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!

Extreme exercise without a Bike! 22:01:2012

"Is that you, Adi?"

It's Nowton Park, just before ten and it is a bit chilly. I don't have a bike with me. I'm going to be running. I've been doing this on my own for years, on and off. Always off-road as far as is possible. Now that we have a group of runners within the club who, from the photographs I've seen appear to be enjoying competitive cross-country events I thought to myself "why not have a go?"
I contacted Adi Barbrooke who was, of course, very supportive. Suggested that I should try doing two laps of my regular 5k route. Chest infection delayed the start of my programme, but, post christmas I was back and pounding across the fields around Norton - and even doing the occasional double lap.
So here I am on the 22nd of January, feeling rather like a labrador in a whippet race. Adi had his campervan set-up as an HQ, complete with a Wheelers and Tri banner and was handing out loan vests and reassurances to any who in need of either or both. Very friendly atmosphere - almost felt like an evangelical meeting, at times (how would I know that?). I lend my little Ixus camera to Nathan, with the instruction to "take lots of pictures, please"

"Right" said Adi "let's do a bit of a warm-up, eh?"

And right away I knew I was in trouble. If I'm going into the red just to keep up while everyone else is chatting, and it's only supposed to be warming up pace, I just might be in the wrong place. Remembering the stress of pre-road race (cycling) nerves, I comforted myself that this couldn't be as bad as that. Could it? Well not quite, the other competitors didn't look as terrifying and the likelihood of a crash was probably lower. But the dry mouth was there, and the heart was getting a bit excited as we stood around at the start. Loud hoot! We're off! Feels fine, I'm getting into a rhythm. It's not quite the same rhythm as the others, though.
A steady stream of runners overtake me - but only gradually. It's as if they're on a parallel conveyor belt that's set half a mile an hour faster than mine. By half way round lap one I'm only being passed every couple of hundred metres or so and occasional twists and turns of the course give me a view behind, and I'm reassured to see several runners behind me. Some of them stay that way, too. I cope with an attempted sabotage when a guy who might be even older than me threw himself to the ground as soon as he'd overtaken me (pretended to trip on a tree-root, but I wasn't convinced) yellow card at least, I thought to myself.
Eventually, close to the end of lap one, I was caught by Stuart Smith - also about my age (but I convince myself he must much younger) and, as we were entering a headwind section I moved up and ran on his shoulder. We chatted (yes, I could actually speak comfortably - definitely not racing then) amiably and he pointed out where the course went to the finish. Eventually he was doing what we cyclists know as half-wheeling, so I prudently dropped back saying that I'd better stay at my own pace. Someone who had passed me a while back pulled up with a calf problem. Tempting, I thought. "I was going so well, and then my calf/knee/thigh/brain packed up" but then I remind myself that I am made of sterner stuff.

Second lap, I know where it finishes, and I only have about 5k to go (the actual distance doesn't seem to be considered important in these events; an odd concept for a cyclist). No one has passed me for ages, but two blokes are moving within earshot. One of them sounds as if he will die before the finish. I put in a bit more effort - esp on inclines and in the headwind section, to keep ahead of the awful noise. I was gaining on my NBF Stuart, but when we talked after the 'race' he told me that he'd seen my approach and put in an extra burst to stay ahead. Welcome presence of Richard Seggar waving and shouting encouragement (well I think that's what it was) . I enter the quagmire that is the approach to the finish with what I kid myself might pass for a sprint, taking care not to end up face-first in the mud, and collect my plastic token. Warm welcome from those Wheelers with the patience to wait for my arrival, and great feeling of personal achievement - plus pain, of course.

I was 228th in 57:48, and 4th in the 65-69 age group. Stuart is in 50-54 (hah!) and just 12 secs faster. Nathan took a lot of pics - but none of me actually running. I know, I should've been more specific, shouldn't I?

All that was three weeks ago, and my right knee still hasn't recovered, though it's on the way. I will reluctantly have to give up my promising XC career - and go back to my solitary circuits. Very reluctantly I have reached the conclusion that the difference in effort when in a group is the difference between running to keep me fit and running to make me crippled. Pity.

18 January 2012: Four go Forth.

No one would call it a nice morning – but on the other hand it could without much effort have been a whole lot worse. At 8.00 in Norton it was raining, in a drizzly sort of way. By 08.50 as I neared the New Green centre it was merely spitting. The were four of us, and Dawn. She was receiving counselling from Mark Saunders, because she had had a bump in her ex-husband's vehicle. Mark's suggestion was to go and have a coffee and calm herself, while we four did the ride.

