Wednesday 11 Jan 2012. 17 Riders, 2 groups, 1 objective.

And the objective was to find an interestingly different, and differently interesting route to La Hogue.

But first, I had to get to Thurston for 09:00. Recently, I have been involved with a variety of "different" rides, thrown together in an ad hoc manner and with various starting points and times. Some of the times have been as late as 09:30. Now I occasionally have a problem when I wake on a cycling day; is it Sunday? Or Wednesday? or (very occasionally) Friday?. This particular morning I had no problem. It was a ride to celebrate Tom Tom's birthday and would start in Thurston at 09:30. To avoid domestic confusion, I told my wife the previous night that I would be around for longer than usual in the morning. I was about to sit down to my porridge when I glanced at the clock. 08:50. Then a penny finally dropped and landed on that part of my brain that sent an emergency alert to the rest of my system. ****It's Wednesday!! I'm late!!! Scramble!!! Leave the house NOW!!!****

So the porridge stayed on the side, and I whooshed out of the house, cramming items into my pockets while pulling on gloves and hat (not a simple task) and manage Thurston New Green Centre by a minute or so after nine. I was not the last. Not quite.

The Ride was splitting itself in two. This is better done at the start, though it has, historically, been a feature of most rides at some point on the way around East Anglia - generally quite a way from home and unscheduled. This division conformed to latest guidelines because we were seventeen souls, now considered too large a group for Suffolk's lanes and byeways. This is true. After the initial excitement of the growing size of clubruns which really began in late 2009 and peaked in 2010 with up to twenty four riders weaving their sometimes wobbly way through the countryside. On these occasions, the head of the ride had little clue what was happening to the tail which could often end up in a different County. These days we try to keep to no more than twelve and conssider eight or ten to be ideal

We had the choice of going with Justin at a 'brisk' pace, or with Peter (pace unspecified but expected to be 'sensible'). Glenn Grant (Eagle Road Club) was making one of his welcome visits, this time on his newly-acquired Dolan fixed, of 66" gearing like me so it seemed sensible that we should choose the same ride. Having ascertained that we were brisk enough, we joined Justin to make up 'The Adequate Seven'.

Justin's route was a gem of improvisation and we were blessed with extraordinarily beautiful weather. There was a brisk (that word again) head/cross wind from the West, but since I spent most of the outward journey hiding at the back this wasn't a problem. For me, anyway. As we curved round, finally towards the general direction of Newmarket (and I think we were as far away as Denston) we got a puncture. Now, at the time of writing I can't remember the victim's name - shame on me, since we were but seven souls - but he did have the good sense to pick up the truly enormous thorn (see pics above) at a beautiful spot (see many more pics). In the pic it looks like valve attached to a sliver of inner tube. There seemed no hurry, as we chatted in the sunshine.

Off to Whickambrook, thence Moulton, Kentford etc. At the end of Kennett we met the other half of the ride hammering homewards towards us. We were, admittedly, a bit late but it was still a surprise that they'd had their tea, and a natter and got so bored that they just had to leave before we arrived. We arrived at La Hogue with sharpened appetites and a readiness for teas and coffees. Cast your mind back to the beginning of this piece; remember the porridge I left on the side in our kitchen? Now was my chance to re-fuel. Glenneagle had been kind enough to share an energy bar while we waited for the puncture to be fixed, but now it was double-scones-and-jam time. I don't remember what time it was when we left, but in the end I didn't get home until after 2.15. We all agreed that it had been a gem of a ride (almost an anagram of germ of an idea) with the most perfect weather; how long can the weather stay like this? Will we get a Winter at all?

Find out, exclusively, in future blogs

SJH

Wednesday 31 March 2010.

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

Tuesday 2 March. Five go out in the Sun.

Is it a bird? Is it a plane? No it’s the Sun! – 2 March 2010

Four regular Wednesday riders, faced with the prospect of missing their midweek miles due to helping out with a Wednesday charity collection in town, opted to get out on the Tuesday instead. Weather wise, it worked out well.

Forming up outside the West Suffolk Wheelers’ Thurston HQ (the inside was full of cigarette smoking school kids. But there, we do try to be an inclusive club and school bike sheds don’t have ‘behinds’ any more) were Peter Heath, Gareth Doman, Richard Seggar, Neil Dykes and Justin Wallace.

The early morning frost coupled with a chilly north westerly made for a cold start. The chosen destination was Clare, later modified to Newmarket after Justin suggested a new route that would avoid the floods at Kentford. The change had absolutely nothing to do with the fact that en route Peter pointed out that Sarah didn’t work at the Clare Deli on Tuesdays.

As the group made its way through Livermere, Ingham and West Stow, the sun gained strength and a wonderful spring day appeared like a light at the end of a very long, snowy, cold, wet tunnel. The chilly breeze was still there but the sun more than made up for it.

