The Wiggendish Ride. Wednesday 25 July 2012

Stephen Linden's contribution

Who's got the Picnic?

Peter bareheaded

Stephen Linden, Tom Cahill Smith, Ron Fisher, TomTom, Peter Heath, Dale Sturman, Tony Panting, Justin Wallace, Barry Denny, Peter S-W, Michael Lawson, Gerry Barton & me (SJH). Our prime mover for this jaunt into Essex and the Blue Egg Café at Great Bardfield was Peter Heath and we had been, in his email directive, encouraged to wear items of yellow or Union Jacks or anything that would celebrate the historic and astonishing success of the Sky Team in producing not just the Winner, but 2nd place and the Champs Elysées winner in the Tour de France. The title of this blog celebrates Cav as World Champion and regular at the Blue Egg, and Brad as the man who made history.

Peter without helmet!

 If our rendezvous at the earlier hour of 0830 had been a Féte, and our outfits were to be judged in the Fancy Dress Competition, then Tony Panting (left) would have been the undisputed winner. Note the aero modification to the helmet (Of course Wiggo had the Roundel on his TT helmet as his modification). 

One approach to re-hydration. . . . . .

The guilty tyre

Our route was a  joint effort by TomTom and Justin, with a dash of Kevin Flanagan on the way home.The pace seemed quite brisk, and I was glad that I had decided to use the Flandria (best bike). We rattled our way to Clare via Glemsford and Cavendish heading to Essex and a crossing of the main road that most of us still think of as the A604. A short way west of our crossing, just a hundred metres short of Toppesfield, there was a familiar "CRACK!!" from the rear of the peleton. Stephen L had a puncture. But it as rather more serious than a mere flint or thorn, both the tube and the tyre having split - when the tyre was eased off the rim on one side, the damage was far more extensive than the photo shows. As is customary, several of us explained to Stephen exactly why it was entirely his fault (we felt confident in this, since we knew that he only recently returned to serious cycling). Mainly, we accused him of causing damage when fitting the tube. We (well, Stephen mainly) now had a problem. No one (natch) had a spare tyre  (well, ok, some of us were displaying something along those lines - but not the thing we needed). The ride had begun to resemble one of those irritating team-building exercises, where groups randomly thrown together solve problem like crossing  a river using a box of tissues, insulating tape and some twigs. Justin nipped to Toppesfield while the rest of us ran through further possibilities. Mrs Linden was at London learning to be an Olympic Games Maker, Stephen only had enough cash for the tea stop, and no credit card. No one seemed to be able to do any of those tasks now possible with smart phones - not even find were we where - and this with more than one Garmin available! Someone remembered that we had passed Malcolm Borg's Cycle Clinic repair and sales business as we left Glemsford, Gerry had the phone number, and Tom Tom used his photocopied fragment of Suffolk and Essex to explain our position (in both senses of the word). At this point Justin returned to announce great news, he had found a man who would summon a Taxi to take Stephen and bike to a bike shop. No one was listening. It turned out that the man had already phoned for the taxi - so Justin had to nip back and get it cancelled. I thought that Justin handled this reversal with admirable equanimity. With Malcolm due to be there in half an hour, we were able to do what we had really wanted to do at the start; leave Stephen behind.
He would try to make his way to the Café (about 5 miles) and arrive before we had left.
We made a classic Wheelers Clubrun restart, with half a dozen of us dropping the other five . . . . and not noticing that we'd done so until we had a considerable gap. Re-forming into an orderly group we sped to Gt Bardfield and on, southwards, to The Blue Egg. There were a lot of cyclists on the outside area, and more inside, plus a few 'civilians'. We had just formed an orderly queue when Kevin Flanagan arrived -with impressive timing, having ridden directly from his home in Hundon. One of the special features of this place is the ability to cope with large groups with ease. The fifteen or so riders from the Cambridge CC Wednesday ride (fast chapter) who arrived very shortly after us were absorbed with ease. The food is reasonably priced and, with the exception of the scones (which are disappointing) is varied and of high quality. Ron's Bread Pudding was the size and shape of a lump of Belgian Pavé. TomTom and I had bacon sandwiches which, though a bit slow to arrive, were packed with more slices of cured pig than one could count without dismantling the two, huge, crusty and fresh white bread triangles. Stephen had passed on to Peter a Union Jack plastic tablecloth (we were impressed when he brought along a bottle of Champagne in an insulating bag within a small rucksack, with which to ply us in celebration of his sixtieth birthday the other week, so we shouldn't have been surprised at this attention to detail) provided us with a customised table and later, a backdrop for the group photo (sadly, without Stephen) I commandeered my old friend Tim Williams from the Cambridge group to press the button.