Thus it was that Mark, Dr Guy, young Matthew Parry (the apprentice racing motorist) and your correspondent set off, into the gloom. I had a plan, a route, in my head. "Dagworth" I thought. The link takes you to the delightful website of the Dagworth & Ditsrict Gentlemen's Cycling Club. I haven't been to Dagworth for ages, and Mark did say "let's avoid the little muddy lanes, they'll be in a real state today" which I regarded as a challenge. So it was through Haughley without turning left to the station, and then the left to that strange settlement, with its ford (and little footbridge, which is essential) and its large, tumbledown 18thC house to the right and deep potholes to the left, right and centre. Round the sharp bend as we go between the buildings of the farm where we have often seen interesting cars. We all cope well with the challenging route (I mention that the first to put a foot down pays for tea) and move on to Old Newton where we take the left after the church and past the school. Along the narrow lanes, up and down and round and up and down to emerge at the A1120 just east of Stowupland. Single out to Stonham and left to something-or-other Green on tiny, favourite lanes ending with a plunge down a narrow descent with very high banks topped with trees who's branches meet overhead and which has a grass strip down the middle. I realise that I have been at the front for a while, now, and that no one's talking at the back. I have no illusions these days about being able to destroy a ride into a headwind, I guess they were all just enjoying the view. Through Needham Market and right up towards Barking. My original plan, to continue down to Baylham before swinging westwards, was abandoned reluctantly because the ride out had proved to be tougher than expected. Right to Battisford via Hascot Hill and through Wattisham village to Bildeston and Chelsworth etc etc - why am I writing all this useless drivel? At Semer, we felt more tired than expected and were grateful for the warmth and sustenance. The return was largely favoured with a tailwind (as planned, I'll have you know) which was probably of more benefit to my freewheeling companions than to me. At Felsham, having already slipped off the back a couple of times, I bade them farewell and headed home the shortest way possible. Total of around 55 miles - how can it have felt so hard?

Wednesday 11 Jan 2012. 17 Riders, 2 groups, 1 objective.

And the objective was to find an interestingly different, and differently interesting route to La Hogue.

But first, I had to get to Thurston for 09:00. Recently, I have been involved with a variety of "different" rides, thrown together in an ad hoc manner and with various starting points and times. Some of the times have been as late as 09:30. Now I occasionally have a problem when I wake on a cycling day; is it Sunday? Or Wednesday? or (very occasionally) Friday?. This particular morning I had no problem. It was a ride to celebrate Tom Tom's birthday and would start in Thurston at 09:30. To avoid domestic confusion, I told my wife the previous night that I would be around for longer than usual in the morning. I was about to sit down to my porridge when I glanced at the clock. 08:50. Then a penny finally dropped and landed on that part of my brain that sent an emergency alert to the rest of my system. ****It's Wednesday!! I'm late!!! Scramble!!! Leave the house NOW!!!****

So the porridge stayed on the side, and I whooshed out of the house, cramming items into my pockets while pulling on gloves and hat (not a simple task) and manage Thurston New Green Centre by a minute or so after nine. I was not the last. Not quite.

The Ride was splitting itself in two. This is better done at the start, though it has, historically, been a feature of most rides at some point on the way around East Anglia - generally quite a way from home and unscheduled. This division conformed to latest guidelines because we were seventeen souls, now considered too large a group for Suffolk's lanes and byeways. This is true. After the initial excitement of the growing size of clubruns which really began in late 2009 and peaked in 2010 with up to twenty four riders weaving their sometimes wobbly way through the countryside. On these occasions, the head of the ride had little clue what was happening to the tail which could often end up in a different County. These days we try to keep to no more than twelve and conssider eight or ten to be ideal

We had the choice of going with Justin at a 'brisk' pace, or with Peter (pace unspecified but expected to be 'sensible'). Glenn Grant (Eagle Road Club) was making one of his welcome visits, this time on his newly-acquired Dolan fixed, of 66" gearing like me so it seemed sensible that we should choose the same ride. Having ascertained that we were brisk enough, we joined Justin to make up 'The Adequate Seven'.