The flat warm-up continued on through Cavenham, Tuddenham, Herringswell, Kennet and Kentford before a right turn in Moulton led the riders up the long drag that ends with the fine view down to the Newmarket Gallops. The swift descent across the Warren Hill Gallops, between lines of highly priced horsemeat, would have been a picture for anyone standing at the top with a focused camera; particularly if the odd spooked horse had been in the picture. Those stable lads are certainly adept at maintaining contact with the saddle under any circumstances.

The forecourt of Coffee & Co was basking in the sun and extra chairs and a table were hurriedly added to the already fully occupied compliment outside. It felt strange sitting there in the sun after the winter we have all endured - that strange sensation of warmth on the body.

And now for some more hills. Justin’s route took the group up Duchess Drive – scene of many a road race finish. And as this year is the 33rd anniversary of Neil’s big win on the hill in a junior road race, he asked the group to help him re-enact the final metres (or yards as they were then). We all obliged and made sure he crossed the summit first. Apparently on the big day he had been in a break that had been caught at the bottom of the climb, only to stay in the bunch and sprint to yet another win. Modesty prevented him from talking about the day for no more than 40 minutes or so.

The route took us past the very impressive pile of bricks that is Kirtling Tower. This extract from Peter’s informative email gives you all the facts you need to know on it, and some more besides.

"The castle-like structure we passed at Kirtling shows on the OS map as Kirtling Tower, the only surviving relic of Kirtling Hall, built in 1536. Rich said it looked like a new build so that's not too far out Rich! It was renovated in the 19thC and perhaps touched up since then. It was a gatehouse to the original hall, the latter demolished in 17th C. If that is the gatehouse, would have loved to see the hall.

If you follow the link (above) go on to page two which tells more about the North family what built it. The guy was an adviser to Henry VIII it says."

We also passed a Glebe House. A Glebe was an area of land, ( field or fields) given to a member of the clergy who could earn his income from it through rents, crops and so on. I'm not sure if any clergy had a Glebe House or whether the current owners have named it so because it stands on Glebe Land. This website doesn't mention the house, at least I think the house was in Kirtling parish....not sure.

A left turn led us through the very picturesque village of Upend - looking splendid in the midday sunshine. We don’t often end up riding through Upend from this direction and it made a pleasant change. Onwards and upwards through Ousden (no blue plaque on the wall of the Edgars’ house yet. Should we all write to our MPs?) and back along the Suffolk Punch route. Mutterings from TomTom about the hills. Shame really, especially as he’d been given the morning off from navigating duties.

Coming down the lane into Hawstead, Neil’s tyre, which is as thin as a ‘Waffer’ thin mint (fans of Monty Python’s Mr Creosote sketch in ‘The Meaning of Life’ will understand) succumbed to a Suffolk flint. After help with undoing the valve knob and the use of Gareth’s powerful hands to replace that awkward last 10% of the tyre, we were rolling again.

As we re-entered the environs of Thurston at almost 1.45, Neil, Peter and Justin had clocked up 56 miles, Gareth and Richard a few more.

The entertaining adventures in this article were brought to you by members of the midweek riders’ group; whose mission statement is: "We do the miles, so you don’t have to". Copyright SJH

Justin Wallace

24 January: To Kilverston for Tea

No one has an idea about where to go. I offer the thought that, though the wind is from slightly West of North, we don't really want to go to Brandon. Still no ideas. I suggest Thetford Garden Centre and, by default, we set off in that general direction. I don't have a detailed plan, but Justin has a few ideas that get the ride rolling in the correct general direction, while adding enough loops and detours to give us a decent total mileage.

We are eight; Justin, Pauls Rooke and Callow, Ron, Tricia, Julian, Deane and SJH. The weather is cold and we are all struck by quite how hard it is to stay warm (the temperature is no lower than 2 or 3). The sun remains hidden for the whole ride, though almost appearing on the ride home. The pace is sensible. Deane has the puncture - see photo - and Paul C holds Deane's bike while the repair is effected, the rest of us ride up and down the road to stay warm. We go through Rushford, having first aimed as if we were going to Bressingham but then swinging North. A quick single file along the 1066, the left down the short steep hill with its always-greasy sweeping adverse-cambered left hander at the bottom and, in about three miles we are at TGC. Julian is very concerned about bike theft issues, so we go round to a back entrance to the plant display area. Doing this, we enter by a different door and realise just how enormous this place is. Not just huge, but densely packed with island units every shelf of which is crammed with merchandise; ornaments, place mats, tablecloths, napkins, crockery, glassware, garden furniture, garden tools, whimsical pictures, novelty calendars, sensible footwear, foolish footwear, scarves, knitted hats, wellies, indoor plants, outdoor plants, books, figurines, magazines, manuals and annuals, forks, spades, rakes, trowels, secateurs and gardening aprons, gardening gloves, gardening string and on and on and on. How do they keep track? Who buys all this stuff ? (OK the gardening stuff is allowable, I buy it myself).

