on Cafe of the Year.

A reduced number assembled for the opening of our sealed orders for the day. There would be no need to split up and we would be huddled pretty close for all of the way to our tea stop, which was revealed to be at La Hogue.

We followed our recently popular climbing route which takes us via Welnethams Gt & Lt, Whepstead and eventually Ousden and (depending on how intrepid we feel) round to the south and west of Newmarket or, as in this case through to Moulton and Kentford. Though the headwind was pretty tough, when it was a sidewind it was definitely more challenging - some of our lighter riders were experiencing directional problems as we passed gateways and hedge gaps. Definitely a tea-break wheel-turner this, as we would get a substantial tailwind home. We met the Cambridge Wednesday contingent at La Hogue, and I chatted to my old friend André Marsh. Only later did it really dawn on me that one group was going to face a massive headwind home. And it wasn't going to be us.
Rolling along comfortably on 72.5" gear (this link will allow you to make your own calculations. My combination was 51x19) was great, all the way to Cavenham, when we turn left. On the shallow descent to Lackford the wind was precisely behind us, and I wound up the revs to around 135rpm and overtook an unsuspecting Ron Fisher at 29mph. He woke up and was soon on my wheel of course - and I can't maintain those revs for very long. When I contemplate the achievements of Tony Doyle and the late Zak Carr I am completely humbled since since Zak averaged over 130rpm for 53 minutes. At the moment I can just about manage the 3minutes on the end. That link is truly fascinating, do follow it.

SJH

Sunday 4th December 2011. We are introduced to a new Café, and are Proud to have an HQ.

In case there are rumours that we are a rival ad hoc club run, let me say, right away, that this is the official Café Reconnaissance Ride. We sample the Tea so that you don't have to. We were the Infamous Five, and Long Melford was our goal. Fine Foods, on the west side of The Street. Appropriate, I pointed out, that we seniors should stop here in Long Melford, since the speciality of this small town is antiques.
We spent a few minutes in the Café (while our redoubtable Yorkshire hostess prepared our scones and tea) calculating our average age (yes, sad isn't it. We'll soon be in that irredeemably sad category of old Codger who fixes strangers with a hard stare asking "And how old d'you think I am?" and you'll be in trouble if you guess over the actual - or, even, too close below) the answer - if you can remember where we were before that last parenthetic detour - was 68. Which I suppose makes me a mean cyclist.
The feel of the room is very 1950s and, despite a lot of mass-produced repro nostalgia (and as we all know, nostalgia isn't what it used to be) very authentic. I think this is down to the hostess's attitudes and the slightly bare look, with cream walls and some green detailing which was the green that was ubiquitous during the first fifteen years after what we oldsters merely call 'The War' with no qualification. To us there are other wars that do have a title, Crimean, Boer, First, Korean and so on, but The War is only ever the '39-'45.
Our hostess impressed us when, during a discussion of tea strengths and the effect of hard and soft water on this, she said
"Well, my tea supplier made my blend specifically for the water here".

It's definitely that "My tea supplier" coupled with "My blend" that sets this lady and her establishment apart.

But there was more. Casting an eye over our club outfits, the lady of the house asked
"In a club are you?"
"Yes, West Suffolk Wheelers in Bury St Edmunds"
"Do you have a club room or a hut where you meet?"

With pride, and thoughts of our Chairman Barry St Edmunds, we explained our recent elevation to the ranks Clubs With Huts. How shaming, how embarrassing the conversation would have been if we hadn't had an HQ to our name.

SJH

Wednesday 30th November 2011. Hollow Trees

A chilly start, and not over warm at any time there was, however, sunshine and beautiful landscape to enjoy. It was decided that we were about the right size of group remain as one, and it was decided that Peter would lead us to Semer, where Woodlands Café operates at Hollow Trees Farm.
It was one of those rides where every time I felt convinced that I knew which way we would be going, the direction changed. Every anticipated right became a left, and vice versa; every expected village or town was avoided. Favourite lanes were shunned in favour of more 'main' roads - but then a previously unknown byway would be introduced. Kept us on our toes. Thank you Peter.
On one particularly picturesque section of this route one of our number experienced a punctured inner tube. The sun was by now delivering unseasonal warmth and, as you can see from the pics, we were in a near perfect spot for puncture repair. Some of our number rode up the road , then back, then up the road again and so on - partly out of politeness, not wishing to swell the throng of onlookers (thus possibly embarrassing the victim), and partly to keep their finely tuned legs in perfect condition (or so they might have us believe). The lane was narrow, and any group of stationary riders (however few) will always expand to fill the road available and, at the approach of a vehicle will take a maddeningly long time to sort themselves out of the way (the very behaviour that, when exhibited by pedestrians, makes cyclists extremely cross) Thus, having over half the ride cruising round in a holding pattern is a good thing. This ride though very beautiful, and enjoyable, and in weather that was unbelievably clement for the last day of November is not, in fact, the main topic of this blog.

The main topic is Hollowtrees itself. What concerned the ever-discerning Mercoladisti was a perception of a slight slippage in the maintaining of standards. Chloe's accueil is peerless as ever. The was scones lacked lacked the feel of fresh. Though we had no reason to doubt that they had been made on this morning, it seemed to be more a question of recipe and method. Had they someone in the kitchen with a more commercial background?

Some have reservations about the layout following the recent refurbishment - the area that had previously been the servery remains the same size and, having no windows yet retaining three walls has rather the feel of a cupboard. We feel that maybe, just maybe, the coveted crown of Wheelers' Café of the year may well pass to another organisation. The criteria are quite complex and the catering quality is but one of these. One criterion is beyond the control of the establishment and that is location. Well, not just location (this would feature such variables as wonderful views, peaceful outside seating and so on) but proximity. Ideally, no further than 20 miles from Bury St Edmunds and, to be even more picky, to the west or south west. It's no use having a supposedly favourite café that we rarely visit. Now La Hogue has the location thing sewn up, with the possible exception of the return route to Bury. It takes moral fibre of the carbon variety to launch into a long route home after the café stop, so that leaves the variations of Red Lodge and Tuddenham which gives around 18 miles return which, when combined with a 40 mile outward leg gives a good ride. Even better if you live (as I do) 7.5 miles east of Bury. So, we had a great ride, discovered a failing in our favourite watering hole, changed an inner tube and maybe thought of a new Café of the year.
SJH

Sunday 27th November. Ambushed at La Hogue

It was only Peter, TomTom and I who decided at the last minute that we might go out for a gentle 'pootle', to return with the brisk (14 - 17 mph) westerly wind, possibly from La Hogue.