Stansfield. The moment they drop me . . .

Just as we were leaving, a sweat-soaked Stephen arrived having been riding hard all the way from Toppesfield.  Good service received from Malcolm, and payment deferred, plus advice that because the tyre appeared to have failed (it came away from the cord) there might be a possibility of compensation from Continental. We allowed him to go and fill his bottle from the standpipe on the outside seating area, and set off, with a slightly different route led by Kevin, which veered left before Toppesfield. Peter S-W has a rear puncture, and we settle down in the sunshine while it is fixed. No one thought to bring a picnic, though. After this leisurely repair we crossed the "A604" at Ridgwell and headed for Clare via Ashen. Still a Glorious ride in perfect weather. Though it was pretty warm I was pleased that I had managed to finish two bottles by the time we reached the café and already getting through the refills as we sped back. After Clare it was, as almost always, a right turn to go through Poslingford and up the hill towards Stanningfield. This was when I felt that something wasn't quite right, I dropped back rapidly up this short (but sharp) hill that normally (these days) I manage quite comfortably. And I'm on the best bike and all. Get back on before Stansfield, pass the group, charge the bank up past the church . . and die again. Peter S-W passes me, with his rear tyre partly deflated. I only catch a distant glimpse of the ride two or three times before they finally disappear over the summit of the Cote de Hawkedon (see picture). Between Stansfield and Hawkedon Stephen L catches up with me, and thanks me for waiting - what a tactful chap, or was it sarcasm? We rode together (he waited after each climb, even uneven road repairs were becoming a challenge by this stage) until the point where I turned left up to Whepstead. At least SL had sound reasons for feeling slightly sub-optimal, having had no tea stop and passing his previous longest ride distance at about 60 miles. He expressed the desire to spend the afternoon asleep in his garden before turning out to collect Mrs Linden from the last London Train at Cambridge.
It is said that history is written by the victors but, as I have said before in similar circumstances, clubrun accounts can end up being recorded by the loser who gets dropped. But I'm not going to complain, I knew my way home (always do). I just regret not having the opportunity to say 'goodbye'.. . . . . . .sob. . . . .
SJH   PS, I haven't got the hang of moving pictures around on this latest version of Blogger - as you can see. I hope for improvements, especially if someone out there has a few tips . . . . .

 . . . . . .and another

Stephen L & Dale at the start

What got missed out over the last two years . . . .

Yesterday I released the Deer encounter account from 2010. On closer examination of the dusty corners of the 'drafts' section of the ramshackle archive of the SJH blog I realise that there are fragments of this and that which could possibly bear the glare of daylight on the screens of those who follow (lately in vane) my accounts of life awheel.
SJH

7th April 2010 Peter H, Darren Fowler, Tom-Tom, Ron Fisher, Gareth Doman John Gould and SJH were joined by Tim from the USA, who is over on a visit - his son is recently returned from Afghanistan, is based at Lakenheath and a keen cyclist. Tim is keen, too, but hasn't done more than a handful of miles since last summer when he first switched to a road bike from ATB. He's done a lot of skiing though, and this kept him afloat for the close to 60 miles of undulating Suffolk that he endured this morning. The picture above was taken by a member of staff at 'Mere Moments' in Diss.

*******

14 April 2010. USA Tim was back for more, Al MacPherson dipped his toe into the wonder of Wednesdays and Darren turned up for the last Mercredi before a run of unfavourable shifts. Nathan was due back in Bury for a driving lesson, so would be turning back before tea.

 *******

21st July 2010. Tony "Wrong-way" Panting. Two weeks b4 the Lynmouth flood in 1952 had stayed at cottage that was swept away. He could have been a statistic, instead of a legend. Thinking of legends - who else is having a sub-optimal farewell season?

New venue, old attitudes. Peter warns against parking in the car park - 'they' would want to charge, because 'they' wanted £15 for his Rambling group to park there. Also has seemingly-obligatory sign forbidding just about everything, starting with Cycling and including Ball Games except (possibly) walking (though walking too slowly might cause anxiety and suspicions of loitering). Keen to avoid the latter, we moved off at a modest pace pausing only for SJH to nip down to the Bus Shelter and check for riders in the wrong place. I note that the website hasn't been changed yet.