Anyway, we navigate our way to the Café area and settle in the conservatory with a view across a field inhabited by an extremely busy bunch of moles (or one even more busy mole) to the stable block of Kilverston Hall on whose estate we were munching and slurping.

After tea, Paul R is kind enough to assist as I change gear (turn my wheel round); because the chain has stretched in the 2,000 or so miles that 'Pearson' and I have been together, we (Paul) had to adjust the mudguard stays to allow the wheel to be moved far enough back. The bigger gear made all the difference to my return ride, which used an ingenious route through Bridgham and East Harling to come down through Gasthorpe and Barningham to Stanton. Tricia sensibly jumped ship at Knettishall to go directly home. I swung off at Stowlangtoft, and found that I was comparatively fresh when I got home after 58 miles. SJH

20 January 2010; Nearly a record turnout.

We were an impressive thirteen at the bus shelter. We couldn't be IN because of the numbers. It was cold and grey, but evidently not too cold for Gareth's chum Darren to come out without socks or overshoes (only concession to the close-to-zero temperature was [were?] his three quarter longs). His recent cycling background has been in MTB, which may go some way to explain things. The other eleven were TomTom, Peters H and G, Justin, Tiger Tony, Richard Balaam, Sharon, Ron, Ann Fish, Mike Bowen and SJH.

We were Bressingham-bound, and TomTom led us on an unusual route ("I'm lost" he confided to me at one point) that maintained an air of mystery and confusion that kept us on our toes. Don't ask me where we went - I wasn't on my toes and was barely paying attention (in spite of pretending to T-T that I knew what he was up to).

I must apologise for the rather dull photos; as so often with clubruns the easiest time to take a snap is when we are all stationary for a puncture; the one featured was Richard Balaam's. One of my shots has Peter Heath casting a newly trained eye on the tyre and tube, locating the possible site of the damage. In the distance you can just make out the other third of the ride - the last section of Mercrédists had pulled in for a pit stop at a sugar beet-loading area down the road. I think the only larger ride on a Wednesday was for my birthday, when we were fourteen freeloaders (or rather, one Birthday Boy and thirteen chums keen to help him celebrate). Next week (27th January) will be the first after Peter Heath's 63rd, Monday 25th, which was spent in London. Might be worth turning up in strength - except I'm too late with this blog, unless you're sad enough to check your mail before coming out. There was a very long wait at Blooms of Bressingham when we arrived, because there was only one member of staff serving, and she took over five minutes to construct an Espresso for the lady at the head of the queue 16 (she was with a friend, for those who are keeping up with the numbers). Two chaps appeared eventually, but there was still a lack of urgency and organisation; Mike Bowen organises truck drivers with both of those qualities ( that is to say that he organises them with organisation & urgency to deliver with O & U) and he was getting very twitchy at the delay.

Once spread across three tables, we relaxed, browsed, sluiced and chatted in a barely organised way with no sense of urgency at all. We returned via Lopham & Redgrave Fens, and my favourite windmill at Thelnetham (I think - the place, that is. I know what a windmill looks like)

Appallingly, though it's only 6 days since the ride, I can't remember exactly how far we (I) went, but I fancy that it was around 56 miles. SJH