We went via Beyton, west parallel to A14, past the Plant Nursery and through the Rougham Estate past Blackthorpe Barn (where there was much Christmas activity already - car park attendants in their huge hi-vis coats, even the odd Tree being carried to a waiting car) then through to Nowton.

Some ingenious moves wound us through to Horrringer, Westley crossroads and up to Barrow - where we met the full force of the 15mph wind on the ascent. From Barrow through Moulton and Kentford . . . to La Hogue, and the prospect of a wind assisted return trip. Just as we were savouring the first sips of tea and nibbles of scone - il Cappuccini arrived. Barry came and sat at our table; I assured him that, despite appearances, we were not in any way a renegade unofficial club run. We were merely three like-minded cyclists who happened to have discovered a degree of congruence in our intentions of a Sunday morning. I think it possible that all I succeeded in doing was to convince our chairman (Barry St Edmunds) that I was barking.

We left just ahead of The Ride, I had turned my wheel round to raise my gear from 66" to 72"
- fending off the usual banter about the length of time it takes to change gear and other hilarious observations concerning the invention of multiple gear systems - so that I could maximise the benefit of a tailwind. As is usual, we turned left at the end of the road to La Hogue to Chippenham (incidentally, this road does continue to the A11 enabling the brave to join the Norwich-bound carriageway at a T junction. Before the dualling, it was possible to cross the A11 and continue in a straight line to Moulton. But what's the point of short cuts, when we're trying to cover as many miles as possible, as opposed to merely reaching a destination. For the sake of the argument I'm ruling out Café stops as destinations) In Chippenham we turn right (east) along the little lane that joins the road from Freckenham to Red Lodge (which has turned into something resembling Toytown). As we left Toytown we caught a glimpse of a group of riders crossing from right to left. It was il Cappuccini, who must have taken the alternative route (I won't bore you with a description - it's a dull choice) which put them about a quarter mile ahead of us. The inevitable happened (TomTom would say that it was in no way an inevitability since I am an adult capable of exercising free will) and I gradually increased our pace (a less aggressive term than speed) until the group ahead very gradually came closer. It can be very hard to gauge how quickly (or not) one is catching up with other riders until they are within a couple of hundred yds. Then it is important to only go as fast as is necessary to maintain the rate of gain. Quite absorbing really, in an incredibly boring sort of way. Before we reached Tuddenham we were upon them. First group of four or five at the back, neat and compact, then Barry with John Dumont, then another three, then ones and twos further ahead. A classic Wheelers clubrun, at a disorganised point in the ride. All rides get these moments, it can be fatigue, inattention or a mismatch of abilities. We lightheartedly joshed them as we passed, mainly the old chestnut about riding "all over the road" or "four abreast". I can't remember the last time I was in a group that caught, passed and rode away from another. OK they were the more mature in their attitude, but hey! It was a blast. We turned left to Lackford and never saw them again.

SJH

Wednesday 23rd November. The search for the most expensive stop is over . .

. . . . but it's still high quality at the Cavendish Tearooms. Taking one of the selection of lumpy routes to Cavendish (there is no other sort) and again climbing the Col de Poslingford, Ron Fisher mentioned that this was the fourth time that he'd climbed it on consecutive rides. He seemed to take it in his stride. At Clare we passed through in a westerly direction and turned left to follow the lanes eastward, roughly parallel to the main Clare - Cavendish rd. There was a call that there had been a puncture, it was Dawn's and TomTom went back to assist Dawn and Chris, and the message came through that they would follow the main road.
Our main group arrived first at Cavendish Tea Rooms, and the puncture party were about ten minutes later. The usual huge scones (though perhaps a touch hard from overcooking) and I went for a cappuccino (always a pricey option - but what the hell . .)
Service varies between order at the counter pay on exit and full table service, then pay on exit. Today it was order and pay at the counter, so I had my fiver poised between finger tips as the pleasant lady said
"£6.45 thank you"
OOps. I only had that fiver. However I did have TomTom who was at my elbow, in funds and feeling sufficiently generous to subsidise me in my extravagance.
I think that this is now the most expensive tea stop yet enjoyed. Normally, I am intensely relaxed about food prices when eating out, and am only very rarely caught out by a disconnect between expectation and reality. This was one of those rare occasions. A sharp-intake-of-breath moment, shall we say. This a beautiful space in which to spread ourselves out at large blond wood tables that can seat a dozen or more without a crush. A blazing wood fire when appropriate, views across a very nice garden all ease the pain in the purse that it seems to have become. When first discovered, this place seemed a bit too cheap for the amounts of food provided; as an ex-catering professional I thought that if it was to survive, something had to give, portions or prices. They've made the choice.

We toil back on the usual route from Cavendish, up water lane and via Glemsford. Always a challenging route and, as you get more tired, closer to Bury and need of some comfort - there is none. Whichever variation of the final run-in involves a succession of little ascents. But this is why we do this, why we are out on a Wednesday; pain and discomfort endured for the future benefit that it will bring. What future benefit is that? Feeling slightly less pain and discomfort on the run-in to Bury. If not next time, then eventually.

SJH

Sunday 20 November 2011.Five test the new Suffolk Punch route . . .

. . . . . now with added altitude. After the ride, exhausted and drained, I said to Justin
"I don't like your altitude"

"It's not my altitude" he replied "it's your attitude. That's the problem"

Then we made up, and became firm acquaintances again. Though as you will have realised, I made it all up.

There is much concern, these days, over 'elder abuse' as it is sometimes called (ask a social services professional, they'll tell you why) (that's as in "why it's called 'elder abuse' " rather than why there's too much of it about. Though they can probably tell you that too). The casual classification of those over (say) sixty five as being barely sentient, aged, wrinkly is all too prevalent.

There is a reason for raising this topic at the beginning of a blog about cycling. And that reason is the passing of the indefatigable, ubiquitous and ever-youthful Justin into the Pensioner zone with his 65th birthday. He has joined the senior echelon of the Wednesday ride and will from now on be referred to as a 'Pensioner'. As in 'Plucky Pensioner'. In time he, like the rest of us, will graduate to the higher level of patronisation which is 'Elderly '.

Cyclist in collision, Pensioner falls off of bike (this is local press), elderly man tumbles from pushbike.

Happy Birthday Justin.

Because we met at Thurston at 09.00, and because we intended to experience the full 'Suffolk Punch Experience' we cycled into Bury via Mount Rd and the cyclepath. We saw (and waved to) the Espresso Ride hammering Eastwards through Moreton Hall. We didn't feel it necessary to actually go to the HQ.