Justin's route was a gem of improvisation and we were blessed with extraordinarily beautiful weather. There was a brisk (that word again) head/cross wind from the West, but since I spent most of the outward journey hiding at the back this wasn't a problem. For me, anyway. As we curved round, finally towards the general direction of Newmarket (and I think we were as far away as Denston) we got a puncture. Now, at the time of writing I can't remember the victim's name - shame on me, since we were but seven souls - but he did have the good sense to pick up the truly enormous thorn (see pics above) at a beautiful spot (see many more pics). In the pic it looks like valve attached to a sliver of inner tube. There seemed no hurry, as we chatted in the sunshine.

Off to Whickambrook, thence Moulton, Kentford etc. At the end of Kennett we met the other half of the ride hammering homewards towards us. We were, admittedly, a bit late but it was still a surprise that they'd had their tea, and a natter and got so bored that they just had to leave before we arrived. We arrived at La Hogue with sharpened appetites and a readiness for teas and coffees. Cast your mind back to the beginning of this piece; remember the porridge I left on the side in our kitchen? Now was my chance to re-fuel. Glenneagle had been kind enough to share an energy bar while we waited for the puncture to be fixed, but now it was double-scones-and-jam time. I don't remember what time it was when we left, but in the end I didn't get home until after 2.15. We all agreed that it had been a gem of a ride (almost an anagram of germ of an idea) with the most perfect weather; how long can the weather stay like this? Will we get a Winter at all?

Find out, exclusively, in future blogs

SJH

January 8, 2012.Shock! An orderly ride, no one dropped.

As I arrived at the HQ, thinking myself early and planning what to do while I wait, I am met by a bunch of at least eight Wheelers - and this at 08.55.

The dividing ourselves into two groups took a bit of time, as is to be expected. The 'A' group was led out first, by Paul Callow, and looked to be about ten riders. The 'B' group (all who were left) amounted to twelve, and were led by me and by Mark Harris. The weather was cold but not freezing, with a steel grey sky and a 16mph WNW wind. We never felt comfortably warm, but neither were we seriously cold. I began to feel that my trackmitts decision could be the wrong call. Mark's initial proposal was to go out to La Hogue a flat way and come back via Newmarket and a bit of climbing. I wasn't entirely convinced of the strategy but, since Mark had entrusted the details of the route to me I didn't argue, I just took us the way that I thought more sensible. I know Mark reads these blogs, so that might be a strategy that I won't get away with again!

Through Bury, out towards Nowton and first right up the lane through High Green, left as we meet Horsecroft Rd, then right at Pinford End and up to (eventually) Whepstead, left down the hill, left again and first right to cross the A143 at the start of the Horringer '10'. We paused before crossing to regroup, then proceeded through Hargrave to Ousden, where we went right, then right again through Denham and then the tiny left turn that goes across some superbly wild and open country past lanes to Denham Castle and Desning Hall. I've been past the latter, on an almost off-road ride with Neil - one rides quite close to the west front of this large Georgian house, but I have yet to find out how close you can get to the Castle. Best attempted without eleven other cyclists in tow.

All this ingenuity brought us down into Kentford, across through Herringswell and to La Hogue, buzzing with activity as usual. I think I'm correct in saying that there was only one puncture, Shaun being the unlucky rider. As we 'click-clacked' into the Café area I spotted two contented Wheelers at a small table tucking into large, tempting bacon and egg baps. Chris Curtin and Dick Lines had left not long after us but (presumably not having any punctures) beat us to the tea stop. Turning round, I realise that I am now, as so often, at the back of a queue of cyclists. We were confronted with the usual splendid array of comestibles; I mentioned to whoever was in front of me in the queue that we'd counted 13 different cakes on the last occasion that the Wednesday Ride came here - it seemed easily possible this Sunday. Julian and Esther went for the fuel-efficient beans on toast. As you can see, this was a substantial offering - presented in a way that I'd not come across before. Double Decker, but with the filling on top.

The route back was the shortest of the choices, some of our number were beginning to flag, so extra loops seemed to be a bad idea. Just before the Scrambling and GoKarting track Lara's rear tyre went down. Julian thought it best if he and Esther carry on, because she was feeling cold and tired. Before the tube was changed Julian and Esther went flying by in the opposite direction "I left my bottle behind" shouted Esther, tucked in behind her speeding Dad as they disappeared into the grey distance back to La Hogue. She looked in pretty good form to me - maybe the beans had kicked in.