Cappuccino 17 Jan 2010. New Year Puncture Fest

The first day of clear blue sky and ever-present sun, since the recent bad spell of snow and ice, brought riders out in their hundreds. Well not literally hundreds, more metaphorically really, more than just a few to be precise, well alright then, 18.
Just being out on the bike brought a smile to almost every face, save perhaps for Mike Bowen who’d been suckered by a puddle concealing a pothole, which brought him crashing down 4 weeks ago, resulting in bruised ribs sufficient to keep him off the bike ever since, until today. Let that be a lesson to us all, - never ride through a puddle, ‘cos you never know what lurks beneath!
Those hoping to make up for lost miles were John Steed, Mark Eastwood, Richard Lines, Richard Balaam, new member Di Bellingham, Barry Denny, Peter Heath, Nathan Colman, Paul Barry, Richard Seggar, Jeff Agricole, Tony Panting, Mark Taylor, Boyd Nicholas, Mike Bowen, Dave Tilly and guests Glenn and Roger.
It soon became evident to all within 50 yards of it, that Jeff’s front wheel bearing was in terminal decline. If you’ve ever heard the bride and groom’s car driving away from the reception with a string of tin cans tied to the rear bumper, then you have captured absolutely the resonance and timbre of the said bearing. Quite how it held together for the duration of the ride is a mystery to us all. This noise was accompanied at every junction by the unearthly caterwauling which emanated from our Chairman’s cantilever brakes. To this we can add his gears, (I use the term lightly), which missed and jumped at every opportunity but especially when he’d just lost yet another Prime. Might Nathan’s expertise be called upon to give the machine a thorough overhaul, even if just for the sake of those riders with tinnitus who experience execrable pain every time said brakes are applied ?
Ride leaders John and Mark soon decided that the mixed ability group should be split up, so that both smaller groups could proceed without undue delays. This split was made shortly after puncture number one, quickly fixed by Nathan; we went our separate ways in Whepstead, agreeing to head into the westerly wind for Newmarket at around 11am. The best laid plans…………
The faster of the two groups, about a dozen of us, headed for Hartest where puncture number 2 was again sorted by Nathan. Now heading along the lane for Hawkedon punctures 3 and 4 accompanied each other, with Nathan called to arms once more and him dashing from one bike to another in case we mere mortals should either a) cock things up or b) slow things right down. Having depleted one CO2 cartridge, even Nathan had to admit defeat and use that outdated technology, the bicycle pump.
It looked like we might never make the tea stop, when puncture number 5 convinced many that the ride was destined to admit defeat. Leading the scores to this point was Tony Panting with 2 punctures; it soon became obvious that the recent spell of inclement weather, causing the Council to grit the roads was the cause of all our woes, as one flint after another was dug out of rubber. The flints were no respecters of reputation, as firstly Continental, then Schwalbe fell victim to their attack!
The group breathed a sigh of relief as we approached Ashley, whereupon the Chairman, who shall be nameless, took off down the hill like a startled rabbit, chased by Paul and Peter, with Nathan enjoying the ride at the back, after all he’d earned it!
We finally made Coffee and Co at 12 noon, an hour late. Little did we know that Mark and John’s group had only arrived at the Clock Tower café some 10 minutes earlier, after yet more punctures.
With no room inside Coffee and Co, the group braved the cold weather to sit outside before setting off the usual way home via Snailwell, Chippenham, Red Lodge, Tuddenham and Cavenham and thus back to town. But not before punctures 6 and 7 provided yet more opportunities for social discourse, and for Nathan to demonstrate his expertise yet again. Paul Barry now joined Tony on two punctures each. We decided that Nathan should be mentioned in Dispatches for loyal service above and beyond the call of any skilled mechanic, well done and thank you Nathan from us all.
I reckoned a total of at least 8 punctures, is this a Club-run record?
The writer clocked 59 sunlit miles but ‘Tom-Tom’ would have made it closer to 70.
Thanks again to Nathan for the photos.

PETER HEATH

17 Jan '10 - Sun Shines on Righteous Shock

A few brave birds were singing before dawn today, as the mercury hovered around zero. We are in that phase of the infant year when the afternoons begin to relent, and allow us a little more time before sunset. In case we get too excited at the prospect of spring, renewal and sap rising, the mornings keep us in the dark a little longer. 07.30 seemed like the middle of the night as I pedal up to the Garage for my paper. By the time that Richard Muchmore and I rolled into Cornhill the sun was out and proud the sky was blue and the tree under which we meet looked stunning.
There were ten of us. The other eight being Deane, Julian, I, Richard Stiff, Pauls Callow and Rooke, Ron Fisher and Tricia. Richard S pointed out the wildly amusing scaffolding lorry across the way

Mechanical problems began before we'd turned a wheel, Paul C complained that his chain was jumping after he removed it for cleaning so Adi took it apart again and replaced it the other way round. This was a success. Julian noticed a sinister bulge of inner tube protruding through his tyre like a cycling rupture (as he pointed out). PaulRooke produced a reinforcing strip to insert between tyre and tube. This was also a success. Later on Ron had a puncture at Ashley, which gives you a hint about our route. I had expected us to turn left for a loop before Newmarket, but we went right down the hill.
Nothing for it but to pull us out of this dive and turn left in the general Kirtling direction (R Stiff and I had clocked up only 21 miles, and it would be barely three to Coffee & Co). By meandering, first with me notionally in charge of the route and then with Deane taking over the decisions from his excellent forward viewpoint around 300 yds off the front. I have no quarrel with his choices. We had to reign in Richard M from going to The Clock Tower Café (once the regular stop for bikies, despite its atmosphere which was about 80% cigarette smoke, and cuisine "if they can't fry it you can't have it" - and still a favourite with a hard core of traditionalists).

