west suffolk awheel...er

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

2012-01-08T09:03:00.000-08:00

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

2012-01-02T03:36:00.000-08:00

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

Friday 30 December. Last Ride of 2011, best scones of the year

2011-12-30T09:09:00.000-08:00

I thought that, since I was up at 07.30 for a 09.30 kick off, I could fit the beautiful new Conti Ultra Gatorskins that I bought for Pearson for Christmas before setting off. Ah, but he's very dirty, with signs of rust on some shiny bits like track nuts, due to salt no doubt. So it was a bike wash, then. Boiler suit over cycling kit, porridge on the stove, rush about gathering cleaning stuff, bike on stand, hot water and detergent, citrus de-greaser, brush, sponge, cloth to get into the crevices, dash back to kitchen and turn down heat on porridge, give it a stir, add a drop more milk, cover and leave on low heat, remove wheels, apply citrus to oily bits, lather the rest, hose down (water is VERY cold as I hold my thumb over the end - the simplest and best "hose attachment" I know), check porridge, switch off heat. Crickey! 08.15, clean spokes and hubs, replace old tyres with new, (changed mind about putting new tubes in), inflate tyres, back to kitchen, put porridge in bowl to cool (saves breath, ha ha) refit wheels adjust chain tension, click rear mudguard stays into fixings, set brakes, attach speedo, time has lurched to 08.50, take bike to house, gather milk and maple syrup, rip off boiler suit, momentarily unable to find my special spoon (can't possibly eat it without) find spoon, give more food to cats (three) to avoid tripping over them, 09.03 start gulping porridge, 09.10 stack porridge bowl and teacup by sink, no time to wash up - wife asleep recharging energy cells depleted by six days of catering for family gatherings of 7 to 17 souls hope no fuse blown by sight of dirty dishes, 09.15 pedal to garage for papers, back to house, throw them into kitchen, pause; check phone, camera, money, clean handkerchief, bottle on bike, make the gilet decision following test of temperature without boiler suit on the paper-run, leap on bike, 09.19, pedal like hell, after four minutes settle for merely brisk pace, up the hill through Tostock, gasping for breeeeaaaath, settle to cruise setting, slow down miserably going over A14 bridge, down into Beyton, get into a purposeful position just in case they're looking. Check watch 09.28. Whew. Plenty of time.

Five of us go to La Hogue, destined to be Tea Stop of The Year. Weather was sunny to start with, but the mercury was sulking at zero celcius. However, with the help of the early sunshine the temperature rose, and normal longsleeve Club jerseys were sufficient when combined with a gilet (see above) over and several layers beneath.

We took a version of the normal return route for our outward leg. There was all the usual mud from the Sugar Beet harvest, and a fair few puddles to avoid. The high spot was probably spotting Jeremy Waterson's head and shoulders poking out of a manhole in a driveway as we rode through Livermere. As WSW MTB co-ordinator Jeremy will be no stranger to mud and discomfort; it was good to see someone who was prepared to get out there and help the economy.

At La Hogue we enjoyed quite the finest scones of the year. Slightly crusty on the outside, still warm from the oven, and maintaining their integrity when spread (important in so many activities, I feel) these baked beauties were imbued with perfect flavour from correct amounts of salt and sugar plus a good balance of fruit. The place was extremely busy overall, but the Café had plenty of room. As I enjoyed butter and jam on my scone, accompanied by a large cappuccino with chocolate on top, I couldn't help but notice my neighbour's spartan black coffee, no food and bare knees. Are you quite mad Gerry? I admit that I very rarely wear shorts even in Summer and never if it's below about 18c but, shorts? In December? Even the warmest December since 1886 or whatever it was? Oh, all right then. Not quite so deranged - but do think of those knees old chap.

My proposals for a more challenging route home were (quite correctly) over ruled and we went roughly the normal way back. 52 miles at a steady pace (coupled with my first run for over a month, yesterday) meant that my legs had had enough, thank you.

So, the final Blog of 2011, completed with five hours to go. Tomorrow is another year, so here's to many successful miles in good company, personal bests and achievements.
HAPPY NEW YEAR!

SJH

Sunday 18 Dec. 2011: Four set out, Three turn back.

2011-12-19T11:43:00.000-08:00

Mince Pie Run Day. -4c. Ice on the walk to the garage for my paper, just like yesterday. Tony, Justin and Ron Fisher are due to come up the road to collect me - after a 'snow check'. I had been busy defending to wife and daughter the apparent rashness of going out when I had pronounced the previous (almost identical) day's weather as "far too dangerous". Me and my big mouth, eh?

They arrived, without incident, it would seem that there is rather more salt about than yesterday. We decided on a route that kept to main-ish roads that would (or should) have been treated. Down the 1088 to Elmswell, then follow the road to Stowmarket and from there follow the 1115 towards Bildeston. So far so good and companionable. It didn't seem quite so cold as we rolled along. We realised that we needed a plan that went a bit further than "let's avoid the lanes" and reached "so what route that avoids the lanes do we need in order to reach to Rattlesden?". As we were about to descend the little hill at the end of Hitcham it was perfectly plain that we should just turn round and go back, and then go left at One House then left again to the warm sanctuary of the Five Bells. We reckoned on about a 12.15 arrival.

Then it began to snow, so we were smugly happy with our decision to turn. The snow got a bit heavier. Smugness was replaced by plain relief. Then I got my puncture. Rear, of course - what other sort would one get in weather like this? Tony Panting's pictures tell the story, and my traditional cyclists' head wear doing its traditional thing of moving upwards coupled with the reading glasses essential for finding the flint that turned out to be the cause give me a distinctly "Bah Humbug" aspect. And, dear readers, that would exactly reflect my mood.

Fingers now numb with cold, gloves no longer even damp proof and a good half hour's ride home, we made another decision; we would go straight home. Ron Fisher, being made of stearner stuff and riding his mountain bike opted to follow plan B release 1, whilst we grovelled home on plan B release 2 (I had an additional reason to want to go home - I'd realised while fumbling in pockets for my specs that I'd left my money behind, and the generosity of others might not be able to keep pace with my need for alcoholic consolation) I was home by about 1.15, relieved and soon revived. Tony emailed on Tuesday to say that he had a chest cold - he had been suffering quite badly on the home. Get well soon, Tony

SJH

Wednesday 7 December 2011. High wind in Suffolk. Peter decides on Cafe of the Year.

2011-12-07T11:23:00.000-08:00

A reduced number assembled for the opening of our sealed orders for the day. There would be no need to split up and we would be huddled pretty close for all of the way to our tea stop, which was revealed to be at La Hogue.

We followed our recently popular climbing route which takes us via Welnethams Gt & Lt, Whepstead and eventually Ousden and (depending on how intrepid we feel) round to the south and west of Newmarket or, as in this case through to Moulton and Kentford. Though the headwind was pretty tough, when it was a sidewind it was definitely more challenging - some of our lighter riders were experiencing directional problems as we passed gateways and hedge gaps. Definitely a tea-break wheel-turner this, as we would get a substantial tailwind home. We met the Cambridge Wednesday contingent at La Hogue, and I chatted to my old friend André Marsh. Only later did it really dawn on me that one group was going to face a massive headwind home. And it wasn't going to be us.
Rolling along comfortably on 72.5" gear (this link will allow you to make your own calculations. My combination was 51x19) was great, all the way to Cavenham, when we turn left. On the shallow descent to Lackford the wind was precisely behind us, and I wound up the revs to around 135rpm and overtook an unsuspecting Ron Fisher at 29mph. He woke up and was soon on my wheel of course - and I can't maintain those revs for very long. When I contemplate the achievements of Tony Doyle and the late Zak Carr I am completely humbled since since Zak averaged over 130rpm for 53 minutes. At the moment I can just about manage the 3minutes on the end. That link is truly fascinating, do follow it.

SJH

Sunday 4th December 2011. We are introduced to a new Café, and are Proud to have an HQ.

2011-12-06T12:37:00.000-08:00

In case there are rumours that we are a rival ad hoc club run, let me say, right away, that this is the official Café Reconnaissance Ride. We sample the Tea so that you don't have to. We were the Infamous Five, and Long Melford was our goal. Fine Foods, on the west side of The Street. Appropriate, I pointed out, that we seniors should stop here in Long Melford, since the speciality of this small town is antiques.
We spent a few minutes in the Café (while our redoubtable Yorkshire hostess prepared our scones and tea) calculating our average age (yes, sad isn't it. We'll soon be in that irredeemably sad category of old Codger who fixes strangers with a hard stare asking "And how old d'you think I am?" and you'll be in trouble if you guess over the actual - or, even, too close below) the answer - if you can remember where we were before that last parenthetic detour - was 68. Which I suppose makes me a mean cyclist.
The feel of the room is very 1950s and, despite a lot of mass-produced repro nostalgia (and as we all know, nostalgia isn't what it used to be) very authentic. I think this is down to the hostess's attitudes and the slightly bare look, with cream walls and some green detailing which was the green that was ubiquitous during the first fifteen years after what we oldsters merely call 'The War' with no qualification. To us there are other wars that do have a title, Crimean, Boer, First, Korean and so on, but The War is only ever the '39-'45.
Our hostess impressed us when, during a discussion of tea strengths and the effect of hard and soft water on this, she said
"Well, my tea supplier made my blend specifically for the water here".

It's definitely that "My tea supplier" coupled with "My blend" that sets this lady and her establishment apart.

But there was more. Casting an eye over our club outfits, the lady of the house asked
"In a club are you?"
"Yes, West Suffolk Wheelers in Bury St Edmunds"
"Do you have a club room or a hut where you meet?"

With pride, and thoughts of our Chairman Barry St Edmunds, we explained our recent elevation to the ranks Clubs With Huts. How shaming, how embarrassing the conversation would have been if we hadn't had an HQ to our name.

SJH

Wednesday 30th November 2011. Hollow Trees

2011-12-06T12:30:00.000-08:00

A chilly start, and not over warm at any time there was, however, sunshine and beautiful landscape to enjoy. It was decided that we were about the right size of group remain as one, and it was decided that Peter would lead us to Semer, where Woodlands Café operates at Hollow Trees Farm.
It was one of those rides where every time I felt convinced that I knew which way we would be going, the direction changed. Every anticipated right became a left, and vice versa; every expected village or town was avoided. Favourite lanes were shunned in favour of more 'main' roads - but then a previously unknown byway would be introduced. Kept us on our toes. Thank you Peter.
On one particularly picturesque section of this route one of our number experienced a punctured inner tube. The sun was by now delivering unseasonal warmth and, as you can see from the pics, we were in a near perfect spot for puncture repair. Some of our number rode up the road , then back, then up the road again and so on - partly out of politeness, not wishing to swell the throng of onlookers (thus possibly embarrassing the victim), and partly to keep their finely tuned legs in perfect condition (or so they might have us believe). The lane was narrow, and any group of stationary riders (however few) will always expand to fill the road available and, at the approach of a vehicle will take a maddeningly long time to sort themselves out of the way (the very behaviour that, when exhibited by pedestrians, makes cyclists extremely cross) Thus, having over half the ride cruising round in a holding pattern is a good thing. This ride though very beautiful, and enjoyable, and in weather that was unbelievably clement for the last day of November is not, in fact, the main topic of this blog.

The main topic is Hollowtrees itself. What concerned the ever-discerning Mercoladisti was a perception of a slight slippage in the maintaining of standards. Chloe's accueil is peerless as ever. The was scones lacked lacked the feel of fresh. Though we had no reason to doubt that they had been made on this morning, it seemed to be more a question of recipe and method. Had they someone in the kitchen with a more commercial background?

Some have reservations about the layout following the recent refurbishment - the area that had previously been the servery remains the same size and, having no windows yet retaining three walls has rather the feel of a cupboard. We feel that maybe, just maybe, the coveted crown of Wheelers' Café of the year may well pass to another organisation. The criteria are quite complex and the catering quality is but one of these. One criterion is beyond the control of the establishment and that is location. Well, not just location (this would feature such variables as wonderful views, peaceful outside seating and so on) but proximity. Ideally, no further than 20 miles from Bury St Edmunds and, to be even more picky, to the west or south west. It's no use having a supposedly favourite café that we rarely visit. Now La Hogue has the location thing sewn up, with the possible exception of the return route to Bury. It takes moral fibre of the carbon variety to launch into a long route home after the café stop, so that leaves the variations of Red Lodge and Tuddenham which gives around 18 miles return which, when combined with a 40 mile outward leg gives a good ride. Even better if you live (as I do) 7.5 miles east of Bury. So, we had a great ride, discovered a failing in our favourite watering hole, changed an inner tube and maybe thought of a new Café of the year.
SJH

Sunday 27th November. Ambushed at La Hogue

2011-12-06T12:24:00.000-08:00

It was only Peter, TomTom and I who decided at the last minute that we might go out for a gentle 'pootle', to return with the brisk (14 - 17 mph) westerly wind, possibly from La Hogue.

We went via Beyton, west parallel to A14, past the Plant Nursery and through the Rougham Estate past Blackthorpe Barn (where there was much Christmas activity already - car park attendants in their huge hi-vis coats, even the odd Tree being carried to a waiting car) then through to Nowton.

Some ingenious moves wound us through to Horrringer, Westley crossroads and up to Barrow - where we met the full force of the 15mph wind on the ascent. From Barrow through Moulton and Kentford . . . to La Hogue, and the prospect of a wind assisted return trip. Just as we were savouring the first sips of tea and nibbles of scone - il Cappuccini arrived. Barry came and sat at our table; I assured him that, despite appearances, we were not in any way a renegade unofficial club run. We were merely three like-minded cyclists who happened to have discovered a degree of congruence in our intentions of a Sunday morning. I think it possible that all I succeeded in doing was to convince our chairman (Barry St Edmunds) that I was barking.

We left just ahead of The Ride, I had turned my wheel round to raise my gear from 66" to 72"
- fending off the usual banter about the length of time it takes to change gear and other hilarious observations concerning the invention of multiple gear systems - so that I could maximise the benefit of a tailwind. As is usual, we turned left at the end of the road to La Hogue to Chippenham (incidentally, this road does continue to the A11 enabling the brave to join the Norwich-bound carriageway at a T junction. Before the dualling, it was possible to cross the A11 and continue in a straight line to Moulton. But what's the point of short cuts, when we're trying to cover as many miles as possible, as opposed to merely reaching a destination. For the sake of the argument I'm ruling out Café stops as destinations) In Chippenham we turn right (east) along the little lane that joins the road from Freckenham to Red Lodge (which has turned into something resembling Toytown). As we left Toytown we caught a glimpse of a group of riders crossing from right to left. It was il Cappuccini, who must have taken the alternative route (I won't bore you with a description - it's a dull choice) which put them about a quarter mile ahead of us. The inevitable happened (TomTom would say that it was in no way an inevitability since I am an adult capable of exercising free will) and I gradually increased our pace (a less aggressive term than speed) until the group ahead very gradually came closer. It can be very hard to gauge how quickly (or not) one is catching up with other riders until they are within a couple of hundred yds. Then it is important to only go as fast as is necessary to maintain the rate of gain. Quite absorbing really, in an incredibly boring sort of way. Before we reached Tuddenham we were upon them. First group of four or five at the back, neat and compact, then Barry with John Dumont, then another three, then ones and twos further ahead. A classic Wheelers clubrun, at a disorganised point in the ride. All rides get these moments, it can be fatigue, inattention or a mismatch of abilities. We lightheartedly joshed them as we passed, mainly the old chestnut about riding "all over the road" or "four abreast". I can't remember the last time I was in a group that caught, passed and rode away from another. OK they were the more mature in their attitude, but hey! It was a blast. We turned left to Lackford and never saw them again.

SJH

Wednesday 23rd November. The search for the most expensive stop is over . .

2011-12-06T12:21:00.000-08:00

. . . . but it's still high quality at the Cavendish Tearooms. Taking one of the selection of lumpy routes to Cavendish (there is no other sort) and again climbing the Col de Poslingford, Ron Fisher mentioned that this was the fourth time that he'd climbed it on consecutive rides. He seemed to take it in his stride. At Clare we passed through in a westerly direction and turned left to follow the lanes eastward, roughly parallel to the main Clare - Cavendish rd. There was a call that there had been a puncture, it was Dawn's and TomTom went back to assist Dawn and Chris, and the message came through that they would follow the main road.
Our main group arrived first at Cavendish Tea Rooms, and the puncture party were about ten minutes later. The usual huge scones (though perhaps a touch hard from overcooking) and I went for a cappuccino (always a pricey option - but what the hell . .)
Service varies between order at the counter pay on exit and full table service, then pay on exit. Today it was order and pay at the counter, so I had my fiver poised between finger tips as the pleasant lady said
"£6.45 thank you"
OOps. I only had that fiver. However I did have TomTom who was at my elbow, in funds and feeling sufficiently generous to subsidise me in my extravagance.
I think that this is now the most expensive tea stop yet enjoyed. Normally, I am intensely relaxed about food prices when eating out, and am only very rarely caught out by a disconnect between expectation and reality. This was one of those rare occasions. A sharp-intake-of-breath moment, shall we say. This a beautiful space in which to spread ourselves out at large blond wood tables that can seat a dozen or more without a crush. A blazing wood fire when appropriate, views across a very nice garden all ease the pain in the purse that it seems to have become. When first discovered, this place seemed a bit too cheap for the amounts of food provided; as an ex-catering professional I thought that if it was to survive, something had to give, portions or prices. They've made the choice.

We toil back on the usual route from Cavendish, up water lane and via Glemsford. Always a challenging route and, as you get more tired, closer to Bury and need of some comfort - there is none. Whichever variation of the final run-in involves a succession of little ascents. But this is why do this, why we are out on a Wednesday; pain and discomfort endured for the future benefit that it will bring. What future benefit is that? Feeling slightly less pain & discomfort on the run-in to Bury. If not next time, then eventually.

SJH

Sunday 20 November 2011.Five test the new Suffolk Punch route . . .

2011-11-24T05:20:00.001-08:00

. . . . . now with added altitude. After the ride, exhausted and drained, I said to Justin
"I don't like your altitude"

"It's not my altitude" he replied "it's your attitude. That's the problem"

Then we made up, and became firm acquaintances again. Though as you will have realised, I made it all up.

There is much concern, these days, over 'elder abuse' as it is sometimes called (ask a social services professional, they'll tell you why) (that's as in "why it's called 'elder abuse' " rather than why there's too much of it about. Though they can probably tell you that too). The casual classification of those over (say) sixty five as being barely sentient, aged, wrinkly is all too prevalent.

There is a reason for raising this topic at the beginning of a blog about cycling. And that reason is the passing of the indefatigable, ubiquitous and ever-youthful Justin into the Pensioner zone with his 65th birthday. He has joined the senior echelon of the Wednesday ride and will from now on be referred to as a 'Pensioner'. As in 'Plucky Pensioner'. In time he, like the rest of us, will graduate to the higher level of patronisation which is 'Elderly '.

Cyclist in collision, Pensioner falls off of bike (this is local press), elderly man tumbles from pushbike.

Happy Birthday Justin.

Because we met at Thurston at 09.00, and because we intended to experience the full 'Suffolk Punch Experience' we cycled into Bury via Mount Rd and the cyclepath. We saw (and waved to) the Espresso Ride hammering Eastwards through Moreton Hall. We didn't feel it necessary to actually go to the HQ.

Merits of our route through Bury were discussed as we rode out along Southgate St and towards Horringer, taking the left turn at the foot of the Horringer climb, in the general direction of Whepstead. Just before we were to take the right turn towards Rede, my chain came off. I should mention at this point that I was riding Pearson the Fixie (just to show that I wasn't taking all the climbing too seriously) and descending at 26mph which is about 134rpm. I looked down and saw the chain was swinging from side to side in a harmless-seeming way, unbroken. I shouted to my chums that I had a problem. Then the still-rotating sprocket grabbed the chain and wound it tightly round the drop-out (which someone might be tempted to point out is actually a slide-out, being a track-end) and locked the back wheel. The road was wet, and slimy with mud - so I slid. "Here I go" I thought, trying to control the skid with opposite lock, first one way then the other and then the first one again, not wishing to actually fall off. The likelihood of a tumble seemed very high but, incredibly, I came to an almost stop and actually achieved what can only be described as a track stand, managing to get my foot out in time to catch the falling bike. So there I was, leaning on the 'bars, amazed at my good fortune. Just a bit disappointed that the other four had missed my bike-handling display. Being the true friends that they are, they readily believed me. But it's just not the same, is it?

Not certain of the cause. Having ridden fixed fairly regularly for around ten winters my chain has only come off once before. And I didn't fall off the other time either. Of course, the wheel had pulled over - but was it the cause or the effect? The RH wheelnut wasn't fully tight, however, and just might have been the cause.

Brief pause for re-shipping of chain and swift check of possible damage, less delay than your average puncture, then off we go to Rede and, eventually Hawkedon. Right at the T junction and follow the route through Stansfield and up to Poslingford. I always know that I'll get dropped these days, so I wasn't surprised this time - but I did recover in the later, less steep stages. The visibility is still quite poor, and patchy. I find that I can actually see better without my prescription Ray-Bans. We climb over the summit above Hundon, reasonably together - we are going at the speed of the slowest, even when he can't keep up - and descend to Stradishall. Right and Left across the A143 and carry on through Wickhambrook on the B1063. There is a puncture. When we set off I replace the Ray-Bans. Before we reach Cropley Grove, I'm struggling to see, so stiff them in a back pocket, beneath the WSW Gilet. Up Ousden Hill (feels less challenging than I remember) and head for Hargrave then Chevington and up Weather Cock Hill to the finish of the Horringer Evening '10'. Back across the A143, up Whepstead Hill. Here I committed an error of etiquette. Pete beat me to the top, and I heard myself saying
"I know I'm still off form, because I used to count on getting to the top of this climb first"
After a pause for thought, I apologised. In my defence I would mention that cyclists are frequently self-obsessed, though that that's not really a defence for being a boorish plonker. Sometimes you can be riding alongside a local hotshot who normally wouldn't give you the time of day if it was at the finish of a race and, to break the ice, you ask how his weekend went. He tells you. Pedal stroke by pedal stroke. Lasts five miles. Then he pauses and says "But that's enough about me. What do you think I should be doing to improve? "

On, On, On.

At the top of Wheaptead Hill we turn right, and keep going all the way to Hartest. Then we turn left. Yup, Hartest Hill. One chevron. Last time I tried this (on 72.5" gear) I came to a standstill for the first time in my adult cycling life. Today I'm on 66" (even if you no nothing at all about this arcane measurement system, you can see that there's a big difference) and worried that I'll be able to make it. But only worried in that way that you know you'll do it, but there might be a big effort involved. Then the road rears up in a way that I don't ever remember, and it's foot out time. This takes a bit of planning, on fixed. The feet are rotating (albeit, slowly) the whole time, so you must unclip and plant the foot all in one movement - and on the side that you are leaning. Then the car behind passes you while you try to pretend that you have experienced an unexpected mechanical. Then (because remounting on a 15% gradient isn't an option) you have to walk to nearly the top.

But that's enough about me, how do you think I should have handled this problem?

On, on, on.

Down towards Shimpling and right to Bridge Street. Don't stop at the Rose Bar & Tearooms, excellent though it is. Force yourself across the A134 and up the jolly old climb towards Lavenham and tea. The Guildhall Tea Rooms is a quality National Trust venue, with friendly and welcoming staff (if slightly confused at times). We timed our arrival to perfection, just ahead of a booked party of motorcyclists. There was an amusingly confused moment when the lady who was serving me was handed a plate bearing the sausage roll ordered by the motorcyclist behind me in the queue. My lady solved this by serving the chap behind me first, and appearing to forget that I had already ordered. Good job I wasn't Peter, is all I can say. This wasn't the only hitch at the tea stop; I realised that my prescription Polarising Ray-Bans were no longer in my back pocket under my gilet. Remember my mentioning the glasses earlier? I must have missed the the pocket and, at some point when Tom Tom wasn't behind me with his hawk-eyes, they must have fallen out. Well, damn.

The Motorcyclists look huge in their leathers, carrying large helmets, filling the room. When they remove their huge jackets, they are still - all of them - large. We no longer worry about the five of us taking up too much room, with our Lycra clothing and small, lightweight helmets (or caps) because at least four of us look vanishingly slender as we sit nibbling our scones. The mist and gloom had lifted before we reached Lavenham and the town is looking tourist-brochure perfect.

We turned down the little street beside the Great House Hotel & Restaurant (a favourite for Susan and I when we have something to celebrate; that something is sometimes just being able to go out for lunch). As m'colleagues weave their way down the steep and narrow street, I realise that something isn't quite right in the handling department. Yup! it's a puncture. At least it's a front. The others are out of ear shot so I just get on with it. The business of changing a tube is rather complicated by the gradient (I could have gone back to the square, but I'd have been out of sight if my chums came back to look for me, and they would have had to climb the hill just to find out . . . .oh this so long winded, you know what I'm getting at). Chums appear at the foot of the climb, ascend to offer help and banter. Puncture fixed off we go, tried and tested route home with no more nasty surprises. Near Thorpe Morieux Peter gets a puncture, we hear a barn owl. I see it briefly alight on the top of a tree, but cannot check properly without distance glasses (see above). My recognition is contradicted. Average age of heaven knows what and we're disagreeing what we can see. "In the land of the blind, the one-eyed man is king" . The sun still shines and were we stand there is warmth.

We opt-out of returning to HQ, and just head for home. A grand ride, if taxing. Sixty-several miles and, without Hartest, quite do-able. If I train between now and February 2012, and can climb Hartest without coming to a standstill, I'll ride fixed like today.

SJH.

Wednesday 16 Novenber 2011. Altogether now . . almost

2011-11-21T02:14:00.000-08:00

A misty start, and a shaky one as we head north east from Thurston. Straight over crossroads at Pakenham, then left just past the Manor to cross the A143 at the point that actually has the best visibility. And we have a puncture. Front wheel. However, takes a while to find the cause so, with just 2 miles covered so far, it's already 9:35. Things can only get better.

As we descend towards Livermere, Dawn feels spooked by the fog and turns for home (or, rather, that's what I thought was going to happen). A bit further on we realised that Glenn Morris had also departed.