*******

(date about a week after the above) Justin, Jack, Peter H, Jeff Agricole, Dawn, Richard Muchmore, a guy named Paul on a first-time ride, Glenn Morris (the one who isn't Glenn Grant), Tom-Tom, Tiger Tony and me (SJH).  We met up at our revised venue of NEW GREEN (there is a sign to the New Green Centre, off Station Road in Thurston, on the Eastern side) and had a short but amiable discussion with the lady who looks after the Centre and its car park (we may not use it at present, but possibly at some time in the future we'll cut a deal involving a donation ) during which we tried to project an amiable , approachable impression.

*******

Thetford Garden Centre - in the grounds of Kilverstone Hall, which used to be the home of the Zoo that achieved fame via those stickers in the rear windows of thousands of ageing family saloons. I knew it well, but only because of the stickers - I never went there. Perhaps that was were they went wrong?

*******

4th August 2010. How far is it to the far side of Livermere from Thurston New Green? Not far, is how far, and it was the distance that we travelled before the first puncture. As the pictures show, Peter was having quite a tough time even though Tom-Tom was providing assistance. With all the latest techniques acquired at Elmy Cycles' puncture-repair seminar that he attended last winter, and with the aid of my now-famous tool (a putter-on-er-er of reluctant tyres) Peter was all done in a mere twenty minutes or so. Then it was noticed that Paul-on-his-first-Wednesday-ride had a flat rear tyre. This took a little longer. The scenes below took place outside Livermere Village Hall.

After a total stop of  nearly 3/4 of an hour the ride finally got under way. I didn't get as far as describing the remainder of the ride.

Richard sees something

Peter Models his Overshoe modifications

*******

8th May 2012. The day began with sunshine, then clouded over and then brightened. Perfect tactical weather to get the riders out of bed and into the car and off to the races. The rain came much later and, not for the first time the final race was run on wet roads with grey cloud overhead and pavements now emptied of spectators. The huge amount of snaps and vids I took filled memories and emptied batteries. I was taking the video for Michael Lawson to turn into a record of the day, so needed to begin with the setting-up, against a background of the village waking up. I took most of this with my compact Canon Ixus (nice and discreet) rather than Polly's proper video Cannon Legria  that I didn't yet fully understand. The results looked quite usable. I couldn't have imagined that I would lose nearly all of the stills and video taken . But I did. I got someone to recover most of the data - but there were quite random chunks that have gone forever.

*******

15 August 2010: How Dare Dat Deer Do Dat?

Buckley's Tea Room

This Blog was found down the back of a settee in my blog Archive. Unsent and unappreciated. Yes; the year is 2010!

With the wind from the North East, the logical route wouldn't be one that took us to the South West. However, when a new venue for tea is discovered it has to be visited at once. So Castle Hedingham it was to be. Justin led us with a directional fluency few could have questioned due to that part of Essex being considered another country to we West Suffolk-ers. We had a Tom-Tom in reserve, just in case a second opinion was needed, but he was able to relax in the bunch free of all responsibility. It was Castle Hedingham that we needed, rather than dear Sible, and the tearooms that some say used to be the site of Buckley-Saxon Cycles (and others muttered that the real site was "just over there") all we know is that the Buckley bit remains in the tea room title, and that the service was very friendly (if a touch confused and uncoordinated for the total approval of Peter Heath, our Teafinder General). We were surprised to find a startled-looking Mike Bowen and friends already seated! Part of the building was given over to Bric-a-Brac and Bygones, all for sale and some bizarre (a chest of drawers in the shape of a Cello anyone?).

As we set off up the fine main street (a touch steep for 'café legs') we past an early Georgian house with a Blue Plaque. I was just able to make out the name of one of my favourite twentieth century English artists, Eric Ravilious. The journey home seemed straight forward, if a little brisker than the outward run. Some miles after leaving Glemsford Tom-Tom took a right turn for a peaceful ride home at his own pace. Then it happened.

Tricia was riding on my right, and we were chatting about something or other that has now quite gone out of my head when it happened. I don't think that we could, in the cirsumstances, be expected to identify the Gender of the Beast. Mercifully, the number of the beast amounted to just the one, and it was most certainly a DEER As to the type of deer - follow the link, and you decide. All I know is that this face appeared from the right and just above handlebar height and attached to a very solid body. The animal being unavoidable a crash became inevitable and the result was regrettable.
I was lucky in landing mostly on the grass verge - swiftly followed by Barry and Adi. Tricia had a high gravel-rash score, specially her right (?) arm. Every one gathered round and, as you can see from the picture, my bike received a great deal of attention. Julian was very concerned that I had bumped my (unprotected) head, and I was very concerned that my front wheel was badly damaged - though probably rideable. Tricia felt it important that she start riding again at once (must be a horsey thing) and was escorted homewards by Julian Long - with a transfer to motor car driven by Mrs L chez Long at Gt Barton.
I was escorted home by a select and watchful group, my main concern was the amount of wobble in my front wheel. I was offered a lift home from Bury, but (as one does) I politely refused. I did, however, accept Justin's company for the entire route home.