Merits of our route through Bury were discussed as we rode out along Southgate St and towards Horringer, taking the left turn at the foot of the Horringer climb, in the general direction of Whepstead. Just before we were to take the right turn towards Rede, my chain came off. I should mention at this point that I was riding Pearson the Fixie (just to show that I wasn't taking all the climbing too seriously) and descending at 26mph which is about 134rpm. I looked down and saw the chain was swinging from side to side in a harmless-seeming way, unbroken. I shouted to my chums that I had a problem. Then the still-rotating sprocket grabbed the chain and wound it tightly round the drop-out (which someone might be tempted to point out is actually a slide-out, being a track-end) and locked the back wheel. The road was wet, and slimy with mud - so I slid. "Here I go" I thought, trying to control the skid with opposite lock, first one way then the other and then the first one again, not wishing to actually fall off. The likelihood of a tumble seemed very high but, incredibly, I came to an almost stop and actually achieved what can only be described as a track stand, managing to get my foot out in time to catch the falling bike. So there I was, leaning on the 'bars, amazed at my good fortune. Just a bit disappointed that the other four had missed my bike-handling display. Being the true friends that they are, they readily believed me. But it's just not the same, is it?

Not certain of the cause. Having ridden fixed fairly regularly for around ten winters my chain has only come off once before. And I didn't fall off the other time either. Of course, the wheel had pulled over - but was it the cause or the effect? The RH wheelnut wasn't fully tight, however, and just might have been the cause.

Brief pause for re-shipping of chain and swift check of possible damage, less delay than your average puncture, then off we go to Rede and, eventually Hawkedon. Right at the T junction and follow the route through Stansfield and up to Poslingford. I always know that I'll get dropped these days, so I wasn't surprised this time - but I did recover in the later, less steep stages. The visibility is still quite poor, and patchy. I find that I can actually see better without my prescription Ray-Bans. We climb over the summit above Hundon, reasonably together - we are going at the speed of the slowest, even when he can't keep up - and descend to Stradishall. Right and Left across the A143 and carry on through Wickhambrook on the B1063. There is a puncture. When we set off I replace the Ray-Bans. Before we reach Cropley Grove, I'm struggling to see, so stiff them in a back pocket, beneath the WSW Gilet. Up Ousden Hill (feels less challenging than I remember) and head for Hargrave then Chevington and up Weather Cock Hill to the finish of the Horringer Evening '10'. Back across the A143, up Whepstead Hill. Here I committed an error of etiquette. Pete beat me to the top, and I heard myself saying
"I know I'm still off form, because I used to count on getting to the top of this climb first"
After a pause for thought, I apologised. In my defence I would mention that cyclists are frequently self-obsessed, though that that's not really a defence for being a boorish plonker. Sometimes you can be riding alongside a local hotshot who normally wouldn't give you the time of day if it was at the finish of a race and, to break the ice, you ask how his weekend went. He tells you. Pedal stroke by pedal stroke. Lasts five miles. Then he pauses and says "But that's enough about me. What do you think I should be doing to improve? "

On, On, On.

At the top of Wheaptead Hill we turn right, and keep going all the way to Hartest. Then we turn left. Yup, Hartest Hill. One chevron. Last time I tried this (on 72.5" gear) I came to a standstill for the first time in my adult cycling life. Today I'm on 66" (even if you no nothing at all about this arcane measurement system, you can see that there's a big difference) and worried that I'll be able to make it. But only worried in that way that you know you'll do it, but there might be a big effort involved. Then the road rears up in a way that I don't ever remember, and it's foot out time. This takes a bit of planning, on fixed. The feet are rotating (albeit, slowly) the whole time, so you must unclip and plant the foot all in one movement - and on the side that you are leaning. Then the car behind passes you while you try to pretend that you have experienced an unexpected mechanical. Then (because remounting on a 15% gradient isn't an option) you have to walk to nearly the top.

But that's enough about me, how do you think I should have handled this problem?

On, on, on.

Down towards Shimpling and right to Bridge Street. Don't stop at the Rose Bar & Tearooms, excellent though it is. Force yourself across the A134 and up the jolly old climb towards Lavenham and tea. The Guildhall Tea Rooms is a quality National Trust venue, with friendly and welcoming staff (if slightly confused at times). We timed our arrival to perfection, just ahead of a booked party of motorcyclists. There was an amusingly confused moment when the lady who was serving me was handed a plate bearing the sausage roll ordered by the motorcyclist behind me in the queue. My lady solved this by serving the chap behind me first, and appearing to forget that I had already ordered. Good job I wasn't Peter, is all I can say. This wasn't the only hitch at the tea stop; I realised that my prescription Polarising Ray-Bans were no longer in my back pocket under my gilet. Remember my mentioning the glasses earlier? I must have missed the the pocket and, at some point when Tom Tom wasn't behind me with his hawk-eyes, they must have fallen out. Well, damn.

The Motorcyclists look huge in their leathers, carrying large helmets, filling the room. When they remove their huge jackets, they are still - all of them - large. We no longer worry about the five of us taking up too much room, with our Lycra clothing and small, lightweight helmets (or caps) because at least four of us look vanishingly slender as we sit nibbling our scones. The mist and gloom had lifted before we reached Lavenham and the town is looking tourist-brochure perfect.

We turned down the little street beside the Great House Hotel & Restaurant (a favourite for Susan and I when we have something to celebrate; that something is sometimes just being able to go out for lunch). As m'colleagues weave their way down the steep and narrow street, I realise that something isn't quite right in the handling department. Yup! it's a puncture. At least it's a front. The others are out of ear shot so I just get on with it. The business of changing a tube is rather complicated by the gradient (I could have gone back to the square, but I'd have been out of sight if my chums came back to look for me, and they would have had to climb the hill just to find out . . . .oh this so long winded, you know what I'm getting at). Chums appear at the foot of the climb, ascend to offer help and banter. Puncture fixed off we go, tried and tested route home with no more nasty surprises. Near Thorpe Morieux Peter gets a puncture, we hear a barn owl. I see it briefly alight on the top of a tree, but cannot check properly without distance glasses (see above). My recognition is contradicted. Average age of heaven knows what and we're disagreeing what we can see. "In the land of the blind, the one-eyed man is king" . The sun still shines and were we stand there is warmth.

We opt-out of returning to HQ, and just head for home. A grand ride, if taxing. Sixty-several miles and, without Hartest, quite do-able. If I train between now and February 2012, and can climb Hartest without coming to a standstill, I'll ride fixed like today.

SJH.

Wednesday 16 Novenber 2011. Altogether now . . almost

A misty start, and a shaky one as we head north east from Thurston. Straight over crossroads at Pakenham, then left just past the Manor to cross the A143 at the point that actually has the best visibility. And we have a puncture. Front wheel. However, takes a while to find the cause so, with just 2 miles covered so far, it's already 9:35. Things can only get better.

