I went out on a different15 mile circuit yesterday. There had been a gap of about a fortnight before that - due to the weather. I have read various accounts, from Wednesday Riders, of foolhardiness in the face of snow and ice which have only served to reinforce my resolve to wait for the arrival of Spring. Suddenly, Spring is here (or possibly some counterfeit day or two of clemency. I don't care which). The sun is up, the grass is riz and a few birdies is tweeting - so I thought "I'm damn well getting out for a proper ride". Fickle fate took the initiative, by giving me a very tenuous justification for a ride. But first; a warning.
You are probably expecting not only a cycling-related blog, but a piece solely and exclusively devoted to cycling. So, if you are not interested in motor cars, and feel cheated, then you would do well to fast- forward past the next four paragraphs and see if there's anything more to your taste at the end. I can't be any more specific, as I don't know how much time I'll devote to my first long ride for nearly six months.
We were let down by two of our motor cars - all right, all right, it's true. I'm a cyclist with three cars. I don't care. We are ludicrously attached to them all. There is no logical reason for three - one is essential, obvs. Our 1965 Triumph Spitfire isn't exactly practical, but we've owned him since 1986. He's transported two bikes plus camping equipment down through France to Le Mont Ventoux - in fact, to the summit of Ventoux. How could we possibly abandon a chum like that? The Red Baron is a Dual Fuel (Petrol & LPG) 1988 BMW 325 Touring (That's German for Estate Car). He was, until a year or two ago a 1989 BMW Touring (you know what that's German for by now). We bought Red Baron II because his bodywork was better, and persuaded the sellers to transfer Baron I's mechanicals and seats and lots of other stuff. So deep attachment again. Then we bought another BMW for daughter Polly when she was learning to drive. Now she's in Plymouth, at Uni (as she and her chums would have it) and has no use for a car. Yet again we feel unable to part with ' Baby Beamer'.
I would be amazed if any of you were impressed by the forgoing, but I thought that I'd throw it in as background. The real problem was that the Baron wouldn't start. We were about to take Baby Beamer to our good friend John Gagen at Cockfield, for a service.Traditionally (weather permitting) I would put a bike in the back of whichever vehicle was in need of attention and ride back (then collect when done). For the last few months I've not been able to do this, so we use two cars. I was to drive Baby Beamer, which I took out of our drive, waited for Susan, then walked down to the garage to check on progress. "He* won't start!!" Susan bellowed. (* each of our cars is a chap) I moved into the driver's seat with the calm reason of one who knows about these matters. Sit in car, apply key. Turn engine for maybe four, fruitless, minutes. I can now tell the problem. "He won't start!!" I yell. I diagnose a petrol-pump related problem, but don't feel in any fit state to crawl under The Baron to investigate. We phone John. I outline the problem, and, like a totally ideal Garagiste, after a moment's thought he says "Shall I come and have a look?". John's workshop is about half an hour from Norton. He will need to finish the jobs he has in hand, but will be with us in about 5 hours. Wonderful. So, since the sun is still out (etc) and it's the first mild day for, er, well, days, I decide on the 15 mile circuit mentioned at the start of all this nonsense. Excellent ride, with a modicum of modest climbing. Average speed (as if anyone cared) 14mph. Quick shower, brief lunch, John arrives in in his black 1991 BMW 318 Touring (did I tell you about that?) and sets about the Baron. Problem identified eventually by a whack to the bottom of the petrol tank.This gets the pump whirring which starts the engine (which also runs on LPG, petrol is only needed for about ten seconds to start the engine after which it just runs on gas). We decide to leave the Baron running. Unfortunately, the petrol pump isn't the type expected, so John will have to source another. It seems best to fix it tomorrow. He will now go home, and we'll take the Baron to Cockfield. and leave him behind the workshop. John leaves. We have the Baron, quietly rumbling as he ticks over (petrol-head term) Susan goes to get Baby Beamer. "He won't start!" she shouts in disbelief. More to the point, the electronic key doesn't work. This means that not only will he not start but we can't even open the doors. Susan cleverly extracts the traditional key from the electric item. All this allows us to do is to get in and sit in the driver's seat - impotently. Phone John. He suggests jump leads to encourage life from a suspected flat battery. Looking for our collection of two sets of jump leads, and failing to find even one, we realise that both are in the tailgate area of Baby Beamer. Susan has to climb over the front seats, open the rear seats to allow access to the tailgate and crawl round to find the jump leads. We connect the Baron to the Baby and immediately, nothing happens at all. Phone John. He'll be over at 8.30 in the morning.