After reviving beverages, buns and beans we set off up the gallops (Warren Hill?) then Primrose Hill and through to the start of the Higham TT course. Then off towards Cavenham, Lackford and West Stow. Some of us (Tricia and I; she with a bad chest and me with a lack of whatever it is that helps one to keep up) were getting a bit tired by this time. On the road from West Stow to Fornhams, Richard S and I turned left for Livermere etc and Norton, leaving the peleton to hammer off into the distance. Imagine my surprise when, at Thurston Great Green, just above Norton, I met Richard M - pedalling towards me. Well OK, I probably need to stand over you while you look at a map and I explain fully just exactly why this was a conundrum.

Tricia has given her Garminised route. She went left when we went right, at West Stowe. Richard S and I clocked up 58 miles, The weather was absolutely perfect for the entire ride, in fact I had to take off my hat at the top of Primrose Hill. SJH

13 January 2010. We change allegiance in Needham

Still balaclava-cold at 9am in the bus stop. There's been a bit of a thaw, but snow is forecast so a curtailed run seemed prudent. Needham Market again. Not last weeks new best tea stop, apparently we must recalibrate in the light of Peter's cheese scone score from last week. We are to go to "Viv's"; further down Needham's main street, this café is (according to Peter) the CTC's stop of choice.

On the way we stopped for Peter to mend a puncture - I forgot to take a closer look as did this, I had intended to check out his improved technique following the Bicycle Maintenance evening that he went to last night at Elmy Cycles' swish new retail facility. Peter had told me that there was a lot to be gained from correct positioning of the bead in the well of the rim when it came to slipping it on with bare hands. Or something like that. He is highlighted in the photo - click on image to enlarge.

Barry left us as we neared Stowmarket, pleading a prior engagement. I think he found us too slow for him but was, as ever, too polite to complain. There were no further incidents, and Viv's (or L & V's I think the sign says) was soon found. The building has considerable charm, and has that Estate Agents' much loved cliché 'a wealth of old timber' adorning the low ceiling'd room. However, by far the most remarkable feature was a truly enormous collection of tea pots - the majority of which were of the novelty sort. My pictures tell the story.

This Wednesday was Richard Seggar's Official Birthday. Like our dear Queen, Richard will be having his actual Birthday on a different date, Friday. Being an honourable chap (and a republican - though not too upset, I hope, by my reference to our Monarch) he paid for all of us and, since a Friday ride was on the cards, promised to do the honours for those then present who had missed out by virtue of their absence today.

The return journey was uneventful, and followed pretty much the same route as last week - except that we took the old A14 through to Haughley and Elmswell and when Tony and I found ourselves off the front coming through Elmswell Tony decided to take the cut off just past the church, which was slushy snow over rutted ice, and gave us a bit of bike-handling practice down to the 1088. I achieved a gentle 31.6 miles, but probably worth 40 since I had to pedal all the time. SJH

Wednesday 4th November. Spencers Again

Was it only ten days ago that I navigated the Espressos (Espressi?) to this remote watering hole in the tangled Essex/Suffolk borders? Yes.

The other week we had the Eagle landing, in the form of Glen Grant. This week it was The Man From The Land Of The Condor. Now fully acquainted with Ecuador, our globe trotter Neil Dykes honoured us with his presence. We never take these migratory visits for granted, we are truly grateful for the sunshine and vitality that Neil brings to our parochial existences. As my tea time picture shows, Sharon is having to shield her eyes from the dazzle of Neil's effortless charisma.

As would be expected of such a seasoned traveller, Neil left nothing to chance. He made absolutely sure that if he was going to set out on a ride without spare tube, tyre levers, pump or money then the ride to choose would be this Wednesday's edition. Pete Gay was buying the teas in memory of a recent birthday and, when the inevitable puncture occurred there was no shortage of help with the entire operation. If you've remembered to attach your pannier for that round the world trip you've always promised yourself, the most important item to pop into it is LUCK.

This trip to Spencers, unlike the Espresso jaunt, contained riders who knew the way. I didn't let this deter me from leading. And following the same teasing route. And there were the same protests at the same point, and I ignored them again. Then we (I) took a left turn too many, which swung us a touch too far south, necessitating a swing westwards to Gestingthorpe (and missing out Belchamp Walter). Down in this area the land is quite sharply rumpled, producing a great many short sharp ascents that can be quite tiring. This lumpiness exposed the revelation that Sharon is not, after all, bionic. A 10k run the day before (fitted into a normal day's fitness and Pilates classes) followed by an 05:15 start to today, with a class completed before joining us - was beginning to take its toll, and the tea stop came just at the right time. It was about a couple of miles short of Spencers that Neil had his puncture. Naturally, most of us sped off to the Café so that we could sit down while we waited. We were greeted perfectly well, but the puncture party were very brusquely dealt with and only grudgingly led to join the rest of us. Justin was unimpressed, and mentioned as much to the lady in charge of the Farm Shop (different ownership). The struggle across unfamiliar territory may not be worth it if there's only a dusty welcome at the end . . . . . though thexperience was redeemed this time on account of Pete G picking up the tab. Many thanks.

