"I don't like your altitude"
"It's not my altitude" he replied "it's your attitude. That's the problem"
Then we made up, and became firm acquaintances again. Though as you will have realised, I made it all up.
There is much concern, these days, over 'elder abuse' as it is sometimes called (ask a social services professional, they'll tell you why) (that's as in "why it's called 'elder abuse' " rather than why there's too much of it about. Though they can probably tell you that too). The casual classification of those over (say) sixty five as being barely sentient, aged, wrinkly is all too prevalent.
There is a reason for raising this topic at the beginning of a blog about cycling. And that reason is the passing of the indefatigable, ubiquitous and ever-youthful Justin into the Pensioner zone with his 65th birthday. He has joined the senior echelon of the Wednesday ride and will from now on be referred to as a 'Pensioner'. As in 'Plucky Pensioner'. In time he, like the rest of us, will graduate to the higher level of patronisation which is 'Elderly '.
Cyclist in collision, Pensioner falls off of bike (this is local press), elderly man tumbles from pushbike.
Happy Birthday Justin.
Because we met at Thurston at 09.00, and because we intended to experience the full 'Suffolk Punch Experience' we cycled into Bury via Mount Rd and the cyclepath. We saw (and waved to) the Espresso Ride hammering Eastwards through Moreton Hall. We didn't feel it necessary to actually go to the HQ.
Merits of our route through Bury were discussed as we rode out along Southgate St and towards Horringer, taking the left turn at the foot of the Horringer climb, in the general direction of Whepstead. Just before we were to take the right turn towards Rede, my chain came off.
I should mention at this point that I was riding Pearson the Fixie (just to show that I wasn't taking all the climbing too seriously) and descending at 26mph which is about 134rpm. I looked down and saw the chain was swinging from side to side in a harmless-seeming way, unbroken. I shouted to my chums that I had a problem. Then the still-rotating sprocket grabbed the chain and wound it tightly round the drop-out (which someone might be tempted to point out is actually a slide-out, being a track-end) and locked the back wheel. The road was wet, and slimy with mud - so I slid. "Here I go" I thought, trying to control the skid with opposite lock, first one way then the other and then the first one again, not wishing to actually fall off. The likelihood of a tumble seemed very high but, incredibly, I came to an almost stop and actually achieved what can only be described as a track stand, managing to get my foot out in time to catch the falling bike. So there I was, leaning on the 'bars, amazed at my good fortune. Just a bit disappointed that the other four had missed my bike-handling display. Being the true friends that they are, they readily believed me. But it's just not the same, is it?
Not certain of the cause. Having ridden fixed fairly regularly for around ten winters my chain has only come off once before. And I didn't fall off the other time either. Of course, the wheel had pulled over - but was it the cause or the effect? The RH wheelnut wasn't fully tight, however, and just might have been the cause.
Brief pause for re-shipping of chain and swift check of possible damage, less delay than your average puncture, then off we go to Rede and, eventually Hawkedon. Right at the T junction and follow the route through Stansfield and up to Poslingford. I always know that I'll get dropped these days, so I wasn't surprised this time - but I did recover in the later, less steep stages. The visibility is still quite poor, and patchy. I find that I can actually see better without my prescription Ray-Bans. We climb over the summit above Hundon, reasonably together - we are going at the speed of the slowest, even when he can't keep up - and descend to Stradishall. Right and Left across the A143 and carry on through Wickhambrook on the B1063. There is a puncture. When we set off I replace the Ray-Bans. Before we reach Cropley Grove, I'm struggling to see, so stiff them in a back pocket, beneath the WSW Gilet. Up Ousden Hill (feels less challenging than I remember) and head for Hargrave then Chevington and up Weather Cock Hill to the finish of the Horringer Evening '10'. Back across the A143, up Whepstead Hill. Here I committed an error of etiquette. Pete beat me to the top, and I heard myself saying
"I know I'm still off form, because I used to count on getting to the top of this climb first"
After a pause for thought, I apologised. In my defence I would mention that cyclists are frequently self-obsessed, though that that's not really a defence for being a boorish plonker. Sometimes you can be riding alongside a local hotshot who normally wouldn't give you the time of day if it was at the finish of a race and, to break the ice, you ask how his weekend went. He tells you. Pedal stroke by pedal stroke. Lasts five miles. Then he pauses and says "But that's enough about me. What do you think I should be doing to improve? "
On, On, On.
