Off to West Suffolk Hospital for a hearing check. For some reason (lost in the mists of time) I accepted the offer of an 8.15am appointment. On a Wednesday. Was I mad? Or did I mishear what the lady said?
D-lock strapped to carrier on trusty Pearson (rattles all morning - but I only hear it after the appointment) and off to bustling Bury. 5 minutes early. Not a soul at the clinic's workstation. 08:25 someone from adjacent discipline (dermatology) writes my name and the time plus appointment time on a scrap of card, and tells me, and the only other patient, that there would be a delay of about twenty minutes. No explanation or apology. She tells my that I should take a seat 'half way along the corridor'. Now (I promise this won't go on much longer, though it might seem to) I am user of dermatological services, and automatically went and sat in the usual place to see the skinman. The lady saw me do this but said nothing (maybe just thought 'silly deaf old fart')
Half an hour later a rather tetchy woman in a white coat thrust her face towards mine (I was reading the paper)
"Are you Stephen Hill? I've been calling for you for ages" she barked.
"Well I am hear to get my hearing checked" I retorted
"Well this isn't the Hearing Clinic!"
She replied, missing the irony completely. We got through our business quite quickly and, now re-tuned to the frequencies of twenty first century noise returned to Pearson patiently waiting (is that why we're called 'patients'?) in the bike park. Check mob for messages.
"Brandon Country Park" Peter's economic text advised.
How to get there with a minimum of main roads? I bumble around Bury for a bit, like a homing pigeon circling after release to pick up the route to loft and home, then set off along Thetford road to Fornham, and the road to Culford and West Stowe. Today it is closed for repairs - which is great for a cyclist. Turn left on the final corner of the time trial course (planning to via Icklingham then right towards Lakenheath) and, after a few hundred yards my eye is caught by a jumble of red splodges weaving about, some hundreds of yards ahead. Hooray, the Mercredistes, il Mercoledisti, my chums.
We follow the route that I had planned, though TomTom added a few refinements for greater interest. At the ever-difficult crossing of the A11, we are hailed by a cheery fellow in a pickup truck as we reach the other side. It is Steve Mayes our redoubtable meetings secretary, in his company vehicle, quite a contrast for a man normally seen on an immaculate Colnago or in his bright red speedy coupé.
The weather is cool and, until we leave the Café, cloudy. We enter Brandon from the north, which means joining the poor town's all-day traffic jam. It's a bit tricky to encourage 18 riders to make like couriers down the middle of the road (though I slip down the inside) so there is a block Wheelers pretending to be an articulated truck, inching up the High St.
The siting of the Country Park's Café is picturesque, surrounded at a respectful distance by trees.
The building is simple and functional, with much timber having been used. There is a snag, however. The food is very manufactured, all wrapped in cellophane, chilled and sparingly portioned. The price is not too high - but most of our favourites charge much the same for REAL food. It's a shame.
TomTom was going to offer riders a choice of route home - follow him on a scenic route of slightly greater length or go down the main road to Bury on their own. Option 'B' has no takers, so we work our way round to Croxton (I find this confusing, as a one-time Cambridge rider. There is a Croxton to the west of CB) which is north of Thetford, climb its sharp hill and speed our way to the town, round a few roundabouts, then out towards Tesco and Thetford Garden Centre thus picking up the standard route home (via that other duplicated settlement 'Brettenham') past Shadwell Estate which intrigues me, because of the London connection and Thomas Shadwell who was born at Santon. If you look on the OS map you'll see 'St Chad's Well' marked on the Estate. I had thought that there might be the sort of connection between titled landowners in the country giving their names to bits of London that they owned. Euston, for instance, and Tavistock Square and, er, Westminster.
All I know for certain is that the junction with the Thetford - Diss road is a pig when riding 72.5" fixed. There is a very real possibility of a silly tumble down the gradient if I have to stop and put my foot down where the road isn't. Junction successfully negotiated, we follow the well known route without incident. It was particularly good to see Peter S-W in our number, also Simon Wallace who was a member back in the early nineties (no relation to Justin Wallace, even though Justin has a son called Simon)and is coming back to cycling. Simon was riding a marvellously retro 'Concorde' frame complete with those strange Campag 'Delta' brakes. I could never see the point of these, because behind the slick alloy shroud there lurked very pedestrian-looking mechanicals. But I didn't say that to Simon (so don't tell him).
Next week, we must fend for ourselves, because TomTom and Justin are elsewhere and Peter wants volunteers to step forward with destination cafés and routes. It'll be interesting to see what happens - Glenn Morris has found a Café in Assington, but it will all come down to wind direction. Today (Tuesday 6th) has been very blustery from the SW, which would be fine.