As we descend towards Livermere, Dawn feels spooked by the fog and turns for home (or, rather, that's what I thought was going to happen). A bit further on we realised that Glenn Morris had also departed.

The group seemed to gel, and singling out went smoothly. This was encouraging since we were about 15 riders. No incidents with cars, no further punctures. TT took us on an unchallenging loop to Bressingham, keeping off both main roads and tiny lanes. By the time we tottered into Blooms we discovered that Dawn and Glenn had changed plans and come straight out to the café. I had to mentally readjust as the till and service was now on the right hand side of the huge horse-shoe shaped counter. Quite a few of us enjoyed a hybrid baked product, the lovechild of a brief fling between a scone and a rockcake that had acquired a mild cinnamon habit and some glace cherries. Many culinary successes began with a mistake. I mistook marmalade for apricot jam, and the result was delicious with my rock-scone. The sun was coming through as we left, turning right towards Diss then left down Freezen Hill for a route that stayed north of the A143 until Ixworth. We stayed together to the end.

An uneventful ride was just what we needed after the last few incident-packed wednesdays (and I forgot to mention Justin getting shotgun pellets in his Gilet last week!) but it makes it hard to create a story.

Sorry

SJH

Wednesday 9 November '11. A ride of two halves . . .

. . . . one Café and some punctures. Due to pressure on my time since Wednesday the detail of this ride in largely good weather is a little hazy. Because we were (probably) over twenty riders, and because last week's ride was a tumble-strewn fiasco largely caused by similar numbers, it was decided that we should split into two (I seem to remember being the last to be selected) and that we would all go to Hollow Trees, but not necessarily by the same route. Justin and Peter's group rolled out first followed by us. We were fortunate in having TT on our side (we wouldn't get lost) plus Glenn Morris to assist with punctures.

We had a couple of punctures en route, most notable was the one suffered by Dawn which was caused by a huge flint. So huge was it that Glenn insisted that I take its photo. The result was out of focus, so won't be displayed - but rest assured that it could have been mistaken for a Saxon arrowhead. It later came to light that Glenn had lost his plastic wallet containing credit card etc. There's no sign in my photo of anything similar lying on the ground, but we could have a 'spot the plastic wallet' competition. After realising his loss while standing in the queue at Hollowtrees, Glenn went back to have a look - without success. He didn't seem to have been away long enough to have reached the spot in the photo. What an unfair thing to happen to one who is always so ready to help others.

The puncture had happened on a section of road that was a new experience even to TomTom! We took a left in Boxford, before Cox's Hill, that looks like a footpath in front of a row of very old houses, which then widens to a lane, then narrows again to - what do you call the next size down from a lane? Then becomes a lane with very tall grass down the middle. We reached a T junction, went left. I assumed that we had met a more substantial road. I was extremely wrong. It got smaller again, and extremely steeeep. Then went down, then up and then Dawn had her puncture. Which brings us back to the café in the previous paragraph. The other half of the ride left after about 15 minutes, and we stayed for the usual 'slightly too long'. Tony Panting put some more air into his tyre, stopping short of admitting to possible puncture - which, inevitably, it turned out to be about five miles later. We are entering that part of the year when puncture-prevalence is at its highest. It will last until April or, even, May. Time to buy new tyres.

SJH

Wed. 2nd Nov. 2011 Three Tumbles and a puncture

Our first was Ron Fisher in Haughley, our second was Peter S-W approaching the A140 crossing, and our third was TomTom at the Dog crossroads in Norton, when all were stationary. Yes, amazingly these were all tumbles. Ron isn't quite clear how he found himself heading for the tarmac as we edged our way through a queue of traffic at roadworks in Haughley. He was on his own, at the front of the second group. My picture shows Justin fettling Ron's steed.

Poor Peter S-W got caught as the penultimate rider in the line as a 'hesitation' near the front as we singled out for a following car was magnified (as on motorways) as it moved back to become an emergency stop. TomTom would rather not discuss his incident. It is a sad fact that the slowest of falls is still capable of inflicting pain. Sharon mentioned the 'Commando Roll' but it takes practice to learn how and presence of mind to remember to put it into practice. I vividly remember Brian Starr losing his balance as we all stood around in the Square at Cesenatico waiting for our guides to arrive. He fell, yes, but disconnected his other foot as he went down, rolled away from his bike and stood up in one smooth movement.

Our destination was Wickham Market, and the excellent Café that has taken over from the excellent lady who used to run it and who now has another café - tiny, but excellent - near the far corner of the Market Square. We rode through beautiful autumnal countryside on tiny lanes of TomTom's choosing. I was keenly aware that I should be taking some autumnal pics for the 2012 Calendar (did I mention that before?) but I've come to realise that I have far too many shots from the back of the bunch, and I'm reluctant to get into organising 'ambush' shots from ahead.

Excellent time at the Wickham Market Café. They coped well with 18 or so riders. Justin kept intoning "Café of the year Café of the year". I went for the two scone strategy to ensure sufficient fuel for the rest of the event/race/clubrun. The scones were just the correct side of firm - I'd say they weighed twice as much as last Sunday's at Mistley. So I had the equivalent of four. A senior moment (and at this point, because I've not mentioned it so far this year, I would like to point out that I aso have the option of blond moments making life twice as hazardous) I ordered an Espresso instead of a Cappuccino. Boy was I glad I made the error. It was without doubt the best Espresso I've had this year. Glynn, you should've been there.

It was getting a bit late when we left, and I compounded this by my tyre going down within 150 yds of the Café. Pretty rapid tube change despite the Conti tyre being very tight on the Mavic rim. I normally carry a device for levering tight tyres over rims, but I'd left it behind. Mark H whipped out something that impressed us all. It looked like an oversized crochet-hook with a large shank/handle. He was so swift that we didn't really get a chance to inspect it. Mark made it clear that he couldn't possibly take it out again, on the same principle that people used to think Sherpas observed with their Kukris - that should only be taken out in anger [a brief Google has established this as a myth. They're used for chopping wood as well as enemies] All Mark would confirm was that he bought it from Taurus Cycles in Cambridge in the 1980s.

We rode steadily, with a welcome tale wind all the way home - but somehow I didn't arrive until
after two o'clock. Justin and I had discussed this earlier, we feel that we must get home by one o'clock in general. Maybe we spend too much time sitting down in the Cafe?

An observation following this ride. Crashes take up more time than punctures. Having made that statement, here are a few more that you'll hear on a clubrun and during the tea stop. This is by no means a complete list, and contributions would be most welcome. Remember that these nuggets of wisdom are only ever expressed as absolutes. Just think about this recently published result of a comprehensive survey: a cyclist will develop five new strongly held beliefs for each year (after the first one) of regular club riding.

