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 (j
ust) 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
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 (j
ust) 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
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