At the top of Wheaptead Hill we turn right, and keep going all the way to Hartest. Then we turn left. Yup, Hartest Hill. One chevron. Last time I tried this (on 72.5" gear) I came to a standstill for the first time in my adult cycling life. Today I'm on 66" (even if you no nothing at all about this arcane measurement system, you can see that there's a big difference) and worried that I'll be able to make it. But only worried in that way that you know you'll do it, but there might be a big effort involved. Then the road rears up in a way that I don't ever remember, and it's foot out time. This takes a bit of planning, on fixed. The feet are rotating (albeit, slowly) the whole time, so you must unclip and plant the foot all in one movement - and on the side that you are leaning. Then the car behind passes you while you try to pretend that you have experienced an unexpected mechanical. Then (because remounting on a 15% gradient isn't an option) you have to walk to nearly the top.
But that's enough about me, how do you think I should have handled this problem?
On, on, on.
Down towards Shimpling and right to Bridge Street. Don't stop at the Rose Bar & Tearooms, excellent though it is. Force yourself across the A134 and up the jolly old climb towards Lavenham and tea.
The Guildhall Tea Rooms is a quality National Trust venue, with friendly and welcoming staff (if slightly confused at times). We timed our arrival to perfection, just ahead of a booked party of motorcyclists. There was an amusingly confused moment when the lady who was serving me was handed a plate bearing the sausage roll ordered by the motorcyclist behind me in the queue. My lady solved this by serving the chap behind me first, and appearing to forget that I had already ordered. Good job I wasn't Peter, is all I can say. This wasn't the only hitch at the tea stop; I realised that my prescription Polarising Ray-Bans were no longer in my back pocket under my gilet. Remember my mentioning the glasses earlier? I must have missed the the pocket and, at some point when Tom Tom wasn't behind me with his hawk-eyes, they must have fallen out. Well, damn.
The Motorcyclists look huge in their leathers, carrying large helmets, filling the room. When they remove their huge jackets, they are still - all of them - large. We no longer worry about the five of us taking up too much room, with our Lycra clothing and small, lightweight helmets (or caps) because at least four of us look vanishingly slender as we sit nibbling our scones. The mist and gloom had lifted before we reached Lavenham and the town is looking tourist-brochure perfect.
We turned down the little street beside the Great House Hotel & Restaurant (a favourite for Susan and I when we have something to celebrate; that something is sometimes just being able to go out for lunch). As m'colleagues weave their way down the steep and narrow street, I realise that something isn't quite right in the handling department. Yup! it's a puncture. At least it's a front. The others are out of ear shot so I just get on with it. The business of changing a tube is rather complicated by the gradient (I could have gone back to the square, but I'd have been out of sight if my chums came back to look for me, and they would have had to climb the hill just to find out . . . .oh this so long winded, you know what I'm getting at). Chums appear at the foot of the climb, ascend to offer help and banter. Puncture fixed off we go, tried and tested route home with no more nasty surprises.
Near Thorpe Morieux Peter gets a puncture, we hear a barn owl. I see it briefly alight on the top of a tree, but cannot check properly without distance glasses (see above). My recognition is contradicted. Average age of heaven knows what and we're disagreeing what we can see. "In the land of the blind, the one-eyed man is king" . The sun still shines and were we stand there is warmth.
We opt-out of returning to HQ, and just head for home. A grand ride, if taxing. Sixty-several miles and, without Hartest, quite do-able. If I train between now and February 2012, and can climb Hartest without coming to a standstill, I'll ride fixed like today.