"Ride close, but not too close, faster, but not too fast, don't dawdle, slow down, junction, take care, keep going, keep moving, hole right, hole left, turn left, on the left, on the right, single out, line out, left front, right front, puncture, keep tight move in, move out, look behind, look ahead, do this at all times/not at all/never. No! Not like that, like this. Or this. Or that. And another thing to bear in mind at all times/when you're tired/ at the beginning of every ride/throughout a group ride/when on your own/riding a two up, when you're training, don't over train, get the miles in, no substitute for mileage,train smart not long, running ruins your riding, cross-training gives you flexibility, always/never stretch before/after exercise, your saddle's too high/low, did you know you were lopsided on the bike? Did you know your brake blocks are back to front/your tyres should be the other way round, your levers are too high/too low, your 'bars are too wide/narrow? Riding in the rain improves your sex life, racing saddles make you impotent, you shave your legs to look like a racer, facilitate massage/make wound dressing easier, because your mates do it, it's more aerodynamic, always/never have a good meal before and/or after a ride,a dump before your ride will save more weight than a carbon fibre bottle cage - or frame."

SJH

Mistley Morning 30 October 2011

It was a good idea to mark the going back of the clocks. There were choices - well, I suppose there were just two. Start a ride at the old time (in numbers terms) so you begin an hour earlier without getting up any earlier - or, more bracingly, get up an hour earlier and get two hours ahead of the day. This second option would yield brownie points for an early return to base. Paul callow had selected the first.
And so it was that eleven of us assembled on the forecourt of Cracknell's Garage in Thurston, picking up TT at Beyton Green and heading for Mistley for tea (not breakfast, because we would be arriving around 10 o'clock) Paul had warned the Quay Café that ten of us were on our way - though in the end we were a dozen. The sun was shining, in defiance of the weather forecast which had promised varying degrees of cloud.

Unlike the larger more widely publicised event back in September, we had the benefit of TomTom as our guide. I had mentioned the importance of keeping our ManNav within earshot, but this had fallen on deaf ears. Around Preston we were to turn left for Brent Eleigh. Three or four were off the front without a care in the world. Action would be needed if we were to avoid going straight on to Lavenham. TT and I were not minded to chase up the road. They were still within earshot - but only with suitable volume. Mark H had both the volume and the strength to close the gap, but wisely chose only to use the former. This did the trick.

Groups off the front unaware of the gap will always be a problem on club runs. Riders are reluctant to look round - sometimes I suspect lack of confidence or, in the case of older riders, lack of flexibility to turn the head or twist the back sufficiently. So not a lot can be done - unless we all fit rear view mirrors.

A confession. For a while, back in the eighties I had a mirror on my bike. In my defence, it was the eighties. Small, circular 2" in diameter slightly convex for wider view. Used it on a charity ride from Aberystwyth to Cambridge (where I lived at the time) with ten friends - I say "used it", but really I just didn't bother to take it off. Won the sprint for the England sign, not because I was any better a sprinter than I am now, just because I could see what was happening behind whilst appearing not to know or care.

At Brent Eleigh we went for the left turn at the foot of the descent and through the gap in fence to go straight across the A1141. Peter H, keen to prove a point hammered round the other way to (just) beat us. I still prefer the straight across crossing to the right turn - and there's some excellent medieval architecture to enjoy onn the way.

Up to Milden, down to Boxworth. Another gap-in-a-fence crossing and straight on through Stone Street, avoiding the particularly vicious traffic-calming strips made from granite blocks! (is this a witty reference to the name of the village?). We seemed to be making good progress, but my technology disagreed. Obviously the energetically fast bits were balanced out by the slowing down and waiting for others bits. There was some muttering to the effect that we might as well be wearing race numbers. Sometimes I found myself in the front group and at others I was at the rear. And do you know what? Wherever I was, it always seemed to be the most sensible position to be.

The cloud began to take over as we crossed the A12 and approached Dedham, though there was still some sunshine to be had. 10.10am and we're in the Quay Café. 33 miles, under two hours. No records broken.
The room is as atmospheric as last time, and we are made very welcome. After a moment or two, an alert and fast-talking girl took our drinks orders. Time passed. Deane was regaling us with tales of the TransAm Trail, its trials and tribulations. He was in a relaxed mood, shared much with us and, as the photos showed made us laugh. This might not be the version that the Club will get when he gives the promised Talk. (You did promise didn't you, Deane?) We got glimpses of the inside track, the failings of others - usual stuff. More time passed.
Drinks began to arrive and, in the fullness of time, cups. The cups didn't arrive all at once in a confusing rush like some places we use. Nice big teapots. We at the end of the table got a huge one between four of us, and by the time the cups arrived the tea was nicely brewed. Guessing that I am not a lover of really, really hot tea (a nice touch, this) by the time the waitress had asked me if I needed a cup, and had managed to find one - and brought it to the table - the beverage was perfect drinking temperature. Attention to detail like this is rare.
Evidently, the staff had taken in that we were absorbed in conversation, and that it might be intrusive to attempt to take our order; so they waited for a prompt from Peter. Peter does good prompts, so it was less than fifteen minutes later that our orders for food were taken. 8 x Scones, 2 x bacon sandwiches, 2 x beans on toast.
Time passed.
The scones could be seen on a table - but finding jam was proving a bit of a problem so, perfectionists as they are proving to be, the staff were reluctant to deliver an incomplete item. The scones, when complete with jam and (where applicable) butter were certainly fresh and crumbly. Possibly if we had been the sort to find fault, the crumbliness might have featured as a failing. Exhibit 'A' is Paul's scone after an attempt to apply butter and jam. Now it may well be that Paul is a vigorous chap with a scone if he's been kept waiting, but the bakery item in question does appear to have capitulated with rather more speed than expected. A spoon would have helped. The beans on toast arrived only a short while later (the challenge of getting toasted bread and heated beans to the same state of readiness should not be underestimated), while TomTom & I had plenty of time to throw down our bacon sandwiches while the other riders queued to pay. Excellent timing.
The return journey was fun. It was the ultimate yo-yo ride, tortoise and hare sort of thing. To begin with, as we headed north west to go under the A12, a front group led by Jonathan pulled away. This was expected and almost planned for. The other half(ish) carried on towards Hadleigh. Imagine our surprise (to reach for a handy cliché) when Deane cruised through to the front, gradually followed be the others of the 'Jonathan' group. They'd followed the road to the left and gone through East Bergholt village, thus ending up behind us. So we all stayed together(ish) up to and through Hadleigh where we branched right and headed for Whatfield and eventually Great Bricett, to skirt round RAF Wattisham via Ringshall and Battisford to Combs. The Tortoise and Hare bit was the front group dashing ahead, then waiting at the next junction for instructions - we'd ride straight through, they'd end up at the back again, ride through to the front, disappear, then wait at the next . . . . . .you get the picture. At Combs I had this idea that it would be qucker to go down to Combs Ford, take the cut-off left (Verneuille Avenue) then along to One House and Borley Green to Woolpit. The rest decided to stick with Jack's Lane to Gt Finborough. I later discover that different routes were then taken as the group split into ever smaller units. TomTom was a unit of one choosing to climb Rattlesden Hill to Woolpit. Tiger Tony (who'd been on fire all day) claimed to have got home one minute before me by sticking to Deane & Ron's wheels. But I maintain that I expended less effort going 'my way'.

