Espresso Ride(s) 13 March 2011. "Its a Ride of Two Halves"

Weather's warmer outside, though I still pile on my entire 'New Wheelers' wardrobe. Weather forecasts have been a bit pessimistic this last week – refusing to acknowledge that it's actually sunny, promising (threatening?) rain that doesn't arrive. Perhaps this is a new policy, to bathe the nation in a glow of pleasant surprise, thus equipping us to march forward to the New Dawn of the Big Society. Perhaps it isn't.

I confess to not having done a careful count of how many we were this morning, but the figure of 21 was mentioned, which triggered Justin to announce that we should split into two groups. Now, I have a hankering for the days of playground games, when the two leaders would choose their teams and there was always the same child left until last. But this is the 21^st century, and we are mostly grown ups, so there is a show of hands (like votes for strike action and the 70s). Justin proposed that he would lead an ascetic group that wouldn't stop for tea, leaving the rest of us (10) to make our own arrangements. We watched the Eating Disorder Group ride off, and went in the opposite direction (in every way). We thought we'd go to Cavendish (too close, apparently – even though I pointed out that it depended on the route) or to Castle Hedingham (too far, and even I couldn't argue against that. If the shortest route is still too long, that's it) or Semer (which is also too close if you want to be like that, but can be made further away with careful use of detours).

We, of the Café Faction were: Deane, Glynn, Graham, Ron, Tricia (raring to go after her 59 minute ride in the Club 21 mile Hilly TT) Julians Long and Colman, SJH, young Josh (on his first Cappuccino) and a guest appearance from Mark Harris, erstwhile Voice of Discipline and regular rider, though a rarer (but welcome) sight these days. We set off up Horsecroft lane, and kept on course through Shimpling up past the top of Hartest Hill, down to Stansted, up to Glemsford right to Cavendish (see? It was too close) and sort of Pentlow direction. I was partly responsible for our taking a right fork just outside Cavendish which takes one up a very (to me) steep hill, then a left at the top and through to Foxearth. The winding and fast road through this charmingly-named village is always a blast, and continues for two or three miles, to the point where we cross the old Sudbury Rd. Checking all this on my O/S map sheet 155, I have more than the usual difficulty reconciling the remembered route with the lanes and roads on the map. Then I realise that it's the 1974 edition. Sudbury hasn't moved, nor any of the other settlements. We haven't acquired a 'New Cambourne', for instance. But the roads are a very different matter. At the top of Sheet155 there is the A45, running (thundering) through Beyton and Stowmarket, no A14 in those days. Anyway, let's cut to the chase as we ascend the rise that takes us to the junction with the NEW Sudbury road (for the eagle-eyed and pedantic, there isn't a 'new' Sudbury. It's just a new road to the existing Sudbury. But you knew that. I'll get on with the story). which we cross and weave our scenic way through Acton and upwards to the Lavenham - Sudbury road, which we cross into a 'by road' that Suffolk speciality (I'm sure it's not an exclusively Suffolk classification - but we do have a nice lot of them) with a sign saying 'Washmere Green'. Julian C, who has been navigating so far, says "NO!" and then elaborates "we need to go left to Lavenham, this is only a By Road, and might not go anywhere". I have to confess to dissension at this point. I proposed that, in the spirit of adventure, we should give the little road a chance. I think that I carried the day - everyone followed - and we rode off in what turned out too be a rather worryingly persistent right handed curve. We just might end up back on the main road. But no, after a couple of miles we joined the B1115 in the Monk's Eleigh direction (taking the little lane which runs parallel to and south of the main road and is marked Swingleton Green on the map - passing the tiny lane to the right which goes up, with a 'chevron' graded ramp, towards Milden) then up the sharp Clay Hill to our social interaction point of choice. Hollow Trees Farm Shop & Woodlands Café. Chloe served us with the efficiency and amiability that we always appreciate. Deane sat back in his chair and declared with a contented sigh that "This is what it's all about". And we all agreed, and congratulated ourselves on the wisdom of our decision to include a stop. The photo shows Tony Panting's elder brother Peter, and his Glendene CC chums enjoying a rather more basic tea break. Peter Panting's hand clasps what looks like a pair of scones. That knitwear, those caps; is it too late to get Paul Callow to change our order for club caps?

After this smug interlude we descended Semer Hill and took the simplest route back via Bildeston and Hitcham, taking the left for the lanes route to Buxhall. Deane was about 200 yds ahead, with Josh (who managed very well on his first Espresso) glued to his wheel. Our shouts - and they were many and loud - had the desired effect eventually of getting them to turn back and rejoin us. Ah yes... the old 'left turn trick'. What fun it can be. I forced a curlicue on the route at Buxhall and we went to Rattlesden and up to Drinkstone. At an early point on the little detour, Deane said (without a contented sigh) "We're going back on ourselves here" "yes" I agree "maybe so, but it doesn't matter"

I have achieved a modest 55 miles - but am home at the surprisingly early time of 12.40. Waiting for me in the garage is Richard Stiff's 'Flandria'. It is there for assessment, with a view to purchase. But that's another story. Check out the Blog about the 'Pearson Saga'. Why is it that when I'm home early, wife and daughter are out shopping?

Discover, to extreme annoyance, that my spectacles are missing. Last used at Blooms at tea time, they would have been in the dark grey plastic case you can see on the right of my "all you need for a ride" photo. Phoned Blooms, nothing found. The helpful lady walked from her office to the Cafeteria, and even to our table (I could hear her heels click-clacking on the floors as an accompaniment!). Possibility they would have been swept into a bin bag unnoticed. Damn.