The group seemed to gel, and singling out went smoothly. This was encouraging since we were about 15 riders. No incidents with cars, no further punctures. TT took us on an unchallenging loop to Bressingham, keeping off both main roads and tiny lanes. By the time we tottered into Blooms we discovered that Dawn and Glenn had changed plans and come straight out to the café. I had to mentally readjust as the till and service was now on the right hand side of the huge horse-shoe shaped counter. Quite a few of us enjoyed a hybrid baked product, the lovechild of a brief fling between a scone and a rockcake that had acquired a mild cinnamon habit and some glace cherries. Many culinary successes began with a mistake. I mistook marmalade for apricot jam, and the result was delicious with my rock-scone. The sun was coming through as we left, turning right towards Diss then left down Freezen Hill for a route that stayed north of the A143 until Ixworth. We stayed together to the end.

An uneventful ride was just what we needed after the last few incident-packed wednesdays (and I forgot to mention Justin getting shotgun pellets in his Gilet last week!) but it makes it hard to create a story.

Sorry

SJH

Wednesday 9 November '11. A ride of two halves . . .

2011-11-14T09:49:00.000-08:00

. . . . one Café and some punctures. Due to pressure on my time since Wednesday the detail of this ride in largely good weather is a little hazy. Because we were (probably) over twenty riders, and because last week's ride was a tumble-strewn fiasco largely caused by similar numbers, it was decided that we should split into two (I seem to remember being the last to be selected) and that we would all go to Hollow Trees, but not necessarily by the same route. Justin and Peter's group rolled out first followed by us. We were fortunate in having TT on our side (we wouldn't get lost) plus Glenn Morris to assist with punctures.

We had a couple of punctures en route, most notable was the one suffered by Dawn which was caused by a huge flint. So huge was it that Glenn insisted that I take its photo. The result was out of focus, so won't be displayed - but rest assured that it could have been mistaken for a Saxon arrowhead. It later came to light that Glenn had lost his plastic wallet containing credit card etc. There's no sign in my photo of anything similar lying on the ground, but we could have a 'spot the plastic wallet' competition. After realising his loss while standing in the queue at Hollowtrees, Glenn went back to have a look - without success. He didn't seem to have been away long enough to have reached the spot in the photo. What an unfair thing to happen to one who is always so ready to help others.

The puncture had happened on a section of road that was a new experience even to TomTom! We took a left in Boxford, before Cox's Hill, that looks like a footpath in front of a row of very old houses, which then widens to a lane, then narrows again to - what do you call the next size down from a lane? Then becomes a lane with very tall grass down the middle. We reached a T junction, went left. I assumed that we had met a more substantial road. I was extremely wrong. It got smaller again, and extremely steeeep. Then went down, then up and then Dawn had her puncture. Which brings us back to the café in the previous paragraph. The other half of the ride left after about 15 minutes, and we stayed for the usual 'slightly too long'. Tony Panting put some more air into his tyre, stopping short of admitting to possible puncture - which, inevitably, it turned out to be about five miles later. We are entering that part of the year when puncture-prevalence is at its highest. It will last until April or, even, May. Time to buy new tyres.

SJH

Wed. 2nd Nov. 2011 Three Tumbles and a puncture

2011-11-03T05:50:00.000-07:00

Our first was Ron Fisher in Haughley, our second was Peter S-W approaching the A140 crossing, and our third was TomTom at the Dog crossroads in Norton, when all were stationary. Yes, amazingly these were all tumbles. Ron isn't quite clear how he found himself heading for the tarmac as we edged our way through a queue of traffic at roadworks in Haughley. He was on his own, at the front of the second group. My picture shows Justin fettling Ron's steed.

Poor Peter S-W got caught as the penultimate rider in the line as a 'hesitation' near the front as we singled out for a following car was magnified (as on motorways) as it moved back to become an emergency stop. TomTom would rather not discuss his incident. It is a sad fact that the slowest of falls is still capable of inflicting pain. Sharon mentioned the 'Commando Roll' but it takes practice to learn how and presence of mind to remember to put it into practice. I vividly remember Brian Starr losing his balance as we all stood around in the Square at Cesenatico waiting for our guides to arrive. He fell, yes, but disconnected his other foot as he went down, rolled away from his bike and stood up in one smooth movement.

Our destination was Wickham Market, and the excellent Café that has taken over from the excellent lady who used to run it and who now has another café - tiny, but excellent - near the far corner of the Market Square. We rode through beautiful autumnal countryside on tiny lanes of TomTom's choosing. I was keenly aware that I should be taking some autumnal pics for the 2012 Calendar (did I mention that before?) but I've come to realise that I have far too many shots from the back of the bunch, and I'm reluctant to get into organising 'ambush' shots from ahead.

Excellent time at the Wickham Market Café. They coped well with 18 or so riders. Justin kept intoning "Café of the year Café of the year". I went for the two scone strategy to ensure sufficient fuel for the rest of the event/race/clubrun. The scones were just the correct side of firm - I'd say they weighed twice as much as last Sunday's at Mistley. So I had the equivalent of four. A senior moment (and at this point, because I've not mentioned it so far this year, I would like to point out that I aso have the option of blond moments making life twice as hazardous) I ordered an Espresso instead of a Cappuccino. Boy was I glad I made the error. It was without doubt the best Espresso I've had this year. Glynn, you should've been there.

It was getting a bit late when we left, and I compounded this by my tyre going down within 150 yds of the Café. Pretty rapid tube change despite the Conti tyre being very tight on the Mavic rim. I normally carry a device for levering tight tyres over rims, but I'd left it behind. Mark H whipped out something that impressed us all. It looked like an oversized crochet-hook with a large shank/handle. He was so swift that we didn't really get a chance to inspect it. Mark made it clear that he couldn't possibly take it out again, on the same principle that people used to think Sherpas observed with their Kukris - that should only be taken out in anger [a brief Google has established this as a myth. They're used for chopping wood as well as enemies] All Mark would confirm was that he bought it from Taurus Cycles in Cambridge in the 1980s.

We rode steadily, with a welcome tale wind all the way home - but somehow I didn't arrive until
after two o'clock. Justin and I had discussed this earlier, we feel that we must get home by one o'clock in general. Maybe we spend too much time sitting down in the Cafe?

An observation following this ride. Crashes take up more time than punctures. Having made that statement, here are a few more that you'll hear on a clubrun and during the tea stop. This is by no means a complete list, and contributions would be most welcome. Remember that these nuggets of wisdom are only ever expressed as absolutes. Just think about this recently published result of a comprehensive survey: a cyclist will develop five new strongly held beliefs for each year (after the first one) of regular club riding.

"Ride close, but not too close, faster, but not too fast, don't dawdle, slow down, junction, take care, keep going, keep moving, hole right, hole left, turn left, on the left, on the right, single out, line out, left front, right front, puncture, keep tight move in, move out, look behind, look ahead, do this at all times/not at all/never. No! Not like that, like this. Or this. Or that. And another thing to bear in mind at all times/when you're tired/ at the beginning of every ride/throughout a group ride/when on your own/riding a two up, when you're training, don't over train, get the miles in, no substitute for mileage,train smart not long, running ruins your riding, cross-training gives you flexibility, always/never stretch before/after exercise, your saddle's too high/low, did you know you were lopsided on the bike? Did you know your brake blocks are back to front/your tyres should be the other way round, your levers are too high/too low, your 'bars are too wide/narrow? Riding in the rain improves your sex life, racing saddles make you impotent, you shave your legs to look like a racer, facilitate massage/make wound dressing easier, because your mates do it, it's more aerodynamic, always/never have a good meal before and/or after a ride,a dump before your ride will save more weight than a carbon fibre bottle cage - or frame."

SJH

Mistley Morning 30 October 2011

2011-10-31T12:13:00.000-07:00

It was a good idea to mark the going back of the clocks. There were choices - well, I suppose there were just two. Start a ride at the old time (in numbers terms) so you begin an hour earlier without getting up any earlier - or, more bracingly, get up an hour earlier and get two hours ahead of the day. This second option would yield brownie points for an early return to base. Paul callow had selected the first.
And so it was that eleven of us assembled on the forecourt of Cracknell's Garage in Thurston, picking up TT at Beyton Green and heading for Mistley for tea (not breakfast, because we would be arriving around 10 o'clock) Paul had warned the Quay Café that ten of us were on our way - though in the end we were a dozen. The sun was shining, in defiance of the weather forecast which had promised varying degrees of cloud.

Unlike the larger more widely publicised event back in September, we had the benefit of TomTom as our guide. I had mentioned the importance of keeping our ManNav within earshot, but this had fallen on deaf ears. Around Preston we were to turn left for Brent Eleigh. Three or four were off the front without a care in the world. Action would be needed if we were to avoid going straight on to Lavenham. TT and I were not minded to chase up the road. They were still within earshot - but only with suitable volume. Mark H had both the volume and the strength to close the gap, but wisely chose only to use the former. This did the trick.

Groups off the front unaware of the gap will always be a problem on club runs. Riders are reluctant to look round - sometimes I suspect lack of confidence or, in the case of older riders, lack of flexibility to turn the head or twist the back sufficiently. So not a lot can be done - unless we all fit rear view mirrors.

A confession. For a while, back in the eighties I had a mirror on my bike. In my defence, it was the eighties. Small, circular 2" in diameter slightly convex for wider view. Used it on a charity ride from Aberystwyth to Cambridge (where I lived at the time) with ten friends - I say "used it", but really I just didn't bother to take it off. Won the sprint for the England sign, not because I was any better a sprinter than I am now, just because I could see what was happening behind whilst appearing not to know or care.

At Brent Eleigh we went for the left turn at the foot of the descent and through the gap in fence to go straight across the A1141. Peter H, keen to prove a point hammered round the other way to (just) beat us. I still prefer the straight across crossing to the right turn - and there's some excellent medieval architecture to enjoy onn the way.

Up to Milden, down to Boxworth. Another gap-in-a-fence crossing and straight on through Stone Street, avoiding the particularly vicious traffic-calming strips made from granite blocks! (is this a witty reference to the name of the village?). We seemed to be making good progress, but my technology disagreed. Obviously the energetically fast bits were balanced out by the slowing down and waiting for others bits. There was some muttering to the effect that we might as well be wearing race numbers. Sometimes I found myself in the front group and at others I was at the rear. And do you know what? Wherever I was, it always seemed to be the most sensible position to be.

The cloud began to take over as we crossed the A12 and approached Dedham, though there was still some sunshine to be had. 10.10am and we're in the Quay Café. 33 miles, under two hours. No records broken.
The room is as atmospheric as last time, and we are made very welcome. After a moment or two, an alert and fast-talking girl took our drinks orders. Time passed. Deane was regaling us with tales of the TransAm Trail, its trials and tribulations. He was in a relaxed mood, shared much with us and, as the photos showed made us laugh. This might not be the version that the Club will get when he gives the promised Talk. (You did promise didn't you, Deane?) We got glimpses of the inside track, the failings of others - usual stuff. More time passed.
Drinks began to arrive and, in the fullness of time, cups. The cups didn't arrive all at once in a confusing rush like some places we use. Nice big teapots. We at the end of the table got a huge one between four of us, and by the time the cups arrived the tea was nicely brewed. Guessing that I am not a lover of really, really hot tea (a nice touch, this) by the time the waitress had asked me if I needed a cup, and had managed to find one - and brought it to the table - the beverage was perfect drinking temperature. Attention to detail like this is rare.
Evidently, the staff had taken in that we were absorbed in conversation, and that it might be intrusive to attempt to take our order; so they waited for a prompt from Peter. Peter does good prompts, so it was less than fifteen minutes later that our orders for food were taken. 8 x Scones, 2 x bacon sandwiches, 2 x beans on toast.
Time passed.
The scones could be seen on a table - but finding jam was proving a bit of a problem so, perfectionists as they are proving to be, the staff were reluctant to deliver an incomplete item. The scones, when complete with jam and (where applicable) butter were certainly fresh and crumbly. Possibly if we had been the sort to find fault, the crumbliness might have featured as a failing. Exhibit 'A' is Paul's scone after an attempt to apply butter and jam. Now it may well be that Paul is a vigorous chap with a scone if he's been kept waiting, but the bakery item in question does appear to have capitulated with rather more speed than expected. A spoon would have helped. The beans on toast arrived only a short while later (the challenge of getting toasted bread and heated beans to the same state of readiness should not be underestimated), while TomTom & I had plenty of time to throw down our bacon sandwiches while the other riders queued to pay. Excellent timing.
The return journey was fun. It was the ultimate yo-yo ride, tortoise and hare sort of thing. To begin with, as we headed north west to go under the A12, a front group led by Jonathan pulled away. This was expected and almost planned for. The other half(ish) carried on towards Hadleigh. Imagine our surprise (to reach for a handy cliché) when Deane cruised through to the front, gradually followed be the others of the 'Jonathan' group. They'd followed the road to the left and gone through East Bergholt village, thus ending up behind us. So we all stayed together(ish) up to and through Hadleigh where we branched right and headed for Whatfield and eventually Great Bricett, to skirt round RAF Wattisham via Ringshall and Battisford to Combs. The Tortoise and Hare bit was the front group dashing ahead, then waiting at the next junction for instructions - we'd ride straight through, they'd end up at the back again, ride through to the front, disappear, then wait at the next . . . . . .you get the picture. At Combs I had this idea that it would be qucker to go down to Combs Ford, take the cut-off left (Verneuille Avenue) then along to One House and Borley Green to Woolpit. The rest decided to stick with Jack's Lane to Gt Finborough. I later discover that different routes were then taken as the group split into ever smaller units. TomTom was a unit of one choosing to climb Rattlesden Hill to Woolpit. Tiger Tony (who'd been on fire all day) claimed to have got home one minute before me by sticking to Deane & Ron's wheels. But I maintain that I expended less effort going 'my way'.

We are indebted to Paul for suggesting and organising our jaunt. He fwd'd an email from the Café which apologised profusely for the lapse in standards (slightly undercutting the apology by suggesting that they expected to do 'just cakes' and implying that we'd ambushed them with demands for breakfast - two Bacon butties and two beans on toast)

SJH

Wednesday 26 October 2011 : Déja vu but not as you knew it

2011-10-25T15:13:00.000-07:00

"GRANPAAAA!! "

We live opposite the playground here in Norton. We can hear the shouts and laughter as children run, jump and swing and chase, and call, shout and (occasionally) scream for the attention of their attendants, "MUUM!" "DAAD!"

After the infants come out of school, they assault the equipment, overseen by mothers mainly. I can see them from the table where I'm writing this blog, during term time. Often preoccupied by discussions with other mums, or busy with Blackberries (these days, there is only one sort - and not the fruit of the bramble) or Apples (fruit of the late Mr Jobs' fertile brain, and not the forbidden kind). The change this week is that the cries are and shouts are for Grandparents, and they can be heard for most of the day. This means it is half term. And that means that we may have to modify our tea stop, to avoid the crowds of families roaming the countryside in search of diversion and sustenance for their offspring. One direct Half-term effect was the appearnce of Josh, Johnnie and Will to shake us up a bit several of the Wednesday regulars are more than fifty years ahead of these youngsters (and one us has a sixty-year 'advantage').

Justin had a strategy to cope with the yummy mummy take-over of tea stops. Down town Haverhill. He told us that Déjavu was just the place. It would feel familiar, he assured us. "As if we'd been there before", he added.

There was some muttering and unflattering stereotyping, talk of getting a police escort - that sort of thing. We concentrated on Justin's promise of the beautiful countryside that cradled this Cinderella town. Nineteen of us set off. Everyone got clipped in and no one fell off (sorry to bring that up again Sharon). Our first mishap was Barry getting a puncture. This was also a piece of luck, as we were but few hundred yards from his house. He opted to walk home and change the wheel. I suggested that with all his cyclo cross experience he ought to be running with his bike over his shoulder and, to his credit, he did just that. But before I could get out my camera he had given up, so my picture just shows him in the act of putting his bike down again After about ten minutes we set off down the hill to Sicklesmere and tackled the ascent through Gt Welnetham. I was taking a chance on my 66" fixed, and there was no problem keeping up (at this stage). There would be a fair bit of climbing to do over the next twenty or so miles.
We stopped sometime later, for Barry to pump up both his tyres. Justin (see photo) staged a sit down protest (possibly as a belated tribute to the Tour de France protest all those years ago. Shortly after this, Soren Sjolin abandoned and headed home. Johnny Sjolin was unmoved. Johnny was just one of our crop of half-term youngsters, the others being Josh & Will. The age gap between youngest and oldest riders on this run stands at 62 years!
After Hawkedon, we do the long climb to Poslingford, and my lack of fitness is exposed. Once the steepest parts are are over, fixed wheel comes into its own. It is comparatively easy to increase speed once the incline becomes less severe - much easier than on gears.
Next we pass through Clare, and follow the main road almost to Baythorne End, turning right onto the tiny lane (through Wixoe) that cuts off a section of what used to be the A604 - which road we rode through Sturmer "Sturmer Pippin" I muttered to myself, wondering who else might know about the apple connection. John Dumont rolled alongside, "Sturmer Pippin" he murmured.
And so to Haverhill. We follow the through route, past the backs and car parks of the businesses plying their trade in the centre, the turn left and ride cautiously back south along Queen St, now a paved, pedestrian area. Then, as we passed someone sitting on a mobility scooter outside a shop with his chums we heard
"oi!!"
"You're not allowed to ride bikes on the pavement!"
Then I heard Tiger Tony shout back
"So what, you've got four bloody wheels!"
and the reply
"Oh, clever f**k*r are yer?
Well, as we could've told him, yes he is. And quick-witted with it.
Welcome to Haverhill, someone muttered, as we parked our machines outside Déjavu - making sure that they would be visible from the Café windows. There was loud music, and a smell of frying - but they had cakey stuff, and flapjacks, and the service was swift. We paid as we ordered, and the order was delivered without the need to tell them where we would be. It was, overall, a different experience. I mentioned to Justin that the one thing missing from our previous tea stops was, I now realised, music. Justin summoned a waitress across.
"My colleague was wondering if you could find radio three for him"
Her startled response was lost in the general hubbub.

When we emerged, still discussing a best route home, we noticed that a funeral cortege was slowly winding round the church, which was only 100yds away. The hearse stopped. A piper began a lament. Quite a large crowd had gathered on the pavement opposite. We waited. Should we risk running the gauntlet of a large crowd of grieving mourners, and be considered disrespectful, or take an alternative route? The piping ceased. Nothing much seemed to be happening. A car or two drove down the road, Justin took the initiative. We rode slowly, respectfully, not catching anyone's eye (think tip-toeing, but on a bicycle) - noting that the coffin, draped in the blue and white flag of Scotland, was still in the hearse - and made our escape from a potentially embarrassing situation. Also pleased to escape was Graham Smith who's Social Services work bring him to this area, and who was anxious not to be recognised. He kept on his sunglasses and under-helmet skullcap throughout.

Farewell Haverhill.

Route home began via Keddington and Hundon, but then went right, back down to Clare and up to Poslingford. Personally I'd have preferred to have gone down to the left to Stradishall, and the less challenging route that we used to use back in the day, when Stradishall café (up by Highpoint Prison) was our regular stop. But enough whinging, I didn't mind at the time - it was only as we climbed Poslingford Hill that I realised that the game was up. Not yet fit enough for fixed, it would seem.

Everyone was waiting just outside Stansfield, and we remained regrouped until the climb up from Hawkedon towards Rede, when TomTom and I were once again distanced. We hitched up with young Josh, who had had a puncture, plus a slow puncture which was sabotaging him. He went straight on to Bury when TT & I went up to Whepstead. The bunch, we later heard, maintained a furious pace all the way home, with the half-term lads Will and Johnnie providing most of the fuel along with, it should be added Tiger Tony the Speedy Septuagenarian

TT & I tottered home at an increasingly slow pace. But weather had been with us, brilliant sunshine, glorious autumn colours. All of that. Suffolk, God's Own County

SJH

Sunday 23 October 2011. A gentle geriatric saunter through Suffolk

2011-10-24T09:11:00.000-07:00

I joined Tony, Justin and TomTom on Sunday for a relaxed sort of a ride. Discussed tactics, hoping to avoid stopping anywhere that might be overrun by cyclists. TT proposed the Tea Room at Alder Carr Farm, Needham Mkt., and also undertook to navigate us there.

As always with cyclerides, it's not the 'getting there' but the twists, turns, rises and descents that turn a journey by bike into a proper ride, and TT can be relied upon to provide that ingredient. General Stowmarket direction, then Combs Ford and up to Combs with a left turn towards Battisford then the lane to Barking Tye which involves the ascent of Hascot Hill one of three hills in Suffolk with a 'chevron'. (A single chevron is 14% to 20% . Two chevrons mean a leg-testing 20% and over. But then you already knew that) Hartest, Hascot and that lane that rears up from that other lane which is the one that runs parallel to the A1141, on the south side of the river Brett and parallel with Monks Eleigh. (Does anyone out there know of more?). Mike Bowen has clocked it at 13% with his technology. I wonder who is right? Let's not quibble over 1%. It's that old Tory favourite, the Short Sharp Shock.

Off we go Offton-wards to Somersham where left on the stunning and tiny lane to Baylham. Much easier the way we were going (mostly a descent) Than the more usual route up from the Needham - Blakenham road. With blue skies, and sunshine streaming through the trees (still in leaf) dappling the lane and its central strip of grass with little pools of light, this was close to heaven.

Alder Carr Farm recently renovated the small barn which used to house the food retailers, sausage sellers and cheese mongers during their Farmers' Markets. It is now a warm and welcoming place with white walls and the natural shades of the exposed timber. Fabulous cakes on display beside large and welcoming scones (plus a glimpse of a waitress's dumplings, or so I am told) warmly greeted us . We settled at a table in the sunshine, and basked in the comfort and calm of it all. TomTom confided that he had discovered a 'new' lane. He described it - just out of Bildeston on the Hadleigh rd you take a left turn and it takes you up towards Naughton - and Was able to say that I had ridden this same lane on Wednesday the 12th, in the opposite direction. I felt a similar surge of elation to that experienced by Peter when took TT along a lane that our very own human satnav had never ridden.

Suddenly, we saw a cyclist - not just any cyclist, this was Magic Mick Madgett of Diss. And he had with him his merry men, including the willowy Windy Millar lad in my photo below. I urge you to double-click on this image, and then again, and check the expression of the beardy guy in the background.

So we ended up in place full of cyclists after all, but as you can see it was convivial. After consuming scones and bakewell tart (the latter still warm from the oven) and dealing with a lack of extra hot water - Tony assuming the role of Peter Heath, the Scourge of the Tearoom - we set off through sunshine (now I am aware that the sunshine is getting rather a lot of mentions here, but you really should've been there - it really had to be said) going up to Stowupland, and home via Haughley, Wetherden, Upper Town and Norton. At the Norton Dog crossroads, as my three chums debated the next stage of their journey TomTom announced loud and clear
"Well I'm going straight"
As we all absorbed this concept, I offered to inform the media of his life-changing decision. I only mention this to give you a flavour of the cut and thrust that has been an essential ingredient of this Sunday Outing.

Home by one o'clock with a restrained 42 miles on the under the belt. Next week finally I will attempt to keep up with the fast guys on the Espresso. If the weather's good, it'll be best bike just to make sure. Today was on 66" fixed, and an unalloyed joy. The big decision will be what to ride on Wednesday. And you thought that pottering about on the Suffolk lanes was simple.

SJH

Wednesday 19th October 2011. Where to begin?

2011-10-20T08:44:00.001-07:00

Yes, where indeed. So let's begin at the beginning which is, in fact, when it started to go . . . wrong? pear-shaped? There could in fact be a case for saying that the ride began to go wrong before it had properly begun at all. There were 21 of us enjoying the sunshine outside The New Green Centre in downtown Thurston, talking amongst ourselves, when Peter called us to order and announced that he had a plan. Justin Wllace and Mark Harris had sections of the route to enable the plan. We were to go the National Trust tea room at Wicken Fen.
Mark Harris has, in the last few weeks of being a regular Mercrediste acquired enough local expertise to suggest that we use his normal route of Heath Rd and over the railway line to join the cycle path to Bury, brushing aside Justin's reservations about the road surface with a robust riposte and a loud laugh.
It can take quite a while to get 21 riders riding. Conversations at the back of the class can mean that some won't realise that the leaders are already in the saddle and heading down the road. Some will still be busy texting, and have a message to finish. As I was near the station car park I could still see several red jerseys up at the NGC. Right at he island, past the Post Office (and our dear old Bus Stop rendezvous) to hang a right into Heath Road. A polite gentleman unwittingly held open the crossing gate for a cyclist - and got stuck with another nineteen.
Did you spot something there? rider missing? yup. Sharon fell off her bike while starting out, leapt back on, gave chase, went the wrong way, couldn't see anyone - texted a chum in the group who shouted to the ride that we lacked a rider. We wondered what had been said, what was the delay. Gradually the news filtered to the front, plus a probably garbled account of the measures being taken to reunite Sharon with the group. By now we were spread fairly evenly between the crossing and the main road which made communication even more difficult. I think (maybe unfairly) that there was an element of confusion about where we were in relation to the errant Sharon. Whatever the reasons, we lost at least twenty minutes. The front riders had obviously been champing at the bit, because once we were under way a pretty vigorous pace was set along the cycle path. Justin did a good impression of one of the Cesenatico cycle guides by standing in the road as we all crossed at the Rougham junction. On, on, on! (copyright Gino Ginelli).
Down Mount road, two cars overtake, and do the unfortunately usual (these days) manoeuvre of charging at an oncoming motorist forcing him to stop. Then we see the stationary traffic. The next two cars to overtake obviously haven't absorbed this, swerving in and stopping just in time for us to swerve out ride past them. Crazy. Why the queue? A bus has hit a taxi and a car and swerved into a wall in Mustow street. (I later discover that this happened at 07.20 bus driver unhurt, Taxi driver with chest injuries.) Justin negotiates with the policeman at the junction for permission to proceed as far as the turn to Ram Meadow, and a wiggle through the back lanes to Northgate St., and On, on, on.
The energy at the front shows no signs of calming down as we rip up to Barrow - Ron & Tricia on the front. They now have the bit between their teeth, not responding to gasped requests to ease the pace a bit. Through Denham, left to Ousden. Reach Ousden and wait - half our number are missing. Julia opts for continuing on her own (for a ride without interruptions, no doubt). After 10-15 minutes, we have regrouped. It's not entirely clear what the problem was; it seems to have been a mixture of mishaps & mechanicals. We set off to descend through the village. If only it could be that simple; a small truck appears from the left, and Sharon, Dawn, Tony, Garry, Rob and your correspondent have to wait. As we six finally join the road, Garry (who took part in a sponsored 'side to side' ride earlier this year) tells me that he thinks his saddle might have dropped down a bit because he hit a bad pothole, and could I tell him if his rear tyre looks soft? We roll along towards the descent then notice that the other 14 riders are quite a way ahead.
"We'll check your seat post when we regroup at the bottom "
I said, optimistically.
They didn't stop. Well, one of them (Chris Wiseman) did. Now, I'm the one writing this and even I have lost track of how many riders there are left. So let's just take a moment to go through this methodically:

We were 21 at the start.
At Ousden Julia J goes off on her own. We are 20 riders
Glenn Morris is missing (he quite often needs to be home early, so we don't worry - but maybe we should?***) Now we are 19 riders

The 'lorry-split' yields a group of 6 chasing 13.
At the Cropley Grove cross roads we six meet Chris Wiseman, who's waiting to take Sharon & Dawn right, down to Dalham and home. So that makes 4 chasing 12.
Except that, as I slow to hear what Chris is saying, Tony whooshes past leading the other three .
Which means that we are 1 chasing 3 chasing 12. Tony's pace is such that I can't close the gap. And he's just had his 77th birthday, for heaven's sake.