We are indebted to Paul for suggesting and organising our jaunt. He fwd'd an email from the Café which apologised profusely for the lapse in standards (slightly undercutting the apology by suggesting that they expected to do 'just cakes' and implying that we'd ambushed them with demands for breakfast - two Bacon butties and two beans on toast)

SJH

Wednesday 26 October 2011 : Déja vu but not as you knew it

"GRANPAAAA!! "

We live opposite the playground here in Norton. We can hear the shouts and laughter as children run, jump and swing and chase, and call, shout and (occasionally) scream for the attention of their attendants, "MUUM!" "DAAD!"

After the infants come out of school, they assault the equipment, overseen by mothers mainly. I can see them from the table where I'm writing this blog, during term time. Often preoccupied by discussions with other mums, or busy with Blackberries (these days, there is only one sort - and not the fruit of the bramble) or Apples (fruit of the late Mr Jobs' fertile brain, and not the forbidden kind). The change this week is that the cries are and shouts are for Grandparents, and they can be heard for most of the day. This means it is half term. And that means that we may have to modify our tea stop, to avoid the crowds of families roaming the countryside in search of diversion and sustenance for their offspring. One direct Half-term effect was the appearnce of Josh, Johnnie and Will to shake us up a bit several of the Wednesday regulars are more than fifty years ahead of these youngsters (and one us has a sixty-year 'advantage').

Justin had a strategy to cope with the yummy mummy take-over of tea stops. Down town Haverhill. He told us that Déjavu was just the place. It would feel familiar, he assured us. "As if we'd been there before", he added.

There was some muttering and unflattering stereotyping, talk of getting a police escort - that sort of thing. We concentrated on Justin's promise of the beautiful countryside that cradled this Cinderella town. Nineteen of us set off. Everyone got clipped in and no one fell off (sorry to bring that up again Sharon). Our first mishap was Barry getting a puncture. This was also a piece of luck, as we were but few hundred yards from his house. He opted to walk home and change the wheel. I suggested that with all his cyclo cross experience he ought to be running with his bike over his shoulder and, to his credit, he did just that. But before I could get out my camera he had given up, so my picture just shows him in the act of putting his bike down again After about ten minutes we set off down the hill to Sicklesmere and tackled the ascent through Gt Welnetham. I was taking a chance on my 66" fixed, and there was no problem keeping up (at this stage). There would be a fair bit of climbing to do over the next twenty or so miles.
We stopped sometime later, for Barry to pump up both his tyres. Justin (see photo) staged a sit down protest (possibly as a belated tribute to the Tour de France protest all those years ago. Shortly after this, Soren Sjolin abandoned and headed home. Johnny Sjolin was unmoved. Johnny was just one of our crop of half-term youngsters, the others being Josh & Will. The age gap between youngest and oldest riders on this run stands at 62 years!
After Hawkedon, we do the long climb to Poslingford, and my lack of fitness is exposed. Once the steepest parts are are over, fixed wheel comes into its own. It is comparatively easy to increase speed once the incline becomes less severe - much easier than on gears.
Next we pass through Clare, and follow the main road almost to Baythorne End, turning right onto the tiny lane (through Wixoe) that cuts off a section of what used to be the A604 - which road we rode through Sturmer "Sturmer Pippin" I muttered to myself, wondering who else might know about the apple connection. John Dumont rolled alongside, "Sturmer Pippin" he murmured.
And so to Haverhill. We follow the through route, past the backs and car parks of the businesses plying their trade in the centre, the turn left and ride cautiously back south along Queen St, now a paved, pedestrian area. Then, as we passed someone sitting on a mobility scooter outside a shop with his chums we heard
"oi!!"
"You're not allowed to ride bikes on the pavement!"
Then I heard Tiger Tony shout back
"So what, you've got four bloody wheels!"
and the reply
"Oh, clever f**k*r are yer?
Well, as we could've told him, yes he is. And quick-witted with it.
Welcome to Haverhill, someone muttered, as we parked our machines outside Déjavu - making sure that they would be visible from the Café windows. There was loud music, and a smell of frying - but they had cakey stuff, and flapjacks, and the service was swift. We paid as we ordered, and the order was delivered without the need to tell them where we would be. It was, overall, a different experience. I mentioned to Justin that the one thing missing from our previous tea stops was, I now realised, music. Justin summoned a waitress across.
"My colleague was wondering if you could find radio three for him"
Her startled response was lost in the general hubbub.

When we emerged, still discussing a best route home, we noticed that a funeral cortege was slowly winding round the church, which was only 100yds away. The hearse stopped. A piper began a lament. Quite a large crowd had gathered on the pavement opposite. We waited. Should we risk running the gauntlet of a large crowd of grieving mourners, and be considered disrespectful, or take an alternative route? The piping ceased. Nothing much seemed to be happening. A car or two drove down the road, Justin took the initiative. We rode slowly, respectfully, not catching anyone's eye (think tip-toeing, but on a bicycle) - noting that the coffin, draped in the blue and white flag of Scotland, was still in the hearse - and made our escape from a potentially embarrassing situation. Also pleased to escape was Graham Smith who's Social Services work bring him to this area, and who was anxious not to be recognised. He kept on his sunglasses and under-helmet skullcap throughout.

Farewell Haverhill.

Route home began via Keddington and Hundon, but then went right, back down to Clare and up to Poslingford. Personally I'd have preferred to have gone down to the left to Stradishall, and the less challenging route that we used to use back in the day, when Stradishall café (up by Highpoint Prison) was our regular stop. But enough whinging, I didn't mind at the time - it was only as we climbed Poslingford Hill that I realised that the game was up. Not yet fit enough for fixed, it would seem.