T-T led us on a route that skirted to the west of Sudbury on a skilfull selection of quiet roads that were not too muddy, flinty or thorny. I still managed to get a puncture. Pearson's first. If you can imagine a bicycle having an expression, Pearson's was one of startled dismay - akin to a horse encountering a carrier bag. Rear wheel, as is the case with more punctures than would be expected using probability as a guide, but quite quickly dealt with. It's always location of the hole and then the cause that takes the time. I had more help than I could imagine that I deserve, including having my tyre pumped up and Justin slipping me a wet one (it's a moist hand cleaning tissue, since you ask).

Somewhere round this area, in the last three weeks, I remember that Richard and I saw a grass snake emerging from the verge, fat and smooth and green. We realised that neither of us had seen one before. Just thought I'd mention it. Can't remember why we didn't mention it to the rest of the ride.

As the pictures show, the weather was breathtakingly picturesque, and God's own county of Suffolk was displayed to perfection. The approach to Long Melford from Liston, past water meadows and over the river Stour. As we ambled homewards, Sharon faded a bit more - but graciously accepted that occasional push. I know from being on the receiving end what a life-saver this simple act can be - the benefit to the 'pushee' is vastly greater than the cost in effort to the 'pusher', and it can keep a ride on the move and get everyone home sooner than otherwise

The full composition of the peleton was Neil, Sharon, Justin, Peter H, Pete Gay, Jeff, Tiger Tony, T-T, SJH & Ron. I covered a bit over 60 miles. A lovely ride.

2 November 2009. WET, WET, WET, or Nine get Inundated.

It was dark, but there was no rain - just an occasional drizzle-y drop, as I rode up and down the A1088 filling in time before the Bury Bunch arrived, with the Thurston Contingent. Somehow or other, we must have passed my house about three minutes before Lindsay Clayton arrived; some time after the advertised 07:20, but crucial moments before the 07:30 that Lindsay thought she should be there.

There was more to come. I joined the front of the group, and didn't fully take in who was on board. Only later did Peter Heath ask "where's Jonathan?". We discovered later from his e-mail that the poor chap had a real, full-on, "BANGGss-Phssss-Phsssss-Phssssss-Phssssss" puncture., just at the point where the ride turned right to Woolpit 'Nord' and A14. Being a relative newcomer he didn't immediately shout at the top of his voice, the magic word "PUNCHERRR!!!" which (usually) brings the most determined ride to a halt. So that was the end of HIS ride.

We rode into Woolpit and collected Richard 'TomTom' Seggar. 50yds further on, "BANGGss-Phssss-Phsssss-Phssssss-Phssssss" and Andy Davison's rear tyre gasped its last. As Andy tried to work out which of the several cuts in his tyre might be responsible for the puncture, Peter seized the victims spare tube collection and held it up in horror. Despite all this ritual humiliation by friends and sabotage by equipment, Andy was soon back in the saddle, and we headed off towards Onehouse where he decided finally to throw in the towel as it became obvious that the replacement tube was going down. He was going to go to his mother's house nearby, he said.

So now we were nine. The wind was getting stronger, and the rain was getting harder, and we were riding directly into this combination of elements. Following the original A45, through Needham Market and on past Baylham and Great Blakenham, dropping two consonants to reach Akenham then Whitton and the cycle route into Ipswich via Old Norwich Rd. Weather now pretty much as advertised on the forecast over the last week. We pause to phone ahead and tell Bonnet's that we are down to nine instead of sixteen (how polite is that? How thoughtful? Justin's sense of propriety and etiquette, even when dripping wet, never ceases to amaze). Despite the comparatively main road route, motor traffic has been almost non-existent so we continue through Central Ipswich.

Another puncture. Peter this time. We (well I am) are getting cold if we stop for more than a minute or so. We begin to see Felixstowe on the road signs (in as much as we can see anything - my prescription polaroids are becoming an increasingly less good idea). TT takes us off the main drag, to go through Levington. This is an extremely lumpy section; very short but steep climbs immediately followed by descents which are immediately . . . . well, you get the idea.

Out onto main road for a terrifying while, then onto the cycle route to Felixstowe. This isn't that wonderful either; the road is reduced to a sort of cycletrack width, with 'passing places'. The main snag is that it isn't one way. Cars are coming towards us at speed. In the gloom. With a couple of feet to spare. The final section seemed to go on for a very long time, while feeling as if we are only yards away from our destination. The weather is getting even rougher, and we are grateful to have Deane on the front, hunched into half a gale, hauling us through the driving rain as we dodge cars both parked and moving plus the occasional smashed pumpkins.