Now, only a few of the 12 know where Wicken is, and maybe 3 know a route to get there. I know both these things, but the three in front of me don't know either (To be fair Rob has an inkling, I later discover) so it is fortunate that the sharp-eyed Garry spots the group a quarter of a mile down the left turn signposted to Saxon St and Woodditton, which causes the three to pause which allows me to catch up. Regrouped, we start the chase. I miss the right turn to Broad Green and Saxon St, meaning we whizz down through Upend and then go right. Probably adds three miles. Writing this, I have OS map sheet 154 at my side. This is how I know how I went wrong (but got back on course)

Left in Saxon St, through Woodditton to Stetchworth where left at the pub down to Dullingham. At this point, on any ride in this direction, I imagine that we are pretty close to Swaffham Bulbeck (we're usually going to Anglesey Abbey) This time, however, I notice that it is five and a half miles, so must be at least fourteen to Wicken. I don't say anything. The wind is quite strong - but that's OK because so are Tony and Garry. I tried doing a turn alongside Garry before Woodditton, but had to give up, Tony steamed past to take over. Still a long way to go, perhaps I'll recover? Or get worse? And get dropped again? Read on to find out. On, on, on.

Once across the A1304, there's a bleak, exposed and undulating couple of miles to Swaffham Bubblepack, then right to Swaffham Prior then left onto the locally-notorious Upware Fen Rd. This suffers from the subsidence inevitable when you cross a bog (or Fen). Great cracks appear, sections drop by an inch or so. Without a good lookout this can be a wheel smasher. I organise a chain gang, since we now have a full head wind; after a few changes we begin to get a rhythm, with just under 1mph difference between the 'up' and the 'down' files. Poor Garry's sub-optimal seat post height takes its toll. He starts to miss turns, then pulls over to make the adjustment. "How far to the Café ?" asks Rob, hopefully
(I haven't a clue) "Could be as much as four miles, I'm afraid"
"Oh, only it's twenty to twelve already"
(I've just checked the map, and it was actually just over five) We arrive at the Café at about ten to twelve, to a warm welcome and some good natured badinage. They've only beaten us by ten or fifteen minutes. We feel quite heroic, and Tony (pictured left) actually was - still pulling through strongly, right to the end. At one stage I pointed out that he and I, the oldest riders, were doing most of the work. That woke the other two up, who came powering through to take up the chain again (a chain reaction?)

After scones (made to order. Peter Heath's order) and tea we set off for home. Of course, being this ride, we got split by the traffic when joining the road through Wicken - but had re-grouped by the village boundary (we must be learning). The fast (for cars) road to the roundabout south of Soham is best taken lined out, and Mark H put in a powerful cafe-fuelled turn on the front, some of us finding this a bit painful. After Fordham we did Chippenham, Red Lodge & Tuddenham. Pulling out at Tuddenham (always a bit tricky, with only 20yds visibility to the left) Mark moved across with two others, I launched only to hear Mark shout "NO!!". I had reached the white line in the middle, and saw a truck coming from the left. I stopped. He stopped. I got eye contact, waived an acknowledgement, and moved on, followed by the rest of the ride. It's all part of going for a bike ride.
When we reached the other side of Cavenham, where the ride turned left to Lackford, Mark and I went straight on to Poor Man's Heath. I wanted to test a theory that it was quicker/shorter to go via Bury, and Mark was going home to Gazeley. Because it was by now nearly two o'clock I thought that I should phone home. No signal. What? I could see the water tower 400yds away, its rim cluttered with mobile phone transmitters! When I got to Thurston, and the end of Heath Rd., where I cross and go through the barrier and up past the school, I glanced to my left. There they were, the rest of the bunch just entering the 30mph zone (all over the road, of course). So that's that settled . It makes no difference in time; it's down to how you feel, whichever route takes your fancy. Total miles for me 75. An interesting ride, and at least I didn't have to sit at the laptop desperate for inspiration. Thanks guys.

SJH

*** Update on Glenn. He stopped for a pee at Saxham - I remember this, he rode off the front to do so and we passed him as he was just dismounting, (which always happens when riders try this manoeuvre). He didn't get back on (this was bad luck, and seldom happens). I have never thought it a good idea to attempt to ride off the front for a pee (and haven't worked how you put in the effort required if you're desperate) apart from Glenn's misfortune, there can be times when other riders will mistake your move for an attack, and join you. And then they'll be really confused when you stop. And if you don't realise that they're there, and suddenly stop . . . then you could have a stack-up. Best Practice is to ride to the front and have a word. The group will stop. Others, who were too bashful to mention the subject, will take advantage of the stop and be grateful that you took action. But anyway Glenn . . . Sorry mate.

Wednesday 12 Oct 2011. In which sickness is doubted

2011-10-19T12:16:00.000-07:00

Another of those days when the forecasts are dire, even for God's own County of Suffolk and yet we get a very pleasant morning's ride. We are thirteen at New Green Centre including Tom in his brand new full wheelers outfit (see photo). With no real destinational inspiration we opt for Hollow Trees at Semer. After all, this haven of tea and scones is accessible from most directions, and only the lack of a tailwind home would stop us coming here nearly every week. This week, the wind isn't that favourable, being rather more west than is ideal - but hey, we're tough cyclists and we can cope with whatever.

Rather early on (Buxhall in fact) I find that I'm having trouble keeping up, and I announce that I'll make my own way to the Café. Another solo meander through Suffolk lanes took me through Hitcham and, being on my own, I could explore a couple of dead-end lanes. Checked out Hitcham Church - another fine largely 15th century specimen - and then the lane signposted 'Hitcham House' . Beautiful well-manicured verges line the lane as it gently climbs to The Big House. I wondered how far up here the gate was. I didn't have to wait very long; a very clean BMW came down toward me, with a very smart lady at the wheel. The window came down ("ah" I thought "I've reached the no-go area")
"Can I help you?" said the very well-turned-out lady. It is a peculiarly British form of words, isn't it? There is of course absolutely no offer of help implied, unless it could be considered helpful to indicate the way out. I said that I was curious to see how far I was able to ride up this beautiful lane. The very smart lady (with a look that indicated that going too far wasn't an option) said "down the bottom, at the junction. It's a private road".

Maybe a sign down at the junction would reduce the amount of people curious to catch a glimpse of the house. I did catch that glimpse, but of course I am prevented by the 'get off my land act' from telling you anything about it.

And so to Semer, and a warm welcome. I take my beans on toast with pot of tea on the terrace, in the now-warm sunshine. I helpfully advise Chloe that the other dozen Wheelers are on their way - (but she knows already of course. Peter's been on the phone). Chloe then asks if my chums will be joining me, and then sets about wiping the tables. What service, Eh?

Tom Smith and Julia Jepson arrive a few hundred yards ahead of the field - so far ahead that they're out of my photo. They'd come up Semer Hill of course. A jolly and sociable time in the Autumn sunshine follows. For the return Tomtom takes us south through Kersey then a southward loop via various Lidseys and up to Monks Eleigh, using the marvellous network of lanes that fills the area bounded by the B1115, A1141, A1071 and A134 (though the western end nearest to Sudbury has fewer roads). It was during this return journey that I felt a return of some of my energy. My tactical error was not to keep this quiet. I could/should have lurked around the rear of the bunch all the way home, just 'feeling better' rather than gravitating to the front and expending my new-found well-being in a rather high-profile manner. And so it was that, when I peeled off at the end, there were mutterings about mysterious improvements in health, and accusations of lead-swinging at the start.

All I can say is that there was absolutely no connection whatsoever between my fluctuations in performance and the st*r**ds that were perfectly legally prescribed for a recognised medical condition. No really. All malicious fabrication by dark forces.

Great to feel a bit better, though.

SJH

Sunday 9 October. I wandered lonely as a cloud . .

2011-10-09T15:02:00.000-07:00

. . . . . . that floats on high o'er vales and hills . Well I was alone, but not lonely. I had my bike for company as I floated o'er the Suffolk lanes - having been abandoned by the chums who were due to make up a ride this Sunday morning. There had been a spot of rain first thing, nothing much, but the forecast was vaguely optimistic so (after a couple of phonecalls from my fairweather friends) I waited a bare quarter of an hour before setting off, and was rewarded with an incredibly pleasant promenade á velo.

My plan included retracing more thoroughly the route from Wednesday ( just that part where I lost my sensor - sensor humour? sensor proportion?) and it was this portion of the ride that was the most special. I was riding at walking pace, often on the wrong side of the road. There was virtually no traffic. There was birdsong - there was some pale sunshine, the wind was warm and the air filled with the nostalgic smells of Autumn - damp leaves, freshly ploughed fields, damp tarmac.

I took the unsigned right in Thorpe Morieux, which goes through Thorpe Green and past a collection of pairs of animals. Two donkeys, a Ram and Ewe, a pair of Highland cattle - no sign, I was relieved to note, of any boat building activity. Back onto the Felsham-Cockfield road, pausing to go up to Cockfield Church (substantial and attractive with quite a lot of flint) and its accompanying pair of ancient Suffolk houses. Up the lane to Buttons' Green (not 'End' as I had it in the blog) and to the site of the crash. Which is past the point that I had thought. After the T junction (where right) and down past the farm on the right. I found The Stone, and photographed it (see top of page). Through Lavenham, resisting the temptations of the Guildhall Tea Room, and out towards Bridge Street. I was going to pop in to see how they were doing, and mumble reasons why we haven't been for so long. As I crossed the A134 I saw that there was a great drift of bikes against their wall, and I could see that they were pretty much packed. As I was running a bit late by now (due to extremely slow riding and a lot of stopping) I carried on, and home via Shimpling.

SJH

October 5. A Rock and a Hard Place

2011-10-05T10:02:00.000-07:00

Strong wind but warm air and 16 of us are off to a new place for tea. We wiggle our way to Cockfield and take the lane to Button End en route for Lavenham.

Barry has just finished telling me about his recent crash on his Penny Farthing. At the start of a race his handle bars broke off the frame and the frame broke into two (I think that's right). Obviously Barry took a tumble, though claiming to be only 'slightly' hurt. A minute or so later (when I was further up the line) we encountered a very large stone, warning shouts went up from the front, followed swiftly by shouts from behind "rider down!!". We at the front turned back and round the corner was a heap of riders. Initially hard to see who was down and who was crouching to help. Barry had shredded the shoulders of his top and gravelled his arm; his right carbon handlebar was only held on by the tape (so he wouldn't be able to change gear). Guy had fallen over Barry and grazed his arm "best get that checked by a medic" said Glenn Morris to Dr Guy the GP (I told Glenn later on that Guy was a Dr. "Oh no" said Glenn). Also involved were TomTom who managed to run along the banking and not fall off, and Sharon who did fall off and was pretty shaken. Mark Harris told Guy that if it was the tour he'd have had to finish the stage - Guy looked a bit uneasy at this. Barry was preparing to ride home, but Justin was reluctant to allow our Chairman to go alone. "I'll be fine" said Barry, very firmly, wobbling up the road in the wrong (but only possible) gear. Justin paused until Barry was out of sight round the bend, and then set off as escort (I should mention that the last part of his 'Penny' crash featured an onlooker offering Barry a spare Penny to ride the race on - and Barry leapt on it and finished the race. So jumping back on his bike after this morning's incident would be pure routine)

Mark found the stone and flung it into a field atop the bank. Only afterwards did I think that I should have taken a photo of it.

We straggled the couple of miles to Lavenham, and Sharon, Dawn, Peter S-W and Guy peeled off for, variously, medical attention and tea and cakes; with Barry and Justin already homeward bound, we had lost six riders. But we had spares, we were still a ten-rider ride. It was decided that we would follow a slightly abbreviated loop to our new stop of Wheldons, at Newton Green near Cornard Tye. So we went to Melford, out through Liston and to Bulmer at the foot of Ballingdon Hill, then ingeniously through Sudbury to come out on the B1508 past Great Cornard then up Keddington Hill (nowhere near Keddington) which we descended last week, through Little Cornard and take right turn where Tony Panting collided with the right hand banking and just managed to stay upright (Was it going to be one of those days?) and thence to our new tea stop . Wheldons has been around, growing apples for 70 years. Last year they converted thrir barn to a farmshop, this year it became a Tea Shop as well. The food was inviting and good quality and the room light and oak-ey - like Hollow Trees last week, but without a Chloe to get things moving, so it took quite a while for all of us to be served. They had all of the friendliness of a good WI cake stall, with good WI-standard cakes but no sense of urgency. The young woman in charge of the kitchen (a decendant of the family, and whose business it is) was whirling around seeing to several things at once. I think the effect would have been caught best with a photo at a very slow shutter speed. The young woman would have been a blurr, like a whisp of smoke, snaking between the serving ladies who would appear as pin-sharp statues. Peter tells us that he will be sending an advisory e-mail. So next time things may be better - or we'll be barred.

The strong wind had swung a bit from SW to W so we had mainly crosswinds on our return. I flagged a bit, despite having gears, but felt much better than last week thanks to a pile of NHS drugs. Somewhere near Felsham my speedo stopped working. I imagined a mis-aligned magnet or somesuch that could be fixed when I got home - but then I noticed that he bracket that held the sensor was empty. To the later concern of Peter and Tom Tom (who were up the road galloping towards Hessett) I turned and retraced to Felsham to try and find it. I didn't. Met TT on my return - I think he and Peter had had visions of me lying at the side of the road gasping for breath. As Peter observed in an e-mail just now "See how we care about you"

SJH.

Wednesday 28 Sept. Season of mists . . .

2011-09-28T09:31:00.000-07:00

. . . . and mellow fruitfulness (or shallow fruitlessness) is with us but, by the time we are under way the mists had dissolved into hazy sun which, in its turn, becomes a bright shadow-casting heat-source. Summer's last hurrah, forecast to last all week.

A welcome face at Assembly (register taken by Mr Heath, Activities master) was that of Gareth Doman, back on his bike at last after his nasty prang at La Marmotte. He stayed with us to Preston St Mary before turning for home. The downside of our larger club runs is that you can miss speaking to someone entirely, beyond a welcome and a farewell. Sorry to have missed you Gareth. Also welcome were Mark Harris (Braintree CC) who is more usually seen on the Sunday Espresso ride, Paul Callow brought a work colleague called Marcus, and Graham Gidney is a Wheeler new to Wednesdays

Mr Heath's master plan was to go to Hollow Trees at Semer via a cunning and devious route of considerable beauty and (for me at any rate) challenging little climbs. The early stages were usual stuff through to Brent Eleigh, up the hill to the B1115 and right on the switch back road to Waldingfields Little and Great, carrying on to the little roundabout where we took the left (old Roman Road, I notice) and a slightly tricky right and left over the A134 past Cornard Tye and Sackers Green. Lanes were small and views were breathtaking in the Autumn light, making even Great Cornard look romantically rustic. We went down quite a bit, then went back up the ridge on a lane about 1/2 a mile further south. This was the particularly challenging climb of the ride, rearing up between high banks which gave it the heat of a Tour stage (for a minute or two - and I'm not complaining) and more views at the top. We weaved our way towards Assington (which is at least 20 miles south of Assington Green, but quite close to Gedding Hall which is about 20 miles from Gedding. Think misdirected fire engines controlled from Milton just outside Cambridge). Right and left over the A134 (again) and across the A1071. This is a bit tricky, because the road we go across to isn't open to vehicles at this point and as if to reinforce this it has a huge high kerb. Just to the right of you as you struggle over the kerb is a bollard that creates a pinch point. This must have seemed a neat idea to someone in an office somewhere "this will create a hazard that will cause traffic to slow down and take care". Like hell it does; Glenn Morris and I had a 40ft truck thundering straight at us and our rear wheels that were still in the carriageway. The driver's interpretation of taking care was to maintain speed but lean on his horn. I felt the draught pull at my wheel as he passed.

Through delightful Boxford, and up Cox Hill - another mildly testing ascent - then Kersey, Semer and tea. This was my first visit since the new arrangements were opened. The Café is now very light, airy and spacious, with lots of smart pale oak with spruce and welcoming Chloe. It's been so long that I had quite forgotten how low their prices are; my scone and jam with pot of tea was just £2. In the garden there is now an additional seating area that looks to have been specially made for Wheelers, fenced off from the 'old' area. Marvellous interlude.

The cold that I had hoped to leave behind in the Suffolk countryside was still very much with me on the return journey, and I bade farewell to others at Hitcham. I just could not keep up.

SJH

Wednesday to Wickham Market. 21 Sept 2011

2011-09-21T12:34:00.001-07:00

Peter was already organising the troops when I arrived, no longer early. Wickham Market was the destination
.
"Richard and I went on Friday to a new café" Said Peter (forgetting that Tiger Tony Panting had been with them)

We were seventeen as we rolled off. It's always awkward to have an odd number on a ride, even with so large a number of cyclists. Obviously, when there are three, or five, or even seven there will always be the tail-end-Charlie, the Nobbie-no-mates, the excluded one. We always say that "two's company, three's a crowd" (though this probably referred to those anxious and insecure times of adolescent amorous entanglements) but in cycling any even number's company - but an odd one . . . . well, it's just a difficult for someone. And when it's a large group like ours, the 'empty seat' can end up anywhere in the group. I rode alongside TomTom, with much to discuss, but in front of us was Glenn Grant, he of the Eagle Road Club who joins our Wednesdays whenever he can for our sociability. What should I do? Cut TomTom and move up the line ? (the proper course of action) or carry on with the conversation? Answers by email, before Tuesday 27th September.

Peter was in charge of the route, and it was a no-nonsense and straightforward affair. Beyton, Tostock, Elmswell, Haughley etc., then after Debenham a more complex (and very enjoyable) route through to Easton and eventually Wickham Market. It was just outside Wickham that I asked Peter which new Café we were going to. He told me that it was the one that we used to use.

Now I knew that there had been a deal of controversy about this place, I'd read about it in the East Anglian Daily Times last year. The lady who had previously run the Cafe had had her tenancy terminated, and the landlords had (apparently) taken over her business and were running it themselves. When the proprietress found a new home, regular customers had rallied round and carried tables and chairs across the market square to her new, smaller, premises. A month or so ago we had visited the the new premises of the old proprietress , where she was doing a good trade with the verve and humour that I remembered. I mentioned to her that I had followed the saga in the EADT, and that I sympathised with her position. I mentioned to Peter that I felt guilty of a betrayal of the lovely lady (though her new premises would not have coped with seventeen cyclists). I sensed that he thought that I was soft in the head (did I mention that Peter was from Derbyshire?). Actually, when we arrived we were down to sixteen, having mislaid Glenn Morris along the way - last seen by Tom Smith riding off the front. We had two new faces roday - Simon Garrard, and another rider who's name I can't remember, but who enjoyed his first ride with a group a great deal. Simon has been out with the Cappuccini on Sundays, but found our Mercoledisti more organised.

Having parked our bikes and shuffled in, I realised the awful truth that the people now running "Café 46" are friendly and efficient, their food is excellent and their prices reasonable. My scone, butter & jam plus tea was £2.80, which puts them at the lower end of the scale. They also dabble in bygones & antiques, which lends a very eclectic feel to the room where we ate. If we ever come to Wickham as a group of 6 or so, we should use the old proprietor's new establishment - otherwise we will use the new proprietors at the old establishment.

I now realise that I didn't check if they open on a Sunday (see Blog passim - Julian Colman will explain). Just checked on the web for Café 46, and they only feature the antique-y bit. I note that they describe their collection of bric-a-brac as eclectic. And there is no mention of Sunday opening.

After a jolly time we go out and disentangle our bikes from the cycle rack (never thought I'd ever put a proper bike into one of those wheel-gripper things. I now can't remember quite why we never used to use them in the past - something to do with bending wheels, I seem to recall. Are wheels now stronger?

Set off for home via Dalinghoo Road (Lane?). A couple of miles , and we turn right. We carry on turning right for (I think) five successive junctions - but we don't end up back at Wickham. I would ask Gerry to give me a print out from his Garmin, but he'd programmed it for a different ride before leaving home, and it wasn't coping very well with the change of plan - I think it was trying to take him home and start again. Reminiscent of Hal the robot in 2001 a Space Odyssey - but not quite so malign. Maps don't have that problem of course, but I hardly ever carry one on a bike ride.

TomTom was on one of his inspired routes, and after our logic-defying sequence of right turns we entered his comfort zone with a more left leaning ride which brought us to the true direction. Back to the days of the Clarion . The road was flat, but twisted to and fro, the wind was getting strong and wasn't in our favour. Tiger Tony did a fearsome turn on the front with Rob Webb, must have been nearly half an hour, before Peter suggested that Mark Saunders and Glenn Grant take over and "take it easy". As if. Glenn has a powerful and high-revving style that copes well with head and cross winds, Mark is usually an indestructible powerhouse, but I thought that I detected signs of slight discomfort as we neared home. When I say home I mean Norton of course, where I live, and could wave goodbye to the morning's chums. As with the last several rides, my total was around 65 miles. And again, in good company.
SJH

Wed. 14 Sept, 2011."Spending a pound to save a penny." Coffee& Co deliver.

2011-09-18T04:12:00.000-07:00

An amiable gathering at New Green Centre, Thurston developed into a ride of thirteen (oo- er) that left at a socially well-judged 12 minutes past 9. It is very hard to define exactly what makes a ride work as a group. I'd better define what I'm taking about here, it's not 'work' as in the break that that worked together to average over 28mph for the whole of stage 7 of the Tour of Britain; it's 'work' in the social sense. An easy atmosphere, not an over-the-top bonhomie with braying laughter. It is of course, a combination of personalities, just the right balance of sweet and dry, bubbly and placid; and this can vary according to the mood-on-the-day of the of the riders as well as the basic compatibility of those riders. So, we were all the right people, and all in the right frame of mind (or else hiding our inner torment very effectively)

Whatever it is, on Wednesday the 14th September was this whatever it is. S0, into a brisk westerly, with joy in our hearts and a spring to our pedalling we set off. Richard Seggar was back from Yorkshire with tales of strong winds and lashing rain on high places. He was initially uncharacteristically short on inspiration, so we conferred, he and I, and the general shape of a ride (in broad terms) began to emerge as an initial sketch capable of being modified on the wing. Peter Heath had named Newmarket as preferred bidder for the Café stop. I kept my reservations to myself, but it turned out to a good choice. Richard's variations on our theme were well-judged, taking as they did a weaving course in and out of well ridden routes. A warp to the conventional weft of rides (one could say, if sufficiently pretentious) which lead to several attempts at second guessing which way to go at familiar junctions approached from an unfamiliar direction and departed from in the least expected. What harmless fun this was .
"Left"
"No! Straight ON"
"Left"
"STRAIGHT ON!!"
The final approach to Newmarket was down Duchess Drive (this used to be an essential part of the course for the Divisional Road Race Championships in the 70s and early 80s - though, obviously, they went up it. If you ever get the chance, do ask Neil Dykes to tell you about the time that . . . . . .) This descent is about 3/4 of a mile long, which is quite enough for me on 66" fixed which means that at 27 mph I'm touching 140rpm. I'm not asking for sympathy, I actually like it because it's harder, and anyway, think how much more work I do on the average clubrun? I can keep myself warm with the downhill revs plus the glow of smugness as I think thoughts like "freewheeling is for wimps". Of course, if a long descent is immediately followed by another climb, then I'm sh*ft*d; the legs just don't want to know. When this happens I do try not whinge about being dropped. Honestly I do.

Coffee & Co in Newmarket has much in its favour. It's in a quiet backstreet near the church and has bright aluminium tables & chairs outside. Historically, the downside has tended to be a difficulty coping with groups of 18 cyclists turning up all at once. One one memorable occasion they had obviously decided to do all the drinks, followed by all the food (or it may have been the other way around). This meant that each cyclist had to be visited twice - and located, and asked what they had ordered. Now we can be particularly gormless in this department, it has to be said. "Skinny Latte?" - silence, no reaction. Waiting person moves around repeating the question. All the cyclists carry on chatting. Finally, only one person hasn't been asked "what did you order sir?" (we chaps tend to be even more self-absorbed than women). Cyclist reacts as if woken from deep slumber "Skinny Latte" he will reply, slightly indignantly - as if the question was a bit impertinent. Reader, I what whereof I speak, we ran a restaurant in a previous life.

On this occasion, Peter Heath who was (as ever) first in the queue, took the bull by the horns and, though I (second in the queue by means of sprinting through the other riders in the final quarter mile) didn't catch his opening gambit, but I did hear "Come on! Get your act together!". Now Peter can get away with breathtaking bluntness like this and, with female staff, will be rewarded with smiles and laughter and (even) occasional coyness. I could see, through the kitchen, that extra silver tables and chairs were being removed from a storeroom and placed outside; food and drinks came as a unit for each of us . . . and fast. Quality of food is always high, and prices reasonable. With this level of speedy service we have only ourselves to blame if we stay too long over our tea stop.

