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.

Wednesday 12 Oct 2011. In which sickness is doubted

Another of those days when the forecasts are dire, even for God's own County of Suffolk and yet we get a very pleasant morning's ride. We are thirteen at New Green Centre including Tom in his brand new full wheelers outfit (see photo). With no real destinational inspiration we opt for Hollow Trees at Semer. After all, this haven of tea and scones is accessible from most directions, and only the lack of a tailwind home would stop us coming here nearly every week. This week, the wind isn't that favourable, being rather more west than is ideal - but hey, we're tough cyclists and we can cope with whatever.

Rather early on (Buxhall in fact) I find that I'm having trouble keeping up, and I announce that I'll make my own way to the Café. Another solo meander through Suffolk lanes took me through Hitcham and, being on my own, I could explore a couple of dead-end lanes. Checked out Hitcham Church - another fine largely 15th century specimen - and then the lane signposted 'Hitcham House' . Beautiful well-manicured verges line the lane as it gently climbs to The Big House. I wondered how far up here the gate was. I didn't have to wait very long; a very clean BMW came down toward me, with a very smart lady at the wheel. The window came down ("ah" I thought "I've reached the no-go area")
"Can I help you?" said the very well-turned-out lady. It is a peculiarly British form of words, isn't it? There is of course absolutely no offer of help implied, unless it could be considered helpful to indicate the way out. I said that I was curious to see how far I was able to ride up this beautiful lane. The very smart lady (with a look that indicated that going too far wasn't an option) said "down the bottom, at the junction. It's a private road".

Maybe a sign down at the junction would reduce the amount of people curious to catch a glimpse of the house. I did catch that glimpse, but of course I am prevented by the 'get off my land act' from telling you anything about it.

And so to Semer, and a warm welcome. I take my beans on toast with pot of tea on the terrace, in the now-warm sunshine. I helpfully advise Chloe that the other dozen Wheelers are on their way - (but she knows already of course. Peter's been on the phone). Chloe then asks if my chums will be joining me, and then sets about wiping the tables. What service, Eh?

Tom Smith and Julia Jepson arrive a few hundred yards ahead of the field - so far ahead that they're out of my photo. They'd come up Semer Hill of course. A jolly and sociable time in the Autumn sunshine follows. For the return Tomtom takes us south through Kersey then a southward loop via various Lidseys and up to Monks Eleigh, using the marvellous network of lanes that fills the area bounded by the B1115, A1141, A1071 and A134 (though the western end nearest to Sudbury has fewer roads). It was during this return journey that I felt a return of some of my energy. My tactical error was not to keep this quiet. I could/should have lurked around the rear of the bunch all the way home, just 'feeling better' rather than gravitating to the front and expending my new-found well-being in a rather high-profile manner. And so it was that, when I peeled off at the end, there were mutterings about mysterious improvements in health, and accusations of lead-swinging at the start.

All I can say is that there was absolutely no connection whatsoever between my fluctuations in performance and the st*r**ds that were perfectly legally prescribed for a recognised medical condition. No really. All malicious fabrication by dark forces.

Great to feel a bit better, though.

SJH

Sunday 9 October. I wandered lonely as a cloud . .

. . . . . . that floats on high o'er vales and hills . Well I was alone, but not lonely. I had my bike for company as I floated o'er the Suffolk lanes - having been abandoned by the chums who were due to make up a ride this Sunday morning. There had been a spot of rain first thing, nothing much, but the forecast was vaguely optimistic so (after a couple of phonecalls from my fairweather friends) I waited a bare quarter of an hour before setting off, and was rewarded with an incredibly pleasant promenade á velo.

My plan included retracing more thoroughly the route from Wednesday ( just that part where I lost my sensor - sensor humour? sensor proportion?) and it was this portion of the ride that was the most special. I was riding at walking pace, often on the wrong side of the road. There was virtually no traffic. There was birdsong - there was some pale sunshine, the wind was warm and the air filled with the nostalgic smells of Autumn - damp leaves, freshly ploughed fields, damp tarmac.

