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

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

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 . . . .

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

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

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)

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

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