As we fight our way down the final street to Bonnet's, the wind gets wilder still. We walk our bikes round a corner to reach the semi-secure parking area down a narrow passage to the rear of the café (just WHO in their right mind would want to steal a bicycle today?). Stagger back round, hanging onto lamp posts and railings to avoid being blown over the rooftops and back to Bury St Edmunds. One or two of us were carrying enough personal ballast and gravitas to make this not too much of a real and present danger; but I feared for the sub-ten stoners.

Our welcome was surreal in its warmth and poise. We were a bedraggled and leaky lot, dripping water where ever we went - and even more so when we stood still. Our 'coats' were taken to be put in a drying area! We were treated like the the most distinguished guests, which was the last thing that we actually felt like. Up the stairs to a large and elegant dining room, and a table laid for nine, replete with spotless linen napery and gleaming silver. Deane found his sea view at the head of the table anything but comforting, as the dark beige waves hurtled shorewards with foam-flecked anger, driven by the howling wind. He also put today's heroics in perspective when he pointed out that he'd had the same weather as this all the way from London to Edinburgh and back, earlier this year in the Inaugural LEL Audax.

Our food was excellent, and all the various extras and deletions had been recorded. The staff were very patient and good humoured as we led them through the complexities of which food would not be required, and who was who and who wasn't here. Yes we had a Justin but not a Julian; yes we had two Stephens and a brace of Pauls; yes we had a T-T-Richard (singular and irreplaceable) and tea-taster Peter, indestructible Dean and multi-athlete Tricia. Steve Mayes and I can vouch for the Eggs Benedict with bacon and (in my case) and extra egg. Generous cappuccinos and ample tea (that matched Peter's high standard). The only hitch was my missing croissant, which I eventually ate while paying - it would have been entirely understandable had they considered that I'd eaten enough already. After at least an hour in the warm glow of Bonnets, it was out into the (still howling) gale and (still lashing) rain.

With the wind mostly at our backs, we retraced. I was fortified by Justin's kindness in lending me a Helly-Hansen base layer to add to my existing two. What rider carries a SPARE base layer? We avoided the Levington loop and stuck with the main (but not A14) route back to eastern Ipswich, a bit (but still rather more than was enjoyable) of ring road then off into the countryside again. The traffic was now quite heavy and mostly barking mad, but unfortunately not heavy enough to come to a standstill. Vehicles were all hurtling through standing water, some even without lights, passing within inches of us and narrowly avoiding head-on collisions with the headless chickens coming the other way.

In our desire to get it over with ASAP, and powered by the thundering tailwind, we found ourselves reaching 26/7 mph and starting to split. Sense prevailed and order was restored. We nearly lost Dean at a large island when he hurtled off to the right; we needn't have worried about such a seasoned Audaxer losing his way . . .

They lanes brought us some crosswinds, and also puncture number . . . . how do we count this? Jonathan's at the beginning, Andy's first in Woolpit and second gradual one at Onehouse followed by Peter's in Ipswich, and now Paul Callow's somewhere west of Ipswich makes five!

We were now getting to more familiar lanes and roads, the signs mentioned Needham and Stow Markets, the rain was easing. Fatigue was higher than expected for such a comparatively short ride (I ended with 71, and the Bury Bunch around 84). Tricia was feeling the effects of "the longest run I've done in ages" which she was rash enough to do on the day before . . . . . . . .

We kept together until routes to different home addresses split us, which was commendable. after Woolpit we didn't mislay anyone. Are we learning how to do this? Certainly a ride that will grow in heroics as time goes by and the tale is retold around the virtual campfires.

What a day.

And finally - we know what Bonnets meant by this note, (pictured on the right) but somehow it doesn't come across quite right.
Oh, and not forgetting Tricia's Garmin Map

28 October, and Six out of Nine Wheelers choose Club Colours

Bright, low, sunshine yet again for the start of a ride. And yet again we set off southwards from the Bus Stop. Both Sharon and Mike are sportily sporting shorts - and it's almost warm enough at 09:00 now that the clocks have gone back. I used to have trouble remembering which way the time went when it was moved. Now I have a fix for this uncertainty, but it involves a term for Autumn more generally found in the US (well, for about 300 years). "Fall back; Spring forward" there, simple. The almost misty conditions made an attractive start and, as you can see, red was very popular

We welcome the return of TomTom's chum John from the Channel Islands (not all of them, naturally, but in a senior moment I can't recall which), and also hail the presence of future Star Esther Colman (she who slept at the tea stop on Sunday) who is to appear at the Manchester Velodrome 'Revolution' meeting on 14th November. She was with us to ensure that Julian got home safely, of course.I mentioned to Esther that it was good to see so many club Jerseys, I added that Adi had noticed that Wheelers were easily noticed in a racing bunch on the track, and then I mentioned that recent research had tended to indicate that the wearing of red gave sporting teams enhanced morale. I supported this by observing that "It hasn't done Manchester United much harm". There was a pause; then Esther said, hesitantly, "I don't follow football, are they quite successful?"

