Celebrate No1 son's 49th Birthday on Friday by risking a ride with the informal group of cycling chums all guaranteed to be older than he. First group ride since 5th September last. The thermometer outside the kitchen door offered -4c by way of encouragement. I piled on the garments until I resembled a lycra snowman .
This outfit has a destabilising effect, as I realised yesterday. When dressed up in the same foolish outfit at the start my second ride on Pearson the fixie, I found that getting my leg over the saddle led to falling sideways against the side of the house - not a very elegant way of setting off. "pensioner in legover-failure incident" might be the local headline.
And the above paragraph was very much in my mind as I prepared to launch the Mercian on to the A1088. Moving, successfully, to the crossroad by The Dog with right arm outstretched I charged into the road to Tostock (just managing to keep ahead of vehicles approaching from in front and behind). Cruising down what Neil Dykes calls 'The Smugglers' Route' I'm well under way. At the agreed meeting point, Justin and TomTom are already there. Soon joined by Stephen L and Ron Fisher. After such a long absence, it's reassuring that little (if anything) has changed. We spend ten minutes discussing possible routes, and probable tea stops. Someone suggests we should decide where to take tea before we address how best to get there. I abstain. I'm not going all the way or, perhaps less amusingly, pulling out early. How about not stopping for tea?
If I remember correctly, we are to go to Hollow Trees by way of a typically abstruse TomTom variation on a well loved (and previously familiar) route through Boxford. We head off from our familiar meeting place towards Drinkstone, and thence down the hill to the Rat Valley. At the foot of the hill we come to a cunning bike-handling confidence test. A white van was waiting for us, having just turned into the hill at the junction. The road past the van was covered an splodges of ice and not particularly wide. Obviously climbing off and tottering by on foot wasn't an option, since my four chums have all whizzed through with effortless confidence. So through I went, successfully. There had been an earlier few patches negotiated comfortably - and there would be a few more. This is why one cycles with friends. A confidence building learning curve. And without incident.
Right and then left, up past that Mill that has been converted to apartments (Hancocks? Hickocks?)and on southwards. Whilst some of our number took a pit stop, TT, Peter and I looked at the Memorial to WW2 USAF Airmen based at Rattlesden Airfield and Peter asked, having seen the small, separate memorial stone to one Shirley Lee. "Is Shirley a man's name in America?" "Yes, Peter and so are Gene, Tracey and Jessie" (there are more but I can't remember them). A quarter of a mile on, past Punchards Farm we pass Louse Lane, which causes more discussion - and I mention my favourite 'Whelp St' (not to mention 'Baby Lane' which we passed about half a mile back).
At Bildeston I ask TomTom where we were heading "Chelsworth" he said. This was pretty obvious, I was just hoping there was a different route westwards that didn't use this little climb OR Semer Hill. Ah well, here goes. Skip the Granny Ring (the last attempt, a week ago, had led to an unshipped chain and ungainly dismount - or unmanly disgrunt as Susan just suggested) All went well, if jolly slowly. The descent into charming Chelsworth was much faster than the last time, and I did that charmless thing so popular with slow, unfit riders. Cruising past the waiting group at 25mph (or more) and not slowing down until it suits us. Fortunately the burn-out point usually comes pretty soon. Just outside Monks Eleigh, where I realised the plan was to turn left, I made my excuses and left - claiming to go to Lavenham.
However I turned right through Brent Eleigh and then up to Whelp Street and Preston. As I turned left from Whelp St (which I now realise is a hamlet rather than just a street), I am gently overtaken by a very clean Land Rover Freelander. As reach the end of Preston St Mary, I see it coming back. The driver (a distinguished looking gent) stops and the window drops. "Do you know this area at all well?" "Fairly, how can I help?" "I'm looking for Welt Street" "Ah, Whelp Street. And I tell him" It isn't often I'm able to help someone with a direction so quickly and accurately. And as for the coincidence after our 'Louse Lane' discussion, well, how weird is that? OK, not very, since we were so close to the place (about 800 yds).