PS. Had an email from Tricia - "I thought today's ride was one of the loveliest I've been on. The group size was right & we kept together, pace was just right, no punctures & everyone was chatty & friendly"

Perhaps I should ask which ride she was on?

SJH

Espresso 6 March 2011. To Tea or not To Tea?

First Espresso of March, so here's a seasonal mad March hare. I set off in good time – don't want to cut it fine like last week – and find that the cold is just awful. One of those mornings when I spend most of the seven and a half miles to Cornhill wondering why I'm doing this to myself. Why does it feel SO cold, when the numbers aren't that alarming? I mean, it's only just below freezing at Norton. How short can I decently make this ride? How soon could I claim an imperative obligation to be home – entertaining relatives, doing chores? Just as I arrive in Bury I notice the empty bottle cage. Aha! Help is at hand. Keep that one up my sleeve, and play it early. Rehearse anger and frustration at missing the ride . . . . Then the others arrive, and soon we are thirteen. Justin, Adi, Pauls Callow and Barry, Jonathans Howe and Sjolin, Jeremy Waterson, Glynn, Deane, Ron Fisher, Mike Bowen, Glenn Morris and Self. The mood is relaxed, and we agree on a sort of Bressingham, though Justin keeps mentioning somewhere called Winfarthing. I'm feeling better about this. Then I remember – Damn! I don't have a bottle!

As we set off along Mount Rd, and it's apparent that we're heading towards home (mine) I put in a request to Justin for us to swing by Blogger HQ and pick up a bottle. Mike Bowen immediately offers one of his. Some time later he tells me how to open the nozzle. We avoid, as has become the habit, the cyclepath from The Flying Fortrss pub to the Rougham crossroads. Now this is a shame. I know why it began, it was at the beginning of January that the path was gritted with sand containing a very high proportion of flints. I had three punctures in the first two days of the year, and I wasn't the only one. No one has dared use it again – except me, that is. I've used it for the last three weeks with no problems and, though there is still some sand lying around, it can be easily avoided. I think that we should go back to using it. But if I suggest it, and manage to persuade the group to follow me, and someone gets a puncture (as could happen at any time in any case) I'd be in the merde.

We do the rotating leader thing, without really thinking about it, and it keeps us pretty neat and fairly tidy. We go via Wattisfield and Hinderclay, Knettishall and Freezen Hill – cross the A1066 and wiggle across to Shelfanger. There were one or two times when we split, but nothing too dramatic or long lasting. As we turned off at Shelfanger Justin called a halt, and there was a brief conference on route choices. He was going to take any who wanted on a loop via Banham (further North East) then a return without tea. The remainder of us would go back to Bressingham and have a pleasant break. I was of the tea-break faction and lead the way to Blooms with Jeremy (who didn't want to repeat his experience of a fortnight ago when he opted to join the five of us who 'rode through' and skipped the stop at Semer. He ran out of fuel big time.) Glynn, Deane, Ron, Glenn and Jonnie Sjolin. The Sensible Seven. We crossed Boyland Common, which Justin had warned us was a wild place. Was he ever right! On the bleak and muddy common itself, a scattering of small caravans was outnumbered by tethered horses of various sizes; all of the type favoured by Travellers. A couple of Jack Russell-ish terriers gave chase and one, misunderstanding the game, overtook us and sped ahead at 12mph. Close to the road a girl of about 12 was filling a small churn from a stand pipe, a wild-looking woman with long matted hair hollered at the the tiny hound (which froze in its tracks at the side of the road – as any creature on the receiving end of that voice would). There were no trucks or chaps – all out hare-coursing or totting no doubt. Deane was impressed and, as we waited round a corner at a safe distance (the group had split up) he said “how can they live like that?”. I reminded him of his bungalow days this winter, coping with no heating or water, “no, no, not that – I mean the environment, such a mess, how do they get away with it?”

We move on. Zig zagging across the network of tiny lanes that brought us back to Bressingham. Their displays of food are, these days, quite extravagant – as the pictures show. There's always time to make several different choices (I always seem to be behind a queue of cyclists). Those cakes, huge, generously-filled baguettes, plated salads, chocolate éclairs, short bread, biscuits, macaroons – all seem to be twice the size of the normal item, and begging to be chosen. And look, the little bottles of red wine, there's a cabernet-sauvignon as well as a merlot! But as ever, it comes down to a scone weighing half a pound, plus butter and jam. We sit and savour our sensible break, chatting about track-standing couriers in London (look, no hands) and the self-evident wisdom of our choice to stop. Glynn implies that Justin's group are all in mortal fear of being late home, and that thus we, self evidently, are the real men. He put it more pithily than that, I remember. Our civilised chat is interrupted by the arrival of the Cappuccini. Time to go. Ron opts for the gentler ride home and, now we are six, we head off across Redgrave Fen, past Thelnetham Windmill, and the splendidly-named Blo Norton, lined-out behind the hunched figure of Dynamo Deane (also known as Metronome Man). Jeremy was flagging by the time we reached Sapiston, and young Jonnie began to fade at Honnington – but hey, we got home nice and quickly.

I got home at 1.10 with 63 miles under my wheels. I later learn the Wallace faction (well, Justin, anyway) did 66 and were home by 1.00. But we'd had tea and social interaction.
SJH