SJH

Sunday 22nd April. A Sunny Group Ride

As I arrive at the HQ, imagining that I am early (or at any rate not late) I am confronted by a large group of Wheelers, at the centre of which stood Julian Colman. Organising. "Everyone who wants to be on the B ride, go over there, those who want to join the A ride come down here!!" he was saying. As could have been predicted, at least three 'A' riders were hiding in amongst the 'B' group, only emerging after Julian had done a head count and worried that there might be too many 'A's. I had placed a few possible routes into my medium-term memory, in case no one else had a bright idea, but going to Wheldon's fruit farm at (variously) Newton Green or Great Cornard wasn't one of them. It is actually between the two places, and the only routes that I had experienced (courtesy of Peter Heath and TomTom respectively) were fiercely complex and involved 11% climbs. I was the only person in the 'B' ride who knew (who knew?) so I would need to improvise 'on the fly'. Up Mount Rd from HQ, and onto the cycle path we went - except for the trio who had attacked through the Moreton Hall estate and thus not noticed that they were on their own. They were milling around at the Rougham cross roads, so we were all together again. A few more attacks were  ignored, and then the ride seemed to settle into a fairly ordered group of about fifteen.

We were soon joined by the A ride

There was sunshine, wonderful light, and a fairly brisk headwind. I had settled on a yet-to-be-finalised-in-my-head route that would include a few loops around Milden,  and Boxford. I miscalculated, and ended up going into Boxford from the route that I had intended to leave it by. This left the  choice of crossing to Assington, and the fiercely complex route or turn right and follow the main road. Main road it was, then. But it was rather further than I had thought, however the traffic was light and not very threatening (have you noticed, as I have, that traffic other than rush hours is getting lighter? Is the cost of fuel beginning to change peoples' driving habits?) We did, however, split quite badly before we joined the A134 - the breakaway group waited at Newton Green, and we re-grouped. At this point Sharon announced that there was a short cut via a bit of un-made road through a golf club, to the Tea Stop. Hardly anyone believed this, but I felt it seemed logical - and anyway, it wouldn't be my fault if it lead nowhere. Worked like a charm, through to a T junction, turn left and Wheldon's in 50yds. Since we were over fifteen, the service system was quite stretched. Ten minutes later the 'A' riders arrived having ridden about 44 miles to our 32. This was a severe test for the unfailingly pleasant staff, but I only noticed quite how much of a problem had been caused when my scones hadn't arrived - but chocolate cake was being rushed to the fast group. I was persuaded to go against my instinct, and tactfully enquire about my order. It was hidden under a pile of paper napkins, but there was nothing to suggest that this had been deliberate and a panic production of food and drink brought me in line with the rest of the ride.
We set off ahead of the A ride and predictably they caught us just as we turned out of Gt Waldingfield towards Acton. I think it must have been Shaun Sivertson who crossed the gap and joined the faster ride, but there was a certain amount of  restlessness amongst others in our group until I took us off on a right turn, so that we didn't have the speeding bunch in the distance any more. We crossed the B1071 Lavenham road at Washmere Green and took the little cut-off lane to the B1115 to Monk's Eleigh where we went up past the church and thus to Preston, and home. The favourable wind sped us on our way to the conclusion of a great ride (if you ignore my choice of too large a chunk of 'A' roads just before the café)

SJH

Wednesday 25th April. Very Wet, Very Short.

Would anyone be there? Should I be here? Rain is forcefully forecast by all weather sites viewed, and promised to be very heavy by lunchtime. I am, unusually, slightly early. I cycle in circles, and up and down the roads surrounding New Green Centre in Thurston. I see two bikes resting against the side of NGC - Sharon & another; Dawn perhaps? How long does it take to fix waterproof mascara?