We took a variation of standard routes home, using the 'old A45' to Kentford then right, up to Gazeley and the lovely back road to Barrow. By the time we were descending from Barrow there was a natural split developing which in the end left Richard S, Peter Gay and self to make our own way - by way of right at Westley crossroads up to Horringer, and then down towards Bury and across to Nowton and towards Rushbrooke. We reckon we did about 9 extra miles or, as Richard put it "Spent a pound to save a penny" My total was 63.8 miles. A delightful ride. SJH

Vuelta Wrong Way re-enactment ride. 7 Sept 2011

2011-09-12T05:26:00.000-07:00

Before we get to the incident that gives this entry its name, we'll just take a look at the rest of this Wednesday Ride.

After a rather depressing forecast we did, eventually, get some sunshine. What had also been foretold by the man with the seaweed hanging in his office at the BBC , was wind. Pretty powerful west wind. This meant the Glenns' Assington proposal was off the agenda, and Ron Fisher and I suggested La Hogue via a version of one of Justin's routes that has proved popular this year when the wind has been in this quarter. We only need (would prefer) to have a tail wind on the final run home, so we enjoyed a mixture of cross and headwinds during which Ron and I engaged in polite conversation whilst, at the same time, attempting to destroy each other. This resulted in a draw by the time we reached Ousden. Those with the ability to freewheel and/or change up to a bigger gear (everyone except me) whooshed down the hill with ease. As it levelled, however, the wind was so strong that we were all pushing hard in a medium gear, and no advantage was gained by anyone.

A very welcome face was that of Ed Bucknell who, when he took a daytime job after years of the shiftwork he had previously enjoyed, said farewell to the Wednesday ride over a year ago. Less welcome, to him, was a puncture in Dalham - but those of us who stayed behind to help were treated to a very swift and elegant tube-change which demonstrated the importance of powerful thumbs. Another new-ish face was the guy called Guy, who is a GP (and has just coughed up and become a Wheeler). We have our brace of Orthopaedic surgeons, and our Paramedics for the more drastic events, but I feel that someone with the knowledge and experience born of years in General Practice will enable Dr Guy fully to appreciate all our many little niggles and minor ailments (minor, only in the inexpert opinion of spouses and partners, of course). He will be made extremely welcome - and never at a loss for someone to ride alongside him. Further ride personnel note: Josh Stuart was on his last Wednesday ride until half-term (or, possibly, the Christmas Hols).

Ron and I had thought we needed about 40 miles to La Hogue, and ended with (in my case) a sniff over 38. We thought this pretty good. Tea stop was as good as ever; I think that the only stop with more space is Blooms at Bressingham (or maybe Cavendish Tearooms). I'd like to digress slightly at this point, just skip to the next paragraph if you aren't up for a spot of autobiographical detail. In my childhood, we (my parents and I) lived in the North Cotswolds, and our nearest large town was Cheltenham, 25 miles to the south down the A46 (as it used to be called). When my mother used to take me shopping (or more correctly, when my mother went shopping and took me with her) we went to Cavendish House. A real old-style Department Store (but then this was in the early fifties, so everything when viewed from 2011 would be 'old-style') we have a photograph of a 7 year-old SJH standing next to Santa. They had, of course, a Cafeteria, or Tearoom and whenever I refer to the Cavendish Tearooms . . . . . . . .zzzzzzzzzzzzz

What?! Eh?! Ah! Yes! The return journey from La Hogue takes care of itself, the clubrun knowing the route no matter who is on the ride. Or so I thought until we reached the roundabout for the A11 interchange at Red Lodge. We went round the first, smaller, RAB without a hitch then hit the larger one and a couple of riders headed off to the left. Toward Norwich. Via the A11. There were shouts, and swerves as the error became obvious. Josh hit my back wheel. I used my (estimated) three stone (42lbs) to stabilise the situation. "You alright?" "yeah" "good" and that was it. But it had been only a day previously that the lead out man for LeopardTreck had swerved the wrong way at a roundabout in the final 500 metres (just think yards plus 10%) of a stage in the Vuelta. Nobody crashed in that incident either - but the guy on the wheel of the guy who went wrong had a job avoiding the barrier as he swerved the other way.

Having all stayed upright, we continued through what I think of as 'Toytown', the new housing development at Red Lodge, only to be overtaken by a small dark blue car (Fiesta, maybe?) with a ladder on a roof rack driven by a person with a problem with being slightly delayed by a bunch of bikies (this is in a 20mph limit) who, on reaching the first mini rab . . . . stopped. Just like that. Nothing coming from the right or left. No other traffic. Just stopped. We were a model of restraint and decorum, and merely shouted a few words of advice as he drove off. What ambassadors of cycling we are, eh?

As we headed towards Tuddenham, past Herringswell, the pace lifted a bit. After Tuddenham towards Cavenham, the pace became brisk. After Cavenham, and turning left towards Lackford, with the slight (but long) descent, the pace rose to 30mph after we had been passed by a tractor and trailer (which Ron, with gears jumped onto the back of). I gasped in every one's wake at 27mph ( did I tell you that I turned my wheel round?).

So, home in good time, and 65 miles under the belt. Tony Panting, however, had done an extra 14 miles before the start - and had been powering along on the front between Tuddenham and Lackford - and so would have scored around 80 miles. That man just can't stop piling in the miles, can he?

SJH

A Magical Mistley Tour to Essex. 2011

2011-09-08T09:35:00.000-07:00

The forecast for Sunday the 4th September had been pretty grim all week, relenting slightly by Friday when the torrential rains were downgraded to showers from 1300hrs. Even the Met Office can't help copying America.

Pearson and I met the rest of the nearly thirty-strong peleton at Thurston, collecting Gerry Barton (and Mrs Gerry Barton who sampled group riding until Thorpe Moriuex) at Beyton (not Barton). No Richard "TomTom" Seggar to lead us through the deepest Essex byways of our route, since he was in Yorkshire scampering up and down the Dales. And Dale's brother Lee and sister Dawn were there to keep him company. The route was a well-worn clubrun variant down to Boxford and through Assington (Glenn Morris found a new Café here, where he would like to take the Mercredistes sometime soon) but after Bures, few of us knew where we were.

I had taken the precaution of checking the route supplied by Paul Callow against the Ordnance Survey website, and had made a note of a few discrepancies which could have put us off course if we hadn't the advantage of Mike Bowen amongst our number. Mike's knowledge of Essex is deep, I very much doubt there is even a track with grass down the middle that he doesn't know as thoroughly the tops of his handlebars. By the time he drifted off the front with a breakaway group, we were on course and could trust signposts plus a compilation of the different bits of the route that we variously remembered. Jonathan Howe went down to check if the road actually did go under the A12 as per instructions rather than over as on the map. Over was the answer, but the road markings were very misleading. There are some startlingly steep, short climbs once you are south east of Bures, and I realised that 72.5" fixed was a tactical error which put me quite a way back in the field, but still in contact. Stopping to 'change gear' would have lost me much more time.

Manningtree, Mistley and Mistley Quay make a fascinating string of habitation along the shores of the estuary, looking out across the mud flats of low tide as we arrive. The brutality of the two metre high fencing erected at Mistley Quay itself is a shock. There is, if you follow the link a sad tale of blundering bureaucracy, commercial greed and unintended consequences.

Naturally, the Health and Safety Executive had a hand in all this (they're busy these days trying to expose some of the dafter misinterpretations their advice, distancing themselves from the 'Health and Safety gone mad' image), and you will notice one short sentence, referring to the alleged cause. Trent Wharfage were asked to 'reinstate safety equipment - OR declare the Quay closed, and fence it off'. No where are we told what the 'safety equipment' was, but I bet it got in the way of TW's business. And how about Tendring Council's decisive action to prevent anyone doing anything to the fence without permission - which seems to mean that if TW had a change of heart, and took the fence down - they'd be prosecuted! And I just have to mention the mangled English (Manglish?) in the last couple of lines, from a TW spokesman, who thinks that people who attend meetings are attendants, and that a busy road is 'heavily trafficked'.

Now, where was I? Oh yes, climbing off the bike outside Mistly Quay Café. No doorway. Sounds of catering from an architecturally interesting first floor window. Walk round to the 'back' which is the front and one floor higher. Long low interior with old wood floor. Across this room full of pictures, another doorway with a warm glow, and the hum of busy efficient catering in full swing. The breakaway are just receiving their food. This, at other Cafés, would have indicated that they'd been hear for ages. Not here. The rapidity, accuracy and and friendliness of the service was barely believable. A delight. A talking point. I was asked what I had pre-ordered even before I had sat down, and my tea arrived just as my backside hit the chair. There is a feeling, at the start of a meal in a well run restaurant, bistro or café, of great relaxation and ease which only comes as the result of a complete confidence that everything is under control. A further attribute of the perfectly balanced and organised restaurant is that 'hum' that I mentioned. Contented conversations between satisfied eaters, punctuated by the clink of cutlery and (in this instance) the sounds of a well-run kitchen. In a good dining room, at whatever level, you get the impression that there are far more staff than is actually the case. Like football teams; the rubbish disorganised sides (think England, all too often) only seem to have about nine men and their opponents, fifteen.

I had a few stabs at counting how many we were, but it varied around the 28 to 30 mark. One hour after the first wave arrived, everyone had finished their breakfast, and were sipping second teas and being tempted with croissant by the attentive staff. Would I come again? Like a shot.

We would, for the return journey, stay together until we'd negotiated the A12. There are a few crossings by bridge or underpass but, incomprehensibly, they still have junctions with small roads where you take your life in your hands, twice per crossing as you dash to the middle then fly to the far side. The A12 is a motorway that thinks that it's still a two-way ordinary'A' road - complete with corners - and services those parts of Essex that have a lawless undercurrent. When driving I've identified a particular danger. Powerful black saloons driven with an aggression that is pretty terrifying - this isn't flamboyant, boy-racer stuff; it's a quiet but total ruthlessness.

We escape and head north. The plan had been that we would split up into small groups, and maybe not follow the route supplied. Ron Fisher and I escorted Peter SW and Lara, later meeting up with Gerry & Sean, for a small group that did follow the route. With Gerry's Garmin this was simple, until I had a bright idea at Battisford when Gerry & Sean were out of earshot. "Let's turn down here!" I cried. "It'll take us down to Combs"
Two miles later we where back we started. The turn I should've taken was the next one. I said my goodbyes and followed this one on my own - it did what I had thought that the other was going to do. Back home shortly after one, 83 miles. Some said (Peter Heath) that they'd recorded just 33 miles for the return - this puts Mistley within normal Clubrun range, though it's generally better to have the tea stop at more of a 35/25 split.

The rain didn't arrive until quite a bit later.

SJH

EH? What? and a trip to Brandon

2011-08-31T11:23:00.000-07:00

Off to West Suffolk Hospital for a hearing check. For some reason (lost in the mists of time) I accepted the offer of an 8.15am appointment. On a Wednesday. Was I mad? Or did I mishear what the lady said?

D-lock strapped to carrier on trusty Pearson (rattles all morning - but I only hear it after the appointment) and off to bustling Bury. 5 minutes early. Not a soul at the clinic's workstation. 08:25 someone from adjacent discipline (dermatology) writes my name and the time plus appointment time on a scrap of card, and tells me, and the only other patient, that there would be a delay of about twenty minutes. No explanation or apology. She tells my that I should take a seat 'half way along the corridor'. Now (I promise this won't go on much longer, though it might seem to) I am user of dermatological services, and automatically went and sat in the usual place to see the skinman. The lady saw me do this but said nothing (maybe just thought 'silly deaf old fart')

Half an hour later a rather tetchy woman in a white coat thrust her face towards mine (I was reading the paper)
"Are you Stephen Hill? I've been calling for you for ages" she barked.
"Well I am hear to get my hearing checked" I retorted
"Well this isn't the Hearing Clinic!"
She replied, missing the irony completely. We got through our business quite quickly and, now re-tuned to the frequencies of twenty first century noise returned to Pearson patiently waiting (is that why we're called 'patients'?) in the bike park. Check mob for messages.
"Brandon Country Park" Peter's economic text advised.

How to get there with a minimum of main roads? I bumble around Bury for a bit, like a homing pigeon circling after release to pick up the route to loft and home, then set off along Thetford road to Fornham, and the road to Culford and West Stowe. Today it is closed for repairs - which is great for a cyclist. Turn left on the final corner of the time trial course (planning to via Icklingham then right towards Lakenheath) and, after a few hundred yards my eye is caught by a jumble of red splodges weaving about, some hundreds of yards ahead. Hooray, the Mercredistes, il Mercoledisti, my chums.

We follow the route that I had planned, though TomTom added a few refinements for greater interest. At the ever-difficult crossing of the A11, we are hailed by a cheery fellow in a pickup truck as we reach the other side. It is Steve Mayes our redoubtable meetings secretary, in his company vehicle, quite a contrast for a man normally seen on an immaculate Colnago or in his bright red speedy coupé.

The weather is cool and, until we leave the Café, cloudy. We enter Brandon from the north, which means joining the poor town's all-day traffic jam. It's a bit tricky to encourage 18 riders to make like couriers down the middle of the road (though I slip down the inside) so there is a block Wheelers pretending to be an articulated truck, inching up the High St.

The siting of the Country Park's Café is picturesque, surrounded at a respectful distance by trees. The building is simple and functional, with much timber having been used. There is a snag, however. The food is very manufactured, all wrapped in cellophane, chilled and sparingly portioned. The price is not too high - but most of our favourites charge much the same for REAL food. It's a shame.

TomTom was going to offer riders a choice of route home - follow him on a scenic route of slightly greater length or go down the main road to Bury on their own. Option 'B' has no takers, so we work our way round to Croxton (I find this confusing, as a one-time Cambridge rider. There is a Croxton to the west of CB) which is north of Thetford, climb its sharp hill and speed our way to the town, round a few roundabouts, then out towards Tesco and Thetford Garden Centre thus picking up the standard route home (via that other duplicated settlement 'Brettenham') past Shadwell Estate which intrigues me, because of the London connection and Thomas Shadwell who was born at Santon. If you look on the OS map you'll see 'St Chad's Well' marked on the Estate. I had thought that there might be the sort of connection between titled landowners in the country giving their names to bits of London that they owned. Euston, for instance, and Tavistock Square and, er, Westminster.

All I know for certain is that the junction with the Thetford - Diss road is a pig when riding 72.5" fixed. There is a very real possibility of a silly tumble down the gradient if I have to stop and put my foot down where the road isn't. Junction successfully negotiated, we follow the well known route without incident. It was particularly good to see Peter S-W in our number, also Simon Wallace who was a member back in the early nineties (no relation to Justin Wallace, even though Justin has a son called Simon)and is coming back to cycling. Simon was riding a marvellously retro 'Concorde' frame complete with those strange Campag 'Delta' brakes. I could never see the point of these, because behind the slick alloy shroud there lurked very pedestrian-looking mechanicals. But I didn't say that to Simon (so don't tell him).

Next week, we must fend for ourselves, because TomTom and Justin are elsewhere and Peter wants volunteers to step forward with destination cafés and routes. It'll be interesting to see what happens - Glenn Morris has found a Café in Assington, but it will all come down to wind direction. Today (Tuesday 6th) has been very blustery from the SW, which would be fine.

SJH

In Olden Days a Glimpse of Stocking . . .

2011-08-10T09:33:00.000-07:00

. . . . was thought quite shocking, but nowadays we make do with Sharon's slipping knee-warmers towards the end of a ride. A long ride as it turned out.

But first we had to start off. Justin outlined the route to a collection of blank faces, while Glenn Morris dismantled his handlebar/stem interface and made a few crucial adjustments.

"OK Everybody? Right, off we go then" cried Justin. Glenn was still tightening his bars - but we caught up with everyone before they crossed mount road. Heading up towards Rougham the leaders' hands went out for a left turn, and someone panicked and applied their brakes. To the surprise of everyone and the alarm of Tiger Tony Panting who (so it was reported) threw himself onto the grass verge with arms ahead in the now-banned Superman position. I shall be copying this to the UCI - the Wednesday Ride may well have its licence revoked. And all because of an incautious application of brakes. Barely half a mile later, just past Rougham Church I hit a pothole and, with a loud 'click' my handlebars dropped about 6". More shouts and confusion as everyone attempted to stop in an orderly fashion. Matt lent me an allen key (that reminds me that I must go and check the torque on the bolts - Pyrenees next week, don't want a mishap do we?)

We did the now familiar route up to Lt Welnetham and down to Sicklesmere then climbing through Gt W and left onto Straight Rd. Nice steady pace. All together.

When eventually we tackled the Cote de Stansfield and the Col de Poslingford, the group de-grouped, and I did my usual fading on the steepest bits. Then, as the gradient eased just a little bit I found that I was passing those who had previously passed me (obviously they weren't trying, taking a breather) I felt like the opportunist in Le Tour who sees that the Schlecks can't decide when to attack, and Cadel and Contador or just watching - gaining by default. As I neared the Poslingford sign, I saw Ron Fisher (last remnant of the early break) stop just 30 yds short of the sign for a comfort break - so what would you do? I put in a bit of an effort to guarantee the prime. Peter Heath wasn't on the ride, so no red card, and anyway, there wasn't anyone near enough to turn it into a sprint. Shortly after this minor coup Jonathan drew alongside to point out the minor infraction of the rules. We had a conversation. No more will be said.

Turning right at the foot of the descent from Poslingford, Justin slipped in a surprise couple of moves (a bit like the more gripping parts of the game 'Mornington Crescent' on the radio show 'I'm Sorry I Haven't a Clue', based on fantasy route planning through London). So we went left (though actually straight on) then second left up to Hundon - then the daring move of a left to descend Chimney Street, through Brockley Green and Keddington to then cross the A143 to Gt Wratting (I once acquired to half-Siamese kittens from a farm near Wratting - could have been Birdlip or Mousehole, but those would just have been silly).

The lumpy road through Thurlows (Great and Little), Bradley (just Great) and Burrough (Green) caused the group to split into three - and at one point four or five. There were two reasons, or maybe three; anyway amongst the reasons were traffic (cars and the occasional truck overtaking part of the group so that when they moved on they left a gap) and the lumps which, if they coincided with the traffic just mentioned caused even longer gaps. The small group at the very front had several advantages, the traffic just went straight past, being on the front means you don't have to change pace all the time and by definition they were stronger anyway. This left the other three groups to variously chase, close gaps, slip off the back, go to the back to see who was missing then fail to get back up to where you started (having discovered that the rear was already covered by the ever-reliable Mark Saunders). By the time were singled-out along the A1061 into Newmarket (very, very busy) we were almost all together which was altogether better. The break was still ahead, but Phil and Paul were predicting that they would be caught at the tea stop (a newly-introduced UCI feature which it was hoped would make Grand Tour riding more interesting and relevant to the 21st century, in the manner of Triathlon with its transitions). We telescoped into a single entity by Newmarket High St with all its traffic lights. This sorted the potential cycle-couriers from the tourists and provided the variety and interest of chasing to get back on (why do we bother when it's only five miles to tea time?). Phil and Paul's predictive abilities proved (once again) correct. At tea o'clock we were all together at last. La Hogue coped well, despite having already been invaded by yummy mummies with offspring climbing out of high chairs and/or screaming and manoeuvring ludicrously large prams between the tables and chairs. At least here there is enough room - plus the great outdoors - unlike in the old days at No1 Delicatessen in Clare when the screaming and shouting was never more than a foot away. And the children were quite noisy too.

Jonathan didn't stay to tea, having pressing business to attend to, leaving the rest of us layabouts and parasites to munch and slurp our calorie replacements. Just replacements? You're kidding.

Back via the marginally more direct route of Kennett, Herrinsgwell and Tuddenham, then at Cavenham the Thurston-biased nature of Wednesdays asserted itself with a left to Lackford (Ron Back took the Bury route for Stanningfield) then West Stowe - Brockley (not Green) - Ingham - Ampton - Gt Livermere - Gt Barton (Ron Fisher took the right at the top of the hill) and Thurston. By this point, the indefategable Tiger Tony Panting had covered no fewer than 107 miles, having left home at 06.30 to get an extra 40 miles in. Yes, it's official, he's going to ride the ECCA 12 hour. And so is Jonathan, who has a complex plan to lift the (pre -2nd World War) Club 200 mile record on the way to completing his first '12'. Now I'm not a lawer, and Jonathan is, so I'm sure he's got it right, BUT, surely the fastest Club '12' would implicitly be the Club '200' on count-back (where the '12' exceeds 200 miles, natch). So to be on the safe side, Jonathan - make certain that you lift the '12' record as well (whatever it is).

Justin led us a merry ride through Suffolk and (even) Cambridgeshire, and a good ttime was had by all. My total was 75 miles. Must go now - off to France. SJH

"Just Shout if you're Getting Dropped"

2011-08-07T10:24:00.000-07:00

The sun shone on the new Club HQ as the Espresso ride gathered for the first time at their new venue for the Sunday fast run. Justin had volunteered to wait at Cornhill to catch any strays, and redirected Mark Harris. Young Will's Mummy took the photos with my trusty Ixus (Will has been riding with the Wednesday Crew the last few weeks, has just turned 14 and has a new bike to prove it). Barry read the riot act (no, I mean the new Club Run Guide Lines) adding, after the bit about riding only two abreast that "If you're dropping off the back, just shout, so we can wait for you" (Hold that principle in your mind for a while).

We were twelve whizzing down Southgate and wheezing up Horsecroft Lane. Josh confided to me that he'd forgotten his cycling shoes, and was struggling a bit in what looked to me like plimsoles
He said that he was getting his Dad to bring his shoes out for him, and would catch up with the ride to hand them over. It transpired that Josh hadn't actually shared his problem with his Dad, so negotiations had to start from scratch - with dropping his phone and having to stop to pick up the pieces and re-assemble them(I tried to make it easier for him to use his phone by pushing him, but it didn't really help as much as I'd hoped). The bunch was pulling away from us.

Now you will all be aware of the tale of the boy who cried "WOLF!" once too often. I had been shouting to the group about a (very patient) car behind us, and suggesting that they should single out. Espressi have been good at this lately, but this morning they were deaf and desperate to keep up, still 'all over the road' as motorists would describe it. SO, when I actually really really wanted them to hang on a minute, go easy, SLOW DOWN etc etc it will have been easy for the bunch to dismiss my shouts as just so much background noise. So they disappeared over the hill - and probably far away.

Finding no mobile signal at Pinford End, we carried on to Lawshall where a mobile signal was available. I tried Justin but, as he told me later in the day over a landline, he was too busy trying to keep up to be able to take even one hand off the bars, so no reply there then. Josh got through to his Dad. Well, I say 'got through' but there seemed to be a certain amount of confusion between father and son as to where exactly the latter was, and how the former could best rendezvous with the aforesaid latter. I suggested that we should head next left to Shimpling and telephone the paterfamilias when we reached the A134 Bury - Sudbury road. Josh's plimsoled feet were already suffering, and he was glad to reach the main road and phone his Dad and tell him where we were. Josh then told me that I could carry on with my journey home if I wished - and (dear reader) I did.

Heading for Bury, then taking the right turn towards Lavenham, through Cockfield then left towards Cockfield Green and Felsham I thought that I should pone home to say that I would be a bit later than planned. As I fumbled (should that be 'thumbled'?) with my mobile, freewheeling as I did so, I was aware of a rider alongside.
"Enjoying your ride?"
He said, "Going far? How far have you gone so far? Where are you headed?"
I outlined my morning so far, suitably edited. My new companion was a sixty-ish chap of amiable manner and solid build astride a 'Ridgeback' hybrid of astounding cleanliness. He told me that he rode 20 or so miles nearly every day (though space had to be made for golf) and that he'd owned his immaculate white bike for 8 years. He asked if I rode with the Espresso or Cappuccino rides.
"Ah, you know all the stuff" I said.
"Yes, I live in Briar Hill, round the corner from Dick Seggar (could this possibly be our very own TomTom, Richard?) who's in your club. I used to work at the same place as him"
My phone went off, in response to my earlier failed call, and my newest companion powered away at speed, with a polite farewell (obviously taking care - as one would- to demonstrate how I'd actually been holding him back a bit) without my finding out his name.

So, home about 30 minutes adrift, with a mere 30 miles covered, but the Good Deed for the day now done and dusted. And, according to Justin, the pace of the bunch had been so ferociously fast, that we'd never (Josh and I) have got within sight of the disappearing group. Will had no trouble keeping up, Justin (at times) was losing the will to live and Mark Harris was dropped towards the end. All sounds perfectly normal to me.

If only I'd shouted louder they'd have waited, wouldn't they?. Wouldn't they?

After a Vodka Martini, later in the day, I found that none of it seemed to matter any more.

SJH

7 August 2011

By Flandria to Sandringham. 24 July 2011

2011-07-26T11:07:00.000-07:00

Bury St Edmunds impressed the organisers of last year's Tour of Britain, and the ToB impressed Bury, to the extent that the Council stumped up the ante to do it again. So we have another East Anglian stage - and it starts in Bury and finishes, courtesy of HMQ, at Sandringham. This year there was a 'Tour Ride' in aid of (and run by) The Prostate Cancer Charity. It's a British 'Étape du Tour' - except that the French don't 'do' Charity like we do. They feel that the care of the sick is the Government's business (C'est pour quoi nous payons nos Taxes, mate). I leaned that nugget of cultural background when I was attending French lessons at WSC. And there will be those who will glance at my parenthetic aside, and wonder what I actually did during said classes.

Despite several full pages of editorial coverage in the EADT, and the handing out of leaflets at the last Club Meeting (first Monday of the month, 7.45, Club HQ, Shaker's Lane entrance of Priory School), there were hardly any Wheelers present at the start. A great many Stowmarket and Distracted CC, however. I observed to a S&DCC rider alongside me

"Good turn out for your Club; not many of our lot seem to be interested"
"And your lot being? . . . . ."
(I was in full New Club Strip)
"West Suffolk Wheelers"

"Oh. Anyway I've got a cold , coughing and sneezing and I haven't done a ride of more than fifty miles since January and I'm down for a hundred next week so heaven knows how I'm going to do do that I don't know if I'll make it this morning really what with so few miles in the legs and what with the cold and everything but I suppose I'll struggle with it as far as I can"

The struggle began just as soon as we swung out of the gates and up the bumpy and leafy lane (swerving to avoid a lady in pink as she coped with one of her behind-the-saddle bidons leaping out of its cage as she hit a pothole - and by the way what is the point of those devices? Without wishing to be rude, the lady is unlikely to be going fast enough to have serious aerodynamic problems and would be better of with the bottles where she can (a) reach them and (b) not loose them). We sweep past Justin who is lurking suspiciously, looking almost like someone who hasn't signed on and paid up. Left past Nowton village hall then join the A134. Straight up to 23mph.