SJH
D-lock strapped to carrier on trusty Pearson (rattles all morning - but I only hear it after the appointment) and off to bustling Bury. 5 minutes early. Not a soul at the clinic's workstation. 08:25 someone from adjacent discipline (dermatology) writes my name and the time plus appointment time on a scrap of card, and tells me, and the only other patient, that there would be a delay of about twenty minutes. No explanation or apology. She tells my that I should take a seat 'half way along the corridor'. Now (I promise this won't go on much longer, though it might seem to) I am user of dermatological services, and automatically went and sat in the usual place to see the skinman. The lady saw me do this but said nothing (maybe just thought 'silly deaf old fart')
Half an hour later a rather tetchy woman in a white coat thrust her face towards mine (I was reading the paper)
"Are you Stephen Hill? I've been calling for you for ages" she barked.
"Well I am hear to get my hearing checked" I retorted
"Well this isn't the Hearing Clinic!"
She replied, missing the irony completely. We got through our business quite quickly and, now re-tuned to the frequencies of twenty first century noise returned to Pearson patiently waiting (is that why we're called 'patients'?) in the bike park. Check mob for messages.
"Brandon Country Park" Peter's economic text advised.
How to get there with a minimum of main roads? I bumble around Bury for a bit, like a homing pigeon circling after release to pick up the route to loft and home, then set off along Thetford road to Fornham, and the road to Culford and West Stowe. Today it is closed for repairs - which is great for a cyclist. Turn left on the final corner of the time trial course (planning to via Icklingham then right towards Lakenheath) and, after a few hundred yards my eye is caught by a jumble of red splodges weaving about, some hundreds of yards ahead. Hooray, the Mercredistes, il Mercoledisti, my chums.
We follow the route that I had planned, though TomTom added a few refinements for greater interest. At the ever-difficult crossing of the A11, we are hailed by a cheery fellow in a pickup truck as we reach the other side. It is Steve Mayes our redoubtable meetings secretary, in his company vehicle, quite a contrast for a man normally seen on an immaculate Colnago or in his bright red speedy coupé.
The weather is cool and, until we leave the Café, cloudy. We enter Brandon from the north, which means joining the poor town's all-day traffic jam. It's a bit tricky to encourage 18 riders to make like couriers down the middle of the road (though I slip down the inside) so there is a block Wheelers pretending to be an articulated truck, inching up the High St.
The siting of the Country Park's Café is picturesque, surrounded at a respectful distance by trees.
The building is simple and functional, with much timber having been used. There is a snag, however. The food is very manufactured, all wrapped in cellophane, chilled and sparingly portioned. The price is not too high - but most of our favourites charge much the same for REAL food. It's a shame.TomTom was going to offer riders a choice of route home - follow him on a scenic route of slightly greater length or go down the main road to Bury on their own. Option 'B' has no takers, so we work our way round to Croxton (I find this confusing, as a one-time Cambridge rider. There is a Croxton to the west of CB) which is north of Thetford, climb its sharp hill and speed our way to the town, round a few roundabouts, then out towards Tesco and Thetford Garden Centre thus picking up the standard route home (via that other duplicated settlement 'Brettenham') past Shadwell Estate which intrigues me, because of the London connection and Thomas Shadwell who was born at Santon. If you look on the OS map you'll see 'St Chad's Well' marked on the Estate. I had thought that there might be the sort of connection between titled landowners in the country giving their names to bits of London that they owned. Euston, for instance, and Tavistock Square and, er, Westminster.
All I know for certain is that the junction with the Thetford - Diss road is a pig when riding 72.5" fixed. There is a very real possibility of a silly tumble down the gradient if I have to stop and put my foot down where the road isn't. Junction successfully negotiated, we follow the well known route without incident. It was particularly good to see Peter S-W in our number, also Simon Wallace who was a member back in the early nineties (no relation to Justin Wallace, even though Justin has a son called Simon)and is coming back to cycling. Simon was riding a marvellously retro 'Concorde' frame complete with those strange Campag 'Delta' brakes. I could never see the point of these, because behind the slick alloy shroud there lurked very pedestrian-looking mechanicals. But I didn't say that to Simon (so don't tell him).
Next week, we must fend for ourselves, because TomTom and Justin are elsewhere and Peter wants volunteers to step forward with destination cafés and routes. It'll be interesting to see what happens - Glenn Morris has found a Café in Assington, but it will all come down to wind direction. Today (Tuesday 6th) has been very blustery from the SW, which would be fine.
SJH