We left the Colmans to return on their own - so making my headline (maybe) innaccurate. But I will maintain that they weren't dropped. Not technically. So Mark and I felt reasonably self-satisfied with the morning's work. Orderly Ride, no one dropped.

Job Done.

SJH

Sunday 1st January 2012. 3 cylists, 2 punctures, 1 ride

Checking last year's diary, the weather then was the same as the weather now. These days, though my diaries seldom make it past April, they are usefully informative about that first quarter. Why should it be so hard to keep going? And, more to the point, why do I start again each January - always filled with optimistic energy, to go all the way through to December. I begin, each year, with a resolution to be the very soul of brevity. A short, pithy account of each day. Simple. No longer than this first paragraph, in fact.
Ah, but then a few momentous days, and I'm floundering about trying to catch up; finishing Monday's entry on Thursday; that sort of thing. But some occasions just seem too big for this ideal format. Do I write (should I have written) "Mother's funeral. Sunny. Not many there. Music went down well. Family arguments at the wake". In fact, I was writing about that on and off for three weeks - and didn't finish the year beyond that April.
Where was I? Weather. Grey, mild, dry. Mud on damp roads. Lots of birdsong - except when we observed a sparrow-hawk doing its high-speed patrol down a narrow lane; all creatures small holding their breath as it hurtles past.
Too late for the HQ run, I ride towards Tostock along what Neil Dykes refers to as "the smugglers route" to meet Richard Muchmore and Justin. Just a quarter mile from home my rear tyre deflates rapidly and quietly. The Continental Ultra Gatorskin was only 53 miles old (fitted on Friday morning), and now had a centimeter slice in the sidewall - must have been glass, but no sign of it in the cut, so maybe a very large bit. I deploy the 'bike boot' from my Leyzine repair kit to reinforce the tyre - the cut has gone right through the carcass, but the wound on the inside is only a couple of mm long. All fixed and Bike back together, we head towards Drinkstone via Park Road. Left and right at the end and . . . front tyre (bought same time as rear) goes down in just the same way as the earlier rear. Well, damn, I said.

Fortunately my chums are the patient sort, and Justin is never short of one-liners to fill an idle moment or too. I discover that the cause of this, second, puncture is . . . . another piece of glass, embedded in the tyre. Must have been part of the same patch of glass that I must have ridden over. Will I be able to remember, next time I get a glass-puncture, to check the other tyre as well? Because I certainly ought to - and so should you.
The time is advancing very rapidly, having now lost nearly half an hour to tyre-related problems. And now my brand new, box fresh Contis are looking distinctly second hand. We take a short tour to Long Melford, in the hope of finding somewhere open; Fine Foods is closed but, almost next door, is Tiffin & Co. A friendly lady appeared at her door as we were about to lean our bikes against her outdoor furniture (stop sniggering). So friendly was she that she offered parking in the back yard of the Café. We carefully tiptoed with our bikes through two passageways and a couple of rooms and rest our steeds against another set of outside furniture in a small enclosed courtyard. I notice that the back gate is bolted and padlocked, so we will have to retrace later.
The friendly lady displays everything that is on offer, and there is certainly plenty to tempt us. I feel that we should use Heathian rigour in our assessment. I check that the scones are as fresh as they look, and order one with butter and jam (but no cream), Justin selects a darkly tempting chocolate & beetroot cake (look, come on, we all eat carrot cake; Parsnip Petit Fours may be next, or maybe Turnip Tarts) and Richard had both a scone and a cake. Our tea was of good strength and served in jolly crockery (see pic of comforting Brew) in my picture Justin looks like he needs cheering up (but if you click on it to produce the full size image, you will discern an incipient smile) Richard never looks glum, he even looks cheery in the February pic in the 2012 Calendar (only a Tenner, loads of pics- plus the international racing calendar. Available at the Club Dinner) Reports of the cakes were extremely favourable, but the scones were not quite cooked for long enough; just a bit chewy at the base. I didn't mention this, not wanting to spoil a perfect teatime. More people had arrived before we left at about 12.30.
An uneventful return ride was welcome, Justin & Richard came with me on my shortest route from Felsham to Norton, taking great care in Heath Rd in case that was where the glass was hiding, and dropping me off at Orchard Towers at about 13.45. Neither tired nor cold or wet, just annoyed at the fate of my tyres. On my walk to the garage the following morning I see the glass in the gutter, chunks rather than shards, pint beer mug most likely.

SJH