With various changes of direction as I toiled into the north easterly breeze, mostly at a 10mph grovel (but that was fine since I wasn't trying to catch anyone up) I rolled onto the forecourt of Orchard House at 12.00. Only now was I able to check my watch and change the mode of my computer The Snowman costume plus two-finger 'Sealskinz' precluding any agility without stopping and removing gloves. With the temperature still no more than 2c, that was never going to happen until I reached home.
36 miles, 13mph. Still Progressing.
SJH
This outfit has a destabilising effect, as I realised yesterday. When dressed up in the same foolish outfit at the start my second ride on Pearson the fixie, I found that getting my leg over the saddle led to falling sideways against the side of the house - not a very elegant way of setting off. "pensioner in legover-failure incident" might be the local headline.
And the above paragraph was very much in my mind as I prepared to launch the Mercian on to the A1088. Moving, successfully, to the crossroad by The Dog with right arm outstretched I charged into the road to Tostock (just managing to keep ahead of vehicles approaching from in front and behind). Cruising down what Neil Dykes calls 'The Smugglers' Route' I'm well under way. At the agreed meeting point, Justin and TomTom are already there. Soon joined by Stephen L and Ron Fisher. After such a long absence, it's reassuring that little (if anything) has changed. We spend ten minutes discussing possible routes, and probable tea stops. Someone suggests we should decide where to take tea before we address how best to get there. I abstain. I'm not going all the way or, perhaps less amusingly, pulling out early. How about not stopping for tea?
If I remember correctly, we are to go to Hollow Trees by way of a typically abstruse TomTom variation on a well loved (and previously familiar) route through Boxford. We head off from our familiar meeting place towards Drinkstone, and thence down the hill to the Rat Valley. At the foot of the hill we come to a cunning bike-handling confidence test. A white van was waiting for us, having just turned into the hill at the junction. The road past the van was covered an splodges of ice and not particularly wide. Obviously climbing off and tottering by on foot wasn't an option, since my four chums have all whizzed through with effortless confidence. So through I went, successfully. There had been an earlier few patches negotiated comfortably - and there would be a few more. This is why one cycles with friends. A confidence building learning curve. And without incident.
Right and then left, up past that Mill that has been converted to apartments (Hancocks? Hickocks?)and on southwards. Whilst some of our number took a pit stop, TT, Peter and I looked at the Memorial to WW2 USAF Airmen based at Rattlesden Airfield and Peter asked, having seen the small, separate memorial stone to one Shirley Lee. "Is Shirley a man's name in America?" "Yes, Peter and so are Gene, Tracey and Jessie" (there are more but I can't remember them). A quarter of a mile on, past Punchards Farm we pass Louse Lane, which causes more discussion - and I mention my favourite 'Whelp St' (not to mention 'Baby Lane' which we passed about half a mile back).
At Bildeston I ask TomTom where we were heading "Chelsworth" he said. This was pretty obvious, I was just hoping there was a different route westwards that didn't use this little climb OR Semer Hill. Ah well, here goes. Skip the Granny Ring (the last attempt, a week ago, had led to an unshipped chain and ungainly dismount - or unmanly disgrunt as Susan just suggested) All went well, if jolly slowly. The descent into charming Chelsworth was much faster than the last time, and I did that charmless thing so popular with slow, unfit riders. Cruising past the waiting group at 25mph (or more) and not slowing down until it suits us. Fortunately the burn-out point usually comes pretty soon. Just outside Monks Eleigh, where I realised the plan was to turn left, I made my excuses and left - claiming to go to Lavenham.
 |
| Original Title mentioned Morieux - should've been Preston |
With various changes of direction as I toiled into the north easterly breeze, mostly at a 10mph grovel (but that was fine since I wasn't trying to catch anyone up) I rolled onto the forecourt of Orchard House at 12.00. Only now was I able to check my watch and change the mode of my computer The Snowman costume plus two-finger 'Sealskinz' precluding any agility without stopping and removing gloves. With the temperature still no more than 2c, that was never going to happen until I reached home.
36 miles, 13mph. Still Progressing.
SJH
love the watercolor (colonial spelling)and it's great you're back on the bike - although I'm crushed I wasn't asked along?
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