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.