Everyone was waiting just outside Stansfield, and we remained regrouped until the climb up from Hawkedon towards Rede, when TomTom and I were once again distanced. We hitched up with young Josh, who had had a puncture, plus a slow puncture which was sabotaging him. He went straight on to Bury when TT & I went up to Whepstead. The bunch, we later heard, maintained a furious pace all the way home, with the half-term lads Will and Johnnie providing most of the fuel along with, it should be added Tiger Tony the Speedy Septuagenarian

TT & I tottered home at an increasingly slow pace. But weather had been with us, brilliant sunshine, glorious autumn colours. All of that. Suffolk, God's Own County

SJH

Sunday 23 October 2011. A gentle geriatric saunter through Suffolk

I joined Tony, Justin and TomTom on Sunday for a relaxed sort of a ride. Discussed tactics, hoping to avoid stopping anywhere that might be overrun by cyclists. TT proposed the Tea Room at Alder Carr Farm, Needham Mkt., and also undertook to navigate us there.

As always with cyclerides, it's not the 'getting there' but the twists, turns, rises and descents that turn a journey by bike into a proper ride, and TT can be relied upon to provide that ingredient. General Stowmarket direction, then Combs Ford and up to Combs with a left turn towards Battisford then the lane to Barking Tye which involves the ascent of Hascot Hill one of three hills in Suffolk with a 'chevron'. (A single chevron is 14% to 20% . Two chevrons mean a leg-testing 20% and over. But then you already knew that) Hartest, Hascot and that lane that rears up from that other lane which is the one that runs parallel to the A1141, on the south side of the river Brett and parallel with Monks Eleigh. (Does anyone out there know of more?). Mike Bowen has clocked it at 13% with his technology. I wonder who is right? Let's not quibble over 1%. It's that old Tory favourite, the Short Sharp Shock.

Off we go Offton-wards to Somersham where left on the stunning and tiny lane to Baylham. Much easier the way we were going (mostly a descent) Than the more usual route up from the Needham - Blakenham road. With blue skies, and sunshine streaming through the trees (still in leaf) dappling the lane and its central strip of grass with little pools of light, this was close to heaven.

Alder Carr Farm recently renovated the small barn which used to house the food retailers, sausage sellers and cheese mongers during their Farmers' Markets. It is now a warm and welcoming place with white walls and the natural shades of the exposed timber. Fabulous cakes on display beside large and welcoming scones (plus a glimpse of a waitress's dumplings, or so I am told) warmly greeted us . We settled at a table in the sunshine, and basked in the comfort and calm of it all. TomTom confided that he had discovered a 'new' lane. He described it - just out of Bildeston on the Hadleigh rd you take a left turn and it takes you up towards Naughton - and Was able to say that I had ridden this same lane on Wednesday the 12th, in the opposite direction. I felt a similar surge of elation to that experienced by Peter when took TT along a lane that our very own human satnav had never ridden.

Suddenly, we saw a cyclist - not just any cyclist, this was Magic Mick Madgett of Diss. And he had with him his merry men, including the willowy Windy Millar lad in my photo below. I urge you to double-click on this image, and then again, and check the expression of the beardy guy in the background.

So we ended up in place full of cyclists after all, but as you can see it was convivial. After consuming scones and bakewell tart (the latter still warm from the oven) and dealing with a lack of extra hot water - Tony assuming the role of Peter Heath, the Scourge of the Tearoom - we set off through sunshine (now I am aware that the sunshine is getting rather a lot of mentions here, but you really should've been there - it really had to be said) going up to Stowupland, and home via Haughley, Wetherden, Upper Town and Norton. At the Norton Dog crossroads, as my three chums debated the next stage of their journey TomTom announced loud and clear
"Well I'm going straight"
As we all absorbed this concept, I offered to inform the media of his life-changing decision. I only mention this to give you a flavour of the cut and thrust that has been an essential ingredient of this Sunday Outing.

Home by one o'clock with a restrained 42 miles on the under the belt. Next week finally I will attempt to keep up with the fast guys on the Espresso. If the weather's good, it'll be best bike just to make sure. Today was on 66" fixed, and an unalloyed joy. The big decision will be what to ride on Wednesday. And you thought that pottering about on the Suffolk lanes was simple.


SJH

Wednesday 19th October 2011. Where to begin?

Yes, where indeed. So let's begin at the beginning which is, in fact, when it started to go . . . wrong? pear-shaped? There could in fact be a case for saying that the ride began to go wrong before it had properly begun at all. There were 21 of us enjoying the sunshine outside The New Green Centre in downtown Thurston, talking amongst ourselves, when Peter called us to order and announced that he had a plan. Justin Wllace and Mark Harris had sections of the route to enable the plan. We were to go the National Trust tea room at Wicken Fen.
Mark Harris has, in the last few weeks of being a regular Mercrediste acquired enough local expertise to suggest that we use his normal route of Heath Rd and over the railway line to join the cycle path to Bury, brushing aside Justin's reservations about the road surface with a robust riposte and a loud laugh.
It can take quite a while to get 21 riders riding. Conversations at the back of the class can mean that some won't realise that the leaders are already in the saddle and heading down the road. Some will still be busy texting, and have a message to finish. As I was near the station car park I could still see several red jerseys up at the NGC. Right at he island, past the Post Office (and our dear old Bus Stop rendezvous) to hang a right into Heath Road. A polite gentleman unwittingly held open the crossing gate for a cyclist - and got stuck with another nineteen.
Did you spot something there? rider missing? yup. Sharon fell off her bike while starting out, leapt back on, gave chase, went the wrong way, couldn't see anyone - texted a chum in the group who shouted to the ride that we lacked a rider. We wondered what had been said, what was the delay. Gradually the news filtered to the front, plus a probably garbled account of the measures being taken to reunite Sharon with the group. By now we were spread fairly evenly between the crossing and the main road which made communication even more difficult. I think (maybe unfairly) that there was an element of confusion about where we were in relation to the errant Sharon. Whatever the reasons, we lost at least twenty minutes. The front riders had obviously been champing at the bit, because once we were under way a pretty vigorous pace was set along the cycle path. Justin did a good impression of one of the Cesenatico cycle guides by standing in the road as we all crossed at the Rougham junction. On, on, on! (copyright Gino Ginelli).
Down Mount road, two cars overtake, and do the unfortunately usual (these days) manoeuvre of charging at an oncoming motorist forcing him to stop. Then we see the stationary traffic. The next two cars to overtake obviously haven't absorbed this, swerving in and stopping just in time for us to swerve out ride past them. Crazy. Why the queue? A bus has hit a taxi and a car and swerved into a wall in Mustow street. (I later discover that this happened at 07.20 bus driver unhurt, Taxi driver with chest injuries.) Justin negotiates with the policeman at the junction for permission to proceed as far as the turn to Ram Meadow, and a wiggle through the back lanes to Northgate St., and On, on, on.
The energy at the front shows no signs of calming down as we rip up to Barrow - Ron & Tricia on the front. They now have the bit between their teeth, not responding to gasped requests to ease the pace a bit. Through Denham, left to Ousden. Reach Ousden and wait - half our number are missing. Julia opts for continuing on her own (for a ride without interruptions, no doubt). After 10-15 minutes, we have regrouped. It's not entirely clear what the problem was; it seems to have been a mixture of mishaps & mechanicals. We set off to descend through the village. If only it could be that simple; a small truck appears from the left, and Sharon, Dawn, Tony, Garry, Rob and your correspondent have to wait. As we six finally join the road, Garry (who took part in a sponsored 'side to side' ride earlier this year) tells me that he thinks his saddle might have dropped down a bit because he hit a bad pothole, and could I tell him if his rear tyre looks soft? We roll along towards the descent then notice that the other 14 riders are quite a way ahead.
"We'll check your seat post when we regroup at the bottom "
I said, optimistically.
They didn't stop. Well, one of them (Chris Wiseman) did. Now, I'm the one writing this and even I have lost track of how many riders there are left. So let's just take a moment to go through this methodically:

