I wasn't exactly late. The Moyses Hall Clock had reached, maybe, 6 out of the 9 chimes as I joined the large group of riders on Cornhill. I had a quick count, then asked (for confirmation) how many we were. 22 seemed to be the consensus. “So we ought to split into two groups” I suggested. This didn't go down well. There were mutterings.
In the absence of any suggestions, I offered Anglesey Abbey. No disagreement with that. “Two groups, a ten and a twelve!” was announced, and the first fifteen riders headed off down Risbygate with some urgency. The stragglers soon managed to catch up, though we seem to have lost a few, and there had been a cry of “puncture!” as we entered Out Risbygate (mind you, most shouts sound like 'puncture' at a distance; or 'easy up' or 'slow down'). I went to the front of the ride to advise. We slowed a bit; for a while, and there was mention of waiting (but we didn't really) Ben Mickleburgh asked were we were going to and we said Anglesey Abbey. He rode off ahead. We never saw him again. This wasn't going to be the best organised ride of the New Regime. In the interests of self-preservation, I stayed with the front group (which was now 'the group' comprising about 19 or 20 riders).
If there had been any lingering doubt about how things were going, it was removed when the first two riders on the front, wanting to change, free wheeled back, two abreast to the rear of the bunch. In our defence, I should mention that we were in pairs and pretty neat and tidy – at least until that incident. Whatever happened to the half-mile stints and rolling through that were a feature last week?
First (and only) puncture was at the top of Poor Man's Heath. Lucky rider: Graham Smith. In line with the new Guidelines we formed an orderly chicane by dividing ourselves into three groups on alternating sides of the (mercifully quiet) road.
I take us left just before Cavenham, down to A14 underpass near Kentford, left then right up to Gazeley. We have been rolling through for quite a few miles, with modest success (i.e. the eight riders at the front rotate amongst themselves) The Climb towards Gazeley can be a bit of a tough one – depending on the pace, of course. We thought that we were being fairly sensible. If I was still on, I thought, then it wouldn't be too fast. I was wrong – maybe it was something in the porridge this morning. As we neared Gazeley, we had a call that some were off the back. Communications working! We slow to something short of track stands, and some bright spark says “Are we lost?”. I thought this unworthy of comment, someone else replied that he didn't think that we were. Adi and Boyd Nicholas jump ship, citing the need to be home before 5pm (or something). The general opinion now was that we seemed to be a group of 18.
Going down into Dalham, straight through and up to the junction at the top where we went right towards Newmarket then left to Upend then working our way round to the south of Newmarket. We split into two at the top of Duchess Drive, when those who had a life to get home to followed Julian and peeled off to take their chances with Coffee & Co while the remaining 9 of us carried on towards AA. Those of you who did a variant of this route with me a while back will remember my shaky grasp of the distance between Dullingham and Lode (home to Anglesey Abbey). That time I said it was about 4 miles, and it turned out to be 9. I made the same error this time but I didn't actually tell people, I just thought to myself “perhaps it'll be shorter this time”. A bit like computer programs that won't work, but if you keep repeating the same routine enough times they suddenly do. Geography isn't like that, so we'd done thick end of 40 miles by the time we ran the gauntlet the Abbey crowds all eager for glimpses of snowdrops to join the queue for tea and cake. Re-reading that last bit, I notice that I've included my journey in to Bury so, with the exception of Richard Stiff (calendar collaborator and fellow Norton resident) the total was more like 33 miles for Bury -based riders. The displays of cake were intimidating, laid out on all sides. At least twice the amount normally offered; sufficient for a modest siege, in fact. The staff must 
have been hoping that the hordes in the gardens admiring the snowdrops would start to feel thirsty and (particularly) hungry quite soon. A few coins short of a fiver was at the high end of the range for a scone (even with excellent butter and jam ) and a cappuccino (with sprinkles). On last Thursday's Wednesday ride (it was a weather decision) at the excellent La Hogue, near Chippenham I paid just £3.20 for the same, and in fact the jam was better. However, this detail never deters me from coming here on a ride – the space is light and airy, with room for a ride of at least thirty and they have a Dyson Airblade hand dryer in the loo. What's not to like?
I assured everyone that the journey home would be flatter and shorter than the somewhat challenging outwards route. Darren Fowler, who had found the first section pretty tough, was comforted by this. I didn't say it would be totally flat nor even very short. Towards the end of a tough run, even speed humps can be a challenge.
Shortly before we reached Burwell, Darren was feeling the pace and said that he would find his own way home. I gave him an outline of the route I planned for us to take, then joined Ron Fisher at the front at the point where we turn right to go Exning, keeping the pace down. We thought that we still had Darren in tow, but I reckon that we lost him either on the rise towards the A14, or the little climb out of Exning towards the A152 Newmarket to Exning road. Then I had Glynn with me until the end of that little road from Chippenham, when Deane took over the front. The increase in speed was barely perceptible to begin with, but by the time we'd done Herringswell to Tuddenham I decided to let them go ahead. It's a surprising effect, easing up just that fraction. The pain slips away, you pedal with ease – and the group stays clearly visible for ages. This leads to two trains of thought. 
Why can't I just put in a bit of an effort and get back on? No more than 200 yds – why not? Well the answer lies in the reason you slipped off the back in the first place. You've blown. The second train of thought involves seething resentment, and an attempt concentrate all that emotion down the road as some sort of force field (I'm no physicist) that will cause anxiety in those heedless riders ahead, and cause them to slow down. But because you've blown, you'd drop straight off the back as soon as they resumed their previous pace. So you become resigned to your solo finish, and enjoy the comparative ease with which the pedals keep turning (fixed wheel is particularly good for this). I wonder if you went through these stages, Darren?
Home by 2.20, to lunch and bath. Heaven. But I do hurt. SJH
good to see it's business as usual
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