After a rather depressing forecast we did, eventually, get some sunshine. What had also been foretold by the man with the seaweed hanging in his office at the BBC , was wind. Pretty powerful west wind. This meant the Glenns' Assington proposal was off the agenda, and Ron Fisher and I suggested La Hogue via a version of one of Justin's routes that has proved popular this year when the wind has been in this quarter. We only need (would prefer) to have a tail wind on the final run home, so we enjoyed a mixture of cross and headwinds during which Ron and I engaged in polite conversation whilst, at the same time, attempting to destroy each other. This resulted in a draw by the time we reached Ousden. Those with the ability to freewheel and/or change up to a bigger gear (everyone except me) whooshed down the hill with ease. As it levelled, however, the wind was so strong that we were all pushing hard in a medium gear, and no advantage was gained by anyone.
A very welcome face was that of Ed Bucknell who, when he took a daytime job after years of the shiftwork he had previously enjoyed, said farewell to the Wednesday ride over a year ago. Less welcome, to him, was a puncture in Dalham - but those of us who stayed behind to help were treated to a very swift and elegant tube-change which demonstrated the importance of powerful thumbs. Another new-ish face was the guy called Guy, who is a GP (and has just coughed up and become a Wheeler). We have our brace of Orthopaedic surgeons, and our Paramedics for the more drastic events, but I feel that someone with the knowledge and experience born of years in General Practice will enable Dr Guy fully to appreciate all our many little niggles and minor ailments (minor, only in the inexpert opinion of spouses and partners, of course). He will be made extremely welcome - and never at a loss for someone to ride alongside him. Further ride personnel note: Josh Stuart was on his last Wednesday ride until half-term (or, possibly, the Christmas Hols).
Ron and I had thought we needed about 40 miles to La Hogue, and ended with (in my case) a sniff over 38. We thought this pretty good. Tea stop was as good as ever; I think that the only stop with more space is Blooms at Bressingham (or maybe Cavendish Tearooms). I'd like to digress slightly at this point, just skip to the next paragraph if you aren't up for a spot of autobiographical detail. In my childhood, we (my parents and I) lived in the North Cotswolds, and our nearest large town was Cheltenham, 25 miles to the south down the A46 (as it used to be called). When my mother used to take me shopping (or more correctly, when my mother went shopping and took me with her) we went to Cavendish House. A real old-style Department Store (but then this was in the early fifties, so everything when viewed from 2011 would be 'old-style') we have a photograph of a 7 year-old SJH standing next to Santa. They had, of course, a Cafeteria, or Tearoom and whenever I refer to the Cavendish Tearooms . . . . . . . .zzzzzzzzzzzzz
What?! Eh?! Ah! Yes! The return journey from La Hogue takes care of itself, the clubrun knowing the route no matter who is on the ride. Or so I thought until we reached the roundabout for the A11 interchange at Red Lodge. We went round the first, smaller, RAB without a hitch then hit the larger one and a couple of riders headed off to the left. Toward Norwich. Via the A11. There were shouts, and swerves as the error became obvious. Josh hit my back wheel. I used my (estimated) three stone (42lbs) to stabilise the situation. "You alright?" "yeah" "good" and that was it. But it had been only a day previously that the lead out man for LeopardTreck had swerved the wrong way at a roundabout in the final 500 metres (just think yards plus 10%) of a stage in the Vuelta. Nobody crashed in that incident either - but the guy on the wheel of the guy who went wrong had a job avoiding the barrier as he swerved the other way.
Having all stayed upright, we continued through what I think of as 'Toytown', the new housing development at Red Lodge, only to be overtaken by a small dark blue car (Fiesta, maybe?) with a ladder on a roof rack driven by a person with a problem with being slightly delayed by a bunch of bikies (this is in a 20mph limit) who, on reaching the first mini rab . . . . stopped. Just like that. Nothing coming from the right or left. No other traffic. Just stopped. We were a model of restraint and decorum, and merely shouted a few words of advice as he drove off. What ambassadors of cycling we are, eh?
As we headed towards Tuddenham, past Herringswell, the pace lifted a bit. After Tuddenham towards Cavenham, the pace became brisk. After Cavenham, and turning left towards Lackford, with the slight (but long) descent, the pace rose to 30mph after we had been passed by a tractor and trailer (which Ron, with gears jumped onto the back of). I gasped in every one's wake at 27mph ( did I tell you that I turned my wheel round?).
