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.

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.