Matt the racing motorist appears, slightly underdressed as usual. And also being slightly built there seems even less protection from the promised precipitation. Wind: east south east, gusts 31mph possible. I was thinking Thornham for tea, but Sharon has the better idea - circumnavigation of Bury St Edmunds so that, if the weather is seriously bad we won't be far from home at any point. I take us on an anti clockwise route which, with hindsight (a special power much in the news these days) wasn't the smartest move if Bury was to be at the centre of the route, since we were beginning 4 miles to the east. And, if we made it round to the west of Bury we'd have a headwind home. But none of this mattered at all, because we only made it round to Haughley before heading inwards. The rain had been gradually getting heavier since (possibly) Drinkstone. I had very roughly calculated that if the rain held off we could cover at least 50 miles without straying further than about 10 miles from Bury - no longer an even remote possibility!

The homeward stretch was tailwind-assisted which meant that what was by  now quite heavy rain wasn't being lashed into our faces; Matt and I began to quite enjoy our swishing splashing progress through the puddles - but in my case, not quite sufficiently to consider riding straight past my house. I waved farewell and scuttled indoors for a hot bath, leaving my companions to ride the remaining seven miles back to Bury.   SJH

Wednesday April 18th. Short Wet One.

I haven't attempted this for a while, the list of riders. We are now such a large Club, with new members nearly every month, that it can be hard to know who is who. I get everyone's names passed on to me by Peter - but I don't know what they look like. Photos, that might help. Anyway, we were: Glenn Morris, Guy Lesser, Will Mapus-Smith, Matt Parry, Mark Saunders, Dawn DiMarco, Sharon Calton, TomTom, Peter Heath and me (SJH). All forecasts were pretty grim - even the most optimistic, why is it that I try to seek out a better forecast? It's not going to change what will actually happen, after all. The promised rain held off until after our pitstop - but it made up for this by really chucking it down. The wind was absolutely as predicted, wild, 19 mph and gusting  to 30mph. I was very pleased that my "Lobster Claw" cloves are not only v v warm but also waterproof. Guy's breathable and waterproof jacket proved that it could only achieve one of those two properties. Don't worry Guy, I fell for favourable write-ups when I bought a pair of Endura "Deluge" gloves that had the word "waterproof" printed in yellow on the backs. Barely showerproof. Evans Cycles took it very well and refunded without quibble (just a "must be a faulty pair, I've used them all winter with no problems" to which the only reply has to be "yeah, right").

Peter entertained us

Pace felt quite brisk, possibly due to the youthful element - but maybe it's just subjective, like the Met Office weather website which gives the temperature and then a "feels like" number. So, pace medium feels like brisk. We are to go to Hollowtrees, which is actually Woodlands Café at Hollowtrees Farm, and is at Semer, as any fule no. As we near Lavenham Sharon peels off for home, and we peel off towards Preston St Mary, down to Brent Eleigh then up to Milden - marvelling that this was actually considered as a Mountain Points Prime in the Tour of Britain 2010 (admittedly, the Heroes of the Tour didn't have to stop at the crossroads partway up). The rain was still holding off as we arrived at Woodlands. Then there was a very loud drumming on the plastic roof of the entrance to the cafe, and on the sky lights in the room. Stair rods is the expression that covers what we saw outside, so we decided to dig in for a long tea stop. We'd arrived earlier than usual, and had time in hand. Every now and again someone would pop outside to check on the rain. Peter entertained us with a graphic demonstration of resuscitation technique - I can't recall how we got onto this - not realising that those at the far end of the table could only see his arms down to the elbow. Not able to see what his hands were up to, they just got the vigorous pumping action. Oh yes, and  his spirited rendition of "Staying Alive". Dawn had tears streaming down her face as we all laughed hard. Apparently, mouth to mouth resuscitation is no longer the priority, it is getting or keeping the heart going that's the thing. Peter quizzed good Doctor Lesser at the far end of the table about matters concerning  blood and oxygen and the good doctor confirmed the change in emphasis adding, dryly, that it was difficult to conduct any controlled tests.

The rain still sounded serious, but wasn't too awful once we were out in it, innitt. Those without mudguards suffered quite badly with the amount of surface water around, and all of us got the aforementioned soaking by the time we got home. Just 42 miles for me - and felt about right.

