"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
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 SeptuagenarianTT & 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
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