There about four of us hitching a ride on the Stowmarket Express - but I'm the one without a ticket or, to continue with the analogy, the one in first class with a standard class ticket. Actually it is neither of the above; my ticket is clearly labelled 'Single. Lavenham.' Just before I decided to let the others go, we whooshed past a lady in WSW colours. When I checked the photos from the event (about six cameramen dotted around the course) you are just behind me as we climb towards the snapper. I had no idea. And I still don't know your name - and because you were out of focus identification is tricky. They say the camera doesn't lie, but in the picture I'm sharp; yet I was feeling distinctly unfocused at the point having averaged 22mph courtesy of S&DCC.

With the help of a cross/tail wind I managed to hang on to most of my hard-earned average (slipping a bit as I climbed out of Monk's Eleigh towards Semer - a bit early for tea, it's not eight yet) and still above what we used to call 'evens' (20mph) as I negotiated Hadleigh. The sun shone, the wind blew, the miles passed.

Along the A1071 towards Ipswich, still very early so far less traffic than when Sir Jack and I followed the same route in the Bury Bike Ride on June 12th. And I'm going faster. Down the hill into Ipswich at 30+ mph, I caught up with a couple of guys who'd passed me earlier, and hung on as we negotiated the Ipswich Crits towards Christchurch Park - where I went straight past the gates (to the probable amusement of the lady in a hi-viz gilet waiving riders in). OOps. Never mind, first left, follow the perimeter, make it look like I chose to go this way. soon back on course. Spot of climbing, Northwards. Since Lavenham I've so far found no one to team up with. They either flash past in a cloud of embrocation vapour, looking like lycra-clad greyhounds (Iceni Racing Team) or they are solo 'testers' of the sort who used to catch me for handfuls of minutes back in the day I was a middlemarker. Even if I could keep up I'd have been most unwelcome, draughting (or slipstreaming, or wheelsucking) being a big no-no in 'The Race of Truth' (and why bring 'truth' into a discipline where most riders tweek their times as a matter of course - 23m 01s becoming 'a long 22' in extreme cases). These chaps tend to be quite stocky, and aged 62. They beat me when I was 40, and they're passing me now. Slightly rolling style, often with knees outwards, grinding a massive gear with relentless power. Or, of course they're even slower than me. As a driver, I am used to classifying everyone; faster than me and they're lunatics, slower and they're a nuisance.

There was a surprise right turn on a straight section south of Diss (I think - much of the route is now just a blur) which I was pleased have not quite missed. I was actually passing the turn when I glanced down it - and saw the arrow nestling in the hedge. U-turn (another TT no-no) and saved one rider from missing it while missing saving another one who did (miss it). I rode in company with a guy who caught me up, for the last three miles to Diss - but I missed the sign to the drinks stop and he didn't. This wasn't a problem, in fact it was probably a bit quicker (but no shorter, I hasten to add).

After Diss and Shelfhanger I was passed by a couple of guys who started in Diss. I stayed with them, and we worked for a while, until it became apparent that one of them was seriously slow on anything like a climb. I waited twice (self interest, it was a strong crosswind) but then they dropped just too far back and carried on. After Dereham, when we turned WNW to Sandringham, the wind was almost head-on and getting stronger. Probably our graphs were crossing - I was getting weaker at the same rate as the increase in windspeed. I needed help.

Grabbed a gel and, as I had stopped (gels can be disgustingly sticky and messy) a rider passed me. I recognised him as having passed me early on, and spent the next three miles catching him up. He was clearly suffering as much as I was, but without the motivating effect of having something to chase. Perhaps I should clarify that term; this wasn't "chase" as in a road race, this was "chase" as in very, very slowly gain on another tired rider. I had rehearsed my introduction.

"Why don't we ride together?" I suggested "I been trying to catch up for the last three miles or more. I'll go in front first then you take over"

"OK"

Something had given me the impression that my new best friend hadn't done this sort of thing before - and this proved to be the case, but he caught onto the idea v quickly and, after we'd finished he said he was so impressed with the possibilities of group riding that he thought that he would try and join a Club. Unfortunately, he lives in Sudbury. Unfortunately again, the results website isn't operational any more so, though I looked up his name, I've forgotten it and can't go back to check.

We made much better progress as a two-up, our speed lifting from 14mph to 18 - 19mph as we fought back against the wind and the grippy, heavy Norfolk road surfaces. Sandringham at last! Then a bit of Estate Road, then left and another, then right then left then barricades that the crowds had been drilled to bang on for each arrival, two sweeping curves - feeling Tour de France-ish, get ready for the hands in the air . . . . and round last, blind bend they took the tarmac away and it was a rough shale section, like cyclo-cross, with big lumps randomly distributed here and there. Rather spoilt the effect. But it could take the shine off the relief felt by me and my NBF. A sniff over126 miles in 7hrs 40m.

Its just so wonderful when you stop.

SJH

SJH & Sir Jack's Long Day's Ride

2011-06-13T09:47:00.000-07:00

Sunday 12th June began as a morning of brilliant perfection to the extent that I thought that I might be overdressed (though my wardrobe choices had been dictated by the ambient of 8c that greeted me when I wheeled 'Sir Jack' from the garage). All around in the sunlit Abbey Gardens, cyclists in shorts and short sleeved tops looked casual, confident and fit as butchers' dogs. Sir Jack leant casually against a tree (see photo) but as you can see, his attempt to engage in conversation the top-of-range Basso failed utterly. So he turned his back. There was a very reassuringly high proportion of our 'new' Club Strip on show, as we shared our consternation that the route was (as the posters advertising the event had made completely clear) 'all new'. I stared at my copy, pretending to memorise it. Parts of the route, and its overall shape remained in my brain, along with the overall impression that there wouldn't be much climbing. During the ride I relied on the brilliant way-marks at every turn. This decision was made easier when my copy of the route was blown out of my bicycle basket at around 15 miles. We who were about to ride a hundred miles went off at 08.15 (ish) which was a full hour before the other rides. Even with the early start I was concerned that I might not get back before 5pm when the finish would pack up and go home, and I also worried that we would actually start a bit late (like last year).
In past years the hundred attracted only the most committed cyclists. With the huge increase of participation in 'Sportive' events creating a much larger pool of riders, we were 60 at the start this year. The slight downside to the 'Sportive' upsurge is that many who participate don't actually ride with others very much, and lack some of the basic skills and courtesies. I enjoyed the occasional moment when, having been passed on a climb by an erk who didn't respond to my olde-worlde greeting, I would gradually haul him back in on the flat and then sit on his wheel for a few miles before the next climb. It was the frequent slight turn of the head to see if I was still there followed by an attempt to drop me. Hah! once you've got 23 kilos of steel and heavy-duty rubber rolling along the flat, it keeps on going. Floriat Momentum, I say.
I had a clear idea in my head that by the top of Mount Rd I would be on my own, watching a tight bunch of hardmen disappearing down the road but, because of the numbers and resulting bunching on the hill, the last road-biker didn't pass me until near Lavenham. Several groups and pairs overtook me several times because I didn't stop at the designated feed stations. I was particularly pleased to be passed three times by the group that included a Junoesque young woman with a slight German accent who had ridden behind and then alongside me in the first five miles. She was impressed by my single gear (if nothing else). On the final two passes she was towing the blokes along.

One guy overtook me on a short climb just west of Hopton - but I caught him a couple of miles later (see photo) and, after a bit of a chat, he became the only rider that I dropped on a climb. Now some would say that I should've offered him a wheel, but charity would have been a lot to ask after 80 miles - and I doubt he'd equal the £3 a mile that I was getting for the Multiple Sclerosis Society. So, time for a plug for my sponsors.

Thanks to long tailwind sections, and the fact that heavy old 'Sir Jack' would freewheel at 16mph with the slightest of downward gradients (plus a new route that had no serious climbs) meant that an average of 14 to 14.4mph could be held for the first 50 miles. As the wind became stronger and unfavourable, with spots of rain becoming proper showers I no longer felt overdressed - and not as fresh as I had when the ride was young. My two-stop strategy served me well, taking on more supplies from my team car just twice for a total time penalty of five minutes. The route passed within yards of our house, and the final 30 miles remained within 10 miles of home, so Susan and Polly were able to provide refills for bottles and re-stocking of fig rolls, energy bars and dried apricots.
A bicycle basket is absolutely perfect for this sort of ride, everything needed is there, laid out (and bouncing around from time to time). I grazed and slurped at regular and frequent intervals for the entire ride - which may explain how I was able to complete the ride in a shade under seven and a half hours - half an hour inside my target of eight hours (which really was just plucked out of the air as a time that might be possible, but only if I was lucky). In fact, including being given the medal to which all finishers were entitled and then riding 7 cold and wet miles home I was still inside the my projected time. Total mileage for the day 114 miles.
The high point of the final section, as I grovelled up from the Honington crossroads battered by a bad tempered crosswind was the sight of a slight and welcome figure of Rich 'Tom Tom' Seggar riding towards me. With his '50' already under his belt, and the rain beginning to get serious, here he was prepared to add another 25 miles to his total. As Polly's photo shows, I wasn't too proud to tuck in behind the senior rider.
A note on the Hat. When Andy Abbott came to take the photos for the East Anglian Daily Times, I crammed the trusty panama on my head to match the picture on the www.Justgiving.com/stephenjameshill web page. Then I though that I'd wear it for the start, so people could make the connection with the news story. I never considered that it would actually stay on. There were some ferocious gusts on my way round and, though there were occasions when I felt the brim flap about at no point did it feel that it was about to part company from my head. The only modification was that on fast descents (max speed 30.4mph) I had to flip the brim up rather than the customary down. In fact for most of the ride the hat stayed like that. Like a cowboy galloping to head 'em off at the pass.
Thanks to all who have donated to the MS Society via justgiving.com. I believe that the page remains open for another two weeks, so you didn't forget – you were just waiting until I'd actual done it

There are more photos on the West Suffolk Wheelers & Tri website's Picasa link

SJH

Go-Ride for Grown-Ups

2011-05-15T10:10:00.000-07:00

In between Wednesdays and Sundays I tried the “Go-Ride for Grown-Ups” sessions at Priory School, run by Barry Denny. I was one of those 'happy to help but prepared to learn'. Mostly learning, I can now reveal. The first session was done entirely on the grass of Priory's playing field; all the basics, weaving in and out of cones, picking up drinking bottles from the top of one crate and putting them down on another (two laps passed before I got the hang of that). Riding side by side touching elbows? An interesting exercise. The 'cyclo cross' dismount, 30ft walking the bike just holding the saddle ditto scooting along with one foot on a pedal (best to get the appropriate foot and pedal combination sorted out. Will Curtin was keen to demonstrate that there wasn't an actually 'wrong' way to do this – but failed to convince) then swing the free leg over the saddle and off you go. Generations of cyclists over the whole of the twentieth century have mounted their bikes this way, and I still do this if I'm riding my trade bike. Guessing that we might be asked to do this, I had a go on my Mercian the day before; it's very different when your foot is clipped in and the bike is half as heavy. I fell in a heap on our paved forecourt, almost instantly. At least no one was watching. We also tried riding through a 'chicane' or 'slalom' two abreast, then three, then four then whooops! Perhaps not five after all. There was a fine 'scotch mist' or drizzle for a lot of the time, and the grass became very slippery. Barry kept telling us that we'd cut the session short because of the weather – but carried on until just ten minutes short of the scheduled finish.

The second session (Saturday 19 March) was the last of the two, and entirely on tarmac. More of the same – elbow to elbow, in and out of cones – PLUS going round cones (they are only a few inches tall, by the way) so that the front wheel goes one side and the rear goes the other. Every bit as hard as it sounds, until the penny drops and the technique develops. We did stopping in a box with feet clipped in, we went under the limbo pole, we clung on to a large, tethered wheelie bin with one hand, and then moved off, Barry and I demonstrated the possibility of two riders holding each other up, to a sceptical audience and we went on a miniature club run which, in the best tradition was split into two rides which wound their way around the roads near to Denny Bros. We saw Barry's group only once – and they looked very impressive, riding in pairs with arms on each other's shoulders. I fear that 'my' group looked a bit bit of a shambles until we got Lara's son on the front (he had the double penalty of a tiny bike, and being over twenty years younger than most of the group- and sixty years younger than some). Warm Sunshine made it a very enjoyable couple of hours. We really need more of these.

On most runs there are moments when you can see the gaps in riders' skill set. It's when we stop for someone's puncture, or wait for a long time before launching ourselves across a main road or (occasionally it happens) turning round in the road because we've taken a wrong turn that the difficulties show up. A hopping and scooting, wobbling and weaving, taking too long to clip in, inability to let go of the 'bars for more than a couple of seconds. Greater confidence brings better safety. The 'stop box' exercise we used was a real test for many, but is a basic necessity if you need to just pause for long enough to check a junction, without doing the whole dismounting bit. I know that u-turns are frowned on at time trials for safety reasons (and you really must check behind you before you do this) but I'm often surprised by how few otherwise skilful riders just cannot turn in a single-track lane with putting a foot down.

Wednesdays in March

2011-05-15T06:28:00.000-07:00

Time for a look back at a few Wednesday Ride accounts that have been lurking aound the dark corners of my laptop

On Wednesday 9^th March, around 16 of us set off for 'La Hogue' which is fast turning into a favourite browsing and sluicing station. It is on a single-track road off the the road from Kentford to Chippenham. Heading East you turn left at the apex of the second bend of the 'S' about a mile after going over the A11. In fact, if you pass La Hogue and keep going you meet the A11; but you may only head to Norwich. We went by a circuitous route that included Ousden and Dallham, and it was just before Dalham that Mary Narey (noted runner, but new to road cycling) slammed through a pot hole and punctured both tyres. Enough spare tubes were found, and also the expertise to fit them. We Wednesday guys (that's 'guys' in the American usage which encompasses everyone) are just so deeply wonderful and truly helpful.

At La Hogue, it turned out (Dawned on us) that it was Dawn's birthday, and she was presented with three candles in her chocolate muffin. I preserved this moment with my Canon Ixus, as well as a snap of the multiple-puncture moment. Later, attempting to adjust the file-size setting (which had been changed to the smallest setting, giving quite poor quality results) I inadvertently wiped the memory card. Feeling hugely digitally competent, I downloaded to the laptop that I have 'inherited' from Polly, the free software Zero Assumption Recovery, and rescued the missing pictures. Hurrah!. The following Wednesday, I told Dawn all of this, and promised to send her a copy. Then while doing some cleaning-up of the photos on the laptop – I wiped them all ! This time it was permanent. I haven't told Dawn yet, so not a word, OK?

The following Wednesday, 16^th, again we were around 16, and I was on gears for the first time since last September. Surprisingly, so was my usually-fixed wheel companion Glenn Morris. I was having a road test of Richard Stiff's Flandria, with a view to purchase, Glenn was on a dark grey full-Carbon job. He mentioned that the Flandria's front brake was rubbing. I thought to myself “how on earth did he hear that?” forgetting that Glenn is still in his prime. We of the Wednesday Core often communicate via 'dialogues of the deaf', so such acute hearing is bound to impress. We head North-Eastwards, with the inevitable Bressingham tea stop as our goal. Justin takes us out via Walsham le Willows and Gislingham and thence towards Mellis. We meet a few tractors, and have the odd car behind which just sits there for what seems like miles. His means that we travel in single file for rather more of the ride than we enjoy. There is grumbling at the back, concerning the 'Yo-Yo' effect, plus some who were spooked by the approach tractors – one of which was quite exceptionally wide, and tested the nerves of the less hardened. We went through the edge of Diss, out the other (North East) side and looked settled for a substantial loop before tea. This was a tactical error. We had within our number Sharon Calton, who has intimate knowledge of the area, and had noticed that we had just passed a right turn that would have taken us to Bressingham – metaphorically speaking, we could smell the coffee. Result? Rebellion. The tail end turned round and took the tea route (which also led to coffee). Justin, and those riders 'loyal to Justin' carried on.

The breakaway arrived after about twenty minutes. Can 'breakaway' be the correct description? since they were arguably 'the ride' and we (lounging around sipping and nibbling) were the breakaway – except, of course, for the fact that we broke off the back, so what should we be called? I think that at one point Justin could have been relied upon to come up with a few suggestions. Now that we were all together (though at separate tables – see photo) there was a degree of jollity and that relaxed and warm friendliness for which the Wednesday ride is so rightly famed.

The service was quite the fastest I've experienced here. The scones were the now-usual enormous size, but felt a bit yesterday-ish. When eaten, they were well up to standard though perhaps those who opted for microwaved ones enjoyed the best experience. We returned as a group, though there was a certain friskiness at the front that had to be tamed. Again, we had quite long periods of single file riding. By dint of an extra loop after Thurston, dropping off Tom-Tom at Woolpit on the way, Justin and I managed 55 miles.

Wednesday, 23rd March. Probably most Wheelers will know that this was a slightly controversial ride, though enjoyable for (I venture to suggest) almost everyone. The weather was so warm that I took off a long sleeve base-layer before we'd even set off. Jeremy Waterson (new rider – done a couple of Espressos) kindly (and unpromptedly) offered to store my surplus clothing in his van and we set off. Crockery Barn was the destination, and Peter took his ride leadership to a new level by phoning ahead to make sure that the Café could cope with the 19 riders that we were. We somehow managed the lanes with our large and unwieldy peleton without too much drama, Rich Seggar navigated with his usual panache – he does this trick (doesn't work with me because I've been to Crockery Barn too many times) of almost circling Ashbocking before emerging from a tiny lane, almost opposite the entrance, which gives the impression that we are in the middle of nowhere. We are, in fact, barely a mile from the main road from Wickham Market to Needham ditto.

The friendly staff had already moved the outdoor furniture into position for us, and coped pretty well with a group that was probably three times the usual size. Smiles go a long way in compensating for delays. Lindsay Clayton, who had been coping with only one brake for most of the ride out, left early to ride up to Diss, Madgett's for a new cable.

On the return journey, in glorious sunshine and with a favourable wind, the pace began to rise and, by the time we reached Debenham, the gap had grown to the point that communication was difficult. Not so much Chinese Whispers as Chinese Bellowing, but the effect was the same. I missed what I had thought was the left turn we were supposed to take (but wasn't). Behind us came cries of (we thought) “straight on”. What was meant by “straight on” was in fact “straight on past the one you've already missed and take the next left” - but the cries of left got lost in the wind, and flew on to a set of lights at roadworks and waited there. No one appeared. We sent an emissary who reported no cyclists to be seen. So we carried on towards Eye, not quite realising the storm that we had caused. The rest is history and red cards. I clock up nearly 65 miles.

There was quite a good turnout for Wednesday 30th March and there was a deal of light hearted banter about Red Cards and unacceptable behaviour. Peter was toiling around the villages collecting the collecting boxes full of change collected for the Marie Curie Cancer Care. This is an arduous task; coins weigh a lot; panniers soon get over-heavy. Peter spends several days spread over a couple of weeks each year doing this (secretly getting stronger and stronger).

I can't remember whether we went to HollowTrees or to the Cavendish tearooms, but I do know that we met this lorry unloading building materials near Liston (I think). Quite a tricky job carrying the bike while walking in cleats on a 45 degree grass slope and leaning against the large vehicle.

Espresso Ride(s) 13 March 2011. "Its a Ride of Two Halves"

2011-03-15T03:06:00.000-07:00

Weather's warmer outside, though I still pile on my entire 'New Wheelers' wardrobe. Weather forecasts have been a bit pessimistic this last week – refusing to acknowledge that it's actually sunny, promising (threatening?) rain that doesn't arrive. Perhaps this is a new policy, to bathe the nation in a glow of pleasant surprise, thus equipping us to march forward to the New Dawn of the Big Society. Perhaps it isn't.

I confess to not having done a careful count of how many we were this morning, but the figure of 21 was mentioned, which triggered Justin to announce that we should split into two groups. Now, I have a hankering for the days of playground games, when the two leaders would choose their teams and there was always the same child left until last. But this is the 21^st century, and we are mostly grown ups, so there is a show of hands (like votes for strike action and the 70s). Justin proposed that he would lead an ascetic group that wouldn't stop for tea, leaving the rest of us (10) to make our own arrangements. We watched the Eating Disorder Group ride off, and went in the opposite direction (in every way). We thought we'd go to Cavendish (too close, apparently – even though I pointed out that it depended on the route) or to Castle Hedingham (too far, and even I couldn't argue against that. If the shortest route is still too long, that's it) or Semer (which is also too close if you want to be like that, but can be made further away with careful use of detours).

We, of the Café Faction were: Deane, Glynn, Graham, Ron, Tricia (raring to go after her 59 minute ride in the Club 21 mile Hilly TT) Julians Long and Colman, SJH, young Josh (on his first Cappuccino) and a guest appearance from Mark Harris, erstwhile Voice of Discipline and regular rider, though a rarer (but welcome) sight these days. We set off up Horsecroft lane, and kept on course through Shimpling up past the top of Hartest Hill, down to Stansted, up to Glemsford right to Cavendish (see? It was too close) and sort of Pentlow direction. I was partly responsible for our taking a right fork just outside Cavendish which takes one up a very (to me) steep hill, then a left at the top and through to Foxearth. The winding and fast road through this charmingly-named village is always a blast, and continues for two or three miles, to the point where we cross the old Sudbury Rd. Checking all this on my O/S map sheet 155, I have more than the usual difficulty reconciling the remembered route with the lanes and roads on the map. Then I realise that it's the 1974 edition. Sudbury hasn't moved, nor any of the other settlements. We haven't acquired a 'New Cambourne', for instance. But the roads are a very different matter. At the top of Sheet155 there is the A45, running (thundering) through Beyton and Stowmarket, no A14 in those days. Anyway, let's cut to the chase as we ascend the rise that takes us to the junction with the NEW Sudbury road (for the eagle-eyed and pedantic, there isn't a 'new' Sudbury. It's just a new road to the existing Sudbury. But you knew that. I'll get on with the story). which we cross and weave our scenic way through Acton and upwards to the Lavenham - Sudbury road, which we cross into a 'by road' that Suffolk speciality (I'm sure it's not an exclusively Suffolk classification - but we do have a nice lot of them) with a sign saying 'Washmere Green'. Julian C, who has been navigating so far, says "NO!" and then elaborates "we need to go left to Lavenham, this is only a By Road, and might not go anywhere". I have to confess to dissension at this point. I proposed that, in the spirit of adventure, we should give the little road a chance. I think that I carried the day - everyone followed - and we rode off in what turned out too be a rather worryingly persistent right handed curve. We just might end up back on the main road. But no, after a couple of miles we joined the B1115 in the Monk's Eleigh direction (taking the little lane which runs parallel to and south of the main road and is marked Swingleton Green on the map - passing the tiny lane to the right which goes up, with a 'chevron' graded ramp, towards Milden) then up the sharp Clay Hill to our social interaction point of choice. Hollow Trees Farm Shop & Woodlands Café. Chloe served us with the efficiency and amiability that we always appreciate. Deane sat back in his chair and declared with a contented sigh that "This is what it's all about". And we all agreed, and congratulated ourselves on the wisdom of our decision to include a stop. The photo shows Tony Panting's elder brother Peter, and his Glendene CC chums enjoying a rather more basic tea break. Peter Panting's hand clasps what looks like a pair of scones. That knitwear, those caps; is it too late to get Paul Callow to change our order for club caps?

After this smug interlude we descended Semer Hill and took the simplest route back via Bildeston and Hitcham, taking the left for the lanes route to Buxhall. Deane was about 200 yds ahead, with Josh (who managed very well on his first Espresso) glued to his wheel. Our shouts - and they were many and loud - had the desired effect eventually of getting them to turn back and rejoin us. Ah yes... the old 'left turn trick'. What fun it can be. I forced a curlicue on the route at Buxhall and we went to Rattlesden and up to Drinkstone. At an early point on the little detour, Deane said (without a contented sigh) "We're going back on ourselves here" "yes" I agree "maybe so, but it doesn't matter"

I have achieved a modest 55 miles - but am home at the surprisingly early time of 12.40. Waiting for me in the garage is Richard Stiff's 'Flandria'. It is there for assessment, with a view to purchase. But that's another story. Check out the Blog about the 'Pearson Saga'. Why is it that when I'm home early, wife and daughter are out shopping?

Discover, to extreme annoyance, that my spectacles are missing. Last used at Blooms at tea time, they would have been in the dark grey plastic case you can see on the right of my "all you need for a ride" photo. Phoned Blooms, nothing found. The helpful lady walked from her office to the Cafeteria, and even to our table (I could hear her heels click-clacking on the floors as an accompaniment!). Possibility they would have been swept into a bin bag unnoticed. Damn.

PS. Had an email from Tricia - "I thought today's ride was one of the loveliest I've been on. The group size was right & we kept together, pace was just right, no punctures & everyone was chatty & friendly"

Perhaps I should ask which ride she was on?

SJH

Espresso 6 March 2011. To Tea or not To Tea?

2011-03-10T04:38:00.000-08:00

First Espresso of March, so here's a seasonal mad March hare. I set off in good time – don't want to cut it fine like last week – and find that the cold is just awful. One of those mornings when I spend most of the seven and a half miles to Cornhill wondering why I'm doing this to myself. Why does it feel SO cold, when the numbers aren't that alarming? I mean, it's only just below freezing at Norton. How short can I decently make this ride? How soon could I claim an imperative obligation to be home – entertaining relatives, doing chores? Just as I arrive in Bury I notice the empty bottle cage. Aha! Help is at hand. Keep that one up my sleeve, and play it early. Rehearse anger and frustration at missing the ride . . . . Then the others arrive, and soon we are thirteen. Justin, Adi, Pauls Callow and Barry, Jonathans Howe and Sjolin, Jeremy Waterson, Glynn, Deane, Ron Fisher, Mike Bowen, Glenn Morris and Self. The mood is relaxed, and we agree on a sort of Bressingham, though Justin keeps mentioning somewhere called Winfarthing. I'm feeling better about this. Then I remember – Damn! I don't have a bottle!