I took the unsigned right in Thorpe Morieux, which goes through Thorpe Green and past a collection of pairs of animals. Two donkeys, a Ram and Ewe, a pair of Highland cattle - no sign, I was relieved to note, of any boat building activity. Back onto the Felsham-Cockfield road, pausing to go up to Cockfield Church (substantial and attractive with quite a lot of flint) and its accompanying pair of ancient Suffolk houses. Up the lane to Buttons' Green (not 'End' as I had it in the blog) and to the site of the crash. Which is past the point that I had thought. After the T junction (where right) and down past the farm on the right. I found The Stone, and photographed it (see top of page). Through Lavenham, resisting the temptations of the Guildhall Tea Room, and out towards Bridge Street. I was going to pop in to see how they were doing, and mumble reasons why we haven't been for so long. As I crossed the A134 I saw that there was a great drift of bikes against their wall, and I could see that they were pretty much packed. As I was running a bit late by now (due to extremely slow riding and a lot of stopping) I carried on, and home via Shimpling.

SJH

October 5. A Rock and a Hard Place

Strong wind but warm air and 16 of us are off to a new place for tea. We wiggle our way to Cockfield and take the lane to Button End en route for Lavenham.

Barry has just finished telling me about his recent crash on his Penny Farthing. At the start of a race his handle bars broke off the frame and the frame broke into two (I think that's right). Obviously Barry took a tumble, though claiming to be only 'slightly' hurt. A minute or so later (when I was further up the line) we encountered a very large stone, warning shouts went up from the front, followed swiftly by shouts from behind "rider down!!". We at the front turned back and round the corner was a heap of riders. Initially hard to see who was down and who was crouching to help. Barry had shredded the shoulders of his top and gravelled his arm; his right carbon handlebar was only held on by the tape (so he wouldn't be able to change gear). Guy had fallen over Barry and grazed his arm "best get that checked by a medic" said Glenn Morris to Dr Guy the GP (I told Glenn later on that Guy was a Dr. "Oh no" said Glenn). Also involved were TomTom who managed to run along the banking and not fall off, and Sharon who did fall off and was pretty shaken. Mark Harris told Guy that if it was the tour he'd have had to finish the stage - Guy looked a bit uneasy at this. Barry was preparing to ride home, but Justin was reluctant to allow our Chairman to go alone. "I'll be fine" said Barry, very firmly, wobbling up the road in the wrong (but only possible) gear. Justin paused until Barry was out of sight round the bend, and then set off as escort (I should mention that the last part of his 'Penny' crash featured an onlooker offering Barry a spare Penny to ride the race on - and Barry leapt on it and finished the race. So jumping back on his bike after this morning's incident would be pure routine)

Mark found the stone and flung it into a field atop the bank. Only afterwards did I think that I should have taken a photo of it.

We straggled the couple of miles to Lavenham, and Sharon, Dawn, Peter S-W and Guy peeled off for, variously, medical attention and tea and cakes; with Barry and Justin already homeward bound, we had lost six riders. But we had spares, we were still a ten-rider ride. It was decided that we would follow a slightly abbreviated loop to our new stop of Wheldons, at Newton Green near Cornard Tye. So we went to Melford, out through Liston and to Bulmer at the foot of Ballingdon Hill, then ingeniously through Sudbury to come out on the B1508 past Great Cornard then up Keddington Hill (nowhere near Keddington) which we descended last week, through Little Cornard and take right turn where Tony Panting collided with the right hand banking and just managed to stay upright (Was it going to be one of those days?) and thence to our new tea stop . Wheldons has been around, growing apples for 70 years. Last year they converted thrir barn to a farmshop, this year it became a Tea Shop as well. The food was inviting and good quality and the room light and oak-ey - like Hollow Trees last week, but without a Chloe to get things moving, so it took quite a while for all of us to be served. They had all of the friendliness of a good WI cake stall, with good WI-standard cakes but no sense of urgency. The young woman in charge of the kitchen (a decendant of the family, and whose business it is) was whirling around seeing to several things at once. I think the effect would have been caught best with a photo at a very slow shutter speed. The young woman would have been a blurr, like a whisp of smoke, snaking between the serving ladies who would appear as pin-sharp statues. Peter tells us that he will be sending an advisory e-mail. So next time things may be better - or we'll be barred.

The strong wind had swung a bit from SW to W so we had mainly crosswinds on our return. I flagged a bit, despite having gears, but felt much better than last week thanks to a pile of NHS drugs. Somewhere near Felsham my speedo stopped working. I imagined a mis-aligned magnet or somesuch that could be fixed when I got home - but then I noticed that he bracket that held the sensor was empty. To the later concern of Peter and Tom Tom (who were up the road galloping towards Hessett) I turned and retraced to Felsham to try and find it. I didn't. Met TT on my return - I think he and Peter had had visions of me lying at the side of the road gasping for breath. As Peter observed in an e-mail just now "See how we care about you"

SJH.