A you can see from the link, there were over 67,000,000 hits on Google. But I like a fresh and unspoilt view of the world. Well done, Esther, for your independence.

Mike Cross's tyres stayed inflated, but there was a puncture; but another senior moment (or even a blond one - I have double the risk) draws a veil of uncertainty over the victim's name.

We had an excellent tea at Hollow Trees, again, and enjoyed more sunshine for our return journey, when we turned right out of the tea stop car park, then right again, and yet again, following a selection of the many tiny lanes in that triangle of Suffolk south of Brent Eleigh. A total of 50 miles for me, and most enjoyable. SJH

Sunday 25th October. Where is Spencer's?

Belchamp St Paul? Walter? Otton? Well actually, none of these, it turned out. Wickham St Pauls was where it was, further south than the nest of Belchamps west of Sudbury - but reached via those villages.

I only mention this because Adi suggested we go to Spencers but didn't know how to get there. I sort of did, having been a couple of times with Justin at the helm, so I was to lead us there. Barry would get us out of Bury and on our way. We were 15. We had three Pauls but no Walters. P Callow, P Rooke and P Barry - and then Barry, and Glynn Smith and Graham Smith, then Deane Hill and Stephen Hill, Esther Colman and Julian Colman (the only ones actually related), Ed Bucknall, Martin White, Adi G, Dr Tom and Tricia Dennison (whose Garmin-generated map decorates the foot of this Blog). Nathan put in a dramatic but brief appearance which came to an end when he confused the beginning of a club run with the bunch sprint at the end of a Belgian Classic before the ride had left Cornhill. A buckled front wheel and torn Assos clothing added up to an expensive morning (I later heard from Julian).

No surprises or originality in the early stages, as we made our way south to Glemsford on the B1066 (choosing to ignore the easier option of a right turn in Boxted, so that we could tackle the short, but challenging 'Cote de Monk's Hall').

At the foot of the hill from Glemsford down to the A 1092 Long Melford-Cavendish Road, Barry had his first puncture in about two years. Four minutes later, he had his second. Both down to glass. The second deflation came shortly after I had taken a controversial left turn, which led some to question my navigation - there had been shouts of "wrong way" from behind. I had ignored them. Glynn & I mischievously wondered if the following cries of "puncture" were just a desperate final ploy to get us to stop and turn round. Hard faces and deaf ears were employed. Julian came up from the puncture party, to finally check that I hadn't gone mad. I assured him that we were headed the right way. My way.

Shortly, we picked up the route that I hoped we'd find; one that was discovered by mistake on a recent Wednesday that took us through Borley and Borley Green (not to be confused with Borley Green near Woolpit). We then branched off to Belchamp Walter (not to be confused with the Prince of the Softies) and on, on and on, through Gestingthorpe, to join the B1058 heading towards Bulmer, looking for the signs advertising 'Spencers'; shortly before we saw these, however, we saw a nut-brown lady cyclist who purposefully turned off to the right and, assuming (erroneously) that she would be in need of a tea-stop we followed and accosted her with confused requests for affirmative directions. She was pleasant, friendly but, when it came down to it - utterly useless. We bade her jolly farewells, returned to B1058 and, about a mile further we took the right turn to Wickham St Paul's, continued in the faith and on the unstraight and narrow to the deep gravel of Spencers Farm Shop.

When I first came here on a Wednesday, I remember that a lady arrived on horseback and, staying aboard her mount, leaned through an open window and had a conversation with a customer. How deeply rural, I thought. No horses this time and, under new management since April, there are more staff of lesser age to bring us our teas and scones and cakes. I vividly remember the brightly-coloured jam; not quite the quality we have come to expect in Suffolk Tearooms; a bit worrying.

Return journey was a straightforward blast through Sudbury via Ballingdon Hill (obviously, I got dropped going down this no-nonsense dead straight dose of 1 in seven) to Long Melford (how surprisingly quickly the Long Melford sign appears, after leaving Sudbury. There, but for the Green Belt, would Long Melford have disappeared). In Melford's High Street Dr Tom demonstrated just how easy it is to a track stand.

At Spencers, Esther Colman took a power-nap at the table - and in my other snap, my camera shows the effect of a hot back pocket on picture quality.

21st October. A small turnout

When the big people looked out of their windows, the weather didn't look too promising. We sort of phoned round (apologies to those intrepid souls we may have missed) and decided to give it a miss.


However the little people were made of sterner stuff and, though they didn't leave our garden, they did all that we should have done. Especially plenty of inundated fords.










For extra accuracy, they ignored the chap who fell over at the back.