We were 21 at the start.
At Ousden Julia J goes off on her own. We are 20 riders
Glenn Morris is missing (he quite often needs to be home early, so we don't worry - but maybe we should?***) Now we are 19 riders

The 'lorry-split' yields a group of 6 chasing 13.
At the Cropley Grove cross roads we six meet Chris Wiseman, who's waiting to take Sharon & Dawn right, down to Dalham and home. So that makes 4 chasing 12.
Except that, as I slow to hear what Chris is saying, Tony whooshes past leading the other three .
Which means that we are 1 chasing 3 chasing 12. Tony's pace is such that I can't close the gap. And he's just had his 77th birthday, for heaven's sake.

Now, only a few of the 12 know where Wicken is, and maybe 3 know a route to get there. I know both these things, but the three in front of me don't know either (To be fair Rob has an inkling, I later discover) so it is fortunate that the sharp-eyed Garry spots the group a quarter of a mile down the left turn signposted to Saxon St and Woodditton, which causes the three to pause which allows me to catch up. Regrouped, we start the chase. I miss the right turn to Broad Green and Saxon St, meaning we whizz down through Upend and then go right. Probably adds three miles. Writing this, I have OS map sheet 154 at my side. This is how I know how I went wrong (but got back on course)

Left in Saxon St, through Woodditton to Stetchworth where left at the pub down to Dullingham. At this point, on any ride in this direction, I imagine that we are pretty close to Swaffham Bulbeck (we're usually going to Anglesey Abbey) This time, however, I notice that it is five and a half miles, so must be at least fourteen to Wicken. I don't say anything. The wind is quite strong - but that's OK because so are Tony and Garry. I tried doing a turn alongside Garry before Woodditton, but had to give up, Tony steamed past to take over. Still a long way to go, perhaps I'll recover? Or get worse? And get dropped again? Read on to find out. On, on, on.

Once across the A1304, there's a bleak, exposed and undulating couple of miles to Swaffham Bubblepack, then right to Swaffham Prior then left onto the locally-notorious Upware Fen Rd. This suffers from the subsidence inevitable when you cross a bog (or Fen). Great cracks appear, sections drop by an inch or so. Without a good lookout this can be a wheel smasher. I organise a chain gang, since we now have a full head wind; after a few changes we begin to get a rhythm, with just under 1mph difference between the 'up' and the 'down' files. Poor Garry's sub-optimal seat post height takes its toll. He starts to miss turns, then pulls over to make the adjustment. "How far to the Café ?" asks Rob, hopefully
(I haven't a clue) "Could be as much as four miles, I'm afraid"
"Oh, only it's twenty to twelve already"
(I've just checked the map, and it was actually just over five) We arrive at the Café at about ten to twelve, to a warm welcome and some good natured badinage. They've only beaten us by ten or fifteen minutes. We feel quite heroic, and Tony (pictured left) actually was - still pulling through strongly, right to the end. At one stage I pointed out that he and I, the oldest riders, were doing most of the work. That woke the other two up, who came powering through to take up the chain again (a chain reaction?)

After scones (made to order. Peter Heath's order) and tea we set off for home. Of course, being this ride, we got split by the traffic when joining the road through Wicken - but had re-grouped by the village boundary (we must be learning). The fast (for cars) road to the roundabout south of Soham is best taken lined out, and Mark H put in a powerful cafe-fuelled turn on the front, some of us finding this a bit painful. After Fordham we did Chippenham, Red Lodge & Tuddenham. Pulling out at Tuddenham (always a bit tricky, with only 20yds visibility to the left) Mark moved across with two others, I launched only to hear Mark shout "NO!!". I had reached the white line in the middle, and saw a truck coming from the left. I stopped. He stopped. I got eye contact, waived an acknowledgement, and moved on, followed by the rest of the ride. It's all part of going for a bike ride.
When we reached the other side of Cavenham, where the ride turned left to Lackford, Mark and I went straight on to Poor Man's Heath. I wanted to test a theory that it was quicker/shorter to go via Bury, and Mark was going home to Gazeley. Because it was by now nearly two o'clock I thought that I should phone home. No signal. What? I could see the water tower 400yds away, its rim cluttered with mobile phone transmitters! When I got to Thurston, and the end of Heath Rd., where I cross and go through the barrier and up past the school, I glanced to my left. There they were, the rest of the bunch just entering the 30mph zone (all over the road, of course). So that's that settled . It makes no difference in time; it's down to how you feel, whichever route takes your fancy. Total miles for me 75. An interesting ride, and at least I didn't have to sit at the laptop desperate for inspiration. Thanks guys.

SJH

*** Update on Glenn. He stopped for a pee at Saxham - I remember this, he rode off the front to do so and we passed him as he was just dismounting, (which always happens when riders try this manoeuvre). He didn't get back on (this was bad luck, and seldom happens). I have never thought it a good idea to attempt to ride off the front for a pee (and haven't worked how you put in the effort required if you're desperate) apart from Glenn's misfortune, there can be times when other riders will mistake your move for an attack, and join you. And then they'll be really confused when you stop. And if you don't realise that they're there, and suddenly stop . . . then you could have a stack-up. Best Practice is to ride to the front and have a word. The group will stop. Others, who were too bashful to mention the subject, will take advantage of the stop and be grateful that you took action. But anyway Glenn . . . Sorry mate.