SJH.
There is much concern, these days, over 'elder abuse' as it is sometimes called (ask a social services professional, they'll tell you why) (that's as in "why it's called 'elder abuse' " rather than why there's too much of it about. Though they can probably tell you that too). The casual classification of those over (say) sixty five as being barely sentient, aged, wrinkly is all too prevalent.
There is a reason for raising this topic at the beginning of a blog about cycling. And that reason is the passing of the indefatigable, ubiquitous and ever-youthful Justin into the Pensioner zone with his 65th birthday. He has joined the senior echelon of the Wednesday ride and will from now on be referred to as a 'Pensioner'. As in 'Plucky Pensioner'. In time he, like the rest of us, will graduate to the higher level of patronisation which is 'Elderly '.
Cyclist in collision, Pensioner falls off of bike (this is local press), elderly man tumbles from pushbike.
Happy Birthday Justin.
Because we met at Thurston at 09.00, and because we intended to experience the full 'Suffolk Punch Experience' we cycled into Bury via Mount Rd and the cyclepath. We saw (and waved to) the Espresso Ride hammering Eastwards through Moreton Hall. We didn't feel it necessary to actually go to the HQ.
Merits of our route through Bury were discussed as we rode out along Southgate St and towards Horringer, taking the left turn at the foot of the Horringer climb, in the general direction of Whepstead. Just before we were to take the right turn towards Rede, my chain came off.
I should mention at this point that I was riding Pearson the Fixie (just to show that I wasn't taking all the climbing too seriously) and descending at 26mph which is about 134rpm. I looked down and saw the chain was swinging from side to side in a harmless-seeming way, unbroken. I shouted to my chums that I had a problem. Then the still-rotating sprocket grabbed the chain and wound it tightly round the drop-out (which someone might be tempted to point out is actually a slide-out, being a track-end) and locked the back wheel. The road was wet, and slimy with mud - so I slid. "Here I go" I thought, trying to control the skid with opposite lock, first one way then the other and then the first one again, not wishing to actually fall off. The likelihood of a tumble seemed very high but, incredibly, I came to an almost stop and actually achieved what can only be described as a track stand, managing to get my foot out in time to catch the falling bike. So there I was, leaning on the 'bars, amazed at my good fortune. Just a bit disappointed that the other four had missed my bike-handling display. Being the true friends that they are, they readily believed me. But it's just not the same, is it?Not certain of the cause. Having ridden fixed fairly regularly for around ten winters my chain has only come off once before. And I didn't fall off the other time either. Of course, the wheel had pulled over - but was it the cause or the effect? The RH wheelnut wasn't fully tight, however, and just might have been the cause.
Brief pause for re-shipping of chain and swift check of possible damage, less delay than your average puncture, then off we go to Rede and, eventually Hawkedon. Right at the T junction and follow the route through Stansfield and up to Poslingford. I always know that I'll get dropped these days, so I wasn't surprised this time - but I did recover in the later, less steep stages. The visibility is still quite poor, and patchy. I find that I can actually see better without my prescription Ray-Bans. We climb over the summit above Hundon, reasonably together - we are going at the speed of the slowest, even when he can't keep up - and descend to Stradishall. Right and Left across the A143 and carry on through Wickhambrook on the B1063. There is a puncture. When we set off I replace the Ray-Bans. Before we reach Cropley Grove, I'm struggling to see, so stiff them in a back pocket, beneath the WSW Gilet. Up Ousden Hill (feels less challenging than I remember) and head for Hargrave then Chevington and up Weather Cock Hill to the finish of the Horringer Evening '10'. Back across the A143, up Whepstead Hill. Here I committed an error of etiquette. Pete beat me to the top, and I heard myself saying
"I know I'm still off form, because I used to count on getting to the top of this climb first"
After a pause for thought, I apologised. In my defence I would mention that cyclists are frequently self-obsessed, though that that's not really a defence for being a boorish plonker. Sometimes you can be riding alongside a local hotshot who normally wouldn't give you the time of day if it was at the finish of a race and, to break the ice, you ask how his weekend went. He tells you. Pedal stroke by pedal stroke. Lasts five miles. Then he pauses and says "But that's enough about me. What do you think I should be doing to improve? "
On, On, On.