28th April, 2012. The beginning of an Awfully Big Adventure

Julian Claxton chats to the umbrella-man

Rain was forecast, and there was a bit of drizzle as I rode down to the Wheelers' HQ.   I missed Neil's speech, though he was still standing on a chair delivering the last few words as I struggled through the crush to sign on. It all felt like a Commissaire's race-briefing. Within minutes we were being urged to get a move on and ride down to Angel Hill for the official send-off. There was a quite impressive crowd, with a mixture of cyclists and "civilians" - relatives, supporters, the Mayor of St Edmundsbury and the Rwandan High Commissioner, who had a large black Mercedes (Reg No. RWA 1A), a chauffeur who quietly smoked as he leaned against it, and a man in a chalk-stripe suit to hold an umbrella. We milled around, tangled our bikes and dodged umbrellas. Once the Rwandan High Commissioner's speech was over, and we had rolled out Southwards behind Brian Aldiss on his hand-cycle to cheers and applause, we made a large enough group to cause a satisfying amount of traffic chaos behind us. Past the Rugby Ground and on, on, on to Rushbrooke Lane - oncoming cars inclined to give in and move over when faced with such a large and politely unruly group. By the time we reached Little Welnetham, there seemed to be fewer riders (had we split already?). Not the thirty-eight mentioned in Caroline's email - and far from the forty-eight claimed in the East Anglian Daily Times on Monday. Riding alongside Neil, I mentioned that I was happy to stay on the front for a while - and mentioned the German border as a possible limit.  I could tell how amused he was by how little his expression changed. I (look, I know this isn't all about me - OK?) met several new best friends as the group morphed and mutated and the cocktail-party-on-wheels element  got established.

Neil's interview:  "That's R-W-A-N-D-A"

The High Commissioner's Speech

 Names? Ah . . . names, um, yeah I got some names, but, well, you know how it is . . . Met two guys in smart matching outfits, one from Wickhambrook and the other from Bury. I only realised how local they were when I tried to take us all in the wrong direction, and it turned out that we were on the taller guy's training route.

Caroline, and my two anonymous chums

The groups were splitting up, and the front had to slow down several times. There was a wide disparity in experience; but we were united by our support for the incredible journey the Rwanda Quartet were beginning. At the front we ignored the huge weight penalty born by the our heroes, and pressed on into the increasing rain. We knew that they wouldn't want us to patronise them by going really slowly. We stopped at Bildeston for a thorough regroup, and for a couple

Caroline indicates it's time to go.

of riders to pop into major sponsors Lifecycle's shop to buy extra waterproof clothing. This was the last time we would all be together in one group, until Harwich. The further south we went, the heavier the rain and stronger the wind became - and the stronger the desire to get to our destination as quickly as possible. Neil had gone back to check up on two riders off the back, and I never saw him again. Even at the end. So "Stay Lucky, Neil!" as I might have said. There was a good contingent (half a dozen, maybe?) of Gt Yarmouth CC riders, being Julian Claxton's local club (sadly, only three of us represented the Wheelers. Me, Henry Wood and Paul Callow). They were satisfyingly impressed with Suffolk, even though we could hardy see any of the views on our route. Hadleigh's architecture was specially well-received by 'Ray'; it seemed that the deprecatory term they used for impressive buildings was "not a bad pile o' bricks". I pointed out that a lot of our fine houses were piles of bricks plus sticks.
The GYCC lads were very conscientious about directing traffic around our rolling road block (I know, we don't approve of that in the Wheelers) especially an energetic and muscular little guy with a voice like Jools Holland. I had a good chat with Julian, who is a professional photographer and told me about his awkwardness over appearing in the photos of others. I was forced to drop him near Mistley, because we were going up a steepish hill and, well, you know how it is . . . .
On the map, the road out to Harwich (well Parkstone, actually)  looked like a pan-flat road following an estuary. Not the case at all. There was quite lot of undulation, as with the rest of the Essex Coast round here. And when that finished, we had a block headwind for the final four or five miles, rain lashing us as we struggled along the main A120. Forty-two of the 6,000 miles the boys must travel have now been covered, leaving 5,958 to go. Paul Callow and I stood on the windswept car park of Morrisons and waited for our wives to arrive, everyone else had gone into the superstore in search of coffee. Caroline had turned up in Neil's pick-up - without Neil. She seemed reassuringly unperturbed by this (she had seen him several times through the afternoon, as they coordinated rescuing stragglers). I'm  sure we will all be thinking of the boys as they set off across Europe from Sunday morning. I didn't get up until after nine - and I didn't go out on my bike. I wrote this.    SJH

Today's  Kliban Cat Calendar page

Come on Julian - only 5,958 miles to go

Suffolk Punch: re-scheduled, 19 Feb 2012

This monument of the East Anglian Reliability scene having been postponed from the 5th of February still seemed well supported on the 19th. It was still extremely cold at the start of the day, as I rode in from Norton I thought that he cold was going to crack my forehead from side to side. There were patches of ice in the gutters of the road. I was not feeling like a 60 mile ride of any sort, let alone one as tough as Justin's masterpiece. Later on, I realised that I was being a bit hysterical and that there was no ice that couldn't easily be avoided on the route. The North West wind was something else altogether. The numbers on the Met Office site were around 15-20 mph, it felt even stronger to a mere human on a bike grinding to the top of the Hundon climb.