So, home in good time, and 65 miles under the belt. Tony Panting, however, had done an extra 14 miles before the start - and had been powering along on the front between Tuddenham and Lackford - and so would have scored around 80 miles. That man just can't stop piling in the miles, can he?
SJH
A very welcome face was that of Ed Bucknell who, when he took a daytime job after years of the shiftwork he had previously enjoyed, said farewell to the Wednesday ride over a year ago. Less welcome, to him, was a puncture in Dalham - but those of us who stayed behind to help were treated to a very swift and elegant tube-change which demonstrated the importance of powerful thumbs. Another new-ish face was the guy called Guy, who is a GP (and has just coughed up and become a Wheeler). We have our brace of Orthopaedic surgeons, and our Paramedics for the more drastic events, but I feel that someone with the knowledge and experience born of years in General Practice will enable Dr Guy fully to appreciate all our many little niggles and minor ailments (minor, only in the inexpert opinion of spouses and partners, of course). He will be made extremely welcome - and never at a loss for someone to ride alongside him. Further ride personnel note: Josh Stuart was on his last Wednesday ride until half-term (or, possibly, the Christmas Hols).
Ron and I had thought we needed about 40 miles to La Hogue, and ended with (in my case) a sniff over 38. We thought this pretty good. Tea stop was as good as ever; I think that the only stop with more space is Blooms at Bressingham (or maybe Cavendish Tearooms). I'd like to digress slightly at this point, just skip to the next paragraph if you aren't up for a spot of autobiographical detail. In my childhood, we (my parents and I) lived in the North Cotswolds, and our nearest large town was Cheltenham, 25 miles to the south down the A46 (as it used to be called). When my mother used to take me shopping (or more correctly, when my mother went shopping and took me with her) we went to Cavendish House. A real old-style Department Store (but then this was in the early fifties, so everything when viewed from 2011 would be 'old-style') we have a photograph of a 7 year-old SJH standing next to Santa. They had, of course, a Cafeteria, or Tearoom and whenever I refer to the Cavendish Tearooms . . . . . . . .zzzzzzzzzzzzz
What?! Eh?! Ah! Yes! The return journey from La Hogue takes care of itself, the clubrun knowing the route no matter who is on the ride. Or so I thought until we reached the roundabout for the A11 interchange at Red Lodge. We went round the first, smaller, RAB without a hitch then hit the larger one and a couple of riders headed off to the left. Toward Norwich. Via the A11. There were shouts, and swerves as the error became obvious. Josh hit my back wheel. I used my (estimated) three stone (42lbs) to stabilise the situation. "You alright?" "yeah" "good" and that was it. But it had been only a day previously that the lead out man for LeopardTreck had swerved the wrong way at a roundabout in the final 500 metres (just think yards plus 10%) of a stage in the Vuelta. Nobody crashed in that incident either - but the guy on the wheel of the guy who went wrong had a job avoiding the barrier as he swerved the other way.
Having all stayed upright, we continued through what I think of as 'Toytown', the new housing development at Red Lodge, only to be overtaken by a small dark blue car (Fiesta, maybe?) with a ladder on a roof rack driven by a person with a problem with being slightly delayed by a bunch of bikies (this is in a 20mph limit) who, on reaching the first mini rab . . . . stopped. Just like that. Nothing coming from the right or left. No other traffic. Just stopped. We were a model of restraint and decorum, and merely shouted a few words of advice as he drove off. What ambassadors of cycling we are, eh?
As we headed towards Tuddenham, past Herringswell, the pace lifted a bit. After Tuddenham towards Cavenham, the pace became brisk. After Cavenham, and turning left towards Lackford, with the slight (but long) descent, the pace rose to 30mph after we had been passed by a tractor and trailer (which Ron, with gears jumped onto the back of). I gasped in every one's wake at 27mph ( did I tell you that I turned my wheel round?).
So, home in good time, and 65 miles under the belt. Tony Panting, however, had done an extra 14 miles before the start - and had been powering along on the front between Tuddenham and Lackford - and so would have scored around 80 miles. That man just can't stop piling in the miles, can he?
SJH
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