As we set off along Mount Rd, and it's apparent that we're heading towards home (mine) I put in a request to Justin for us to swing by Blogger HQ and pick up a bottle. Mike Bowen immediately offers one of his. Some time later he tells me how to open the nozzle. We avoid, as has become the habit, the cyclepath from The Flying Fortrss pub to the Rougham crossroads. Now this is a shame. I know why it began, it was at the beginning of January that the path was gritted with sand containing a very high proportion of flints. I had three punctures in the first two days of the year, and I wasn't the only one. No one has dared use it again – except me, that is. I've used it for the last three weeks with no problems and, though there is still some sand lying around, it can be easily avoided. I think that we should go back to using it. But if I suggest it, and manage to persuade the group to follow me, and someone gets a puncture (as could happen at any time in any case) I'd be in the merde.

We do the rotating leader thing, without really thinking about it, and it keeps us pretty neat and fairly tidy. We go via Wattisfield and Hinderclay, Knettishall and Freezen Hill – cross the A1066 and wiggle across to Shelfanger. There were one or two times when we split, but nothing too dramatic or long lasting. As we turned off at Shelfanger Justin called a halt, and there was a brief conference on route choices. He was going to take any who wanted on a loop via Banham (further North East) then a return without tea. The remainder of us would go back to Bressingham and have a pleasant break. I was of the tea-break faction and lead the way to Blooms with Jeremy (who didn't want to repeat his experience of a fortnight ago when he opted to join the five of us who 'rode through' and skipped the stop at Semer. He ran out of fuel big time.) Glynn, Deane, Ron, Glenn and Jonnie Sjolin. The Sensible Seven. We crossed Boyland Common, which Justin had warned us was a wild place. Was he ever right! On the bleak and muddy common itself, a scattering of small caravans was outnumbered by tethered horses of various sizes; all of the type favoured by Travellers. A couple of Jack Russell-ish terriers gave chase and one, misunderstanding the game, overtook us and sped ahead at 12mph. Close to the road a girl of about 12 was filling a small churn from a stand pipe, a wild-looking woman with long matted hair hollered at the the tiny hound (which froze in its tracks at the side of the road – as any creature on the receiving end of that voice would). There were no trucks or chaps – all out hare-coursing or totting no doubt. Deane was impressed and, as we waited round a corner at a safe distance (the group had split up) he said “how can they live like that?”. I reminded him of his bungalow days this winter, coping with no heating or water, “no, no, not that – I mean the environment, such a mess, how do they get away with it?”

We move on. Zig zagging across the network of tiny lanes that brought us back to Bressingham. Their displays of food are, these days, quite extravagant – as the pictures show. There's always time to make several different choices (I always seem to be behind a queue of cyclists). Those cakes, huge, generously-filled baguettes, plated salads, chocolate éclairs, short bread, biscuits, macaroons – all seem to be twice the size of the normal item, and begging to be chosen. And look, the little bottles of red wine, there's a cabernet-sauvignon as well as a merlot! But as ever, it comes down to a scone weighing half a pound, plus butter and jam. We sit and savour our sensible break, chatting about track-standing couriers in London (look, no hands) and the self-evident wisdom of our choice to stop. Glynn implies that Justin's group are all in mortal fear of being late home, and that thus we, self evidently, are the real men. He put it more pithily than that, I remember. Our civilised chat is interrupted by the arrival of the Cappuccini. Time to go. Ron opts for the gentler ride home and, now we are six, we head off across Redgrave Fen, past Thelnetham Windmill, and the splendidly-named Blo Norton, lined-out behind the hunched figure of Dynamo Deane (also known as Metronome Man). Jeremy was flagging by the time we reached Sapiston, and young Jonnie began to fade at Honnington – but hey, we got home nice and quickly.

I got home at 1.10 with 63 miles under my wheels. I later learn the Wallace faction (well, Justin, anyway) did 66 and were home by 1.00. But we'd had tea and social interaction.
SJH

Espresso ride 27 Feb 2011. Anarchy in East Anglia

2011-02-28T16:15:00.000-08:00

I wasn't exactly late. The Moyses Hall Clock had reached, maybe, 6 out of the 9 chimes as I joined the large group of riders on Cornhill. I had a quick count, then asked (for confirmation) how many we were. 22 seemed to be the consensus. “So we ought to split into two groups” I suggested. This didn't go down well. There were mutterings.

In the absence of any suggestions, I offered Anglesey Abbey. No disagreement with that. “Two groups, a ten and a twelve!” was announced, and the first fifteen riders headed off down Risbygate with some urgency. The stragglers soon managed to catch up, though we seem to have lost a few, and there had been a cry of “puncture!” as we entered Out Risbygate (mind you, most shouts sound like 'puncture' at a distance; or 'easy up' or 'slow down'). I went to the front of the ride to advise. We slowed a bit; for a while, and there was mention of waiting (but we didn't really) Ben Mickleburgh asked were we were going to and we said Anglesey Abbey. He rode off ahead. We never saw him again. This wasn't going to be the best organised ride of the New Regime. In the interests of self-preservation, I stayed with the front group (which was now 'the group' comprising about 19 or 20 riders).

If there had been any lingering doubt about how things were going, it was removed when the first two riders on the front, wanting to change, free wheeled back, two abreast to the rear of the bunch. In our defence, I should mention that we were in pairs and pretty neat and tidy – at least until that incident. Whatever happened to the half-mile stints and rolling through that were a feature last week?

First (and only) puncture was at the top of Poor Man's Heath. Lucky rider: Graham Smith. In line with the new Guidelines we formed an orderly chicane by dividing ourselves into three groups on alternating sides of the (mercifully quiet) road.

I take us left just before Cavenham, down to A14 underpass near Kentford, left then right up to Gazeley. We have been rolling through for quite a few miles, with modest success (i.e. the eight riders at the front rotate amongst themselves) The Climb towards Gazeley can be a bit of a tough one – depending on the pace, of course. We thought that we were being fairly sensible. If I was still on, I thought, then it wouldn't be too fast. I was wrong – maybe it was something in the porridge this morning. As we neared Gazeley, we had a call that some were off the back. Communications working! We slow to something short of track stands, and some bright spark says “Are we lost?”. I thought this unworthy of comment, someone else replied that he didn't think that we were. Adi and Boyd Nicholas jump ship, citing the need to be home before 5pm (or something). The general opinion now was that we seemed to be a group of 18.

Going down into Dalham, straight through and up to the junction at the top where we went right towards Newmarket then left to Upend then working our way round to the south of Newmarket. We split into two at the top of Duchess Drive, when those who had a life to get home to followed Julian and peeled off to take their chances with Coffee & Co while the remaining 9 of us carried on towards AA. Those of you who did a variant of this route with me a while back will remember my shaky grasp of the distance between Dullingham and Lode (home to Anglesey Abbey). That time I said it was about 4 miles, and it turned out to be 9. I made the same error this time but I didn't actually tell people, I just thought to myself “perhaps it'll be shorter this time”. A bit like computer programs that won't work, but if you keep repeating the same routine enough times they suddenly do. Geography isn't like that, so we'd done thick end of 40 miles by the time we ran the gauntlet the Abbey crowds all eager for glimpses of snowdrops to join the queue for tea and cake. Re-reading that last bit, I notice that I've included my journey in to Bury so, with the exception of Richard Stiff (calendar collaborator and fellow Norton resident) the total was more like 33 miles for Bury -based riders. The displays of cake were intimidating, laid out on all sides. At least twice the amount normally offered; sufficient for a modest siege, in fact. The staff must have been hoping that the hordes in the gardens admiring the snowdrops would start to feel thirsty and (particularly) hungry quite soon. A few coins short of a fiver was at the high end of the range for a scone (even with excellent butter and jam ) and a cappuccino (with sprinkles). On last Thursday's Wednesday ride (it was a weather decision) at the excellent La Hogue, near Chippenham I paid just £3.20 for the same, and in fact the jam was better. However, this detail never deters me from coming here on a ride – the space is light and airy, with room for a ride of at least thirty and they have a Dyson Airblade hand dryer in the loo. What's not to like?

I assured everyone that the journey home would be flatter and shorter than the somewhat challenging outwards route. Darren Fowler, who had found the first section pretty tough, was comforted by this. I didn't say it would be totally flat nor even very short. Towards the end of a tough run, even speed humps can be a challenge.

Shortly before we reached Burwell, Darren was feeling the pace and said that he would find his own way home. I gave him an outline of the route I planned for us to take, then joined Ron Fisher at the front at the point where we turn right to go Exning, keeping the pace down. We thought that we still had Darren in tow, but I reckon that we lost him either on the rise towards the A14, or the little climb out of Exning towards the A152 Newmarket to Exning road. Then I had Glynn with me until the end of that little road from Chippenham, when Deane took over the front. The increase in speed was barely perceptible to begin with, but by the time we'd done Herringswell to Tuddenham I decided to let them go ahead. It's a surprising effect, easing up just that fraction. The pain slips away, you pedal with ease – and the group stays clearly visible for ages. This leads to two trains of thought. Why can't I just put in a bit of an effort and get back on? No more than 200 yds – why not? Well the answer lies in the reason you slipped off the back in the first place. You've blown. The second train of thought involves seething resentment, and an attempt concentrate all that emotion down the road as some sort of force field (I'm no physicist) that will cause anxiety in those heedless riders ahead, and cause them to slow down. But because you've blown, you'd drop straight off the back as soon as they resumed their previous pace. So you become resigned to your solo finish, and enjoy the comparative ease with which the pedals keep turning (fixed wheel is particularly good for this). I wonder if you went through these stages, Darren?

Home by 2.20, to lunch and bath. Heaven. But I do hurt. SJH

20 February 2011 It's an Ill Wind . . . .

2011-02-22T10:23:00.000-08:00

Cold, grey, slight dampness in the air, wind (according to my weathervane, and the windsock on our neighbour's airstrip) a bit North of East. Nasty, but not appalling, so off I went with a tail wind helping me up the hill to Great Green from Norton. Meet Justin at Thurston and tell him how pleased I am not to have to lead the ride. Meet Mike Bowen in Looms Lane, and tell him that he really ought to do the route. As the small group on Cornhill becomes larger, I can hear people talking about the South wind and Hollowtrees. Are they quite MAD? What is it with these people and wind direction? They point to the Vane on the roof of Moyses Hall, which is itself pointing due South. A gust of wind blows through the buildings to the south.

So we set off for the South, but I'm still reluctant to accept the evidence; I'm a wind-change denier, no less. Justin leads us down to Glemsford, then Mike takes us via Foxearth to Semer – seamlessly. We have, by now, had several punctures each experienced by a different rider. At least this means that we have been held up by the fickle flint of fate rather than irritating rider incompetence. Before I get hate mail, I'll gladly put up my hand to being an incompetent in my time – once producing a succession of spare tubes (three) that immediately failed due to being too tightly coiled up for too long. Whatever the cause, we were a touch on the drag.

Justin had already decided to 'ride through' the café stop, and five more of us joined him. Mike, Jeremy Waterson (new member) Glenn Morris and Paul Barry. This left Adi, Tricia, Bungalow Deane, Graham, John Brookes, Ian (new rider from Nmkt) and Ron Fisher to enjoy their scones'n'drinks. Ron was enjoying (I think that's the word - Ron's a tough guy who wouldn't let on if it was different) his first ride after the January crash. It was total coincidence that we had travelled through some appallingly slimy and muddy lanes. As I write this, I am aware of a possible infringement of current guidelines. We had made no enquiries as to whether anyone knew the way back. Even though I happen to know that there were several who could manage the well-ridden path to Bury. It's the principle that's the thing, though.

Anyway we six wended our way, guided by Tom Tom II (a.k.a. Mike) on some tiny roads, and one, near Wattisham, that was worse any endured on the ride so far. The main positive we gained from our ride home was that six riders can do a chaingang pretty well (I really must point out here that we were heading into a NE headwind - see first paragraph) after a minimum of practice with two novices at the discipline (after Wednesday's attempts, I use that word advisedly). Poor Jeremy suffered a bit after a while, mainly through lack of mileage in his legs – though I think that the lack of tea-stop was the principal culprit.I got home (accompanied by Justin) with 58 miles on the clock, and at 1.15-ish. We wondered, just how late were the tea stoppers ?

After customary sleep in the bath, caught some Manchester World Cup round, and enjoyed the sight of our chaps back on top form in 4000m pursuit – and also our girls in their 3000m. Each having to make do with beating the Kiwis in the absence of the Aussies. SJH

PEARSON, The Tale of a Rush of Blood to the Head

2011-02-19T11:43:00.000-08:00

As soon as I saw the picture in 'The Comic' I was hooked. Pearson 'Cartouche', elder brother of the 'Touché', but fashioned from hand-picked dew-fresh carbon fibre, with stainless steel drop-outs. Complete bike around £1,500 and no gears. For several months this vision of perfection stayed at the back of my mind as an impractical dream. How could I justify the stupefying expense to myself, let alone the family?

I already had a trusty steel winter fixed, frame bought for just £15 from John Pavey of Hardwick, just west of Cambridge where we lived at the time (1997). No name, no transfers, freshly sprayed in dark blue, a road frame that was to be a stand-in for my (lugless) Mercian which was in Derby for a repair (another story, for another time). It was a while before I did the fixed conversion, and I didn't ride it in company until we moved to Suffolk in 2001. I became increasingly fond of 'Pavey' which, though 3/4 of an inch bigger than the Mercian, and with a much longer top tube and more relaxed angles became supremely comfortable. But there was a hankering for something a bit less agricultural. Pearson's seemed to have the value with the Touché - but it came in a rather unpleasant matt Blue. Other candidates from other firms had one or more quirks in the geometry that ruled them out, generally giving them too much of a courier look.

Thinking aloud about this fixed-replacement project at the dinner table brought the retort from Susan "why don't you get the carbon one, whatever it's called". But it's nearly £1,500 I remind her "SO?" she replies " you've got the money at the moment, if you really want it - just get on with and buy one". So I did, but I had a 'bright idea' that I imagined would give me top spec for a bit less money by buying the frame, and getting Nathan Colman to do the build. Now you can see what's coming, can't you?. Yup, nearly two grand, was what we ended up with. Nice build, though.

Now Nathan is a whizz of a bike mechanic, and obsessive about equipment. He was unhappy with some aspects of the truly beautiful frame. However, like a teenager in love I turned a deaf ear (in my case quite easy - just remove the hearing aid) to this obviously unfounded criticism of my only beloved .

On a bright and warm September Sunday, Pearson and I joined the Espresso Ride, with 51 x 21 engaged for around 66" gear. The smoothness of the transmission and the suppleness of the carbon ride were a seductive joy. For the tail wind home, Nathan turned the wheel round for me to give a meatier 51 x 19 (72.5"). Pure joy. On every ride for the rest of the winter Pearson and I were inseparable - apart from that ice incident in February, when he was unmarked but I had some bodywork damage. By late April the Espressi were getting frisky, and Pearson was reserved for lighter duties. Then, at the end of May, on Adi's Family Fun Ride, there came a grinding noise when putting down the power. I upset poor Nathan by suggesting that the chain was out of line. He investigated, and diagnosed a failure of the drive-side drop-out/chainstay interface. The chunky stainless steel was easing itself away from the carbon stay so, on each hard pedal stroke it moved which, in turn, caused the wheel to move and the chain to become out of line.

After some thought I was forced to agree with Nathan. Pearson must go back to be repaired or replaced. Actually, that wasn't quite what Nathan wanted me to do. He wanted me to demand my money back, and start again with something different - Condor, Bob Jackson and Mercian were mentioned, the vogue for hand built steel was just taking hold, stainless steel was suggested - maybe (even) unobtainium.

At the beginning of July, the frame goes back. Pearson's were cooperative, they didn't quibble, acknowledged that there was a problem and sent 'Pearson' back to Italy where, allegedly, he had been lovingly constructed by dedicated Italian craftsmen. There was a long pause. A month went by, and I emailed. "Ah, um, er, yes didn't quite catch them before they closed for annual holidays". Another month. I email them. "The Italians are being a bit difficult about this. They say there's no fault with the frame. We're awfully cross with them, and even mentioned solicitors and everything".

Autumn. No news. I email, pointing out that, whilst appreciating their difficulties with the Italians, I was without a fixed bike for the winter, and I was £1250 out of pocket. "We could lend you a bike. A Touché. Have a look on the website and see what you think." I agree, we will use the forks from the Cartouche which Nathan had shrewdly retained and they would send the alloy frame (now available in a pleasing metallic black). By October, I'm fixed up with a fixie; slightly harsh ride from very rigid alloy frame, but fun nonetheless.

November. I email and point out that, fun though it is, the bike that I'm riding is £900 cheaper than the one I paid for over a year ago. I further point out that I feel like a man who buys a Porsche and ends up driving a Polo. They say that they appreciate my patience, that they are doing all that they can, that the situation is still very tricky and the Italians are being most awfully difficult. They'll be in touch.

December, and it seems that they've sacked the Italians and are seeking a new supplier of carbon frames -which I imagine will be lovingly constructed by dedicated Taiwanese craftsmen.
Just before Christmas, I get an unprompted email from Pearson's. "Just to save me trawling through all our records" it read "could you remind of the size of frame you had?". I realise that there were one or two issues that I could've raised at this point, mainly regarding the breathtaking ineptitude of the wording. But I just sent them the size.

January. I email. "We've found a new supplier, and we've got a prototype, and it's in your size. There is a slight snag, in that they've got the brake bridge in the wrong position for a rear brake (but that wouldn't matter if you're riding fixed) [insert exclamation mark here]. Alternatively we expect to get production under way in a week or two, so you could have a Cartouche II by early July" In case you've fallen asleep by this point, I'll just remind you that this would mean one full year after sending 'Pearson' back. I telephone. I can't expect them to realise quite what an escalation of my mood this simple fact implies. I hate telephoning, and will go to enormous lengths to avoid doing so. I speak to their 'Retail Manager'. "I think we've got to the point where I need to have my money back" - "Well yes, I do understand" said the RM. I push it a bit further "The Touché frame doesn't represent much money to you, but would be a most welcome gesture of goodwill to me" It almost seems like I have a deal - but of course I'm not talking to the Man. I will be contacted by Will Pearson in a day or two. He does contact me. He has ideas, and offers, and strategies to avoid actually parting with cash. I tell him that I quite understand that he doesn't want to give me straight cash back - but I feel that he has to. He tries to sell me the turkey with no back break. He says that it's a really nice ride, and everyone has been riding it like billy-oh all winter and . . . . [oops, did he listen to himself there?]. Next it's "The Italians have come round, and will mend the frame FOC, and wouldn't take too terribly long" I say no, I need the money back. " If you didn't mind waiting a little while, you could have a CartoucheII and keep the Touché. I don't need two fixed bikes. I need the money back. Finally, I agree to a nominal few quid for the Touché and the balance refunded. Phew! People ask me what I'm going to get now. Well, it's NOT going to be a top spec bike. I'll stick at the level I'm comfortable with. I don't need a new frame - I might buy a pair of wheels, the odd bit of kit, but definitely no rush of blood to the head. Probably.
So what conclusions to draw? The chaps at Pearson had their hearts in the right place, and my best interests (kind of) at those hearts, but the execution was lacking in any sense of urgency. An uncharitable interpretation of this would be that they rather hoped that I'd get bored and go away if they didn't prod me with information, and that I only got a decent deal when finally they felt that they were cornered. Such a shame. More pro activity could have saved them returning most of my cash. I think I'm probably far too easy going (and idle), so I can't blame them for having similar faults. I should I?
SJH

The Sociability of Through & Off

2011-02-16T10:38:00.000-08:00

Twelve of us left New Green Centre at Thurston this morning, in conditions that fluctuated between very cold as low cloud brought slight mist - and almost springlike temperatures when the pale low sun broke through. With lusty birdsong, dazzling snowdrops and colourful crocii (oh all right then, crocuses) it made the heart sing with joy at all this vernal promise . . . .ok, ok, I'll stop all that nonsense and get down to how and where we went (the matter of why could lead to a philosophical debate and, frankly, life's too short).

Destination Dance East - and the cunningly named Dance Eats attached thereto. We soon started the slow rotation at the front and, as before this was a thorough success - helped by there being very few hills. On the way to the Creetings we had a puncture (I say 'we' but of course it was just one rider, and I can't remember who. You know who you are, whoever you are - see photo). The sun was out, we felt its warmth. Most of us were standing by the gateway to barn conversion. A small girl (three?) marched out towards the gate "Hello" loud confident tone "Were are you going ?". We tell her, and questions are exchanged about schooling. No sign of a parent. I wonder how the conversation went at elevenses?

After negotiating the slightly challenging roundabout at the A140/A14 junction we head towards Ipswich but avoid the horrible 'tank trap' barrier (cyclists have a handlebar-width bit of smooth concrete to keep to, with a railing to the right and an array of concrete wedge shapes to the left) . I don't have a map to hand, so I can't talk you through the route - but we seemed to go out into the country again, then into suburbia and on into urban Ipswich. As we reach a bit that I remember, were the road has a park on the left hand side (Christchurch?) and I remember passing the same spot on Wednesday November the 11th 2009, and hearing the gunfire that was the signal for the beginning of the Silence for Remembrance Day. I told the rider alongside me about this. Then I looked at my watch. 11.00am precisely. I congratulate Rich on his consistency, which I think is amazing.

Dance Eats does us proud. Peter, Gareth, Rich and myself have bacon baguettes (see photo). Peter also has a coffee. I'll repeat that, Peter has a coffee. Worthy of mention. So impressed with the quality of his coffee was Peter that he purchased a second mug (more of a tall cup, there was a saucer - standards are high) and then bought a baguette for Mike Cross having, through a spot of rigorous interrogation established that (a) Mike would really like one, and (b) hadn't enough money. Mark had a lake of beans on what looked like the toasted product of half a loaf - he needed the fuel, he'd missed us at Thurston and pedalled furiously on his own, to arrive before us (how was the A14, Mark?). We were slightly concerned that Gareth's rashers were nestling inside some rather effete brown bread. He's got nothing to prove, of course, what with his day job of saving lives.

For the return, we have promised ourselves another go at 'proper' through and off. First we have to escape Ipswich - which, though seemingly complex is, to Rich 'Tom Tom' Seggar second nature. We do the cyclo cross bit for the A14 underpass at Sproughton, passing the Church with its graves of Seggars past, and heading a touch westwards to Somersham and thence to Battisford, Gt Finborough, Buxhall, Rattlesden, Drinkstone and home.

Oh, yes, we did do the through and off thing, with Adi doing a passable imitation of a Guard in charge of the other sort of chaingang. A bullwhip would have completed the impression - but our man made do with his tongue. It's such a tricky job, trying to get a dozen riders to something new, using simple English like SLOW DOWN, KEEP UP, KEEP IN, CONCENTRATE, DON'T OVERLAP WHEELS, YOU'RE ALL OVER THE PLACE!!!!. To be fair (and we should) there's a lot of frustration going to build up when you call to the inside file to slow down - and everyone slows, so you try to get the outside to speed up and they all do it and we get to a little climb and Dawn and Sharon shoot off the front like a brace of whippets - deaf whippets, it would seem from the reaction to Adi's urgent plea to cool it a bit!

One way or another we made it back home, in one group until the usual way-parting as we near Bury. Some are a bit bruised by the experience - but always remember that old training adage (usually ascribed to E. Merckx, probably going back much further, still completely daft) "what doesn't kill you does you good". A possible aim for next week ought to be to stick to the rotating thingy, and not bother with the chaingang /galley slave whatsit for quite a while. SJH

Putting Theory into Practice (or not)

2011-02-13T10:27:00.000-08:00

Last Monday there was a meeting of a sub-committee that had been set up with the aim of improving the Club Run Experience. In line with some of the ideas that we came up with at that meeting, Peter Heath stood on the stainless steel bench in Cornhill, and called for a good clean Club Run, with no biting, eye-gouging or slapping. I'm only guessing here, my hearing aid was playing up. Since we were a group of 20, it was agreed (in the interests of safety, and the well-being of the increasing number of motorists who seem to be incapable of working out how – and when - to pass a line of 20 cyclists without forcing another motorist to stop) that we should split into two groups. Usually on an Espresso ride the problem is keeping everyone together, so this would be a novelty. I found that I had “been volunteered” to lead the front group and, thus, navigate an interesting route to Hollow Trees that would produce an overall mileage to match the 50 miles promised (on my behalf) by Peter. What could possibly go wrong?

The two groups set off down Southgate Street to that irritating nest of traffic lights. 'My' group sailed through. The other one didn't and, worse than that, I was quite unaware of this. Or of anything, other than getting up Horsecroft Lane with my lungs intact. If it can be easy to be unaware of a single rider slipping off the back, it is simplicity itself to overlook an entire group. We'd got ten riders – that would have been a good turnout in the olden times. It was a decent showing through this winter. I made my cunning and counter-intuitive left turn to take us down to Nowton – and (well out of sight of the junction) we got our first puncture. Richard Muchmore pointed out that we were lacking something. “What's that?” “The other nine riders. Peter's group”. Someone else pointed out that the other group were nowhere to be seen as we turned left. So that was it, really. Three miles into the ride and we'd split irrevocably.

Not wishing to get bogged down with details we carried on, down to Nowton (Susan says that she is reminded of a Yorkshire nudist colony whenever I see this sign. Nowt on? Geddit?) and up to Hawsted – with a pause for a second puncture then left (in case we ended up doing rather too much of the Suffolk Punch route). At one point we passed a grim-faced John & Connie Tapper heading back to Bury on their way home to Woolpit. We silently hoppe that we'll be doing the same at their age.

After the second puncture we began the “slow through and off” that had been discussed at Monday's meeting and which had been such a success on Wednesday. By and large this was a success for us, too. There were a few misunderstandings here and there, but it worked better than I expected. Eventually reaching Lavenham, then Brent Eleigh and up Milden Hill and on down to Boxford. I always expect to see a tearoom in this attractive village – and I never do. I haven't considered looking it up on the internet, either – which is really sloppy. I take the now slightly bewildered group up Cox's Hill – which was every bit as steep as last time I rode it – and headed roughly Hadleigh-wards before swinging North towards Kersey. Keeping an eye on the back of the bunch (every ride leader should do this once in a while) I see the leaders sweep round the corner and down towards the main road, instead of going through Kersey itself. Slightly piqued, I make them take the next left, back up to Kersey and then whizz them down to Lindsey then back up to the Monks Eleigh road, where seven of us went right for the half mile to Hollowtrees, and three went straight over to head straight home. The cappuccinos (Cappuccini) were assembling, and Peter's group was comfortably installed. The staff coped with the sudden arrival of 38 cyclists with that mixture of good humour and organisation that has won them our 'Best Café' award for each of the two years in which it has been awarded.