I had compromised slightly on my stated intention to ride fixed; I was on my best bike. That's a 100% compromise, also known as a u-turn. It didn't seem to help at all (except downhill). Even leaving Norton on the Thurston road, with its rise up to Great Green (my test whenever I set out for a club ride, how much does it hurt? How slow am I going?) the light-as-air Flandria feels more like Sir Jack (trade bike). At the HQ, where it was more sheltered, a jolly mood prevailed in the groups of cyclists standing around in the brilliant sunshine. Bikes leaned nonchalantly against the young trees. Justin moved among us, meeting, greeting and advising. Inside, familiar faces presided over the signing-on.

We were divided into small groups within our chosen challenges of speed and distance - I stayed close to Tom-Tom and Peter (Heath). We had planned to ride together. I seem to remember arrangements like this every year for the last ten or so. I don't remember very many that survived the course. Two miles covered, and Tom-Tom and I were slipping off the back before our group (60 miles at an optimistic 15 mph) had left Bury St Edmunds. The Cote de Westgate was steeper than I remembered - or the pace was brisker than we expected. Tom-Tom gave every impression of coping better than I was, but Peter looked perkier than both of us and proceeded to prove it as the ride progressed. I heaved myself up to Peter and (out of bravado, probably) rode alongside him, making polite conversation to prove that I wasn't totally out of breath. The rise on the road to Whepstead sorted us all out a bit further, then it was down to Harram Bottom and left towards Rede.  I was still with a few other riders by Hawkedon, but the tough stretch from there via Stansfield to Poslingford saw me distanced again. Back on by the time we reach the B1063 and heading north up to Hundon into the teeth of the wind, a group of 4 or 5 of us worked hard and went slow. I enjoy the downhill to Stradishall, using a big gear even with the headwind, and I caught up with Peter & Guy. I made a tactical error at the crossroads where we were to go straight over; I stopped to wait for TomTom. P&G went straight over at the first gap in traffic; the next time I saw them was at the HQ at the finish glowing with satisfaction at achieving 15mph average. Our group came upon Glenn Morris, sitting in the sunshine looking a bit dazed. Simon stopped to check he was OK. The word came back that he was fine "but he had experienced a mechanical which meant he went over the handlebars". TomTom said that I shouldn't hang about with them, but go ahead. When someone shows that sort of faith in my abilities I am generally foolish enough to believe them, so off I went, feeling quite the powerhouse that I am (not). 

This just isn't a good look

Ousden Hill, Hargrave, Chevington and Whepstead, down through Brockley to Hartest and left up the hill - feeling less than herioc by now. I haven't seen another rider since leaving TomTom. Down to Shimpling, right to Bridge Street (note, with sadness, that the Rose Pub & Café seems to be very much closed) Haul myself up the hill towards Lavenham and, just as I reach the summit TomTom drew alongside. We ride together for the remainder of the course. The final 4 miles were into the headwind again, and TomTom seemed to be on his second wind, attacking me a couple of times - and sprinting for the HQ. Note to self: adjust hat before anyone points a camera at me.

SJH

A Sharp Report

It was 54 years ago, at boarding school, when I last I fired a .303 rifle. I was part of the House target shooting team (rather than a member of a School Punishment Squad - by then punishment was corporal not capital). I remember the sound it made.
On days when I go for a ride, I cycle rather than walk up to the garage to collect my paper. It's only a couple of hundred yards, but helps establish how much clothing will be needed and saves time. As I returned, braking to turn onto the forecourt, there was a very loud CRACK!!!!. It was that .303 sound! Followed by the screeching of alloy rim on tarmac. I look down at the front wheel of Pearson (my winter fixed) to see the tyre one side of the rim, and the tattered inner tube on the other. A curl of of alloy was jammed into the brake caliper. Our bedroom is on the ground floor, so Mrs Blogger heard the noise. A B&B Guest in his bedroom in the Barn down the garden heard it, too. They both thought the sound had come from a car or motorbike.
"Good job" I thought to myself "that I wasn't doing 30mph downhill" Pearson had only the previous day returned from Mick Madgett's for new sprocket and chain to cure transmission noise. This wasn't the first time that Pearson had come to a screeching halt (see 20 November 2011 Blog for the unshipped-chain-at-25-mph incident). Remove wheel, select a front from another bike and proceed to rendezvous with the rest of the "loose association of like-minded gentlemen" who are to be my partners for the morning and I tell them what happened - eyes are widened, they all check their own rims for wear. My own rear rim is given a close examination - but how can you tell? Any wheel that's suffered a winter's riding will have some material ground away by the brake-blocks-plus-grit-and-mud mixture. It would be expected that the front would get the most wear - but how much longer do I wait before my rear rim fails?