You are probably expecting not only a cycling-related blog, but a piece solely and exclusively devoted to cycling. So, if you are not interested in motor cars, and feel cheated, then you would do well to fast- forward past the next four paragraphs and see if there's anything more to your taste at the end. I can't be any more specific, as I don't know how much time I'll devote to my first long ride for nearly six months.
We were let down by two of our motor cars - all right, all right, it's true. I'm a cyclist with three cars. I don't care. We are ludicrously attached to them all. There is no logical reason for three - one is essential, obvs. Our 1965 Triumph Spitfire isn't exactly practical, but we've owned him since 1986. He's transported two bikes plus camping equipment down through France to Le Mont Ventoux - in fact, to the summit of Ventoux. How could we possibly abandon a chum like that? The Red Baron is a Dual Fuel (Petrol & LPG) 1988 BMW 325 Touring (That's German for Estate Car). He was, until a year or two ago a 1989 BMW Touring (you know what that's German for by now). We bought Red Baron II because his bodywork was better, and persuaded the sellers to transfer Baron I's mechanicals and seats and lots of other stuff. So deep attachment again. Then we bought another BMW for daughter Polly when she was learning to drive. Now she's in Plymouth, at Uni (as she and her chums would have it) and has no use for a car. Yet again we feel unable to part with ' Baby Beamer'.
I would be amazed if any of you were impressed by the forgoing, but I thought that I'd throw it in as background. The real problem was that the Baron wouldn't start. We were about to take Baby Beamer to our good friend John Gagen at Cockfield, for a service.Traditionally (weather permitting) I would put a bike in the back of whichever vehicle was in need of attention and ride back (then collect when done). For the last few months I've not been able to do this, so we use two cars. I was to drive Baby Beamer, which I took out of our drive, waited for Susan, then walked down to the garage to check on progress. "He* won't start!!" Susan bellowed. (* each of our cars is a chap) I moved into the driver's seat with the calm reason of one who knows about these matters. Sit in car, apply key. Turn engine for maybe four, fruitless, minutes. I can now tell the problem. "He won't start!!" I yell. I diagnose a petrol-pump related problem, but don't feel in any fit state to crawl under The Baron to investigate. We phone John. I outline the problem, and, like a totally ideal Garagiste, after a moment's thought he says "Shall I come and have a look?". John's workshop is about half an hour from Norton. He will need to finish the jobs he has in hand, but will be with us in about 5 hours. Wonderful. So, since the sun is still out (etc) and it's the first mild day for, er, well, days, I decide on the 15 mile circuit mentioned at the start of all this nonsense. Excellent ride, with a modicum of modest climbing. Average speed (as if anyone cared) 14mph. Quick shower, brief lunch, John arrives in in his black 1991 BMW 318 Touring (did I tell you about that?) and sets about the Baron. Problem identified eventually by a whack to the bottom of the petrol tank.This gets the pump whirring which starts the engine (which also runs on LPG, petrol is only needed for about ten seconds to start the engine after which it just runs on gas). We decide to leave the Baron running. Unfortunately, the petrol pump isn't the type expected, so John will have to source another. It seems best to fix it tomorrow. He will now go home, and we'll take the Baron to Cockfield. and leave him behind the workshop. John leaves. We have the Baron, quietly rumbling as he ticks over (petrol-head term) Susan goes to get Baby Beamer. "He won't start!" she shouts in disbelief. More to the point, the electronic key doesn't work. This means that not only will he not start but we can't even open the doors. Susan cleverly extracts the traditional key from the electric item. All this allows us to do is to get in and sit in the driver's seat - impotently. Phone John. He suggests jump leads to encourage life from a suspected flat battery. Looking for our collection of two sets of jump leads, and failing to find even one, we realise that both are in the tailgate area of Baby Beamer. Susan has to climb over the front seats, open the rear seats to allow access to the tailgate and crawl round to find the jump leads. We connect the Baron to the Baby and immediately, nothing happens at all. Phone John. He'll be over at 8.30 in the morning.