We seven left last, feeling slightly more magnificent after teas and scones, and headed home by going left out of Hollowtrees, first right down to Chelsworth, then Bildeston, right at Hitcham to take the road to Buxhall, down to One House and through Borley Green to Woolpit. I peeled off at Borley Green to Elmswell, and Great Ashfield to arrive at Norton with 58 miles on the clock. If I say that it was great to see DEANE HILL (a.k.a. Bungalow Bill) out on the road again, you have to believe that I really mean it.

SJH

HOW TO HAVE A HAPPY CLUB RUN

2011-02-13T08:37:00.000-08:00

CLUB RUNS MATTER

This article appeared in 'The Wheeler' in November 2008. Now, in February 2011, the West Suffolk Wheelers & Tri Club has been addressing the topic again. I thought this might refresh a few memories - and be of historical interest for new members.

Every club that has regular club runs and a club magazine has articles moaning about the conduct of this core activity of our sport. Our Clubruns are currently very successful, and there are what these days we call challenges associated with this success.

First, a bit of history. I'll start when I joined the Wheelers seven years ago, shortly after moving from Cambridge to Suffolk . I loved cycling on the maze of lanes and was thrilled that all the good stuff began almost at our garden gate in Norton. For the first three months I went back to Cambridge for the Wednesday ride I'd done for ten years, and took myself off on Sunday mornings on my own.

Exasperated by the sight of her husband's impression of Nobbie No Mates,Susan whispered "Find a Club" then "Why not try the West Suffolk Wheelers?". After a quick Website check I phoned Peter Heath and joined the only club run in town. I was welcomed. When I turned up the following Sunday, I was greeted warmly, as if I was already a long-standing member. There was only one run. The fitness range was pretty wide, and tensions could develop, and many members gave up the idea of going out at all, convinced that they'd never keep up.

This meant that though there was only the one run, the most we could muster would be eight or so, an average ride would be about four and I remember the occasions when it would be my turn to be The Only One. So discipline wasn't an issue. We rolled along in a neat enough bunch, everyone knew what to do when we singled-out for traffic, and we'd take it in turns to ride on the front, watching Brian Starr rolling along about a quarter of a mile ahead. Brian having joined Stowmarket & Dist CC, his part is now played by others (who know who they are).

In the past three or so years things have changed dramatically.

New riders have been joining the main ride at a steady rate, to the level that when 18 riders turn up outside Woolworths, [bear in mind; that was then, this is now] there could still be some absentees.

Meanwhile, in another part of the forest and around four years ago, Neville Pettitt offered to begin a 'slow-and-friendly' ride to encourage back onto their bikes those who'd been intimidated. We marvelled at his self sacrifice and public spirit. He warned that he might not be able to do it every week, and we discussed how the leaderless riders might cope, and whether it was responsible of us, as a club, to expose them to riding un-chaperoned. These days, this ride often has as many as a dozen riders (some of them 'resting' from the faster run) and is lead by either the doughty Mark Eastwood, or by that champion tea-drinker, scone-scoffer and all-round good egg John Steed. The two rides became known (unsurprisingly) as 'Fast' and 'Slow'.

Eventually, these titles were considered too judgemental (and possibly elitist) so we settled for 'A' and 'B'. Then Justin Wallace, who has very sensitive antennae for this sort of thing, and could feel the inherent superiority that could be assumed by a ride that was 'A' rather than 'B', re-branded them 'Espresso' and ' Cappuccino' (also known as Expresso and Cuppaccino - a version that makes a lot of sense, whilst offending linguistic purists. What's not to like?). Also, there is now a regular 10 to 12am Saturday ride for children, absolute beginners and those who are just after a gentle amble. This ride starts at Moreton Hall Community Centre. [another update, there is also a Latté run from Nowton on a Sunday similar in pace to the Saturday ride which, incidentally still doesn't have a name]

And then there is The Wednesday Ride from the bus stop opposite Thurston Post Office [Update; New Green Centre in Thurston]. This began as the warm milky drink before an early bedtime, but is now a shade more bracing at times.

So now, we are where we are. Although there are a some problems with pace on the Cappuccino (those 'resting' Espresso riders), it is the Espresso that is probably the hardest to organise (I hesitate to use the word 'Control). With a large pool of riders, some only able to attend occasionally, we don't always know each other's names and certainly don't know who is very experienced and who has only just started to ride seriously. These days it is more common for a comparative beginner to turn up with a high-end bike and all the kit, and I'd tend to assume they knew what to do, and I'd be reluctant to insult them by offering basic advice. But advice is often needed.

What we really need is a few fuss-pot know-alls with good voice projection, or, on second thoughts, maybe not. The old hands, whose knowledge would be useful, are reluctant to appear to be throwing their weight about, for fear of appearing to be fuss-pot know-alls and those who've been around for a medium amount of time aren't sufficiently certain of their ground and worry about making fools of themselves.

Oh, what a complicated business all this interpersonal relationships stuff is. Some sort of order is vital with such a large group of riders on the open road. Let's begin at the beginning of the ride. Most exits from Bury which head South or South West involve a fair bit of climbing. Take these early ascents gently to allow every one to warm up. You may be feeling really strong, and not notice the pace you're setting if you're on the front. You may be one of the :-

Strong Riders. If you are, then you have a responsibility to keep things calm, not hand out a pasting. Just because you punctured early on in a race the day before, you don't have to destroy the hapless guy alongside you in the first two miles of the clubrun. You probably have the ability to tow the group nearly all day long, but it's best, in general, not to.You'll get bored, and gradually wind up the pace. Things go wrong when the strongest two or three ride off the front by a few bike lengths. This means (a) that there are now two sets of front riders which makes no sense at all or, (b) the other riders accelerate to close the gap - and the riders at the very back start to suffer. The acceleration needed increases the further back you are. This rise in pace can also be caused by :-

Half-Wheeling . One of the leading pair rides with half (or more) of his front wheel ahead of his partner's. The partner will probably move up level. The 'half wheeler' then moves ahead again. Don't do it. Ride level with each other and at a steady pace (which could be fairly fast so long as everyone behind is OK). I have come across riders whose half-wheeling can be dealt with by the simple expedient of allowing their bottom bracket to be level with your front hub. Makes conversation a bit awkward - but if you play their (often subconscious) game for long you'll be incapable of speech anyway.

Another method that we have been following lately (with variable amounts of success) is to change the personnel on the front at three or four minute intervals. Assume that we are riding in two parallel lines. When it is time to change, the outside rider pulls ahead of his partner and, when safe to do so, moves to the left (check that the rider alongside knows what you're doing and why). The next rider then pulls forward. If this rider is not feeling strong enough, he can pull straight through and, when the next rider comes alongside, just ask them to go through as well. This has an additional, social, benefit. We have set up a cocktail party on wheels (without the alcohol. Or the party). Try to find out other riders' names ( God, I'm getting seriously patronising here – but assumptions can be dangerous). I find that I have to do this most rides, simply because I've forgotten (for instance) the name of that friendly bloke on the Bianchi. Long ago I realised that people don't mind being asked, that it was only self-obsession that made me more worried about appearing foolish than by an inability to refer to someone by their name. It's difficult to rely on catching someone's eye when cornering at 23mph in the middle of a group.

Discipline. There, I've written that word. Don't assume that I'm referring to top-down 'do what I say' or even "when I say 'jump' your only question will be 'how high?' ". This discipline is the self discipline of the group as an entity. Think before you change direction, concentrate on what is happening around you in the bunch, please don't swerve around obstacles. There should be warning given from the front, and passed on down the line, to give everyone time to move out (or in) smoothly to avoid that pothole or pile of poo. A violent swerve can take out the rider behind you (look, I know that he shouldn't have his wheel overlapping yours, but it's safer to assume he might. And his front wheel just might be alongside your rear because you'd braked before you 'switched' him and he had to avoid you ). Try hard to maintain 'station'. A following motorist may get the impression that the untidy-looking mess of riders ahead are 'all over the road' or 'riding three and four abreast' when in fact it's just that the two columns of riders are in an elongated 'S' shape. When there is a call to 'single out' for following traffic don't slow down more than is necessary to let the rider on the outside move in. He will accelerate to place himself alongside the gap between you and the rider ahead. You only need ease up enough to let him in. I have ridden in groups where there is a convention for one or other of the two files to pull forward. Where there has been an agreed leader, and there are a few visiting riders, a call of "Single out; right front!" really does get riders organised. In the days when everyone had experienced National Service, this approach would have been considered entirely normal. These days such a 'command' might be considered too prescriptive.

When you are on the front, and meet an obstacle such as (say) an approaching vehicle on a narrow lane, try not to slow down or suddenly brake; this can cause a pile up behind you. Avoiding action should be first priority; there is nearly always a gap for a single rider. Often, a new but strong rider will be nervous of riding close - or "too close" as they may feel it. This is a skill that just has to be learned. It really isn't optional. Practice is the only way to gain confidence. Try to ride between two and three feet behind and avoid 'overlapping' the rear wheel in front (especially on the gear side. Think about it). Riding on the inside file can be scary because that's where the potholes mostly lie, and you've little room for manoeuvre. The tempting cure for this is to ride between the pair in front - but then that pushes your outside partner into the traffic. And you look like four riders abreast instead of two pairs. Start by trying to pick the outside file. This is good practice for positioning yourself. You'll find it possible to have more control of where you are than you might think.

I think that covers the main points. Perhaps I'll do an update in the next edition. [ Update; I didn't, because there wasn't]

SJH

2011 Suffolk Punch Reliability Ride

2011-02-09T08:49:00.000-08:00

Report on the West Suffolk Wheelers & Tri Club

Suffolk Punch Reliability Trial
Sunday 6 February 2011

Last Sunday, 85 riders signed on for the annual Suffolk Punch reliability trial, organised by the West Suffolk Wheelers and Triathlon Club. The record number of entrants was partly due to riders wanting to catch up with their training after the hard winter; but perhaps mainly because the entry fee had been waived, and riders were asked for donations towards the East Anglian Air Ambulance – who had provided valuable assistance at a club-run accident in early January.

This year’s Suffolk Punch followed the same 55 mile route as last year’s - and took riders out through Hawstead, Lawshall, Shimpling, Hartest, Hawkedon, Clare, Stradishall, Wickhambrook, Dalham, Ashley, Newmarket, Moulton, Ousden, Hargrave, Whepstead and back through Hawstead. Plus a 40 mile option which missed out the Dalham/Newmarket loop.

First to arrive back at Nowton Village Hall were Ron Fisher, Jonathon Sjolin and Steve Willet, having covered the 40 mile route well within the 15 mph average speed time limit. It was good to see Ron riding so well, as he was one of the three riders injured in the January accident. 16 other riders made it back inside the 15 mph average, while 14 came in at 13 mph and another nine at 11 mph.

Next it was the turn of the 55 mile groups to arrive back. Hot on the heels of the 40 milers, were five riders from the 18 mph group, who had made light work of the strong winds and endless hills, and returned in under three hours: Jonathan Howe, Brian Phillips, David Giffin, Dale Sturman and Simon Daw turned in a remarkable performance. Remarkable too was the performance of the Wheelers’ rising young star, Alan Trolove. He had hung on to the flying quintet until the climb up through the Newmarket Gallops, where he lost contact. He stayed focused and came home with two minutes to spare for an 18 mph average. Brothers James and Paul Rooke also rode strongly to get just inside the cut-off time. Lee Sturman didn’t quite make it; however, for much of the ride he was alone with no one to share the work into the wind.

23 riders achieved the 15 mph average, three the 13 mph (including the Wheelers’ resident photographer and artist, Stephen Hill, who in spite of laying awake the night before memorising the route, managed to go off course and clock up the extra miles that made all the difference to his time), and two the 11 mph. Eight didn’t finish the ride and three were outside the time limits.

Another successful event, made even better by the generosity of the riders who contributed almost £600 towards the vital service provided by the East Anglian Air Ambulance. Thanks also to the cake-makers and tea ladies, who helped in the riders’ recovery process.

Justin Wallace 7 February 2011

2010-12-30T16:06:00.000-08:00

15 of us lurked about near the New Green Centre in Thurston - the car park was locked (presumably a Seasonal Issue) so those in cars were parked provocatively - but not a problem of our making. After so much ice following quite a bit of snow, we were pathetically grateful for the single-figure positive temperature and thick mist. Personally, I'd have been content with driving rain and half a gale after a month off the bike. Peter was in charge, and had emailed the hard core the day before to warn us that the ride would be at a moderate to modest pace because (a) Peter has had back and chest problems in December, and isn't feeling quite the thing, and (b) because he apparently accosted a young runner called Mary Narey recently and persuaded her to come and join us on her bicycle for her first ever ride with a group. Turning into quite the Derbyshire Don Giovanni is our Pete. One to watch. I say no more. Another to watch will be Mary elle meme who kept up well in trainers and toeclips, and will be a very handy climber pretty soon (though tall, Mary doesn't look as if she has problems fighting gravity)

We kept to fairly main roads to avoid possible remains of ice, but as far as the standard of driving we witnessed it was turkey season. At least three vehicles, at various times, charged into the gloom to pass all of us, only to meet another vehicle coming the other way - both cars coming to a halt (luckily)on each occasion. One Turkey managed this twice - the second time the small truck approaching him broke with convention, and didn't stop, so it was a very near miss indeed. Many cars passed while going round blind bends. We saw far too many displaying no lights - including a dark blue saloon with blue light on the roof! On our return journey we took to larger lanes rather than smaller main roads, and the first car we met immediately pulled to the side of the road and stopped for us to go through. There's a lesson here, maybe.

We experienced the Dawn of the age of the puncture, as the poor girl suffered two within half an hour. Her bike had been serviced by Nathan (he delivered it to New Green - what service) and the first punctured tube was replaced by Richard Farrow. I'm not making any sort of a point here, except perhaps that Dawn is innocent. Anyway, the second replacement tube survived the remainder of the ride. And was fitted by RF. Why am I writing this rubbish?

We rode through Lavenham and on (eventually) through Monks Eleigh to tackle the climb followed by false flat that would take us to our Café of the Year 2010 at Hollowtrees farm, Semer. A break formed on the climb and, with some determined work by Ron Fisher and Justin we managed to drag back Glenn Morris who was gamely making a solo bid (on the same fixed gear of 72.5" as myself) for the Café Prime. Now lined-out, Justin was doing a handy impression of an egg whisk as he showed the beginnings of his Marmotte form. Just don't Peak too early Justin. Justin's son Jack was commendably tolerant of his Dad's juvenile behaviour, even though he had to suffer with lack of quality miles, and riding about twice as much bicycle in the form of his recently commissioned Bob Jackson. Tea was welcome, and we were welcomed warmly by the wonderfully cheerful staff.

Out into the gloom again, and back down to Monks Eleigh, along to Lavenham and thence home via Preston, Brettenham and Rattlesden (almost). Back by 1pm, with 46 miles on the clock (it's looking a bit pale around the display, so may need a new battery, so maybe I really did 56 or, even, 66?). A quick hose down for the bike, lunch, and a deep, hot bath. Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaahhhhhhh.

What with gloves and five layers of clothing, I couldn't handle the camera well enough to adjust the white-balance. It would have sounded a bit precious to bring everyone to a standstill just to make an adjustment. So, no picture. But there may be one if I put this on the Blog, I feel a drawing coming on

SJH

Wednesday 15 Sept 2010: A Dawn Flight

2010-09-15T14:43:00.000-07:00

There are cultures where it is the convention to talk of your "miserable house" , "ugly, ill favoured wife" or "unsuccessful and untalented husband" so that you don't incur the wrath of whichever spiritual omnipotence (a.k.a. God) that you worship. This may have been an unfortunate misunderstanding of the expression "The Lord thy God is a Jealous God".

As an extension of this, we will sometimes avoid making remarks that might sound pretty crass if things go badly "I haven't had a puncture in months" "I never hurt myself badly if I fall off my bike" "I feel invincible today" or "I know, this is all going SO well, let's invade Russia".

Tempting fate, giving a hostage to fortune, speaking too soon.

I did that today. Chatting to Ron Fisher I said "back in the 1980s we used to be pretty worried by very strong wind, but these days it never crosses my mind to (say) cancel a ride because of a brisk breeze". About half an hour later, poor Dawn D'Amarco was blown sideways, and fell head first into a deep ditch. Sorry Dawn.

The remainder of the ride was conducted slowly and with caution. We had tea at the Lakeside Café at Onehouse (that may not be the correct name, but it IS a Café, and it IS by a Lake. The sun was now out, and still had enough warmth for us to spread ourselves around outside. There was a definite French feel to the set up. French people a passionate about fishing (among many other fields of endeavour) and Cafés by fishing lakes are frequently encountered, and they tend to be basic. If I say that this one was basic, I mean them no harm. It was friendly and informal in a manner that lacked any hint of self consciousness. And the sun was shining, which always helps. Under normal circumstances I would consider it too close to home for a 'proper' tea-stop. On this day it was just what was needed.

SJH

Ride For Luke, 12 July 2010

2010-07-15T16:01:00.000-07:00

The reason for this short but enjoyable ride was a sombre one. Luke Southgate was but one of the casualties of the war in Afghanistan, but to his parents on the Mildenhall Estate in Bury he was everything, their hero, their son and their loss.

West Suffolk Wheeler and indefatigable Ultra-Man triathlete Simon Bourne had just returned from a multi-charity ride, accompanied by friends based at RAF Honington, which had taken them from the Rock of Gibraltar to Bury, with a tribute to Luke as the mainstay of his efforts. We were there on Angel Hill as representatives of the Wheelers, invited by Simon to lead a ride over the final miles to RAF Honington.

Now, Simon has connections. He served with the RAF Regiment (whose base is at Honington) as a PTI (Physical Training Instructor) in the 1980s, and subsequently with the Police in Bury, again as a PTI. He could be described as a man hard enough to be able to teach the hardest men how to be hard. These two parts of his life meant that not only were we allowed onto Honington base, but also we were escorted all the way by three Police motorcyclists and a Traffic Car. Simon and his partners on the 'RockRide' looked remarkably fresh, despite 1,600 miles that included 35 degree temperatures through Spain and hauling themselves over the Pyrenees.

There were, as far as I could ascertain, 20 WSW riders in full Club Colours, plus RAFCC members and Police cyclists making a total that the East Anglian Daily Times claimed to be 50 - and who am I to contradict that respected Organ? We had been promised a Police Escort and, by Jove, we got one. Three motorcyclists whizzing to and fro, stopping traffic at lights and roundabouts, plus the car following behind. This luxury took some getting used to - the automatic reaction to these hazards being to slow down in preparation to stop - but we soon got the hang of it, and decided that this was the one missing element from our Clubruns. We turned left onto the Mildenhall Road Estate, and negotiated the traffic-calming system that seemed to be based entirely (and thriftily) on the use of neglected potholes, to reach Luke's family's road. His family were gathered in a group on the verge outside their house, clapping and cheering. We felt very moved and extremely humbled - after all, we'd only ridden from Angel Hill, and felt unworthy. It was Simon and friends who had done all those sweltering miles.

As we rode along, I was asked by Forrest McCracken (weapons systems specialist in USAAF, recently returned from Afghanistan, Wheeler for over a year) "what's the significance of Gibraltar?". I flannelled a bit then moved up the peleton to ask Simon.
"Rock Apes" he said. "Used to be based on Gibraltar in the early days, so the RAF Regiment are known as the 'Rock Apes' ". The link will fill you in with two versions of this.

As we entered the Base, we passed the Primary School; all the teachers and pupils were lined up on the verge waving, cheering and clapping. Again, we Wheelers felt that we should be keeping a low profile. There was, understandably, a bit of a delay at the gate, then were escorted by a landrover round the whole of the perimeter road. It's around four miles! The hangar that was our destination was, well, huge. Like an aircraft hangar, in fact, and it contained yet another cheering crowd, this time mothers and pre-school children. Even more moving. Some of us driven to pretending to mop the sweat from our brows as we dabbed our eyes.

A tremendous experience.

SJH

A Cautionary Tale; (Never Volunteer)

2010-07-11T08:49:00.000-07:00

On an elevated roundabout over a stretch of A11 which was, with its off-white concrete carriageways, reminiscent of the first Autobahnen of1930s Germany (only a thundering Auto-Union setting a speed record was missing), I was doing my time in the service of our sport by pointing down the slip road as each rider rounded the corner.

After 20 minutes of combined photography and arm-waving, my panama hat was lifted from my head by the strong Southerly wind, and flung onto the tarmac between me and the traffic-island. Instinctively, I leapt from the verge to pin down the escaping hat. My sandal hooked itself on the raised curb and I was propelled in an arc to a two-point landing; those points being right knee and the palm of right hand (which was still clutching my camera). This hand-camera combo hit the hat dead-centre. So at least I had range and direction spot on. There was blood. From hand to camera and from knee through trousers. And the camera seems to be mortally wounded, with internal injuries, though bearing only the tiniest scar on one corner of its case. It had, however, vomited its battery onto the tarmac.

Well damn, is what I say. Over the following two and a half hours I had time to dwell on the well-spent morning, unable to take photographs to make the time pass, and glancing at the blood oozing through my best fifteen year-old Gap chinos.

The event? Well, there is the (probably apocryphal) story of the journalist interviewing Abraham Lincoln's widow after the President's assassination at Ford's Theater in 1865 "But apart from that, Mrs Lincoln, what did you think of the show" - in other words, momentous though it all was, the National '100' had ceased to be my main concern.

The event? (take II) The CTT National 100 mile Championship was won by a thundering Auto-Union called Michael Hutchinson in a very fast time indeed (which may have been 3 hrs 26 mins). The chap from the Chelmer CC who started just one minute ahead of Hutch at 149, took about an hour longer to finish. Don't get me started on seeding for National TTs. Too late, I've started so I shall finish: they insist on approving what you've laid out, then criticise the end product when armed with hindsight in the form of a result gained by a rider several days after the start sheet has been published. The point of all this rambling rant being? We had to hang around for a very long time at the end, and I wasn't in the mood.

Also, Julia Shaw broke womens' event record with another extremely fast time that I am ashamed I can't remember, So well done everyone. Just remember, cycle racing can be dangerous - even if you're only marshalling.

Mind how you go now SJH.

Espresso Ride 27 June 2010. Wickham Market three ways.

2010-07-01T15:20:00.000-07:00

First I must apologise for lack of photos - I didn't notice that my camera was set to video, so snaps are tiny video clips. I'll maybe check them. Secondly, I would like to acknowledge the help of my son, James, (right) without who's co-operation I wouldn't have got extremely drunk on Friday night(Falling-over-in-the-garden-in-slow-motion-at-4.15am- but-avoiding-the-pond drunk) and wouldn't have started this ride, 30 hrs later, still pretty severely dehydrated.

We were 14 in sunny Cornhill, namely (in no particular order) Paul Callow, Barry Denny, Julian Colman, Julian Long, Ron Fisher, Ron Fisher's Optician (CTC T shirt - Ron later confessed that even he couldn't remember the poor guy's name) Richard Stiff, Stephen Cleale (who turned for home about 5 miles short of the "tea break")Deane Hill, Richard Farrow (on another trip from Marlborough) Adi Grimwood, Jonathan Howe - fresh from an upside-down End to End ride ('JOGLE' ?), and myself SJH. With the wind south-ish but promising to be changeable. Julian bravely took the initiative and announced an outing to Wickham Market, leading us smartly out of town in a generally eastwards direction. Adi then hit the front, and gave every impression of re-living his Lotus Series at Hethel the previous Wednesday, dragging us all in his not inconsiderable wake at a rate equivalent to covering over twenty miles in a single hour.

The pace remained rapid most of the way to Debenham, where occurred the first minor difference of opinion on the route. I suggested a 'right' that cut a corner and avoided a blind junction, but Julian prevailed and we took the two sides of the triangle and passed the exit of my suggestion. To Julian's credit, he acknowledged his error. His other error was to admit of any error at all when leading a ride. When this sort of problem arises, and you're faced with that tricky blind right turn, you take the ride left. Without pause, thus putting the smart-arse (me) firmly in their place. You then face busking a route-recovery over the next few miles - but everyone on the ride still has faith in you, so it's worth the effort. After all, at the end of the day, what it all comes down to, if you think about it, not being funny, is; if you were worried about extra distance you wouldn't have left Cornhill on the first place, now would you?

There were a few dissenting voices drifting up from the rear of the peleton at one or two route-choices, but overall, I felt we were well on course. At one point, however, I heard Deane voicing a strongly negative view of a left that we were taking. It later became obvious that he'd gone his own way, and taken Richard Farrow with him.

We carried on until, about to pass Easton Farm Park, we stopped and thought about going there for tea. This was vetoed because of the likelihood of Deane and Richard waiting for us in Wickham-Mkt. Shortly, we swept into Wickham Market market square, hot, thirsty and ready for scones. The Café was shut. I've found a photo of happier times; a Wednesday, when it was open

We piled into a Newsagent/Sweetie shop for what sustenance we could find. Adi found 'Quick Energy ' Capsules reduced to 50p each. He and I bought two each. Since it said on the label 'do not take more than one dose per day' we took it that they would be effective. I put one in my bottle (re-filled with water from a pack that Julian had bought for two pounds. Thanks Julian, I owe you a Tea) and necked the other as soon as I got home. Adi also found the ice creams, and bought what I think was a Magnum Double-Caramel. Sugar-rush or what?

Richard Stiff won the Samaritan Award, for pumping up the rear tyre of a young man who asked for help. Apparently he had gone to a 'cycle shop' round the corner, and the man had said "I'll sell you a pump, but I make my living selling bikes not mending them". One day (we thought) he'll get his comeuppance (if there is any justice in this world. Oh dear, he probably won't, then).