At the top of Wheaptead Hill we turn right, and keep going all the way to Hartest. Then we turn left. Yup, Hartest Hill. One chevron. Last time I tried this (on 72.5" gear) I came to a standstill for the first time in my adult cycling life. Today I'm on 66" (even if you no nothing at all about this arcane measurement system, you can see that there's a big difference) and worried that I'll be able to make it. But only worried in that way that you know you'll do it, but there might be a big effort involved. Then the road rears up in a way that I don't ever remember, and it's foot out time. This takes a bit of planning, on fixed. The feet are rotating (albeit, slowly) the whole time, so you must unclip and plant the foot all in one movement - and on the side that you are leaning. Then the car behind passes you while you try to pretend that you have experienced an unexpected mechanical. Then (because remounting on a 15% gradient isn't an option) you have to walk to nearly the top.
But that's enough about me, how do you think I should have handled this problem?
On, on, on.
Down towards Shimpling and right to Bridge Street. Don't stop at the Rose Bar & Tearooms, excellent though it is. Force yourself across the A134 and up the jolly old climb towards Lavenham and tea.
The Guildhall Tea Rooms is a quality National Trust venue, with friendly and welcoming staff (if slightly confused at times). We timed our arrival to perfection, just ahead of a booked party of motorcyclists. There was an amusingly confused moment when the lady who was serving me was handed a plate bearing the sausage roll ordered by the motorcyclist behind me in the queue. My lady solved this by serving the chap behind me first, and appearing to forget that I had already ordered. Good job I wasn't Peter, is all I can say. This wasn't the only hitch at the tea stop; I realised that my prescription Polarising Ray-Bans were no longer in my back pocket under my gilet. Remember my mentioning the glasses earlier? I must have missed the the pocket and, at some point when Tom Tom wasn't behind me with his hawk-eyes, they must have fallen out. Well, damn.The Motorcyclists look huge in their leathers, carrying large helmets, filling the room. When they remove their huge jackets, they are still - all of them - large. We no longer worry about the five of us taking up too much room, with our Lycra clothing and small, lightweight helmets (or caps) because at least four of us look vanishingly slender as we sit nibbling our scones. The mist and gloom had lifted before we reached Lavenham and the town is looking tourist-brochure perfect.
We turned down the little street beside the Great House Hotel & Restaurant (a favourite for Susan and I when we have something to celebrate; that something is sometimes just being able to go out for lunch). As m'colleagues weave their way down the steep and narrow street, I realise that something isn't quite right in the handling department. Yup! it's a puncture. At least it's a front. The others are out of ear shot so I just get on with it. The business of changing a tube is rather complicated by the gradient (I could have gone back to the square, but I'd have been out of sight if my chums came back to look for me, and they would have had to climb the hill just to find out . . . .oh this so long winded, you know what I'm getting at). Chums appear at the foot of the climb, ascend to offer help and banter. Puncture fixed off we go, tried and tested route home with no more nasty surprises.
Near Thorpe Morieux Peter gets a puncture, we hear a barn owl. I see it briefly alight on the top of a tree, but cannot check properly without distance glasses (see above). My recognition is contradicted. Average age of heaven knows what and we're disagreeing what we can see. "In the land of the blind, the one-eyed man is king" . The sun still shines and were we stand there is warmth.We opt-out of returning to HQ, and just head for home. A grand ride, if taxing. Sixty-several miles and, without Hartest, quite do-able. If I train between now and February 2012, and can climb Hartest without coming to a standstill, I'll ride fixed like today.
SJH.
good one...
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