Morning. John arrives and, as we finish breakfast, we hear the sound of two engines. Baby B has a flat battery, when I used the jump leads I used to the wrong connection. BMW use an odd arrangement involving storing the battery in the boot and a couple of contacts under the bonnet. There is no problem with the red one, but the three very similar black ones give plenty of scope for error. We will bring the Baron to Cockfield. Only problem now is that Susan is due in Cambridge at 11.00. There's sunshine, and the temperature is inching it's way towards clement. So I will take a bike and ride back - someone has to do it, what a sacrifice!
Leave John's workshop (which is correctly at Cross Green) and head left onto the A1141 and head home. But why? Do I really need to?
Of course not. The weather is looking sublime. How far would I be able to manage? Turn left off the A1141 towards Cockfield proper and turn right just after the old railway bridge up Perrydown Lane (no, I didn't know it was called that either) and head south. To Bildeston and right towards Chelsworth. Ahah! A proper climb. Oh dear, it's steeper than I remember. By a lot. Decide that it might be prudent to engage the Granny Ring. A bit of grinding and churning, then finally Clatter-Clatter Grind - and the chain is off and down the inside, cranks rigid. Decide that I would rather not fall off, and succeed in my effort. A long fiddle to get the chain out from behind the chainring and back on again. Coast back down to make the re-start less hazardous - after all I'm still very shaky in the bike-handling department. I even have to be careful taking a drink (and then replacing the bottle). Just how sad is that? The left turn in Chelsworth through the very narrow bridge and up the hill past Chelsworth Hall is steep, but not as bad as the previous one - and beautiful, and soon eases to a gentle gradient up, to join the A1141 (again), and left to Hollow Trees. This feels very special indeed. I am under the impression that the time is about 11.20. However, on my way home I realize that my watch has stopped. I caught the winder on a cycling journey. What else can go wrong? Amazingly, nothing. Well, not yet, anyway.Scone and tea for £2.80 and a chat to a husband and wife cycling combo at the next table - they were having a huge salad lunch. I thought that I recognized them, but my ability to remember names is now really terrible, so no chance. They Asked if I'd ridden the Suffolk Punch. I told them I'd just taken a few snaps - they hadn't ridden it either, but spoke of it in awe, and referred to friends who had, and had suffered (in a good way)
After tea I retrace to Bildeston and then turn right, up to Wattisham village, and slightly left back to the B1115 and right to Gt Finborough. The Wattisham bit was new to me - I'm familiar with going via Battisford , Combes and Jack's Lane - but crikey, what a grim and muddy lane up to the main road. Some very smart old conversions, but VERY few. Mostly semi-collapsed barns, broken gates and shabby farm machinery. And yet only a short way away, all was well tended. Just a three mile strip of sadness. If you live there and love it, I'd better apologize. It also looks the sort of area where grudges last, and retribution is enjoyed.
I am beginning to slow down, so a pause for more tea on my way through Woolpit, Chez Seggar. Sue and I talk mainly about France and their impending trip in September to Le Mont Ventoux. and Burgundy until, finally, Rich. Returns from his ride. He told us tales of no room at Clare, and no café any more at Cavendish (we discuss the likelihood of a Cavendish revival) and how the then sped to Yorkshire Mary's in Long Melford. He mentioned Peter's two punctures, the main course (so he said) for his 2.15 arrival.
So, 27.6 miles at Woolpit, and a satisfying 30.something at home. A proper ride at last.
SJH
No comments:
Post a Comment