We toil into the head and cross head winds via Knettishall Heath and East Harling, swing North and East to come into Thetford through Croxton. Having been dropped as everyone picked up the full-on tailwind and slight descent following the sharp climb through Croxton, I caught up on the slight incline (they were sort-of waiting for me) and swept by, head down, legs going like an eggwhisk and tried to keep ahead to Thetford Garden Centre - about a couple of miles. My maximum sustainable speed on 66" fixed is 24mph (though I touched 29) so, with a following wind and a fair bit of almost downhill I was onto a hiding to nothing being chased down by guys with gears. R*n pulled past with only a couple of hundred yards to go, followed by J*s*in then P*t*r.

We coped with the current serving arrangements at the Thetford GC Café. This appears to be a job creation scheme, and therefore ought to be cause for congratulation rather than complaint but here's the complaint anyway. We used to queue-up, place our orders and pay, find a table, food would be delivered, we would consume then leave. Now we find a table, sit and wait. Eventually our order is taken - but we can't see what's on offer even though it's on display just as it used to be back in the day when we would shuffle along and point to food mumbling "one of those please". When we leave, we have to queue to pay, against the flow of new customers - some of whom will assume that they should be queueing past the display. The food is reasonable and the price competitive, but the system is irritating. Having just spent an entire paragraph on geriatric obsession with matters of little real importance, I notice that my main point about staff numbers doesn't really apply. So, moving on . . . .

Normal route home, no surprises, no one dropped. Ixworth High Street; we discuss the fuss about the surface, and had just decided that however rough it might be it shouldn't be a safety issue because it doesn't include a corner when . . CRACK!!!!. That .303 sound again!. Here I (almost) go again, with a screaming rim sliding from left to right and left again - 18mph suddenly feels perilously fast as I struggle to slow down and then stop. I hadn't even touched the brake (Ah, it must have been that road surface after all). Phone home (lucky I wasn't north of Thetford) for recovery vehicle. What, we debate, would be the odds of having two rim-failures in the same day? 0800hrs and 1305hrs. We would assume a longer life for the rear wheel because the front brake is used more often. I am now in the position to define this differential; 46 miles. I could also put a number on the cost - but I'm not going to. I'm not much of a one for facing reality. On the bright side, the tyres, unlike the tubes, seem undamaged.

Wednesday 25 Jan. The Haggis Ride

The title of this blog is a bit misleading. I only use it because the date of this particular Wednesday Ride is that of Burns Night, and not because we had Haggis Butties in our jersey pockets. I am a big fan of Haggis and, in our restaurant days used to serve chargrilled slices of this 'Chieftain o' the Pudding Race' with a rasher of bacon and a Dijon mustard sauce, on mashed potato and wrapped in one of the savoury pancakes that were our speciality. Still possible at home on our little griddle, and one of the very few things that I cook these days.

Since we were nine or ten, we thought that we would take a chance on a visit to No1 Deli in Clare. If Richard didn't have enough room we could always arrange a re-structured loan facility and go to Cavendish Tea Room. We vaguely followed the Suffolk Punch route, going left when we reached the main road after Poslingford. We were warmly greeted, and took over (as you can see) a large part of the room. Richard was offering a special of 'Stollen' the delicious fruitbread-derived confection with a core of marzipan - it came as lightly toasted slices, and several of us ordered it. My picture of the counter area gives a good impression (rather better than the one on their website imho) of the generous profusion of goodies on display. If any of you haven't yet been, then do try. I have an idea that they don't open on Sundays - but as I sit here writing, I'm uncertain.

For a change on the return, after Poslingford we took the right turn that takes one through Assington Green - where we paused to repair a puncture for Matt the racing motorist; took rather longer than an F1 Pit Team. (confusingly about 20 miles north of Assington) and thence, via Denston to cross the A143 to Wickhambrook pick up the route into Bury that used to be such a feature of Sunday clubruns back in the day when we used the Stradishall Café (then called 'Hard Times') at least three times a month. There are so many more possibilities these days but, regrettably, Stradishall isn't really one of them. It's still there, but we've become such sophisticated bunch that we insist on freshly baked cakes and scones!