A short stop then, 15 minutes, tops. Retrace to Easton and - guess what? - well most of you were there, so you know that we split properly this time. This wasn't a trial separation, it was a divorce, decree absolute and all. I'm still not certain how I came to be following Adi, Richard Farrow and Julian Long on the left hand choice, but I fancy that it was because it was the way we came out. The right-hand faction had their choice endorsed by Ron's Optician who Knew Routes due to lots and lots of Audax-ey rides (so Ron told me on Wednesday).

Just as our sinistral breakaway reached what I knew to be the route home, Adi took us in a curve, back onto the Wickham Mkt- Needham Mkt road which he felt would be quicker. Well, it was certainly faster. As we started a 'through-and-off' chain, I could feel that I was fading fast (or should that be "slowly"?). Adi gave me aid at this point. Usual stuff about concentrating on the wheel in front. I've tried that a few times, and I can now reveal that it doesn't work unless one ALSO has a bit of energy left. Adi could now see that "the power of the will" was useless without "the power of the legs" and was kind enough to push me a few times, which was help most gratefully received.

By Needham Mkt I'd run out of drink and needed a shop. No shop. But a pub! the image of a pint of shandy was irresistable. Down in two goes, never touched the sides, as they say. Others trouped in for health-giving mineral water, and there was good-natured merriment at my expense (I think that was what it was). Tottered home with the help of my chums with 74 miles completed. Tried to look human at family lunch. James had been rowing at Cambridge in the morning - but then he had 7 other blokes to help him, so it hardly counted.

SJH

Espresso Ride 20 June 2010. Return of the Blogger

2010-06-21T15:41:00.000-07:00

So where did May go? What happened?
But I'm back on the keyboard, and here we go.

It was a cold day for Fathers, but the wardrobe decisions ranged from shorts'n'short sleeves to longs'n'long - that is from June to early March. We March Hares were the most comfortable on the way out, whereas the June Bugs were more at ease on the run home.

We listened, with feigned sympathy, as Dean told us about his struggle on the Bury '100'. 4h 35m glued to Brian Phillips' wheel "he was going like a train" wailed our Sunday Tormentor. Some of us wore sympathetic expressions, but not all.

Having counted the names on the register, I have a total of 11 names - but someone said there were 14 of us - if you read this and your name's missing, tell me. There were the two 'Syngenta' gentlemen (is one of you Simon?) riding strongly in preparation for London-Paris (in a planned two days), guest appearances by Richard Farrow (ex Wheeler and currently Chippenham & District)No one was able to come up with a route. The wind was from the North West, and I'd told Deane that we would NOT be going to Ely (the otherwise logical destination). So I led the group out via well travelled routes towards Knettishall and beyond. At the point when Mark (who had ridden in from Gazeley and was thus some 18 miles ahead of the game) asked me how far we were from the tea stop, I realised that we were heading in a rather more northerly direction than I had planned. "I reckoned on another ten miles, to give us between 30 and 35 miles before tea - and then 20-25 afterwards" I reassured him. "yes, but how far is it going to be" countered the ever-direct Mark. "Ten miles" I replied, whilst concentrating on a silent prayer that I might be right. We were heading towards Attleborough, but I was rescued by a sign to Old Buckenham to our right, which meant that we could join the B1077 Diss-wards . We were picking up the first signs of a tailwind at this point and, 4 miles short of Diss I took a punt on a left across Boyland Common - which gave us a full-on tailwind and bursts of 28/29 mph with sweeping bends and good visibility. My choice was vindicated by Sharon's local knowledge (though I only found this out after we were committed). We were within a mile of Bressingham, a destination often greeted with "Oh, not again", and yet those at the front still had no idea which way to turn (sorry, I can be quite waspish at times) . We arrive at refreshment within the estimated ten miles, and on time (11am). Rather more efficient service at Blooms, and excellent scones (that seemed to have been crossed with rock cakes). Paul bought (and ate, see picture) a confection that resembled a chocolate vuvuzela. I note from my snaps that several riders look tired. Note on Vuvuzelas; I think that this could be the third person plural of an irregular, reflexive, French verb "vous vous Zela".

Our return was by means one of the more direct routes, and taken at a fairly brisk, wind-assisted pace. After I had peeled off at Norton, and gone through the side gate into our garden, I realised two things. (1) No one was at home - which I should have remembered and (2) I was still feeling fresh, and could have gone with the group back to Bury, and clocked a total of 76 instead of 62 miles.

In the bathroom was a card and present from Polly, my photo captures the scene

SJH

Espresso 11 April 2010: Absent Friends leave a Gentle Ride

2010-05-02T01:30:00.000-07:00

Just eight of us turn up, and head North East. Who needs Girona (that's in Spain, you know) when we've got Diss (& District). We follow Mike Cross's advice, and head for Diss, and the Duathlon in which WSW & Tri are to feature in strength (check the website for details, Ben Mickleburgh was 3rd, all others did v well as well). Having already led the rides for 4th & 7th out this way, my inspiration for variation was nearing desperation (but I didn't entirely Disspair). With a loop through various Harlings we arrived at Diss High School at 11am with 40miles on the clock and just in time to see Sharon Calton, Will Newland and Ben finishing in style. The wind was very cold, with low single-digit temperature to confirm the feeling. Most of us cowered in the school building scoffing cakes and peering out of the windows - half expecting an irate teacher to come barrelling up shouting at us to get OUTSIDE during break time.

We returned by one of the shortest routes to achieve 60 miles. Names ticked on the register where: Adi G, Adi Barnbrooke, Peter S-W, Paul Callow, Richard Balaam, a welcome return of Hugh O'Neil (who had lost the note from his parents covering prolonged absence) Graham Smith and me (SJH). I have to write out a hundred times "I will take pictures to record ALL rides"

Sunday 4 April 2010. Steve Newman Wins The Espresso Classic.

2010-04-04T06:20:00.000-07:00

Adi, Steve Newman (guest appearance), Scots "Al" - in shorts (newcomer), Julian & Nathan Colman (who are related), Ron Fisher, the Glynn-Deane CC (motto "We care so you don't have to"), Ben Mickleburgh, Paul Callow, Peter Stephenson-Wall, Jonathan "Faster and Further Please" Howe & Stephen "The pen is definitely mightier than the Legs" Hill set off, at a modest pace, in the direction of Risby, Cavenham and points very slightly north of west. I turned off at Tuddenham and headed through Herringswell to Kentford, then Gazely, towards Higham but turned right, along the lovely road through to Barrow (currently a series of potholes tenuously linked by threads of damaged tarmac). With a total of only 40 miles, I felt that I had done the bare minimum. Later, I discover that I've not done much less than the rest of the ride - just even slower. Hardly enough to justify being slumped in front of the Malaysian GP, that's for sure.

The peleton carried on to Newmarket for tea, then home via Warren Hill, (a.k.a. 'The Gallops') Primrose Hill and Barrow. In the gallop for the Bury sign, Steve Newman took top honours, ahead of some other blokes (look, I can only work with what I'm given,OK?) making his ride worthwhile.
SJH

Wednesday 31 March 2010.

2010-04-02T01:26:00.000-07:00

Jonathan, Tiger Tony, Ron Fisher, Tom-Tom and (ever so slightly late, due to last minute puncture; a tribute to his preparedness that it made him no later than "almost on time") Justin. It was cold. It was wet at times. It was windy. Two of us were tired. The other tired one was Tony, who was more a Tired Teddy than a Tiger Tony and only lasted as far as Felsham (however far that was - we didn't exactly go directly).
I hung on, with difficulty, especially on any climbs - and it wasn't by any means a taxing course. Tea stop was Hollowtrees where Justin charmed a couple of large friendly ladies of a certain age, while he was hanging small items of clothing on the fire guard (not his 'smalls' however). The LFLs told him how wonderfully slim he was, and Justin thanked them for not calling him 'skinny'
"Oh no, you're not that" they cried,
"you're still big where it counts"
It turned out that the LFLs still worked, though of pensionable age,
"What do you do?" we asked.
"We help care for people with learning difficulties" they said.
"Explains why you like talking to us" quipped Justin.
Gails of laughter.
Exit five ageing cyclists into the grey cold outdoors to follow a TT special route which began with the descent of Semer Hill, then left and right across the B1115 to Ash Street, Naughton, Gt Bricet, round the edge of Wattisham Airfield to Ringshall and Battisford, then Jack's lane (where we paused to give Jonathan a brief introduction to punctures and tube-changing) to Gt Finborough and home. Only 45 miles, but I felt exhausted.
SJH

28 March 2010. A lumpy ride to Semer.

2010-03-31T08:28:00.000-07:00

Twelve of us gathered in the chill of an early start; certainly when I left Norton at what should have been 07:30, it felt extremely brisk. We were: Barry, Alan T, Pauls C & R, Jonathan Howe, Adi, Deane, Glynn, Simon Bourne, a welcome return of Hugh O'Neil and SJH - then Julian zoomed up, all energy and enthusiasm - and with a tale to tell.
Now I may not have got this quite right, but it would appear that a Godfather needed to take a flight to Argentina under cover of darkness and at short notice, and that it was an offer that he (Julian) couldn't refuse. So no sleep, and he'd watched the Australian Grand Prix. And not given anything away, like Jenson Button winning, for instance. Most commendable. But I'm still a bit concerned about his links to a Godfather.

Julian had so much energy to burn that he proclaimed "I feel like doing some hills today". My heart sank; I'm on my larger gear and I'm not going very well at the moment, anyway. But, there being no fool like an old fool, I thought that I could hack it OK.

Wrong.
As early as the climb up from Pinford End my legs were not delivering, but, Suffolk being the rolling county that it is, there were opportunities to get back on. Everyone else was having a great time (or so it appeared - possibly Hugh was feeling the lack of appropriate preparation). We did Stanstead and Glemsford, Foxearth and Acton, Lavenham then Monks Eleigh. As a change from all the climbing, there was a section after Foxearth where the front of the group was doing 27mph - giving me a leg speed of 126 rpm - and after a couple of miles of this I was slipping back into deep space. So Adi came alongside "get on my wheel! I'll get you back" and I thought to myself "If I can't stay on those ten wheels up the road, your single one isn't going to be much use" but I didn't say anything, not wishing to appear churlish. Barry got a puncture before Lavenham, and I made my excuses and rode on to the tea stop at my own (modest) pace. They all arrived alarmingly soon after I did, but I avoided the queue and had time to assume the Paul Callow role of tables and chairs monitor so that we could make a nice orderly group at the far end of an uncharacteristically quiet Corn Craft (one car, two customers when I arrived). In my photo, Julian looks as if he might be thinking about Godfather issues,
On the way back, just after the right turn at the wonderfully named Whelp Street and barely four miles into the journey, I decided to allow my chums to scamper off into the distance - maybe someone has the story? Tottered into empty house on my return, slumped into sofa to watch the Grand Prix, with its thrills and spills and the best result. Then bath and ZZzzzzzzzzzzzz.
SJH

Wednesday 24 March. Clare at Last.

2010-03-30T04:33:00.000-07:00

Though we were over the approved number for a visit to Clare (10) two riders offered to go home without tea so that the rest of us could indulge ourselves with Sarah's hospitality. Justin has been stricken by a virus, and was apparently under doctor's orders to ride fifty miles without stopping. Tom Tom wasn't clear about his reason, but I don't doubt for a moment that it must have been extremely unavoidable.
Peter H, Justin, Barry, T-T, Jeff Agricole, Sharon, Mike Cross, Ron Fisher, SJH, Tiger Tony set off for the hills on our way to Clare, on a Sicklesmere - Gt Welnetham - Lawshall - Stanstead - Glemsford - Cavendish-ish route with a neat left and right at the foot of Water Lane at Cavendish to take the Pentlow route to Clare thus avoiding the main road. Outside No.1 Delicatessen we bade our farewells to T-T and Justin and filed in to a warm welcome. After only two changes of seating arrangement, we were all installed, munching, sipping and chatting. We discussed the advisability of booking ahead next time (after all Sarah is on speed dial on Peter's mobile) and a strategy for delivering leaflets in Ixworth for Adi and the Ixworth Crits (possible popular music combo - Adi and the Crits?). My pear and cranberry 'cake' was superb - and several of our party who made the same choice agreed.
Our return was the usual Poslingford version, which involves a touch too much downhill for my liking. I notice a drop in my uphill performance (its going downhill?) and wonder if the heavy cold and throat infection (not necessarily in that order) that I experienced last week could be having an effect. The fact that I reached Whepstead Church before anyone else only proves that (a) I have to go as hard as I can or come to a standstill (and I'm not certain how one copes with an uphill standstill when riding fixed) and (b) no one else was trying (though Barry claimed to be - but was probably just being diplomatic). Barry introduced us to his favourite back-route that takes a right some way before reaching Gt Welnetham that looks just like a private drive to start with, then becomes a tiny lane that joins a bigger lane that finally joins the A134 for a swift right and left at Bradfield Combust (what a name) to bring us to the start of the Lt Welnetham TT course.
I managed 51-ish miles of enjoyable riding. Mileages may vary, and can go down as well as up.

SJH

Sunday 21 March: A Fenland Fantasy - an Ely Excursion - Flat, Fast & Furious to Ely & Back

2010-03-28T10:46:00.000-07:00

I was unable to take part due to grand daughter's first birthday. As a celebration, we met the family at Oxburgh Hall which is, confusingly, to be found in the village of Oxborough. I rode there, in the same fine sunshine, and into the same headwind, as the Espresso Ride. On the way, near to Coney Weston (where on might expect rabbits) I came across a couple of charming little pigs; wire-haired and with black splodges they were no more than two feet high and I took pictures - that I can no longer find. Do you ever do that with digital snaps? File them in the wrong (and so inappropriately wrong that you'd never ever guess, and just have to wait for the day you look for a photo of a favourite Aunt, and find a portrait of a pig) Ah! ignore all that - as you can see, I found the pig pics - they were still in the camera. also in the camera was my record of following "cycle route 30" in Thetford; doesn't look like Thetford, does it? It cuts through from a point opposite Tesco and the Kilverstone road, under the railway and onwards and very upwards to join the minor road that goes under the A11 to Croxton (the route that we used on our Wednesday jaunt to Lakenheath -thank goodness T-T had the good sense to avoid my scenic bit). Quite challenging.

Now, let's get on with Tricia's and Nathan's accounts plus photos of the Espresso ride that was an Ely Excursion.

TRICIA'S ACCOUNT
So, today's ride.

Lots out. Sharon joined us. Seemed to do just fine. First puncture before leaving Bury which must be some kind of record. Julian C by Bennett Rd hence pic. Nathan repaired it.
Rode to Ely. Flattest cycle ride of my entire life. 1st group pic was when something clattered on the road & we stopped to retrieve it on the road fm M/hall to Littleport. Apparently it was a nut & it wasn't important. Who caries unimportant nuts on club rides? Then Adi had a puncture 3 miles fm Ely. Stopped at a dreary cafe. Was expecting to go to that lovely Peacocks place so a little disappointed. Paul C & Adi went off & bought something synthetic looking in a plastic cup from possibly starbucks which was just opposite & may have supplied drinkable coffee unlike Tea for Two. Half decent bacon baguette though so mustn't grumble. [but you just did- sjh]

Then we rode 'ome. Uneventful. Possibly a little briskly & Nathan was moaning a bit 'cos he was on fixed. Julian tried to slow it down but quite honestly I was keen to get home & felt quite comfortable at 22mph + out of Tuddenham. Not bad as I'd clocked up nearly 65miles by then. Turned off at Flempton & more or less maintained the pace. Did 78.48M in 4hrs 14mins cycling time ave 18.5mph. Hopefully someone will fill you in on the last bit for the gp

NATHAN'S ACCOUNT

Went on the A ride today on the fixie !....69 INCHES ! average cadence....93, rather fast for me tbh ! 65 miles, 18.9mph average to Ely via Mildenhall and Littleport back via Red Lodge.

Went to the cafe with the window, in the square behind the cathedral.

People on the ride were:

ME :D, dad, deane hill, graham, glynn, sharon calton, trisha dennison, adi grimwood, paul callow, ron fisher, richard stiff (turned back to get home early), ben mickleburgh, peter stephenson-wall, and paul jay

2 punctures, 1 by Dad, after only about a mile, and one by Adi, about 5 miles out of Ely. No real excitement, other than the very high speed, probably due to the good weather, and straight, flat roads over the fens !
nathan

17 March 2010 - Lakenheath??? - Yes!!! And the cheapest tea'n'cake so far

2010-03-20T02:27:00.000-07:00

South west wind. Clare? "Looks like it " said Peter.

Then a few more mercredists roll up, and we are a dozen (but not a particularly dirty one - though my bike could do with a bit of a clean). This, it was decided, would have been too many for No1 Delicatessen at Clare.
For a few weeks now, Tom-Tom has been keen for us to share his latest discovery, which is a farm shop tea room at Lakenheath. We have been shamefully reluctant to venture up there voluntarily (getting there while losing one's way north of Mildenhall is allowable), so we finally caved in and cruised northwards with the sou'wester at our backs. The redoubtable T-T took us by an oblique route, so that we weren't fully aware of where we were heading. This simple ploy prevented panic, though there was a certain amounted of twitching and shying-away as we hit the long flat roads with lines of Scots Pine. Just short of Lakenheath itself, we came to Christmas Farm - and thence to 'Mary's Tea Room'. As you can see from the photos, this is a genteel establishment, with an abundance of linen, several flower arrangements and a warm welcome. All this for just £2. Yes, that's TWO POUNDS. Astounding.

During our tea break we responded to the ambiance, with Richard Muchmore assuming the David Niven role from the film "Separate Tables" and all of us engaging in generally civilised chatter. In a paddock alongside the track to the Tea Room, we saw two startlingly marked horses (who looked pretty pleased with their outfits, I thought).
On our return route the wind hardly favoured us at all, (as I had promised when we left Thurston) being mainly headwind, with occasional crosswind. We covered a satisfying 66 miles at a reasonable pace and, who knows, might be back to Mary's.
SJH

14 March 2010 - A Mother of a Ride

2010-03-19T00:23:00.000-07:00

Those escaping the hiked-up restaurant charges, and some who weren’t, assembled on Corn Hill ready for another invigorating shot of Espresso. They comprised: Ron Fisher, Dave Batterbee, Tricia Dennison, Mike Bowen, Barry Denny, Alan Trolove, Simon Bourne, Pauls Rooke & Callow, Peters Stephenson-Wall & Heath, Hills Deane & Stephen, Smiths Graham & Glynn, Jonathan Howe and Justin Wallace.

Newmarket was the destination: via Risby (and down Poor Man’s Heath - probably only marginally faster than the winner of the previous day’s time trial had climbed it), Cavenham, Tuddenham, Herringswell, Kennet, Kentford and through Moulton (where SJH and Paul R turned left and headed home for a luncheon appointment). On we sped through Dalham and up to the Cropley Grove junction (Peter H hung a right a couple of turns before this so as to get a good seat at Coffee & Co) where a right turn took us on to Upend. Through this delightful village – best viewed when coming from the other, slower, direction – and a right turn to Newmarket.

Somewhere along the road to Newmarket, Ron, Paul Callow and Peter S-W decided they needed a behind the hedge moment. Justin’s cries to the bunch to slow down succeeded in a reduction in pace from 20 odd mph to about 18mph. Seeing the chasing trio making slow progress, he, together with Simon, decided to do the honourable thing and drop back to help them get on. Working hard and running out of juice in the process, Justin towed them along for a mile or so. Feeling refreshed, the trio plus Simon (tucked down on the tri-bars) surged by. As they disappeared over the brow of Duchess Drive, Justin considered the pros and cons of altruistic actions and wondered whether Simon was cut out to be a Sports Ambassador.

As the depleted bunch arrived at Coffee & Co, Peter H was just finishing his tea & cake and was ready to mount up and head home. Paul C and Jonathan also wanted to get home early and left with him – the group was getting slimmer by the minute. As we were leaving Deane announced that he was heading back by a more direct route. The riders were almost convincing as they expressed their disappointment at his decision. Did Graham join Deane for the home run?

And so the remaining riders headed up the long gradual incline out of Newmarket to Ashley. The pace was hot; driven for long spells by someone who looked just like a slimmed down version of Glynn. But he was going so much faster than the Glynn Smith who had suffered like a dog only a matter of a month or so ago on the road from Bildeston to One House. Has he got an identical twin? The route back then followed the tail end of Suffolk Punch: Ousden, Hargrave, Chevington, Whepstead and Hawstead. The four hills extracting the last vapours of energy from the tanks of several riders. Credit to Tricia for the way she tenaciously hung on, lost contact and fought back several times during the morning – especially as she had ridden in from Barnham (a 70 mile day) and raced the previous day. Her front wheel almost fell out on the climb up Whepstead Hill, but no one was close enough to hear if she directed any choice words on the offending wheel. Amongst all this suffering young Alan Trolove maintained a serene pose as he soared effortlessly up the climbs. Seventh place in an under 16’s race in London the day before hadn’t phased him one little bit. It may seem picky but one can’t help wishing he would drop those gears a bit and increase his cadence.

Another day, another 50 odd miles in the legs of the Bury riders. There was a hint of spring in the air and the unmistakable urge of riders to shake off the dreadful winter and skip along the lanes. Either that or too much ‘Lambing Live’? [or could that be Ewe Tube? SJH]

Justin Wallace

10 March 2010. Peter goes home early and I change gear.

2010-03-15T02:24:00.000-07:00

Justin, Peter H, Richard B, TT, Sharon, Jonathan, Ron, Tiger Tony, SJH. Great to see Tiger out again - he's been absent far too long. Said he was feeling better, so naturally we did our best to drop him on the way back. Also good to see Jonathan out mid-week - could this become a regular thing?
A dry but largely grey and mostly cold day; Justin was up for a long ride, Peter needed to be home early for an afternoon departure for North Wales. Harleston (Norfolk, not just outside Stowmarket) was mentioned by TT, and some of us thought that that was where we were going to go, right up until we swung into the car park at Bloom's of Bressingham. There was a stiff-ish North-ish breeze in our faces as we pedalled out, and TT managed to find a few combinations of road not recently used which, when added to well-worn routes was a bit dis-orienting (Diss was another destination, in fact, but was diss-missed due to nine riders being rather too many for Mere Moments on a busy Wednesday morning).

The only photo that I took was the one at the top of the story. The forest of new retro cake stands made a huge impression - but I still stuck to my scone and jam (another crumbly scone; great for taste but a b*gg*r to butter). I nipped out early to turn my wheel round for the tailwind home run. 51 miles when I swung down the drive and, unlike Sunday, I actually felt human. SJH

7 March 2010. Sub-Zero Heroes dodge the Ice

2010-03-07T10:48:00.000-08:00

As you just might be able to make out from the photo [read the right hand scale] it was very, very cold at 0700 outside the kitchen door of Orchard House. We do have a micro climate here, and I did ask the met office for ideas as to why we got numbers several degrees lower than other places nearby. They responded very swiftly and efficiently (was it unfair to imagine them waiting for weeks for a question?) and told me that it was probably because we have the instrument facing north.

Having taken the picture (picture, if you will, SJH in nightshirt squinting at camera, knees bent to get best angle) I made what I now realise was a major tactical error; I showed it to Susan. We have that sort of relationship, you see, sharing life's experiences, openness (or so I am led to believe). "You canNOT go out in this, that is stupidly cold, you would have to be totally MAD!!!"

"I'll wait a bit, and go out later - but the roads will be dry, there's been no rain"

"phone Justin, see what he's doing"

Time rolls by. 0745 phone Justin and ask him if he could ring me when destination decided, and I'd meet them later. I pass this on.

"So they're all going out anyway?"

"Yes"

"Well if you get on with it, you could leave by 0830 and meet them at the normal time"

Allow myself the luxury of not telling Justin about the change of plan - covered in case of puncture

0902. Cornhill. Rode in with fellow Norton resident Richard Stiff. Join large jolly group of assorted size cyclists: Justin, Peter H, Deane, Neil, Jonathan Howe, Adi, Alan Trolove, Richard Stiff, Paul Callow, SJH, Peter S-W, Ron F.
This Cyclists' Dozen set off on the first stage of the Suffolk Punch from Nowton but then diverged to end up in Long Melford, then took Bull Lane out eastwards to end up at Semer, and Hollowtrees Farm Shop. Shortly after leaving Bury, it became obvious that though there had, indeed, been no rain, the land drainage in the bit of Suffolk we chose to cross had meant dribbles of water on many corners had become solid shiny ice. Why did we come across theses hazards at the same time as being overtaken by cars? The frequency of the calls for both ice and potholes led Jonathan to observe that it might be more efficient to call out when the road was clear.

An interesting paradox: though the temperature was 4 degrees lower than any we've observed this (hard) winter, my hands felt no more painful - in fact far better than last week. This reminds me of a survey a couple of years ago which found that, when asked which temperature was colder, minus nine or minus two, the majority plumped for minus 2. It seems that the problem was that when measuring hotness plus 20c is hotter than plus 2c - so the bigger number will always be hotter (whichever side of zero you are)

Arrived at Hollowtrees without event (as far as I can remember) and rather stretched the Sunday 'B' team behind the counter (apart from the lady in charge). Richard Stiff made a brave effort to cheer up Neil, Deane and Peter (see left). Ron Fisher held Justin and Jonathan spellbound with tales of Australia (below right) and Adi explained to Peter S-W and Alan just what they really ought to be doing in a club run (below right). No sooner had we finished, and risen from our tables than the Cappuccino Ride arrived - in strength, there were 18 of them. Thirty Wheelers awheel at the same time; brilliant. Less brilliant was the record of punctures and crashes (including Sharon's first tumble) they experienced, but they all looked OK superficially

The 12 of us set off south, then swung down to the Sudbury - Bildeston road, and pedalled, through the sunshine, for home, using the more important roads to avoid any more ice hazards. Some way before Bildeston I began to lose power and the excellent Mr Dykes gave me the occasional push to get me back on. Well, at began as occasional, only being needed on the steep climbs, but graduated to the slight inclines and, finally, on the the flat. The problem was that my legs didn't want to do the revs necessary to achieve 23 mph even if I was being pushed.
Neil was rewarded with lunch chez nous. Justin later told me than Neil had a touch of 'tennis elbow' the following week - I remain sceptical, but I know that I was knackered on Monday. 53 miles for me, and just under 17mph. SJH